The severed end whipped through the air, striking a metal stanchion with a shower of sparks.

Carter threw himself backward onto the concrete, covering his head.

“We’re on our own,” Hayes said.

We scrambled toward the bridge sail.

The primary access hatch sat at the base of the sail, a round steel plate with a heavy locking wheel.

It was our only way into the control room from the deck.

I reached the hatch first.

I grabbed the steel spokes of the wheel.

I threw my weight against it, trying to spin it counterclockwise.

It did not move.

“It’s seized,” I said, my chest heaving as I strained against the cold metal.

“Let me,” Hayes said.

He shoved me aside and grabbed the wheel with both gloved hands.

His shoulders bunched under his jacket.

He grunted, his face turning red under the yellow pier lights.

The wheel did not budge a millimeter.

“It’s not seized,” Hayes muttered, stepping back. “It’s locked from the inside.”

“The hydraulic pins are engaged,” I said.

I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.