I pull out my phone. A lone bar appears on the display. I hit 911 anyway and get another Failed message. I try Tomasetti’s number and get the same result.
Clipping my phone to my belt, I look at the two girls. They’re standing a few feet apart—as close to me as their chains will allow—staring at me as if I’m their last breath of air. “I have to go for help,” I tell them.
“What?” Bonnie looks at me as if I’m a traitor. “You can’t leave us!”
“No!” Sadie chokes. “Don’t go! You can’t!”
“There’s a deputy out there,” I tell them. “Just stay calm and I’ll get you out of here.”
The girl lying on the floor bellows an animalistic cry that echoes off the walls. Sadie whirls toward her. “Shut up!” she hisses.
“What if they come for us while you’re gone?” Bonnie whispers.
“They’re not home,” I say firmly. “I checked.”
“Don’t leave us down here!” she cries.
“They’ll kill us,” Sadie says.
I cross to her, set my hands on her shoulders, and give her a shake. “Everything’s going to be okay. But I need for you to be strong. Do you understand?”
Sadie jerks her head.
“Good girl.” I turn my attention to Bonnie.
Her face crumples. Sagging against the chain, she begins to sob. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us. Please don’t. Please!”
Reaching out, I set my hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “I’ll be back,” I say firmly. “I promise.”
As I turn my back on them and start toward the door, I pray it’s a promise I can keep.
CHAPTER 21
Their cries follow me through the door and into the corridor. Then I’m moving at a jog, heading toward the hatch from which I entered. I’m looking for daylight, anxious to get the hell out of this godforsaken tunnel and get those girls to safety.
The beam of my flashlight carves a murky path through the darkness. I’m kicking up dust, and in the periphery of my vision, it hovers like mist. I can hear myself breathing hard, a mix of adrenaline and physical exertion. I catch a glimpse of a small wooden door to my right, and I realize there’s yet another passage I overlooked on the way down. I have no idea how extensive these tunnels are; there could be many more passages and rooms. There could be more missing.
More bodies.
I keep moving as fast as I dare. I’m fifteen yards from the hatch. I’m running full out now, my mind jumping ahead to the things I need to do. I want to call Tomasetti and let him know three of the missing are alive. He’ll expedite the search warrant for the house and property. The body will need to be retrieved. The families notified. Arrest warrants issued for Irene and Perry Mast.
The blow comes out of nowhere, like a baseball bat slamming against my chest. The impact knocks me off my feet. For an instant, I’m suspended in space. Then my back slams against the ground. My head rocks back, sending a scatter of stars across my vision. At first, I think I’ve been shot. I can’t breathe. Terrible sounds grind from my throat as I try to suck oxygen into my lungs.
For what seems like an eternity, all I can focus on is breathing. I turn onto my side, manage a small gulp of oxygen. But pain zings all the way up to my collarbone. I’m aware of dim light above me. Dust motes are flying all around. I feel around for my .38, but it’s gone. I’ve dropped my flashlight, as well. But I can see. Where’s the light coming from?
My vision clears, and I find myself staring up at a bare bulb dangling down like some bizarre Christmas tree ornament. Turning, I look around. My flashlight lies on its side a few feet away. A man stands above me, his face obscured by shadows.
“Don’t get up, Chief Burkholder.”
Perry Mast steps into the sphere of light from the bulb. He’s holding a shovel in one hand, a rifle in the other, and the full gravity of my predicament hits home with all the stunning force of the blow.
“I don’t think I will just yet.” The words come out on a groan. I shift, make a show of wincing, use the opportunity to look around, take stock of my injuries. Broken ribs, probably. But in some small corner of my brain, I know that those injuries are the least of my worries. My .38 is nowhere in sight. I must have dropped it, and he picked it up. My chest hurts, but at least I can breathe. If I can keep him talking until the deputy finds us …
“You shouldn’t be down here,” he says. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
“Mr. Mast,” I begin, “what are you doing?”
“I know you found the young people,” he tells me. “I know you spoke to them. You should not have done that.”
How does he know? Has he been watching me since I arrived? Was he lurking outside the room, listening? Or maybe he’s installed cameras or listening devices. Whatever the case, I decide, the less I profess to know, the better off I’ll be. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m afraid you’ve placed yourself in a tight spot.”