THE HUB WAS exactly as Mac remembered it. Jagged rock walls, bumpy rock floor. Fifteen by twenty feet in diameter. The tunnels fed into each other, until eventually, a single corridor spilled into the hub. At the moment, the rendezvous point looked smaller than it actually was. But then, a multitude of clustered bodies and flickering flashlights tended to have that effect on any given space.
Mac scanned faces as he entered the cavern. As Cosky had indicated, everyone was accounted for except Rawls and the doc. He frowned. He hoped like hell Cosky had found the pair, and not under the dire circumstances they’d both assumed.
He nodded toward Zane before beckoning him over. With their rock fortress encasing them, they were safe enough for the moment. They could afford to take a breather, figure out where the hell to go from here, and how the hell to get there.
Once Cosky returned, with or without Rawls, they’d discuss heading topside to take those bastards on. Do some damage of their own.
They could sure use a fountain of information—even a reluctant one.
Of course, someone would have to stay with the women and children, provide some protection in case the motherfuckers above found their way below. Not that there was much chance of that—although . . .
He scowled as Amy’s youngest pushed past him and made a beeline for a jagged edge of the rock wall. If he was right, and the boys were tagged, those bastards might know they were underground and start looking for a passageway.
“Look how much it sparkles, Mom! I bet it’s a diamond. Grampa says they come from the ground.”
Zane joined him. “Glad to see you guys made it out in one piece.” He glanced over Mac’s shoulder.
“Cos went back to look for Rawls.” Mac acknowledged the implied question.
Zane simply nodded. He glanced at the child enthusiastically prying at the sparkling chunk on the wall. “You realize they must have been followed.”
“No shit.” Mac rolled his shoulders, lowering his voice as well.
“They changed clothes, right down to their skin,” Amy pointed out from behind them in that flat, conversational tone of voice that annoyed him profoundly. Why the hell it affected him so adversely, he had no clue, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed his instinctive retort.
“Then the tracking device must be somewhere on their bodies, not their clothes.” He managed to remind her in an even voice.
“Which they haven’t noticed? And I didn’t notice when I helped them change.” Amy’s voice flattened even further.
Zane glanced between the two of them and scrubbed a palm over his head. “Maybe they were drugged, and the device was inserted while they were out. If it’s small enough, it could be inserted in a filling, or injected directly into their skin.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “Or maybe it’s just a coincidence. They haven’t been out of my brother’s or my parents’ sight. Believe me, if the boys had been injected with something, we would have known about it.”
Zane traded a cautious glance with Mac, before tilting his head and facing off against their redheaded momma bear. “Maybe . . . but it won’t hurt to check the boys out.”
Mac had no clue what Amy’s response would be. Normally she was the most reasonable, calm-headed woman he knew—until, apparently, her maternal instincts kicked in.
“Could it have been inserted during a flu shot?” Brendan broke in.
“A flu shot.” Amy’s voice sharpened. “Did someone give you one recently?”
“Yeah, some doctor friend of Uncle Clay’s.” Her son turned a considering look on his left forearm. “It hurt too, swelled way up.”
“You had a flu shot before school started.” Amy’s eyes narrowed. “Did Clay say why you needed another one?”
Because those bastards had needed a means of injecting a tracking chip, and a flu shot made the perfect cover. Mac stirred restlessly. Was the woman really so dense she didn’t see that? But he immediately jettisoned that conclusion. Amy wasn’t stupid. Far too loyal maybe, particularly to family—but hardly stupid.
“The doctor said there’d been an outbreak at school, and they wouldn’t let us back in without the current inoculation against it.” He paused to cock his head as though he was thinking back. “Uncle Clay stayed with us to make sure there wasn’t any funny business.”
Amy raised her gaze to Mac’s face.
“There’ve been a lot of flu strains this year, so it’s possible,” she said, but her eyes were troubled. “Clay wouldn’t do anything to hurt the boys. He may not always show it, but we’re family. He loves us.”
Mac swallowed his snort. From what he’d seen in the quarry, Uncle Clay was a rat-asshole. Not that he was going to tell her that.