WELCOME TO ROOM 7

A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

JACK DANE

ALSO BY JACK DANE

THE APARTMENT ACROSS THE HALL

HIS FIRST WIFE

THE OTHER COUPLE

THE NEW SITTER

SUCH LOVELY NEIGHBORS

DONT GO DOWNSTAIRS

WHICH SISTER

WE’RE LIKE FAMILY HERE

ABOUT WELCOME TO ROOM 7

Welcome to Room 7! We hope you enjoy your stay…

When Jenna and Ross’s moving van breaks down late at night, they’re left stranded without a way to get help. Luckily, there’s a motel just a few miles up the road.

Only something isn’t quite right at the Pines Motel. The lights are on, but the place seems entirely deserted—no other customers, no employees in sight. There’s mold in the showers, strange smells…and blood on the pillowcase. 

But when they try to leave the room…they can’t. The motel door won’t open. Neither will the window. They’re trapped. 

And then they hear a scream.

Ross and Jenna start investigating, and what they find has them wondering if they’ll even survive till check out time…

ONE

My head whips over to Ross in the driver’s seat, our eyes meeting.

That loud bang, and the heavy thumping now pounding under our feet, can only mean one thing— the one thing you most don’t want to happen when you’re in a moving van traveling down a dark forest road in an area with no cell service at nearly ten at night.

Blown tire. Has to be.

“I think it’s the tire on your side,” my husband says, teeth clenched as he grips tighter to the steering wheel that’s suddenly begun to shake.

I can barely make out his voice above the heavy whump–whump—whump—whump from the shredded tire’s rubber slamming against the pavement.

I don’t say anything, my stomach still tight from surprise as my hand finds the plastic grab handle overhead. As the moving van slows to a halt, the violent shuddering all around me slowly reduces until it’s gone altogether.

The van lets out a creak as the contents of our life shift around in the trailer behind us. Ross lets out a short exhale, shaking his head.

“Well that woke me right up,” he says.

“Same here,” I say.

A few minutes ago, I was on the verge of dozing off, the warm summer air drifting through the open window and Ross’s soft guitar playlist dancing through the speakers. Now though, I feel ready to go into battle.

“Any idea where we are?” he asks me as he turns the key in the ignition to shut off the engine.

The sudden silence is more absolute than anything I’ve ever heard.

The desire for this kind of quiet was one of the main reasons we moved out of New York City. Right now though, it’s just plain creepy.

With my heart still pounding, I peer out through the windshield. I work on getting my pulse to lower as I scan the darkness outside.

The van’s yellowed headlights paint the forest surrounding the rural road in an eerie glow that doesn’t exactly help to calm me. I’m not used to the lack of street lights.

“I don’t see any signs. How about service? Check your phone,” Ross says, digging into his pocket for his cell phone.

“Nothing,” I tell him after a moment of holding my own device up to the window.

I lower my phone as Ross lets out an annoyed hiss.

“Deadzone,” he says, chewing his lip. “Great.”

The road is completely empty, save for us. In fact, I don’t think I can remember the last time I even saw another car. Upstate New York really is a whole different world compared to the city.

“I’ll check the tire,” I say, swallowing.

My door creaks as I push it open and hop down. My boots land on the gravel edge of the road with a crunch.

It really is dark out here.

Glancing back the way we came, I search for the comforting double-glow of approaching headlights, but besides a couple dark silhouettes of trees in the faint moonlight, I can’t make out anything. It’s just a black hole.

Moving to the back tire, I hold out my phone and drop into a squat.

“What’s the damage?” Ross calls from the cab.

My phone’s flashlight illuminates the tire in a harsh white light. I lean a little closer to inspect the damage.

There—that’s the problem.

I lean back on my heels, mind already turning to try and figure out what we’re going to do.

“Jenna?” Ross asks again.

“Looks like nails. The tire is completely blown.”

“Nails?” Ross asks incredulously.

I hear his door open and then shut. Footsteps as he rounds the front of the van to join me by the tire. I point out the culprits in the glow of my phone’s flashlight. Silver nailheads glint in the scraps of rubber still clinging to the battered tire rim.

“See? Right there. One, two, three. Must’ve fallen out of the back of someone’s work truck or something,” I say.

Ross nods, then drops his head and blows out a breath.

“Okay. So what’s our plan here?”

That’s a good question.

“Let’s see if this thing has a spare tire somewhere. It must, right? Did it mention anything about where it is in the packet they gave you?” I ask him, sending up a silent prayer.

Please don’t let it be under the floorboard of the trailer somewhere… under all our worldly possessions.

Ross pushes back up to his feet with a grunt. “I’ll check. It’d better be somewhere easy to get to, or it’s gonna be a long night. I haven’t seen another car for at least an hour.”

I run my tongue over my front teeth as I visualize the two of us trying to remove lug nuts and crank the back of the heavy moving van up on some little jack. In the dark. I hope there’s some kind of a wrench in there with the jack and spare, wherever they might be.

My hand works its way into one of my cargo pants pockets, where my trusty Swiss Army knife sits. Not a whole lot of good it’ll do us in this scenario, unfortunately.

Shutting my eyes, I try to mentally rewind the last few minutes of the trip in my head. Were there any signs indicating our location? I was dozing, half-in and half-out of sleep for at least the last half-hour.

My eyes fly open again as I recall the brief blue flash of a road sign maybe about twenty minutes ago.

“I think I remember seeing a sign for lodging somewhere back there,” I tell Ross.

He pokes his head up above the dash to look at me. “How far did it say it was?”

I shake my head. “Don’t remember. I probably should’ve made a note of it.”

Ross chuckles. “This is supposed to be a fun, relaxing trip, remember? No more city stress.”

I scoff. “Tell that to these nails.”

Ross dives back into the center console in search of the van rental packet.

“Here it is,” he says, straightening back up.

I grab hold of my door handle and saddle back up into the van’s cab. Ross is scanning the papers under the dim overhead light. After another moment, he shakes his head.

“Doesn’t look like we have a spare.”

“What? How can they do that? Is that even legal?”

Ross sighs. “I don’t know. But they did. I didn’t even think to check for it in the paperwork.”

“Because anyone would assume they’d give you one,” I say. “Unbelievable.”

Rubbing my eyebrows with my fingertips, I try to picture the blue sign in my mind again, but it’s just a blur. I wasn’t paying close enough attention, not expecting that we’d stop for many hours yet.

“Well, at least we know there’s a hotel up ahead at some point,” Ross says, settling back into his seat. “It’s probably for the best. I was getting pretty drowsy there. Maybe this is the Universe’s way of forcing us to get off the road for the night, for our own good.”

“Get off the road…” I turn to stare at him. “You want to walk there at this hour? With how dark it is?”

He shrugs. “It can’t be that much farther, right? And we can just use our phones for light.”

“But what about the van? All our stuff is in here. And I do literally mean all our stuff, Ross. What if someone takes it?”

He gives me a look. “I haven’t seen a someone in hours, Jenna. Besides, I’ll take the keys with us. We’ll lock the doors.”

I work my tongue over my teeth again. I don’t entirely love the idea of strolling through the pitch darkness this late at night in an unknown area, but what are the alternatives?

“Do you really want to spend the night in this van?” Ross asks.

“Maybe?” I say, but he makes a good point. While these aren’t the least comfortable seats I’ve ever experienced, they’re on the leaderboard.

Finally I nod.

“Okay. And if someone comes along before we reach the motel, we’ll just flag them down and tell them what happened. Maybe they’ll have enough bars to call a tow truck or something.”

“I like it. Let’s move,” Ross says, stuffing the keys into his pocket.

I hop out of the van again, the crunching gravel underfoot the only noise besides the gentle brush of the wind through the trees.

If only it wasn’t so cloudy tonight. I glance up at the sky, where the moon’s glow is just barely visible through the dense haze of cloud cover.

Still not another car in sight, which I guess shouldn’t be a surprise. We wanted to get away from the chaos of the “city that never sleeps,” and boy did we succeed.

Ross has turned on his phone flashlight and started walking up the road. I remain by the van for another second but then start after him.

This time when I reach into my pocket, I pull out the knife. The little blade on it isn’t more than three inches long, but having it at the ready calms me down regardless.

“Ready to skewer a bear?” Ross remarks, a smirk playing out across his face as he notices the blade in my hand.

“Figured I’d save us a couple thousand on a carpet, just use the fur instead, you know?” I say.

He chuckles and continues forward. Because we’re so far from civilization, I can clearly hear the sound of our shoes against the pavement. It’s literally the only noise, and I’m not sure if that’s comforting or creepy.

Trying to see into the woods around us is useless. The forest here is so thick, it’s like trying to peer through brick. Just trees for miles and miles and miles.

As I glance from side to side, I can’t help but imagine pairs of luminous yellow eyes staring back at us like we’re in an episode of Scooby Doo.

Of course real predators’ eyes wouldn’t glow and give away their presence. The thought makes me grip the knife a little tighter, despite my jokes, and I pick up my pace.

“How long do you think we’ve been walking, twenty minutes?” Ross says after some time.

I check my phone screen.

“Probably. It was just before ten when we popped the tire.”

“Where are they hiding this alleged motel?” Ross asks.

I’m wondering the same thing. If only I could remember how many miles away it said on the sign. As I look behind us, I see no clues. The van itself has long since been swallowed up by the endless night.

Feels like the dark is trying to eat us, too. If it weren’t for our phones, we’d be wandering in complete and total blackness.

A sheen of sweat has appeared across my forehead from the hike. The road is definitely on an incline, making the walk all the more taxing in the summer heat, despite the late hour.

“Thirsty?” Ross asks, stretching out his arm to offer me a water bottle.

I nod and take it from him eagerly. “It was smart of you to grab this before we left the van.”

He smiles at me in the dark. “Can’t have the mother of my future children getting dehydrated.”

“The mother of your future theoretical children,” I correct. “Someday. Maybe.”

Since we bought the new house, he’s been talking about filling it with kids. I know he’s wanted them for a while, and now that we’ll have more space, he thinks this is the perfect time. I’m still not sure though. Kids can be a lot, and I want to be sure I’m ready.

“Wait a minute,” Ross says suddenly, freezing in place.

My head snaps to him.

“What? What is it?”

I don’t see anything ahead, so what—wait, I hear it now too.

A low rumbling from somewhere behind us. That’s another car.

We turn around in unison, squinting hard to try and make out the approaching vehicle—or anything at all. Then, in the distance, two small pinpricks of light. Headlights.

I let out a breath of relief. Finally.

The longer we walked, the more I was beginning to worry that I might’ve dreamt that sign, instead of actually seeing it. Wouldn’t that be perfect? We walk for hours and hours, stumbling through the darkness toward a destination that isn’t even there?

The headlights continue to grow steadily. Ross begins waving his phone back and forth over his head, and I do the same.

We both step out of the road so that we don’t get hit and then start shouting to draw more attention to ourselves. My voice seems overly loud against the quiet forest backdrop. The headlights get closer and closer.

Have they seen us? Surely they do. Unless they’re dozing as well.

Are they gonna stop? They need to stop. They have to.

Now that I know there might be another choice, the idea of continuing to hike up the hill on foot in the pitch-black night is not at all appealing.

The approaching vehicle is close enough now that I can make out a windshield and rough outline of its high profile. It’s an eighteen-wheeler—probably a long-haul trucker driving through the night.

God bless the truckers.

If I wasn’t so tired, I’d break into a dance. Of course the guy might blow right by us, but there’s an equally good chance he’ll stop and give us a lift to the hotel.

“Hey! Over here,” Ross shouts, his arms waving back and forth overhead.

As I do the same, I see the truck driver’s head turn toward us, and the massive vehicle begins to slow.

There’s a loud squeal as he applies the brakes. I take another step away from the road, just in case, as I watch the truck drawing nearer and nearer.

It comes to a stop just beside us. There’s a moment of pause, the engine idling loudly, then the driver shifts across the cab and opens his passenger side door. Ross and I step up to it, lowering our hands and smiling.

“You folks from that moving van a few miles back?” the driver calls down to us.

“That’s right. Blew a tire,” Ross tells the guy. “Thanks for stopping.”

“I think I saw a sign saying there’s a motel somewhere ahead,” I add.

The truck driver waves us toward him. “Hop in, I’ll drop you off.”

Relief flushes through my veins as we climb up into the cab with the man. Ross slides in next to him, and I shut the door behind us.

“Gary,” the man says, introducing himself.

“I’m Ross, this is Jenna,” my husband replies.

“Thank you so much,” I say, “I don’t know how much longer I could stand being out there.”

Gary nods to us as he steers the truck back onto the road. “It’s a good thing I decided to come down this way—huge pileup on the highway. Thought this would save time. How far is the motel?”

I shake my head.

“Not quite sure… but it can’t be too much farther,” I add hurriedly.

“Don’t worry about it. Get there when we get there then, I guess,” Gary says.

He’s a middle-aged man with close-cropped gray hair and stubble on his face, probably from being on the road for days. He looks like he spent a lot of time in the sun when he was younger. Deep grooves line his cheeks and surround his eyes.

Some sort of western song—or is it bluegrass?— is playing on the radio. The twangy guitar or banjo or whatever it is reminds me of my grandfather. He loved this kind of old-timey music. I relax a bit for the first time since the tire blew.

“Where are you headed?” Ross asks after a moment, trying to fill the silence inside the cab.

Gary nudges his chin forward. “Just over the border. Got a load of produce back there that won’t keep if I don’t make good time.”

We both nod.

“So how do you like trucking? Seems like it might get awfully lonely,” I say.

Gary shrugs. “Not so bad. Got my music, got her with me, too.” He taps a photograph that’s clipped to the dashboard.

It features a pretty lady wearing sunglasses and leaning against an older-model truck as she smiles brightly at the camera. She wears a hairstyle that hasn’t been fashionable for at least a couple decades, but I don’t comment. This man was nice enough to pick us up, after all.

“She’s beautiful,” I say.

“Thank you. I always thought so, but she never believed me,” he says, his voice taking on a note of sadness.

Suddenly, I understand. The out-of-date haircut, the picture on the dash. She’s dead.

Gary nods. “Ever since she passed, I’ve been lonely anywhere I go. Figured I might as well make some money while I’m at it.”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then Gary clears his throat. “But what brings you two out to these parts? Not exactly a happening part of town.”

Ross smiles. “That’s exactly why we’re here, actually. You already saw the moving van. After living in New York City for ten years, we’re just looking for some peace and quiet.”

“Well, you’ll definitely get it out here,” Gary replies.

Ross points toward the dash. “You mind if I turn the air on? I’m still a little warm from the walk.”

I feel the same, sticky drops of sweat making my hairline slightly itchy.

“Go ahead,” Gary says, then his eyes fall to Ross’s bicep.

“You Army?”

Ross nods and gestures to me. “We both are. How we met, actually.”

I nod in agreement. Gary smiles.

“My old man was Army, too. I’m happy I could do a favor for a pair of soldiers."

“We really appreciate it,” I say again.

As the words come out, the road curves a little, and then there’s a light up ahead.

A motel sign, glowing neon in the night. The Pines Motel.

“There it is,” Ross says, relieved.

I’m relieved too. It’s real, and we made it. All in all, it’s probably about eight or so miles from the van.

Certainly not as close as I would’ve liked, but we’ll just have to hope for the best.

Gary starts to slow the truck down, preparing to pull over at the motel. The closer we get, the better look I get at the place. It’s definitely vintage, and I’m not just talking about the sign.

It’s got that whole squat, seventies-style, seedy roadside inn look, with a small office connected to a row of single story rooms and a weathered red roof in desperate need of reshingling.

There’s a gravel drive leading into the smallish parking lot. A broken-down pickup truck stands in one corner of it, weeds growing up around its tires. It’s the only vehicle in sight.

“They’re not exactly doing booming business tonight,” I say.

“That’s good,” Ross says. “They’ll have a room for us.”

A small awning above the office door bears the logo of a stand of pine trees beneath a crescent moon. My eyes shift to the glassed-in lobby, warm light pouring out from the windows.

At this point, the outdated place looks like a little slice of heaven.

The truck comes to a stop with a loud hiss of the air brakes.

“Thank you again for the ride, we really appreciate it,” Ross says, extending his hand to shake Gary’s.

The driver accepts the gesture, giving Ross a firm shake as I open the door to climb out.

“Glad I could help,” Gary says.

“And hey, listen—I’ll probably be passing back through here tomorrow on my way back. I’m sure you’ll have this all figured out by then, but if not, I’ll look out for you. Pop always said we never leave a man behind,” he says then winks. “Or woman.”

“Thanks,” I say with a wave as Ross shuts the door. We both keep waving as the truck pulls away, back out onto the road. The red taillights paint us with a red glow, and soon enough, he’s gone altogether.

Ross and I turn toward the little motel waiting to welcome us out of the steamy summer night.

“I hope they have air conditioning,” Ross says, taking the words out of my mouth.

The buzzing neon sign overhead spits and pops as we crunch across the gravel to the motel office.

“I hope the pillows are nice. You know how picky I am about pillows,” I say.

Ross smirks as he throws an arm around me. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. How bad could it be?”

TWO

A little bell dings overhead as we enter the motel lobby. How quaint.

The shrill ring of it remains in my ears as I step forward across a worn checkered tile floor toward the check-in counter.

The design of the interior perfectly matches the dated outside. Everything in here seems decades old, particularly the faded fabric couch in the corner. I can actually make out indentations left from the thousands of people who must have sat on it over the decades.

Looking toward the dark wood paneling of the front desk, I notice an old shotgun mounted ceremoniously on the wall behind it.

Nope, we definitely aren’t in New York City anymore.

Below the gun are a bunch of vintage motel keys hanging on nails. Based on the number of available keys, I don’t think there’s anyone else here.

There isn’t anyone behind the counter, either.

“Hello?” Ross calls out, casting a quick glance around the place. There’s a small red door in the wall behind the desk that must lead to some sort of back room for the employees.

Still, if someone’s back there, they don’t seem to be aware of our arrival. I don’t hear any sort of commotion that would indicate we’ve been heard.

“Hello? Anyone there?” Ross says again.

The lights are on, which means somebody has to be home, right? Motels don’t just turn the lights on by themselves.

Ross throws up his hands and looks back at me. “What should we do?”

“Wait, I guess. I’m not walking back to the van, that’s for sure,” I say, leaning against the front desk for support. I’m so tired, and my feet are beyond sore.

From this position I can see over the raised counter to the surface of the desk behind it. The place is so old, it’s still got a physical guest list pad. My eyes drift over the names scribbled on it.

Amanda Reese, July 30th

Dr. DeLuca, August 2nd

Ron Ogilvy, August 7th

If that’s all the guests they’ve had in the past couple weeks, it’s a miracle this place is still open. It’s probably costing them more than they’re making just to keep the lights on.

Another shrill ring snaps my head up. Ross is tapping the little bell on the countertop. I flick my eyes over to him.

“What?” he asks with a chuckle. “I’ve always seen bells like this in movies, but I’ve never gotten to ring one. Have you?”

“I’m glad your childlike sense of wonder is still intact,” I mutter, but I give him a tired grin.

I hope somebody responds soon. The watch on my wrist says it’s now almost eleven.

After the stress of moving out of our apartment this morning plus the long hours on the road—and then the blowout on top of it, I’m exhausted. I just want to go to bed at this point, sleep it off, and deal with it all tomorrow.

A yawn escapes my mouth, making Ross yawn widely too. He starts chuckling, and puts up a hand.

“Stop, now I’m yawning too.”

I smirk at him. “That means you like me.”

“Guilty,” Ross shoots back with a wink.

We stand there another ten minutes, but still no one shows.

At this point, I’m getting irritated. Moving is already stressful enough, but now we’ve got this to deal with. I’m beginning to understand why people stay in cities, despite the downsides.

In a big city, there’s always something open, someone to call.

Out here, where the population is probably one percent of New York City’s, it’s much quieter, yes—but also much less convenient.

The minutes tick by in the dusty, dingy lobby as we stand there leaning on each other, neither of us willing to take a chance on the gross fabric couch.

Eventually though, enough is enough. It’s getting close to midnight now. More than anything, I just need to be horizontal somewhere.

“Where could they be?” Ross wonders aloud, head leaning on his forearms against the wooden counter.

“Is the guy on break or something? Did he just quit? I mean, what is going on here?”

He sounds irritated and looks about ready to drop. I know I am. I run my tongue over my teeth, eyes roving behind the desk for any clues. There isn't any sign or note that could tell us what’s going on.

“They probably thought no one was going to come in this late and just went to bed,” I say.

As my gaze shifts up to the keys again, I get an idea.

“Let’s just take a key and leave some money and a note on the counter.”

Ross pops his head up to look at me.

“You have cash, right?” I ask.

“Yeah, but…” he says, trailing off.

“It’ll be fine,” I assure him. “We’ll sign in on the register, leave the cash and note to let them know what happened. Any issue, they can come find us in the morning. I need to go to bed. You do, too.”

After a second, Ross simply nods. “Okay. Yeah, that’s a good idea. How much is it?”

I nudge my chin at an aging sheet of paper Scotch-taped to the desktop. “Says fifty dollars right there.”

“Does that include room service?” Ross asks wryly as he digs into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls it out and starts counting.

“Looks like I’ve got… yeah, we’re good.” He draws two twenties and a ten dollar bill from the wallet, laying them on the desk.

Then he pulls out a five as a tip and puts that down too.

“Here’s some paper,” I say, snatching a sheet from the ancient printer behind the counter.

Grabbing a pen from the holder, I scribble out a quick note explaining who we are and that we’ve helped ourselves to a room thanks to an unfortunate blowout and sheer desperation for sleep.

“Which room do you want? Looks like they’re all available,” Ross says over his shoulder as he moves behind the counter to grab a key.

I let out another large yawn as I finish writing the note and put down the pen. “Surprise me.”

Ross scoops the key for Room 7 off its hook.

“Lucky number seven,” he says, twirling the keyring around his finger.

“Is that a lucky number?” I ask.

Ross comes back around the desk and shrugs. “Tonight it is. Come on. A horizontal surface awaits you.”

“Yessssss,” I drag out the word and roll my eyes heavenward. “At this point I don’t even care if the pillows are good.”

We don’t have any spare clothes or anything, not even toothbrushes. I’ll feel kind of gross going to bed without washing my face, but we’ll live. Ross and I have definitely been through worse.

Besides, we won’t be here for long. Just a few short hours of what I’m sure will be poor sleep, and then we’ll make our way back to the van at first light. I don’t want it to sit out there for too long, rural area or not.

As we push out of the lobby door, the little bell dings overhead again. Lot of good that did us.

Ross leads the way, marching across the gravel parking lot toward the faded red door marked with a rusted number seven. This arm of the motel extends out from the office to the right, a flat-roofed row of identical rooms, each with a red door and one small window on the front.

No cars in the parking lot besides that 1950’s pickup truck that looks like it hasn’t been moved since it was young. The night clerk must park in the back or something.

A warm breeze blows over us as we come to a stop in front of Room 7. There’s a cement walkway running in front of all the rooms and a small roof overhang above our heads. Ross reaches for the doorknob, preparing to insert the key.

To my surprise, the knob turns freely as he grips it. It’s already unlocked.

Ross scoffs. “Really is a different world out here. Won’t find this in NYC. More like two deadbolts and a chain.”

I don’t comment. I just want to be inside and in bed already. My back aches from all those hours in the van, and my feet hurt from walking way too far in shoes that weren’t made for walking.

As long as there’s a bed in here, I’ll sleep on it.

Ross pushes the door open, and it swings inward with a loud creak. The dim moonlight and glow from the neon sign slant inside and reveal a slice of the carpeted floor. A few feet inside I see a little bed with a patchwork quilt cover.

Perfect. I shuffle across the floor toward it.

“Home sweet home,” Ross says tiredly as he steps inside and flips on the light switch.

The whole room is illuminated in a hazy yellow now.

With the lamps on, the rest of the room becomes visible. My shoulders sag a little as I realize the bed is a single. There’s a dumpy nightstand beside it with a reading lamp and phone. On it is a laminated note, the corners curling upwards.

Welcome to Room 7! We hope you enjoy your stay…

A small fabric-covered chair is tucked in the corner beside a floor lamp with a stained lampshade.

At least the bulbs work.

Across from the bed is a wooden wall shelf holding a television screen from the early 2000’s if not earlier.

Ross wrinkles his nose as he straightens up and looks around.

“Ugh, what is that smell? Do you smell that?”

I take a breath in, sniffing the air. At first I don’t smell anything, and then there it is—a faint mildewy smell. A little like wet dog.

“Lovely,” I say, wrinkling my nose too.

Oh well. It’s only for one night, after all. As soon as the sun is up, we’ll be out of here. At least there’s a bed, which really wasn’t even a given since the door was unlocked.

Ross walks toward the bathroom, disappearing through the doorway. A moment later, he lets out a groan.

“What?” I ask.

He comes back out, shaking his head. “I don’t think you want to know.”

Yikes. This is shaping up to be a really nice night.

“Let’s just get to bed,” I say.

Ross nods. “You’re right. We’ve slept in worse places, haven’t we?”

I chuckle knowingly as I pull off my t-shirt. Shuffling into the bathroom, I get a look at the source of Ross’s displeasure. The toilet bowl has a ring of blackish-grey mold growing in it. The shower doesn't look much better, displaying its own spots of mold and a ring around the drain.

Clearly, housekeeping missed a couple spots.

Looking into the oversink mirror, I finally get a glimpse of myself. I look tired, harried. My hair is a bit of a mess, thanks to the humidity and the uphill hike. I turn the tap for cold water so I can at least wash the sweat off my face.

There’s a deep creaking from somewhere inside the wall, and then water eeks reluctantly out of the faucet.

It’s yellowish at first, but turns clear after a minute. I stare at the pooling liquid for a few seconds, seriously debating whether washing with it is going to do more harm than good.

After another second, I reach into the stream for a quick splash. The cool water at least feels refreshing, so I’ll take it. Shutting my eyes, I splash my face a few times.

Ross’s shout from the other room snaps my eyes right back open.

“What now?” I ask.

I’m expecting another quip, maybe about a dead cockroach or something, but instead, the seriousness of my husband’s tone is enough to pull me away from the sink.

“Jenna,” he says.

I lean out of the bathroom. Ross is standing by the bed, the patchwork quilt pulled back.

Underneath, right where a person’s head would be, is a large bloodstain.

THREE

I stare at the brownish-red patch on the otherwise white sheets.

“It’s blood,” I say, rather unnecessarily.

It is, and there’s a lot of it. That’s no single drop—the size of the stain is bigger than my hand.

Ross stares at me and then looks back down at the bed. “What could this be? Nosebleed?”

I shake my head in disbelief. That’s blood, there’s no doubt about it. Gross.

Some stranger’s blood, soaked through the sheets and the pillow and into the mattress itself probably.

I pride myself on being able to put up with a lot, but enough is enough. Between the stink, the mold, and now this, it’s obvious this room is unsuitable for habitation. Even for just a night.

“Let’s get another room. And leave another note,” I say, nodding.

Ross agrees. “Yeah, this is ridiculous. I’m taking back the apology tip I left them, too.”

Grabbing my shirt from the bedside table, I slip it back over my head as Ross pulls his jeans back on. I take another look around the dingy room. There’s a non-zero chance this room hasn’t been cleaned in several weeks.

If the number of guests truly is as few as the register sheet would make it appear, these rooms might go months without any sort of check-in. The Pines will not be getting a five-star rating from this girl.

My thoughts return to the dried pool of blood on the bed, my imagination starting to run wild. No. I quickly shut down the doom-spiral before it can gain momentum.

There’s another reason we had to leave the city.

I had a hard time turning off that part of my mind, and NYC was all too happy to feed it with fresh worry material on a daily basis.

Back in the service, it was definitely an advantage to constantly be running through worst-case scenarios. We were taught to always expect the worst, that way we would be prepared and not caught off-guard.

In an active warzone, that way of thinking is a good idea. Not so much once you leave, though.

Spending almost every minute I was walking around the city, hearing sirens wail and imagining how disaster might play out wasn’t just a time-consuming habit, it’s also horrible for your body.

Cortisol stays constantly spiked, meaning you never feel able to truly relax or rest.

Ross and I both felt it, and we agreed it was time to leave. We needed somewhere quieter, where we could finally convince our brains and nervous systems that we were safe.

The house we settled on is perfect for that. Nestled in a quiet rural town with waterfalls and lakes all around, it’s the very picture of an idyllic retreat.

Unfortunately, we aren’t there yet.

I have to pull my attention away from the bloodstain and consciously redirect myself to avoid going to the worst-case scenario.

It probably is just a nose-bleed. If you don’t get them a lot, you’d be surprised how messy that can look in the aftermath.

Given how low on staff this place is, it would make sense that the bed got overlooked. I take a short breath in and force it back out as Ross finishes fastening his belt.

“Looks like seven wasn’t so lucky after all,” he says as he turns for the door.

The good news is, we don’t have to pack anything up. We’re ready to mobilize at a moment’s notice, and do so as we head for the door.

Ross reaches out and grabs hold of the doorknob. I expect the door to swing open, and step aside.

But it doesn’t.

“What?” I ask, trying to figure out why he hasn’t opened the door.

“It’s stuck,” Ross says, his knuckles whitening as he grips tighter around the knob. “It won’t open.”

FOUR

I stare at him for a second as my brain tries to process what he’s saying.

“What do you mean, it won’t open?”

Ross steps back from the door and gestures down at the knob emphatically. “I mean it won’t open. It’s stuck or something—jammed. Here, you try.”

“Let me try,” I say, our words overlapping each other.

I grip the weathered doorknob with one hand and try to turn it. It doesn’t budge. The tendons in my forearms start to burn a little, so I grip with both hands and try again, letting out a small hiss as I really put some force into it.

“See? It’s stuck,” Ross says from behind me.

I let out a huff of air as I drop my hands from the doorknob and turn back to see Ross shaking his head behind me.

“I don’t believe this. I mean this is just…”

Turning back to the door, I look it over intently, double-checking to make sure some lock didn’t accidentally get thrown.

Because that’s what it feels like—like trying to open a locked door.

The little metal chain is still hanging limply, and the lock inside the doorknob itself isn’t turned, either. There shouldn’t be any reason why this door won’t open.

Stepping back, I run my hand through my hair.

This night is getting worse by the minute. I grab the doorknob again, jiggling it, twisting left and right, but it still won’t give.

“What about the phone? Can we call someone?” I ask Ross, nudging my chin toward the side table with the avacado-green motel phone.

“Call who? I’m starting to think no one even works here anymore,” Ross says, but he picks up the telephone receiver anyway.

He digs his finger into the first chunky button before holding the receiver to his ear, and then shaking his head.

“I don’t think it’s connected,” he says before glancing behind the table and snorting.

He squats down out of sight before coming back up with a frayed wire in hand.

“And this would be why. Great. Just great,” he says.

This is unbelievable. It would almost be comical if I wasn’t starting to get a little worried. At this point, it’s starting to look like we’re trapped in this disgusting room, and we don’t have any way to call for help.

I try jiggling the door handle again, but it’s no use. This thing practically feels like it’s glued shut.

“What about the window? Is there any sort of slide mechanism on there?” Ross asks as he moves toward the front of the room again.

Next to the door there’s a narrow rectangular window high on the wall. My guess is it was built that way to admit some daylight while preserving the privacy of the guests inside.

“I wouldn’t fit through it, but you might,” Ross says. “I could boost you up, and you could crawl out and open the door from the outside.”

He runs his fingers around the edges of the window and then shakes his head, cursing under his breath.

“No window in the bathroom, either,” he says. “Probably why it stinks in here. No ventilation.”

I close my eyes and lean against the wall to try and get my bearings. As tired as I am, I want to just burst into tears at this latest inconvenience. Just one thing after another today, and I’m getting close to the end of my rope.

Sucking in a large breath, I fight to keep myself steady as Ross pounds angrily at the door.

“You were right. We should’ve just roughed it in the van,” he says over his shoulder.

“We’ve even got our mattress in the back—a mattress that isn’t covered in bloodstains,” he adds.

I shake my head. “We couldn’t have known this is the worst motel to ever exist. It was the right call to leave the van, given the information we had.”

“Thanks, but you can just say I told you so,” Ross says, leaning his forehead against the door. Then he moves to the window again and peers out.

His breath fogs up the glass as he stares toward the motel lobby.

“Can’t see anyone in there, but this isn’t a great angle. I guess I’ll just stay by the window so when someone shows up over there, I can try to get their attention.”

I want to say if someone shows up, but I bite my tongue. That isn’t the kind of thinking we need right now.

Sooner or later, an employee will appear. Probably with a great explanation for all of this, though I can’t think of any rational explanations just now.

They’ll let us out, refund us, and even replace our van tire free of charge. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be settling into our new home.

It’s a nice thought, but I’m unable to hold onto it for long. That mildewy smell is starting to give me a headache.

Ross remains by the window for the next hour, though nothing changes. It might as well be a landscape painting out there, it’s so still. I try the connecting doors to the motel rooms on either side of us, but it’s no use. They don’t budge.

Plain and simple: we’re stuck in this room. I’m getting really tired of standing, but there’s no way I’m sitting down on either the chair or the bed. Just because there aren’t any blood stains on the little fabric chair in the corner certainly doesn’t mean it isn’t dirty.

And given the state of this room, I don’t think bed bug infestation is out of the question. No thank you.

So, as tired as I am, I remain standing with Ross as we scan outside the window for any signs of life.

Just as it was earlier, it’s empty out there. We’re well past midnight now. My eyes are starting to itch, but I blink a little harder and try to forget about it.

The yellow light from the motel lobby continues to glow in an open-for-business mirage, but time passes, and there’s still no movement inside.

The longer this goes on, the more odd it becomes.

Questions have started to bubble to mind now, questions that my reasoning mind is too tired to ignore or suppress any longer.

The sign and lobby are lit, which means someone was here at some point. Where did they go?

Why is the room phone disconnected?

What is going on with this motel?

Ross swipes his phone screen to check the time and then lets out a heavy sigh with a shake of his head.

“This is just ridiculous. I mean we’re actually trapped in here,” he says, his cheeks coloring a little.

His tone rises in anger. “What kind of business are they running here anyway?”

He goes back to the door. “Hey,” he yells, bringing his hand down hard against the inside of its solid metal interior.

“We’re in here, don’t you hear us? We’re—stuck—in—this—crappy—room.” He pauses between each shouted word to slam against the door.

The heavy thumping sounds loud to my ears, but apparently I’m the only one who hears it because when we peer outside again, nothing has changed.

Ross brings his fist up as if to pound again but drops it.

“I’m so tired,” he says, “I just want to sleep.”

I nod numbly, arms crossed in front of me as I lean against the wall and gaze out of the smudged window.

Ross begins to rant. “I just want to sleep, but I can’t, because there’s a pool of blood in the bed, some horrifying fungus in the shower, and for the love of everything holy, what is that smell?”

By the time he finishes, his face is flushed.

“I know. It’s like… something died in the walls, and now there’s… mold or something growing on the corpse,” I suggest, doing nothing to lighten the morose mood.

Ross nods, rubbing his face with his hands. “It’s worse than that trash can smell outside our apartment on Delancey during the summer.”

He lets out a laugh that sounds a little delirious.

I’m too tired to chuckle along at the memory and simply nod in agreement. Those trash cans were the worst, and of course the trucks came to empty them at like five in the morning on what seemed like every day of the week.

“Oh man, I could probably fall asleep standing up right now if I closed my eyes,” I whine.

“I’d probably feel the same, but I have to go to the bathroom,” Ross says, gritting his teeth. “I can’t hold it any longer.”

My head shoots up, my eyes going wide. Ross nods.

“I know, I know. But I’m about to burst. Wish me luck,” he says before heading for the bathroom door.

He tugs on the handle, the door giving way roughly with a loud squeak. I see Ross straighten for a moment, mouth open like he wants to say something, but then he simply lets out a weary breath and steps inside.

I hear the toilet flush and then the sink running as he washes his hands. I’m looking back out the window again, but there’s no change. Of course there’s no change.

Ross comes out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shirt to dry them.

“That feels so much better. I’ve been holding that since, like, Albany,” he says.

He starts across the room to join me when suddenly, my ears perk up.

“Did you hear that?” I ask, my voice tightening.

“What? Hear what?” Ross rushes to the window, clearly hopeful of seeing someone.

“Shhh—just be quiet,” I say, holding up a hand.

Did my tired brain just hallucinate that? For a moment there, while Ross was walking across the room, I could’ve sworn I heard…

There.

This time, Ross hears it too. Screaming.

Faint, so faint, but it’s unmistakeable. That’s a human being, screaming.

Screaming like their life depends on it.

FIVE

Ross’s wide eyes meet mine.

“Is that…” he asks, his voice trailing off as I nod hurriedly.

A woman screaming, no doubt about it. But where is it coming from? Both of us turn to the window, breath fogging the glass as we peer out into the night.

I lick my lips, straining my eyes to try and make out anything past the dull glow of the motel sign, but it’s impossible. There’s just darkness.

She’s gone silent again, leaving the two of us standing there unsure of what to do next.

“I can’t tell where it was coming from,” Ross says, “maybe we⁠—”

There it is again.

And this time, now that I’m listening for it, I can get a better sense of where it’s coming from. It doesn’t sound like it’s coming from outside at all. Almost like it’s behind us.

Both of us move across the room to the back wall, but the sound cuts off again. I swallow hard, trying to orient myself to the origin of her last scream in my mind.

Was it from the woods somewhere behind us? It’s so dark back there, we’d never find her. That is, if we can even get out of this room.

I wait to hear another shout. Both of us are frozen in place with our breaths held, terrified of obscuring the faint noise with our breathing. We wait, but it doesn’t come.

After a moment Ross takes a step forward.

“Could it⁠—”

My palm snaps up as she screams again. Closing my eyes, I strain my hearing, focusing as hard as I can for a few seconds before my eyes open again.

My cheeks flush as realization dawns.

“You think it’s coming from one of the rooms around us?” Ross asks. He’s pressing his cheek and ear against one wall, trying to figure it out.

I’m afraid I already have.

My head shakes as I catch my husband’s eyes. My throat is so tight, I can barely speak.

“I think—I think it's coming from… beneath us.”

SIX

We stare at each other for a long moment, eyes wide.

Ross blinks. Another distant-sounding scream—definitely a woman’s voice. While she screams, Ross drops to the floor, lowering his head close to the carpet.

He starts nodding. “You’re right. It’s definitely coming from beneath us.”

“What is going on here?” he asks, his voice hushed.

My heart slams against my ribcage as the screaming cuts off again. My mind is beginning to spiral, terrifying questions once again flooding my thoughts.

What is going on at this motel? Why is there a woman beneath the floor? And why is she screaming?

Swiping a hand through my hair, I drop down into a squat beside Ross. The woman hasn’t screamed again, the night falling silent once more.

That almost makes me more afraid. My throat tightens as all the possible scenarios race through my mind.

We’ve got to figure out a way to help her. But how? Our phones have no service here, and we can’t get out of the room to contact the police another way.

I bring my head up, eyes darting around the room. If the sound is coming from beneath us, there has to be a way to get down there, right?

“Check for a secret door or something,” I tell Ross.

He pushes back to his feet and starts moving down one wall, pressing and knocking against it in search of anything out of order. I do the same with the wall on my side, running my hands over it, peering behind the small bedside table, but there’s nothing unusual.

The yellowed paint looks exactly the same, no lines or indentations that would denote some sort of latch or door.

Ross emerges from the bathroom shaking his head. “Nothing in there. Maybe there isn’t a way down from inside the room.”

Sitting back on my heels, I chew my lip and look around the room again. Is there really no way down?

The woman hasn’t screamed again, and that makes my heart pound. What if something terrible has happened to her down there?

Then another thought strikes me, one that sends a wave of chills running down my spine. What if the reason we can’t find any employees up here, is because they’re busy doing something to her down there?

“The screaming was so faint, like she’s really far away,” I say.

Ross shrugs as he paces back and forth. “Is it possible it was just the pipes or something?”

I flick my eyes up at him. “That was screaming. Someone is in trouble somewhere beneath us, and we’ve got to find a way to help her.”

Suddenly Ross stops pacing, causing me to look back up at him. But he isn’t looking at me anymore—he’s looking at the bed. My heart pounds. It’s the only spot we haven’t checked.

The bottom of the wooden bedframe is about a foot off the ground, leaving a pocket of space underneath it. Ross drops to his knees on one side as I crawl up beside the bed on the other.

It’s dark and dusty underneath. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone to use the flashlight.

Ross’s eyes glint in its glow as he squints a little against the harsh brightness. Then I angle the flashlight to the carpet.

Running the light down the length of the bed, I don’t see anything. Until my light falls on a spot directly beneath the center of the mattress.

It looks like the carpet has been cut, the edges fraying up a little. Ross sees it at the same time I do, and our gazes rise to connect under the frame.

“There’s something there. Let’s move this bed,” he says, straightening up to push against the frame.

His face fills with color as he tries to shift it to no avail. Seeing him struggle, I jump in, throwing my weight against the leg of the bed frame. It doesn’t budge an inch, even with both of us pushing with everything we have.

“Is the thing nailed to the floor or something?” I ask in frustration.

Eventually I tire out, spots dancing across my vision as I suck down some air.

“Man. Thing must weigh a thousand pounds,” Ross says breathlessly.

He sits back, shoulders rising and falling. I look underneath the bed again with the flashlight, studying the cut corners of fabric. Then I eyeball the frame itself, and the foot of space between it and the carpet.

I might be able to slide underneath.

“I think I can get under there,” I say, nodding rapidly.

It’s going to be a squeeze, but I have to find what’s under there. I have to figure out what’s going on at this motel.

Just as I’m about to wedge myself underneath the bed, Ross speaks up.

“Wait a minute,” he says, and I pause.

He pushes back to his feet, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. “We can’t move the frame, but what about the mattress?”

“Good call.”

Both of us grab hold of the edges and heave, and the mattress comes up without resistance.

“Over here,” Ross says, jaw clenched from the exertion, “against the wall.”

I push it toward him and he props it so that it’s leaning against the wall, sheets still on with the patchwork quilt piled on the floor.

All that’s left now is the wooden support slats lying across the space where the mattress was, but that isn’t what causes my breath to catch in my throat.

Both of us stare down in stunned silence, hearts pounding.

Between the slats, a trapdoor is clearly visible beneath the bed frame, its edges lined by the cut carpet.

SEVEN

I swallow hard as Ross points.

“That’s a door. A trapdoor. There’s a door in the floor.”

Both of us are trying to process this in real time, minds moving a mile a minute. A trapdoor in the floor, and a woman screaming in the middle of the night. Not an employee in sight.

I smear the sweat from my forehead with my hand. “We have to go down there.”

Ross licks his lips. Then he steps toward the bed and starts removing the slats, which rest on the interior edges of the wooden frame. He tosses the wood aside carelessly.

At the moment, we’ve got bigger concerns than a bill for destroying motel property.

With the slats out of the way, we can step inside the frame itself and get easy access to the trapdoor. I squat beside it, running my finger along the surface. The door is made of metal of some kind and doesn’t seem to have any sort of lock or handle.

That can only mean one thing.

“It’s only supposed to be opened from the inside,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat.

A picture is starting to form in my mind. The door, its hidden placement in the room. I picture it swinging inward, allowing someone access to the motel room from underneath the bed.

Goosebumps rise across my skin as I think of the woman’s screams again.

What a nightmare. We’ve got to get through this door, now. Ross squats beside me, assessing it. He nods silently, coming to the same conclusion I did.

Putting a boot on it, I test the strength of the metal and its hinges. While the door doesn’t give way, a small creak from the hinges brings our eyes up to meet.

“Switch with me,” I say breathlessly, stepping aside so Ross can put his weight on it.

He’s much bigger than I am, almost a foot taller. Plus, he’s gained a few pounds since we left the Army, so he weighs a lot more, too.

He stands on the door, which lets out another creak, louder this time. With a nod to himself, he jumps up into the air and comes down again on top of the door, landing with a heavy bang. The hinges whine again, but don’t give.

Ross jumps once more, putting almost a foot of air between him and the ground before his boots come back down. This time, he sails right through with a loud crunch, almost disappearing from view before jamming out his arms at the last second to stop his fall.

Startled by the sudden movement, I watch helplessly for a half-second before coming back online and diving forward to help him.

Ross grunts with pain and effort as he fights to get back up, held only by his shoulder joints. I slide my hands underneath an arm and pull upward with everything I have, spots dancing across my vision again as I strain and use my bodyweight to help hoist him.

Ross’s arms flail for a second, but then he gets a hand on the bedframe and is able to drag himself out. Both of us collapse backwards, panting hard to recover.

“Thanks,” Ross says, leaning his head back until it touches the top of the frame.

I slide out from behind him and crawl back to the opening in the floor, though I reel back a moment later as the air coming from within it hits me like a punch.

It’s rank, moldy, acrid. The full-strength version of what we were smelling before.

“That explains the smell,” Ross says, wrinkling his nose.

Coughing, I can only nod as he joins me at the opening.

Both of us peer down into the dark square. I can’t make out anything more than a couple of rusty ladder bars descending into the inky abyss. My fingers fumble around in my pocket for my phone again.

Once I’ve got it in hand, I cast the light down into the hole.

It reveals about ten feet of the shaft before darkness takes over again. The ladder’s lower rungs are swallowed by it completely.

“How deep do you think it goes?” Ross wonders aloud.

“I don’t know,” I breathe, my stomach trembling.

All I do know is there’s a woman down there somewhere, and she needs help. After another brief glance at Ross, I slide my legs into the opening and start turning to get my feet onto the ladder.

“Woah woah woah,” he says, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going down,” I say.

Ross shakes his head. “I don’t think so. We don’t know what is down there. Or who. And if anyone’s going down, it’s gonna be me.”

“I believe the phrase is ladies first, isn’t it?”

My feet are already on the ladder rungs, and I start down before Ross has a chance to argue any further.

The rusty bars of the ladder are cold, and the chill of iron bites into my palms as I descend, the tip of my boot searching blindly before finding each next rung. I move quickly, heart pulsing in my ears as I descend.

Ross is right behind me, his boots shaking loose a shower of rust that decorates my face and hair as I go lower and lower.

After a few more rungs, the light from the motel room is no more than a small square above us.

“At the bottom?” Ross calls down to me.

I’m about to say no, but then my bootheel contacts something solid.

“Yeah, I’m there,” I tell him.

Stepping gingerly off the lowest rung, I move away from it a bit into the darkness and pull out my phone for light. After a moment, Ross steps off the ladder and comes to stand beside me.

He glances back up at the square of light overhead.

“We’ve gotta be twenty feet down.”

“At least.” I turn away, roving with the flashlight over the space around us. It’s rough rock, dark and slightly slick-looking.

“It’s some sort of cavern,” I say.

He nods beside me. “Caverns like these are all over the state. Some of them can go on for miles.”

He’s got his phone out now, too, the light switching on and providing another small beam of comfort. I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the Swiss Army knife again, the tiny blade held out like the tip of a miniature spear as we start forward.

We have to crouch a little in places as we go due to the changing contours of the rock ceiling. The space feels dank, the air stale. It tastes odd in my throat.

As I move the light down toward our feet, a faint pathway can be made out on the stone floor. Someone’s been using this tunnel for a long time. I run my tongue over my teeth and then start moving again.

Our flashlights do little to cut through the absolute wall of black that stands in front us, slowing our pace considerably as we inch forward. My boot steps on something that makes a crunching sound, spiking my heartrate as I clamp down harder on the knife in my hand.

Snapping my head down, I see what I stepped on. A chip bag. My breath whooshes out as my hands tingle.

“Hello?” I hiss in a hushed tone. “Is anyone there?”

I hear Ross suck in a breath beside me, bracing himself, but there’s no response. I take another step forward, eyes darting down and around me to make sure I don’t step on anything else and give our position away.

“Maybe we need to douse the light,” Ross whispers.

“What if we⁠—”

A moan from somewhere in front of us cuts him off. My heart leaps up into my throat, my pulse going into overdrive. Someone’s down here, closeby.

Glancing back toward Ross’s sweat-soaked face first, I pick up my pace, our boots tripping over each other a little as we continue.

We’re in the tunnel for only a few more seconds before it opens up into a larger space. I know this because of how much different the air feels, and the way our voices sound. The ceiling has lifted, and the rock walls surrounding us are farther apart now.

Tilting my phone upward, I can barely see the ceiling, it’s so much higher. Then I turn the light forward again and move it around me in a semi-circle, searching for the walls.

How big is this chamber? There’s no telling really. Beyond the flashlight there’s just… darkness.

Ross lets out a breath of air beside me, his nose wrinkling again. The smell is much stronger in this area, and it’s even more pungent than before. Absolutely rank.

Where did that groan come from? I’m thinking of the screaming we heard earlier. The woman has to be down here.

Why isn’t she screaming anymore?

We start moving forward again. This flashlight can’t cut through much of the darkness. She could be right in front of us for all we know or off to either side or maybe even in an adjoining cavern we can’t see. Who knows how far sound travels down here?

“It would be really easy to get lost down here,” Ross says. “How far are we gonna go?”

He has a good point. Our cell phone batteries won’t last forever, and if we lose those lights, we could wander around in this cavern forever trying to find the ladder again.

“I’m not sure. A little further I think. We can’t quit yet.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, during which he’s no doubt deciding whether to agree or persuade me to turn around.

And then, from somewhere we can’t see, a voice calls out weakly.

“... hello?”

EIGHT

My flashlight snaps toward the direction of the voice.

“Hello? Where are you?” I call out, sounding breathless and squinting as hard as I can into the inky blackness.

Ross takes a step away from me, flashing his light back and forth.

“Over here,” the woman says from somewhere off to our left.

I turn that way and start moving toward her voice, stumbling over myself in my haste to get to her. The stone floor of the cavern is rough and uneven.

Something comes into the view of my light, and I gasp as I move close enough to make it out clearly.

A cage. A large, metal dog cage. It’s empty.

My stomach drops, and my mouth goes dry.

Ross sees it too now, his eyes darting to meet mine. We move forward with even more urgency, coming across two more dog cages.

Only these aren’t empty. These have people inside.

The one closest to me holds a woman. Her hair is matted and dirty. As she looks toward us, her eyes glisten with the flashlight’s reflection.

Her hands and feet are bound, the rope tight enough to draw blood. She’s slumped against the front of the cage.

In the cage beside her is a man who’s also bound, but he has a gag as well. Ross and I rush forward. My hands are trembling as I feel around and find the lock on the woman’s cage.

“Please help me,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.

I squat down in front of her, trying to get a better look at the lock.

“Of course. Of course we will,” I say.

The smell is unbelievable. I fight to suppress a gag as I try to figure out the best way to free her. I don’t see any keys lying around. Whoever locked these people in here probably has them with them.

“I’m gonna get you out, just hold on,” I promise. “Ross?”

He’s squatting in a similar position in front of the man’s cage. That one’s also locked, and I can tell Ross is just as rattled as I am.

Turning to me with wild eyes, he says, “Try to find a rock. Maybe we can break the lock.”

I scour the floor around us for any loose bits of rock, hovering the light over the cavern floor as I spin in a close circle.

There. My fingers dart out and close around a large chunk. It’s rough and cold and hopefully heavy enough to do the job.

“Here,” I say, giving it to Ross.

“Get to the back,” Ross instructs the woman as he positions himself in front of her cage.

Lifting the rock overhead, he brings it down with all his might against the lock. The first blow doesn’t knock it free, so he tries again, and then again. On the fourth strike, the lock flies off, skittering into the darkness as Ross lets out a grunt.

The door swings open. She’s free.

“Here, take my hand,” I say to the woman, extending it into the cage.

Ross starts on the other cage’s lock, while the man watches him wide-eyed from behind the bars and his mouth-gag.

The woman starts to crawl forward, and I help her out. Even once she’s free of the cage, she doesn’t stand. She remains on the floor in the hunched over position she had to maintain to fit in the confines of the dog crate.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, my eyes tearing up.

This is so awful. So horrible, I can hardly stand it. This doesn’t seem real.

The woman tilts her neck to look up at me, as if it’s painful to move. “I’ve been in that tight cage for days, I—I can’t straighten my back.”

I drop back down to my knees beside her.

“Let me help you,” I say, putting a hand on her shoulder and helping to gently straighten her up.

She winces, letting out a hiss, but slowly begins to unfold from her twisted position.

Ross is helping the man out of his cage. The poor guy is whimpering through his gag.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says once Ross pulls the cloth from his mouth.

The man sucks in a large breath, eyes shut tight as he reaches up and massages his neck.

I can’t stop staring at the two of them. My mind just refuses to believe this is really happening, even as it all plays out in front of us.

Then the woman groans again, and it snaps me out of my stupor. There’s a job to be done here. We’re right back on the battlefield, and this is no time to fall apart.

Decisions need to be made, and actions need to be taken. Quickly.

Already I can feel my mind shifting back into rational planning mode.

Lowering my knife blade to the woman’s binds, I start cutting through the rope. She lets out an audible sigh of relief once I’m finally through it and her hands are free.

“Thank you,” she says, the words coming out in one breath.

I go to work on the rope around her feet before handing off the knife to Ross.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.“We heard you screaming from our motel room. How long have you been down here?”

The woman shakes her head, tears streaming down her soot-covered face. “I don’t know. I—it’s been days. I screamed and screamed until I couldn’t make a sound anymore, I was so exhausted. I can’t remember the last time I ate or had water.”

“We’ll get you some water,” I say to her.

“I was able to get my gag off, but no one could hear me,” she says.

“We heard the water rushing through the pipes when you flushed the toilet, that’s how we knew someone was finally up there,” the man adds, his voice raw and hoarse.

“So few people come through here, we started thinking we might die down here,” he finishes.

The woman bursts into tears again, her chin falling into her chest.

I listen wordlessly, just trying to register it all. Human beings kept in cages in the pitch dark. From the look and smell of them, these people haven’t been allowed out to use the bathroom, and according to the woman, they haven’t been fed.

Who could have done this to them? Who would even do such a thing?

“Come on,” I say, “we’re getting you out of here, right now.”

I help the woman get to her feet, which she’s able to do thankfully, though she’s very shaky. Moving slowly and gingerly, she straightens up, holding her arms out to keep her balance.

“Thank you so much,” she says again.

“What are your names? I’m Ross, and this is my wife, Jenna,” Ross says as he pulls the man’s arm over his shoulder to help support his weight.

“I’m Bill, this is Patricia,” Bill says.

“What happened?” I ask. “How on earth did you get down here?”

Bill shakes his head. “We were driving upstate but had to stop for the night. This was the only place we came across. Seemed fine enough.”

“So there was someone here at the desk when you checked in?” I ask.

“No. It was the strangest thing… we didn’t see anyone, but we were so tired. We had to go behind the counter and just take a key,” he says.

My eyes rise to connect with Ross’s. Exactly the same situation that happened with us.

“And then what happened?” Ross asks.

His voice is tight, anxious. I’m sure he’s doing the same thing I am right now—picturing the two of us in Bill and Patricia’s place. Trapped in filthy cages in the dark.

Bill grunts a baffled sort of sound. “We went to bed. This weird noise woke me up, and then the last thing I see is some masked guy standing over us. When I came to, we were down here.”

My heart thuds in my chest as I help Patricia through the cavern toward the tunnel leading back to our room.

She’s still sobbing quietly, making my mid-section twist in sympathy for her. I can’t even imagine the horror she’s been through the past couple days. The utter terror.

Bound and gagged, locked in a dog cage twenty feet below the ground in complete and total darkness.

Even just thinking about it makes my throat dry up and ache. Finally, my flashlight’s shaky glow reveals the entrance to the small tunnel that brought us here. I tell Patricia to watch her head as we step into it.

A few minutes later, the four of us are standing at the base of the ladder, looking up at the small square of light overhead.

“This time, I go first,” Ross says, stepping forward to leave no room for discussion.

He grabs hold of the ladder rungs and starts up, moving quickly to ascend back to the motel room. I watch him climb, flashlight trained on his back to give him extra visibility. Bill coughs beside me as Patricia rubs her arms.

“All clear up here,” he shouts down, giving us the okay to start climbing.

“Okay, Patricia, why don’t you go up first,” I say and help guide her hands to a bar.

She nods shakily. I’m a little worried she’s too weak to climb due to hunger and fatigue, but she manages, moving slowly up the rungs as Ross makes his way partially back down to help her.

Bill is up next, nodding to me as he puts his arms up and prepares to make the climb. He lets out a grunt as he takes the first rung, but holds on. Once he’s about halfway up, I shine the flashlight back down the tunnel again.

Nothing down here. At least, I think. A shudder passes through me.

Then I turn and start climbing up myself. My arms burn just a little as I go, but I make quick work of the ladder.

As my head emerges from the trapdoor opening, Ross leans in and offers a hand to help pull me up. He lifts me out, and then all four of us are back above ground.

“Why don’t you guys head into the bathroom and get cleaned up?” Ross says to Bill.

The man nods and leads his wife toward the back of the motel room, the bathroom door closing behind them.

The moment it shuts, Ross turns to me. He’s got a hard look on his face I haven’t seen in years. He’s in battle mode, same as me.

“This is not good,” he says, rubbing his chin.

“They’ve been down there for days. There’s water in the sink, but if we don’t get them some food soon, they’re not going to last much longer,” he finishes.

I nod in agreement. Patricia in particular looks like she’s ready to tip over at any moment.

“Did you hear what he said about the man in the mask standing over the bed? That’s what I’m really worried about,” I say. “Because whoever that was is going to come back at some point.”

Ross nods silently. “We need to find a way out of this motel room. Right now.”

I glance over at the window. “What about that?”

“I already checked it,” Ross reminds me. “It doesn’t open, remember?”

“Maybe we could break it?”

Ross nods and moves toward it, unplugging the floor lamp and turning it base-side-up. We’re way past the point of worrying about damage charges.

“Step back,” he cautions before drawing the lamp back over one shoulder like a baseball bat and then bringing it around to crash the base of it against the glass.

The window doesn’t break, but the old brass lamp does. The circular base drops to the floor, separating from the pole.

“Piece of crap,” Ross mutters. Then he tries ramming the end of the pole into the center of the window like a spear.

Nothing. Not even a crack after repeated tries. I could tell the double-paned window was thick, but this is ridiculous.

I look around the room for something else we could use to try to break it.

The bathroom door creaks open, drawing both our gazes. Patricia and Bill shuffle out, faces still damp from washing them. Their clothes are filthy, but we don’t have any luggage, so I can’t even offer them something to change into.

Bill directs his wife to sit down in the fabric chair in the corner. I almost want to say something, offer a word of warning, but then decide to forget about it. At this point, a dirty chair is the least of our concerns.

Right now, I’m more worried about getting all of us out of this room in one piece.

Bill said someone came into the room once they’d gone to sleep.

Is that why Ross and I are still standing? We never went to bed or even turned out the lights. I swallow around the lump in my throat as I picture how things could’ve gone so much differently, had it not been for the bloodstain on the sheets.

And Patricia’s screams.

Still, it was close. As tired as we were, I was just about ready to put up with the blood and the filth in the interest of just getting some sleep.

Now, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep again.

After making sure his wife is situated, Bill steps over to us.

He starts speaking in a hushed tone.

“I’m really worried about her. She’s completely exhausted. She’s really weak,” he says quietly.

Ross chews his lip. “We need to get her out of here. We all need to get out of here. Listen—when you were in the room before, was the door locked from the outside?”

Bill glances at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Ross walks over and jiggles the door handle, demonstrating that the door is locked.

“Were you trapped in here, like we were?”

Bill’s eyebrows press together. “I… I don’t know. We didn’t try the door once we were in the room. But, we weren’t in this room.”

That gets my attention. Ross’s too. He turns away from the door to look back at Bill.

“You didn’t stay in this room? Room 7?”

Bill shakes his head. “No, we were… Room 5, I think. It looks different.”

Ross’s eyes snap to mine. We both know what that means, and my pulse starts racing at all the implications of it.

There’s more than one tunnel beneath this motel.

NINE

I work my tongue over my molars as I consider this new information.

It’s bizarre, but it makes sense in a way. If whoever runs this place is into kidnapping and caging their customers, a series of underground tunnels connecting all the rooms to that large chamber where we found Patricia and Bill would give them access to every guest who checks in.

Access to every room.

A shiver runs from my scalp down the back of my body.

The good news, if you can even call it that, is that it’ll do the same for us—if we can find those other tunnels.

Ross seems to reach the same thought at the same time. In spite of the circumstances, he looks a bit excited.

“What?” Bill asks us, apparently reading the hope on our faces.

“If you were in Room 5, and we’re in Room 7 but still found you, that means the tunnels connect to other rooms,” Ross explains. “We might be able to use them to find a room without a locked door.”

Bill starts nodding. “Okay, okay. Good. How will we know where we’re going?”

“Did you see anything when you were being taken down to the cavern?” Ross asks.

“I was out cold, only woke up when I was already in the cage. And it’s so dark down there, I couldn’t even see my own hand in front of my face,” he says, his head dropping.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s okay. We can do this. We can, alright?”

Bill nods shakily.

I glance back toward Patricia.

“What about her? I don’t think she’s in good enough shape to climb back down there again.”

Ross nods. “I agree. Let’s let her rest for now.”

“But what if they come back? I don’t want to leave her alone up here,” I say.

“I’ll stay with her,” Bill says. “I’m feeling pretty weak myself.”

“Make sure she gets some more water,” I say. “You too. And keep a look out through the window in case anyone comes along.”

Silently I add, or in case the kidnapper comes back.

Bill must be reading my mind because he says, “I’ll give a yell down the tunnel shaft if I see anyone or anything.”

“Alright, that works. So we’ll head back down. I’ve got my phone for light, but the battery is starting to get low. You don’t happen to have your phone, do you?” Ross asks Bill, who shakes his head.

“Nothing. Neither of us had our phone or wallet when we woke up. I don’t know where they went, if they’re still in our room or what,” he says.

“That’s okay, we’ll manage then,” Ross says.

Then he steps back over to the trapdoor in the center of the bedframe.

“Patricia? Jenna and I are going to head back down there and try to find a way out, okay? Bill’s going to stay with you. Call out if you need anything.”

Patricia doesn’t immediately react, just continues to rock back and forth in the chair as she rubs her arms. I’ve seen similar behavior in the aftermath of battle. A trauma response.

Bill steps over to stand beside her and gives us a nod. “We’ll be okay. Get going.”

Ross looks back toward me. “You ready?”

“Let’s go,” I say, my chest tight and my belly vibrating.

I don’t want to leave Patricia and Bill alone in such a vulnerable state, but what choice do we have?

We can’t do them any good in the room, and we can’t just sit here and wait. We’ve got to find a way out of here, or none of us are going to be okay.

Ross and I will just have to search as quickly as possible.

I’m aware of every moment ticking by since I heard about the man in the mask. Sooner or later, he’s going to come back, either through that locked room door or up through the tunnel opening. We absolutely need to find a way out before then, or…

I don’t even want to think about it, the feelings are too horrible and threaten to overwhelm me.

One step at a time, follow the plan. Let’s just find the ladders to the other rooms.

I’m certain they’re there. Ross starts down our ladder, and I follow him into the opening as soon as his head is clear.

“Let us know if you see anything, okay?” I remind Bill, who nods again.

Then I continue down the ladder after Ross, descending back into the stale darkness that waits below.

Ross has his light up for me as I come down so I don’t miss a step. The damp, musty smell of the air down here hits me once again in a sickening wave. I shake myself, blinking.

Once we’re both off the ladder, I pull out my own phone and hold it up.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” Ross says in a hushed tone.

Together we start off down the tunnel, this time moving in the opposite direction from the way we went before toward the cavern. The ceiling is lower going this way. In spots it even scrapes against my hunched back as we scurry along.

Regardless, we move with a lot more haste than we did before. The clock is ticking. Who knows when the man in the mask will return?

It takes only a few seconds of walking before Ross’s light catches on the rusty bars of another ladder.

“There,” he says in a triumphant tone, reaching the ladder and straightening to a standing position now that there’s more head room.

“Let’s get up there and check the door,” he says.

He starts to climb up, but I put my hand on his thigh to stop him.

“You go. I’ll look for another ladder. It’ll be a lot faster if we’re each checking the rooms.”

He lets out a rush of air, clearly wanting to debate the issue, but I guess he realizes I’m right because he doesn’t argue. Speed is a priority when it comes to finding an escape route.

“Fine. But be careful,” he says. “Scream if you see anything—and I do mean anything.”

I pat his leg and then continue down the tunnel, flashlight up against the wall in search of any more ladder bars.

It doesn’t take long to find some. I remember from the outside view that the rooms stretching from the central motel office are all in a straight line. Looks like each one of them has a shaft running down into this tunnel.

I put a hand and one foot on the bars, preparing to climb. A quick look in both directions reveals nothing but emptiness.

Now that Ross is gone, it’s like the air itself is pressing against me, trapping me. I jam my phone into my mouth, flashlight side up so that I’ll be able to climb with both hands free and still see where I’m going.

There’s no open hatch at the top this time to serve as a skylight.

A panicked noise escapes my lips as I step onto the next bar up, and it jiggles under my body weight. I freeze for a second, but it holds, and I keep climbing until I reach the top.

There’s the trapdoor in the ceiling, just above me now. My flashlight illuminates the simple slide lock keeping the door closed.

Reaching up with a trembling hand, I slide it over, and bend to the side to keep from getting hit in the head as the door swings open toward me.

The light from my flashlight now illuminates the pale wooden bed slats overhead. The room itself is dark.

I wait at the top of the ladder for a moment, listening hard to try and make out any sounds from the room, but it’s silent.

With my phone still in my mouth, I crawl out of the trapdoor opening and toward the open space at the edge of the bedframe. It’s cramped under here, and thinking of the weight of the mattress and bedframe above makes me sweat a little, but I manage to crawl out from underneath the bed.

Once I’m clear of it, I take a big breath and get to my feet. My skin and hair are damp with sweat.

The room’s layout is similar to ours, with the only major difference being the color of the patchwork quilt and the position of the fabric chair in the corner. I move quickly to the door, pulse heightening as I approach it.

In my mind, I picture myself gripping the doorknob, twisting it, feeling the fresh air on my face, laughing in relief.

The vision shatters as the knob remains rigid.

Locked. I twist hard, trying to force it both ways before giving up. Locked, same as our room. I try the connecting doors on either side of the room, but those don’t budge either.

So, no luck in this room. I take it Ross hasn’t had any luck himself, or I would’ve heard him shouting from the tunnel in excitement.

Not wanting to waste any more time, I slide myself back underneath the bedframe and into the opening in the floor. Once I’ve got the rungs under the heels of my boots, I start back down the ladder.

I hear something in the tunnel as I descend. I think it’s Ross, moving around in the room ahead of me. At least I hope it’s him.

Dropping to the stony floor, I shuffle down the tunnel to the next ladder and pause at its foot. The hatch is open.

“Anything?” I call up.

“No,” he calls back down, his voice slightly muffled by the mattress over the hole.

I continue on in search of the next ladder, trying to not let disappointment deter me. Already my mind is racing to the worst possible option, even though I don’t want to go there.

What if all the rooms are locked? Then we’ll truly be trapped here, sitting ducks for that sicko who caged Bill and Patricia.

With some effort, I shove those unhelpful thoughts out of my mind and push myself to move faster, reaching the next ladder and shooting up it as quickly as I can climb.

It goes on that way for the next few rooms. Ross and I run into each other at various points, him headed up or me headed down or the other way around. Each time we cross paths, we look at each other with expectant gazes, and each time our hopes are dashed by a grim head-shake.

We spend almost half an hour climbing up and down ladders, checking doors. I’m soaked in sweat, but there isn’t any time to rest. With each consecutive locked room, my hope of eventually finding an unlocked door crumbles further and further.

It’s exhausting both physically and mentally, straining to get up there, wondering if this could be the room, only to find it locked the same as all the others.

The room I’m currently checking proves to be no better than the ones that came before it. The door handle doesn’t budge an inch, leaving me jerking wildly on it out of frustration. Even then, nothing. I slap the door with my hand.

“Come on,” I hiss.

Throwing a fit is not going to save us, so after another second, I gather myself and then squat back down to wedge myself beneath the bed once more. As I back down the ladder, I hear Ross walking past the opening in the tunnel underneath me.

“Nope,” I tell him before he even asks.

He nods silently, and then we both hold up our flashlights, intending to keep going down the tunnel, only to find there’s not much of it left to search.

We’ve ended up at the end of the tunnel together, our flashlights shining on the rocky wall in silence.

Only one ladder remains. The last room. Our last hope.

Ross closes his eyes for a moment before he grabs hold of the rungs and starts up. I wait at the bottom of the ladder, my stomach in knots. He disappears through the opening, and the sounds of him scooting out from underneath the bed drift down into the tunnel before I hear the thuds of his footsteps moving across the floor overhead.

The blood rushes to my ears as my heart thumps heavily in my chest.

Please just be unlocked. Please.

When I hear his muffled cursing from above, my eyes open again. It’s locked. We’re trapped.

My forehead comes down to rest against the back of my arm. Sweat drips freely from my armpits as I remain half-crouched in the humid, stuffy tunnel. There’s nothing to do now I guess but go back to Bill and Patricia.

I don’t know what we can try next, but there has to be something, and I won’t give up.

We can’t give up. Doing so would mean submitting ourselves to the same fate that befell Bill and Patricia. I can’t let that happen.

We still don’t know what the kidnapper planned on doing with the other couple, and I don’t want to be around to find out. We have got to find a way to get back outside.

Ross appears overhead again, shining his flashlight down toward me.

“It’s locked,” he says.

I nod numbly.

He lets out a sigh and then spins around to start climbing down again.

His shoes squeak on the bars. I shift over so that he’ll have space to join me in the tunnel. He jumps off the ladder and turns to face me.

“What’s the plan now?” he asks.

Shaking my head, I start back down the tunnel toward our room.

“We’re just going to—” I start to say, but a faraway sound cuts me off.

“Did you hear that?” Ross asks, his voice picking up a note of alarm.

I lean forward. “It sounded like…”

There it is again. It’s shouting.

Bill is shouting, desperately screaming for us to get back.

TEN

I hurtle myself forward through the tunnel, running as fast as I can in such a hunched-over position.

Something is wrong. Bill continues to shout, his voice muffled by all the rock between us and him.

The urgency in his tone has my pulse hitting jackhammer levels as I run as fast as I can in the darkness, panting hard.

Sharp rocks jut out and scrape my back in the low spots, sending fiery pain arcing out across my skin. I just grit my teeth and keep going, swiping madly at the damp strands of hair that flap across my face.

Is the masked man back? Nightmare visions fill my head as I picture him standing over Bill and Patricia again, taking them for good this time. It makes me move even faster, my flashlight beam bobbing wildly in front of me as I rush toward the base of our ladder.

“What is it? What’s going on?” I shout once I see it and we’re close enough to be heard through the Room 7 shaft.

The air is oppressively thick down here, hanging around me like a blanket. Ross runs just behind me, panting, his flashlight beam bouncing around my ankles.

“Hurry—there’s a car outside,” Bill shouts back.

I freeze for a second, his words hitting me. Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Ross’s wide eyes. My heart feels almost like it’s about to burst out of my chest.

We need to be up there. Now. Crossing the last part of the tunnel, I reach the ladder that leads to our room—at least, I think it’s the right ladder. Bill’s turned off the light up there, making everything pitch-black.

But his voice is the clearest it’s been, so I start hauling myself up with all the strength and speed I have left.

My thoughts are moving a mile a minute while Bill continues to shout excitedly above us. After all the false hopes and disappointments, is something finally going right?

As I climb, my mind is working through the possibilities.

Option one—we’re saved. Whoever is in that car out there can help us escape the motel room. The hope of this reality is enough to make elation course through my veins.

Then there’s the second option. It’s him.

The masked man is back, and he’s here to finish us off.

I reach the top rung, and Bill helps to pull me out, stumbling a little as he backs into the bedframe in the dark. A minute later, Ross climbs out of the hole behind me, sucking oxygen from the exertion of our hunched over sprint down the tunnel.

“I—I turned the lights out the moment I saw the car,” Bill says, his shoulders rising and falling. “Just in case it’s him. Didn’t want him to know we’re in here.”

“Where? Where is it?” Ross asks breathlessly.

Bill points out the window. “Right out front.”

Ross and I rush toward the drawn curtains, carefully peeking through the opening on the sides instead of pulling them apart.

I’m trying to get my breathing back under control as my eyes flick across the parking lot, searching.

There—a small sedan sits at the edge of the gravel drive, just off the road. It appears to be idling. All of us fall silent for a moment as we watch the car, hearts in our throats.

“I can’t tell who it is,” Bill whispers beside me. “Could be him, could be a total stranger. Who knows?”

“Why aren’t they getting out?” I hiss to Ross, who shakes his head wordlessly.

The car is far enough away that I can’t make out much more than the head of someone in the driver’s seat, his silhouette illuminated by the sedan’s dashboard glow.

I’m torn about what we should do. If we turn on the lights and try to get his attention, he might be able to help us get out of here.

But if it isn’t just a random traveler, and is in fact the person who attacked Bill and Patricia, we could be signing our death warrant by letting him know we’re here.

“I don’t think it’s him,” Ross says finally.

Bill whips his head over to him. “How do you know?”

Ross licks his lips. “He would’ve come for us by now, right? Why is he just waiting out there?”

All of us snap our heads back toward the window as the driver’s side door suddenly opens, and the driver gets out. I duck down a little, heart pounding so hard it’s actually blurring my vision.

Is he coming this way? Is he carrying a weapon?

The man strides forward, a dark t-shirt and jeans making him blend with the shadows cast by the motel’s outdoor lighting. It looks like he’s coming right for us.

We don’t have anything to defend ourselves with. If he’s got a gun, we’re finished.

But the man changes his angle and walks toward the motel lobby.

What does that mean? He could be just another weary late-night driver looking to get off the road and rest his head for the night.

Or he could be going to grab something from inside the office. A weapon. There was a gun hanging on the wall behind the desk.

Either way, we’re running out of time. We need to reach a decision on what to do before it’s too late. Get his attention— or keep hiding?

“I say we turn on the lights,” Ross says, glancing between Bill and me.

Bill wrings his hands between us but doesn’t offer an opinion one way or the other.

“Did you get a look at the masked man’s body type?” I ask him. “Could that be the guy?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Bill says, stumbling over his words. He sounds nervous and apologetic at the same time.

“It was so dark, and I—I wasn’t⁠—”

The glass door to the office swings open, and the man emerges from the lobby into the night once more. Looking back toward the idling car, he starts walking toward it and away from the motel.

He’s just a guy looking for a room. He didn’t see anyone working the desk and has decided to keep moving down the road.

As we should’ve done.

In a heartbeat I’m back on my feet, flipping on the light switch as Ross throws open the curtains. But the man has his back to us as he jogs back to his waiting car.

“Over here,” Ross shouts, pounding against the glass window with all his might.

I’m jumping and waving my arms back and forth, silently begging the man to turn around.

Please. We need you to see us.

“Help us,” Bill shouts, but it’s all to no avail.

Despite the light now pouring out of the room and our frantic movements, the man continues toward the car, his back to us.

He’s completely oblivious to the nightmare unfolding inside the motel room behind him.

I pound on the front wall, the door, whatever I can get my hands on. The door must be reinforced, because it’s like the man can’t hear us at all.

We can’t give up. All of our voices rise in pitch as we feel the opportunity for rescue slipping away.

I send a silent scream through space and time, trying to make the man turn around through the sheer force of my will.

Just turn—see us here, I’m begging you—just turn around.

The farther from us he walks, the more I can feel the hope draining away.

This is our chance—who knows when someone else might drive by? It’s the wee hours of the morning now, and this road wasn’t busy even in the daylight.

One by one, each of us stops our yelling and pounding until Ross is the only one still banging on the window.

We watch in a dull silence as the car pulls away, its red taillights disappearing into the night. My head tips forward to rest against the wall beneath the window. I want to cry.

“That was our chance,” Ross says over my head, his sigh long and defeated.

Moving across the room, I go to the wall with the TV and slide my back down it, settling into a squat position.

Patricia, who hasn’t said a word since we got her out of the cage, watches me as tears slip silently down her face.

I blow out a breath, fighting back tears myself. I know crying won’t help, so I try to keep my mind focused on solutions and planning instead of letting it fall into total despair.

Bill blinks hard, standing with his hands on his hips as he recovers from the exertion of shouting and pounding.

“We can’t give up,” I say to everyone in general.

“Listen, we don’t know when the masked man will be back, but he isn’t here yet,” I say. “So that means we still have a chance, you know? We can still find a way out of here.”

We have to.

After a second, Ross lifts his head and looks around at all of us. “Jenna’s right. There’s got to be something else we can do. We just need to think.”

I tip my head back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to get my mind shifted back into strategy mode. I’m physically exhausted, and the mental strain of all of this has me so keyed up that a crash is inevitable.

For now though, I need to be sharp.

Think, Jenna. There’s a way out of here.

Ross and Bill are talking together in low voices as I close my eyes and go inward. I try to tune them out, relax, and just let my mind go quiet and blank, leaving plenty of empty, open space for an idea to present itself.

“—only a matter of time,” Bill is saying.

“Food might be an even bigger issue. When was the last time you or Patricia ate anything?” Ross asks.

I squeeze my eyes closed a little more tightly to really focus inward.

Relax, Jenna. There’s an answer. You can do this.

So many thoughts fight for my attention, all of it swirling together into a cocktail of chaos that doesn’t leave a single neuron available for creative thinking.

But there’s got to be a way out of this. Something else we can try. I won’t let myself give in.

Then it hits me. An image drops into my mind in a flash.

“I might have thought of a way out of here,” I say, and all the eyes in the room snap to me.

ELEVEN

Ross and Bill both watch me, waiting expectantly.

“The lobby,” I say. “We just watched that guy out there open the door. It’s unlocked.”

Ross’s head turns to look out the window. He nods as he realizes what I’m saying is true.

“But how do we get there?” Bill asks.

“Maybe there’s another tunnel that leads to it. We only searched the one connecting the rooms—we haven’t searched that cavern at all,” I say, my mind moving a mile a minute. “There could be more tunnels.”

Ross bobs his head up and down enthusiastically. “Right. It would make sense for there to be one connected to the office. There’s no way this guy is entering the tunnels through the rooms themselves… that would be too suspicious.”

He stops pacing and looks at me, face slick with sweat, but animated. “It could work.”

“I think it’s worth a shot,” I reply.

Bill nods too, rubbing his hands together. We’ve got to move quickly, though. That car showing up out of the blue really set an alarm in my mind that the masked man could return at any time.

We need to be back in that tunnel right now, looking as hard and as fast as we can for another ladder—one leading up to the motel office.

Ross and I head for the trapdoor again. I pull my phone out of my pocket, my heart pounding as I get a look at the battery charge left in it.

I’m at only eighteen percent remaining. Continually using the flashlight as much as I have been has almost completely drained it.

We’ve got no other choice but to keep going, though. If this theory pans out, this is the way we save ourselves—Bill and Patricia, too.

Ross orients himself to start heading down the ladder as Bill comes over to us.

“Want me to help search? I can do it,” he says.

I shake my head.

“Not without a light. Besides, we need you here on lookout. Turn out the lights again, okay? Just in case the masked man comes back. And let us know if you see or hear anything,” I say to him.

He walks away to flip the wall switch as Ross starts down the ladder.

“We’ll be quick as we can with the⁠—”

A metallic snap pierces the air as Ross’s voice cuts off, and he drops out of sight. One second he’s there, the next, gone.

One of the ladder rungs must have broken.

A moment later, the sickening thump of his body striking the hard rock at the bottom of the ladder fills my ears. There was a crunch there, too, wet and thick.

I’m at the edge of the hole in a second, screaming his name down into the endless darkness.

“Ross! Are you okay? Ross, answer me.”

TWELVE

My chest is so tight I can hardly get a breath in.

“Ross,” I scream again, my face hot, my entire body shaking.

He’s not responding. Why isn’t he responding?

That wet crunch sound plays over and over in my mind, turning my stomach and sending my fear thoughts into overdrive. Was it his neck? His skull?

I’m on the ladder and heading down, heart pumping.

“Ross, are you okay?” I say, moving as quickly as I can while keeping my grip tight and one eye on the ladder rungs.

My foot stretches down to find one of them is completely missing, having fallen off completely when Ross put his weight on it.

A groan fills the space beneath me. As pitiful as it sounds, I’m awash in relief.

He’s alive.

“Ross? Can you hear me?” I shout downwards, descending the ladder as fast as I can safely go.

Bill is peering into the hole from above, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Be careful, Jenna,” he warns.

I ignore him, all my focus trained on my husband as I reach the bottom of the ladder.

“Ross, where are you, honey? Please say something,” I beg in a tight, frightened voice.

If he fell on his head…

“Over here,” I hear him say as I fumble for my flashlight.

The stuffy cavern is illuminated in the glow as it turns on. Ross is a few feet from the ladder, clutching his leg.

My stomach shrinks into a knot when I see the odd angle of his foot. Ankles aren’t supposed to bend like that.

Ross lets out a hiss as I squat down beside him, touching the injured leg lightly before looking the rest of him over.

“I’m okay,” he manages, his jaw pulsing. “Just the ankle. I think it’s broken.”

There’s no think about it—it’s definitely broken.

“Is he okay?” Bill shouts down.

“I’m fine,” Ross hollers back up.

He’s not fine. His foot is turned completely in the wrong direction. I let out a short breath and hover the flashlight over his leg for a better look.

“It’s broken, right?” Ross asks me, his eyes flicking over my face for my reaction.

All I can do is nod. He looks away, cursing.

“Figured. That rung just completely gave out underneath me,” he says, kicking at the loose metal with his other foot and then groaning in pain.

The rung skitters off down the tunnel. Sucking in a quick breath, I look him in the eyes.

“You’re going to be fine. Let’s just get you back up top. Can you stand?”

With me supporting half his weight, Ross gets himself upright again. The two of us grunt and shuffle our way back over to the ladder.

Ross puts his hands on a bar and pulls himself up onto the first rung. I’ve got my hands up behind him, just in case something goes wrong, though I’m not sure I could stop his fall. My eyes keep moving down to his shattered ankle.

Ross isn’t complaining, but I know it’s got to be excruciating. His injured foot flops like a ragdoll’s as he hoists himself up the next rung with only the power of his arms and hands. As he painstakingly makes his way up rung by rung, one straining pull and hop at a time, I stay right behind him. I won’t let him fall again.

It takes some time, but Ross manages the climb.

Once he’s close enough to the top, Bill leans over into the hole and helps pull him out from above. Ross lets out another hiss as he collapses with his back on the bed frame.

Bill sees the ankle just as I’m climbing out of the hole.

“Oh my—” he starts, but Ross waves him off.

“I’ve seen worse. I’ll be okay.”

Right away, I start looking for something we can use to make a splint. I want to get that leg stabilized as soon as possible. Twisted as his foot is, the circulation could be getting cut off.

There—bed slats. Stepping over to the discarded pile of them, I prop up one of the slats then deliver a kick to the center of the wood piece.

It cracks, and another kick succeeds in breaking off a section about two feet long. Another few kicks, and I’ve got a second piece a foot and a half long.

Bill is propping up Ross’s leg as I come back over with the boards in hand.

“Get me that cord from the phone,” I say to Bill, who nods and steps away when I take over holding the leg.

I hear him yanking the cord out of the back of the telephone as Ross licks his lips, which are trembling. His face is pale and slick with sweat. I can tell just from his eyes how much it hurts.

“I’m sorry for all the movement. We’ve got to stabilize this,” I tell him.

He nods quickly, sucking in a short burst of oxygen to prepare himself.

“Here,” Bill says over my shoulder, handing me the telephone cord.

With Ross’s ankle up on my knees, I wrap the cord around the two boards, securing one on either side of his leg.

Once I’ve got the boards in place, it’s time to tie off the makeshift splint. I flick my eyes over to Ross, who’s watching me.

“Do it,” he hisses.

I pull the cord as tight as I can, eliciting another wince from my husband. He shuts his eyes and squeezes his fists, but he doesn’t cry out. Once the cord is tight, I knot it off and the splint is done.

I move his leg gently over to rest it atop the bedframe so it’s elevated. Ross is breathing in short, audible gasps.

Bill looks on from beside me, hands on top of his head.

“It’s done now,” I tell him. “Hard part’s done.”

My arm moves across my forehead to swipe away the sweat.

“We’re okay,” I say to Ross. “We’re good. You’re fine.”

He just nods. “I know, I know. But the tunnels⁠—”

My head shakes back and forth. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll find a way out, I promise.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bill says, stepping closer.

My mouth opens to protest, but Bill stops me with a raised hand between us.

“You said it yourself, we don’t know when the guy’s gonna be back. We need to search as quickly as possible for the tunnel to the office, and two sets of eyes are faster than one. I feel better now, I can do it.”

There’s a determination in his voice that makes me nod in agreement. He’s right.

With Ross out of the picture, he’s the only other semi-functioning body available. Patricia is still basically catatonic, rocking on the chair, her eyes blinking rapidly as she looks toward the hole.

“Take my phone for light,” Ross says, his sweaty fingers diving into his pocket.

Bill takes the phone from him and flips it over to check the flashlight before straightening back up.

“I’m just gonna check on my wife,” he says.

“You okay?” I ask Ross again when Bill walks away.

He nods yes, but I’ve known him long enough to tell when he’s hurting. I know he’s just putting on a brave face for me and Bill and Patricia, because we don’t need anyone else freaking out right now.

How you act influences others, and Ross knows that. So, for the sake of the group, he’s somehow managing to keep what must be agonizing pain contained.

I reach over and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“We’re going to get out of this,” I tell him, and I mean it.

Then I push back to my feet and head over to the hole. Bill is just separating from Patricia, who’s curling into herself as she shakes her head. She obviously doesn’t want him to go, but we don’t have any other choice.

“Stay safe, okay? For Jason,” Bill says to her before turning around to me.

“Our son,” he says to me quietly.

“He’s with family, thankfully. I’m just… I’m trying to keep her grounded, you know? I’m getting really worried about her.”

I nod in understanding. It was a good idea, I think, to bring up their son. He’s giving her a reason to fight, to keep going.

“Let’s find this tunnel,” I say to him, meeting his eyes in a moment of shared determination.

“Let’s do it.” His chin bobs up and down. I can practically see his mind working to shift from concern over his wife to the task at hand.

I hope he can do it. I need him present. Both of us will have to search as carefully as we can. Otherwise, none of us are going to make it through this, plain and simple.

No. Not going to happen. We’re going to get out of here. We have to.

I lead the way down the ladder, being extra careful now after Ross’s mishap. He’s watching us from his spot against the bedframe, but it’s not like he’d be able to do much if something happened.

He’s out of commission, as much as I know that must hurt him. He and I have always done everything together, even from the very beginning. But tonight, that’s not an option. We don’t have any choice but to separate for a while.

Our gazes meet as I go down, Ross’s mouth pulled into a hard line as he watches me from under troubled brows.

Then I’m below the lip of the opening, and it’s just me, the ladder rungs, and the tight tunnel walls that press in around me. I take each step nice and slow, only putting weight on the next bar once I have a strong grip on another.

Once at the bottom, I pull my phone out of my pocket and flick on the flashlight app.

The battery is dangerously low at this point. I’ve got only fifteen percent left, which doesn’t leave me much time at all to search.

I hear Bill struggling down the ladder, but he’s making it.

“Watch for the missing rung,” I warn him.

“Yep,” he says above me.

When he reaches the bottom, I step aside to make space for him. He fumbles with Ross’s phone for a moment before getting the flashlight turned on, and the harsh white light scalds my eyeballs before I turn away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bill says.

Blinking away the spots in my vision, I shake off his apology. We need to get going. No time to waste.

Together we move through the tunnel in the direction of the cavern. When we reach it, Bill’s breath catches in his throat. I can’t imagine the terrible feelings that must be running through him at this moment, being back in this place.

Before we came along, he probably thought he and his wife would never get out of it alive.

“You all right?” I ask over my shoulder.

I hear him draw a shuddering breath. “Let’s just get this over with. Want me to go this way?”

“Yes, that’s good. I’ll go the opposite way. Find the outer wall and follow it around, look for tunnel openings or ladder bars. I’ll do the same on my side,” I tell him.

He heads off away from me as I step forward with my light up.

The darkness down here is truly oppressive. There’s absolutely zero source of light outside of the small beam of my flashlight, and even that seems like merely a pinprick.

The density of the darkness around me makes it feel as though I’m walking along the ocean floor in a pointless search for the end of it. Or maybe in outer space where the dark silence stretches on into eternity.

I move forward in slow steps, and just when it feels like the darkness is going to be endless, finally my light reflects off of something shiny.

The cavern wall. I step forward and place my hand against it. The rough rock is slightly cool to the touch, and a bit damp against my fingertips. Underground aquifers, I guess.

Keeping one hand on the wall, I start walking parallel to it with my light held in front of me. Hopefully I’ll be able to run across any offshoot tunnels before the phone battery runs out.

The wall is so uneven and choppy that each peak and valley fools me, appearing to be the opening to some sort of passageway. With each new “discovery,” my heart leaps and then crashes when I find the wall just continues.

More than once I think I might have found a ladder shaft, only for it to be nothing more than a naturally-formed crevice a couple feet deep.

Where’s Bill now, I wonder?

Turning to check behind me, I spot his dot of light quite a distance away. This cavern truly is huge.

I’d guess he’s almost fifty yards away from me at this point, little more than a white speck in the darkness. I focus again on my wall and try to pick up the pace, ever cognizant of my draining phone battery.

There’s just nothing but ragged rock, but I have to keep going. There’s a chance that⁠—

I land hard on my elbows and forearms, the rock floor suddenly in my face as I let out a hiss of pain. Spots dance across my vision, and my elbows are screaming from the sudden painful impact of my fall.

“Jenna? What happened?” I hear Bill call from a distance.

“I’m okay, just tripped,” I call back to him.

“Do you need⁠—”

“Just keep looking,” I shout, cutting him off.

Cut-up elbows and bruised forearms are not my biggest concern right now. Pulling myself back to my feet, I feel again for the wall, getting my hand on it.

My elbows throb, and I can feel blood trickling down my skin, but I push past it. There’s plenty of wall left that needs to be searched.

I flash the light over another break in the wall, but once again find it’s just a natural hollow. Nothing but shiny black rock, so I keep moving.

My sweaty hair keeps falling in front of my face, but I don’t have a headband or hair tie. Forcing my fingers through the matted mess, I push it back out of my eyes and keep going.

I can see Bill’s light out of the corner of my eye now as he rounds the wall toward me. Soon enough, we’ll meet in the middle. He hasn’t found anything yet, and neither have I. We’re running out of wall, and that knowledge makes my stomach tighten.

Bill continues to get closer and closer, until he’s just a few feet in front of me. I continue to keep my hand to the wall, passing the light over it, but then I’m standing in front of Bill.

He shakes his head. “Nothing?”

“No,” I reply, fighting a swell of panic.

I really thought we’d find something down here. Another tunnel, a path out. Once again, my hopes are dashed.

This time, I’m having trouble finding a reason to keep my spirits up. The doors upstairs don’t open. The windows are apparently bulletproof.

And the tunnels down here are just another dead end.

“Come on, let’s head back,” I say to Bill, struggling to keep my voice even.

He follows after me as I move back toward the tunnel to our room. I’m not sure what I’m going to say to Ross. This was our last hope of escape, and now we have nothing.

No way out.

Ross desperately needs medical attention for his ankle. While I was able to immobilize it, I’m no doctor. He needs qualified medical professionals to fix it, and soon.

But with our failure down here, I don’t see how that’s going to be possible.

Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever get out of here at all.

THIRTEEN

My arms feel heavy as I lift them overhead to climb back up the ladder.

In fact, my hands and legs feel as though they weigh a hundred pounds each. It’s all the hours of being awake combined with the exertion and emotion finally catching up to me.

It could be held off with pure adrenaline for a while there, but the bill has come due.

Now that our last plan has failed, there’s not much else to hope for. All the weight of our situation has come crashing down on me, leaving me absolutely exhausted.

It’s been over a day since I’ve slept, easily twelve hours since I’ve eaten. My hands tremble as I pull myself up the next rung, emerging a moment later into the dark room.

Ross sits up, his eyes glistening. “Anything?”

I can only shake my head. His face falls.

He knows as well as I do what that means.

“So what do we do now?” Bill asks me after he climbs out of the shaft.

He rubs his hands together to brush off the rust. I bite my lip.

For the first time all night… I’m not sure what to do next. What to try. We’ve exhausted every option I could think of, leaving me with nothing.

“I… I don’t know,” is all I can manage.

Bill looks at me. “But⁠—”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know,” I say, snapping at him a little.

I know the moment the words leave my mouth I shouldn’t have said them that way, but I’m just so tired. My filter is gone, and so is my strength. I’m running on fumes right now, fighting with all my might not to give in to utter despair.

Bill seems to sense this and steps away, heading back toward Patricia to check on her.

“Listen, why don’t you try and grab some sleep? I can keep watch,” Ross says.

I start to shake my head. “We have to keep going, we have to⁠—”

“You’re wiped. We’ve been awake almost thirty hours at this point. Your brain needs to rest, or you won’t be able to think straight, and then we’re all in trouble,” Ross says.

He might have a point. I’m not going to be much help in this state. The dark thoughts in my mind feel stronger than ever, my willpower almost completely depleted.

“Go ahead,” Ross urges with a nod, “I’ve got this. If anything happens, I’ll wake you.”

I make my way over to the wall and slide down it as he pushes himself back to his one good foot. While I was gone, he must have dragged one of the intact bed slats over, because he’s using it now for a crutch.

Leaning on it and hopping, he makes his way to the window and grabs onto the windowsill for extra support.

“Are you sure you should stand like that?” I ask, worried.

“No problem. Get some rack, soldier. That’s an order.”

I chuckle weakly and finally relent. “Wake me in a couple of hours, I’ll take the next watch.”

Ross gives me a thumbs up.

As much as I want to stay awake, I know that Ross is right. I’m no good to anyone scattered-brained and weak. My body and mind need rest.

So with my back against the wall, staring into the darkness of the room, I finally allow myself to drift off. It doesn’t take long to go under completely.

“Jen.”

My eyes snap open at the sound of my name. I lurch upright, blinking hard.

“What? What is it?” I hiss, my head whipping around the room in search of the masked man.

Ross has his hand on my shoulder. “It’s almost light.”

I blink again, rubbing a hand across my face as I push to my feet. A glance toward the back of the room shows Bill and Patricia both passed out.

“How long was I out?” I ask as I fumble for my phone.

“About three hours,” Ross tells me.

I scoff. “I told you to wake me in two.”

He shrugs. “You needed the sleep.”

He isn’t wrong there. Even with only three hours of rest, I feel a whole lot better. My body is sore from the awkward sleeping position, but that hollowed-out feeling of total exhaustion is no longer present. I look down at Ross’s makeshift splint.

“How’s the leg?” I ask.

He grimaces. “Not gonna lie, it hurts. But I can live with it.”

“Just get some rest, okay? I’ll keep an eye on things,” I tell him, helping him down to the floor.

He looks about ready to fall asleep on his feet. As I head to the window, Ross’s chin drops down into his chest. Just like that, he’s out. I peer around the edge of the curtain to the world outside.

The sky above is no longer pitch-black, but instead lightening by the moment. Before too much longer, the sun will be up overhead. I chew my lip as I scan the gravel parking lot and motel around us.

Looks the same as it did last night. The masked man didn’t come for us. It doesn’t give me much relief, because I know he’s still out there, and we’re still in here.

Clearly, he’s waiting for something.

The question is… what?

There are so many unanswered questions in my mind. About this place and the people running it. Right now, that isn’t what I should be focusing on. I need to be thinking about what we’re going to do when he does return.

Besides my Swiss Army knife, we don’t have anything to defend ourselves. I look behind me, eyes roving over the still-dark motel room. There’s the mattress up against the wall, the sheets puddled beneath it.

The remains of the bed slats are propped against the connecting door to Room 6. I suppose we could break off pieces of wood from that, and I might be able to whittle one down to a point using my knife. That would at least give us something sharp to defend ourselves with.

On that note… I look toward the back of the room, where the closet door stands across from the bathroom. Given the age of this room, there’s a chance they’ve got a wooden dowel rod to hang clothes off of in there.

As quietly as I can, I cross the room, careful not to wake Ross as he slumbers beside me. My footsteps are quick and quiet as I walk over the crusty carpet. I pass Patricia and Bill, both of whom are still out.

Patricia is slumped over in the chair, where she’s remained since we pulled her out of the pit down below. My heart aches for her as I look over her face in the dark.

She seems at peace right now, but I know there will be nightmares for years to come—if we all live that long. Bill is sleeping on the carpeted floor beside the chair, arms curled around himself as he lies in the fetal position.

I reach the closet and appraise the painted shutter doors enclosing it. With one hand around a knob, I tug lightly, wincing a little as the hinged door squeaks along the track ever–so–slightly. The opening is just wide enough to allow me to peer inside.

Sure enough, there’s a wooden hanging rod stretching across the width of the closet, painted white. It’s chipped and scuffed, but it’ll do. I slide the door a bit further then reach in and lift the rod off the supports, sliding it out carefully so as to make as little noise as possible.

With the rod in hand, I make my way back across the room to the window.

I’ll use the light of the coming dawn to work by and save what remains of my phone battery. Sitting on the floor close to the window, I balance the long piece of wood in my lap and pull out my little knife.

Right as I’m about to begin, I hear sounds of movement from outside, and everything freezes.

He’s here.

FOURTEEN

I lurch to my feet and stare hard out into the dim morning, entire body rigid.

Is it the masked man?

My eyes flick back and forth across the available field of view, searching for the source of the sounds I heard.

It was some sort of scraping, like a shoe against rock. Someone walking over the gravel?

My heart is in my throat, making it impossible to swallow. I don’t see anyone out there, but that doesn’t mean much. He could be crouching right below the window.

Another second passes, and I decide I can’t wait any longer to alert the rest of the room.

Turning, I open my mouth to shout for Ross when something moves out of the corner of my eye. I whirl back around to the window and see a small orange fox trotting across the gravel, its head low.

My shoulders lower, and I loosen my grip on the knife.

The little creature moves forward, glancing back toward our room for a moment before continuing on, out of sight. I lean my forehead against the glass and take a shuddering breath.

My entire body is shaking right now from pure adrenaline, my fight or flight response having been fully activated.

It spurs me to work even faster on the whittling, knowing that next time, it’ll be a much, much worse type of animal.

By the time the sun is high in the sky, I’ve got the end of the rod carved into a sharp spike.

A beam of light cuts through the curtains and illuminates a sliver of the room, falling across Ross’s face. He wakes with a groan, his eyebrows squeezing together before he hisses and reaches for his leg.

“Wow, that hurts,” he croaks in his first-thing-in-the-morning-voice.

Last night he had the adrenaline from the fall to dull the pain a bit, but that is long gone by now, leaving him to deal with the full brunt of the break without so much as an aspirin.

I get up and go to him, squatting beside him and running my hand over his hair in a soothing gesture.

“Sorry,” I say softly. “I wish I could fix it.”

“What time is it?” he asks me.

“Just after eight-thirty,” I reply. “Let me get you some water.”

Grabbing my nearly empty water bottle off the TV stand, I take it to the bathroom for a refill.

There’s a groan from within the pipes as the faucet turns on, but a moment later the water starts flowing. I fill it to the top and take it back to Ross.

He drinks almost the entire bottle before handing it back to me, nodding his thanks.

“See anything outside?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Just a fox. He wasn’t too interested in rescuing us. Hey, I made us something.”

Going back to my spot near the window, I lift the DIY spear to show him.

“Been busy,” he says, wincing again as he shifts to push himself up higher against the wall.

Instantly I’m rushing forward to help him. It’s killing me to see him in this state, obviously in pain, and be unable to do a thing to help him.

A sudden snort comes from the back of the room as Bill pushes off the carpet to a sitting position. He’s rubbing his neck.

“So we made it through the night,” he says, his voice sounding groggy.

I guess it is cause for celebration but honestly, besides the light outside, not much about our situation has changed. We’re still stuck in this motel room, only now we’re even hungrier.

My stomach rumbles as I glance out the window again, the spear in my hand. It’s that gnawing type of hunger that makes my hands tremble slightly. I do my best to push it out of mind, knowing that Bill and Patricia are even worse off.

He reaches for his stomach as he stumbles toward us. “I’m so hungry.”

I nod. “Me too. We should drink more water to fill our stomachs.”

I hand him the nearly-empty plastic water bottle. He takes it and disappears into the bathroom, coming out a few seconds later with it full from the tap.

He takes a drink as he walks then offers it to me.

“Thanks for keeping watch, you guys. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay awake,” he says.

The cool water rushes down my throat, sending a tingle through my chest as I shut my eyes. The liquid helps me to feel a little better, taking the bite out of the hunger for the time being.

After a few more swallows, I pass the bottle back to Bill.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you were able to get a little rest,” I tell him.

Bill tips the bottle up, slurping down several large swallows. He takes the rest of it over to the chair and shakes Patricia on the shoulder to wake her.

“I wonder where he is,” he says, lowering the bottle to her mouth. “They came for me and Pat the first night.”

The woman takes a reluctant sip then closes her eyes again, trying to go back to sleep.

Ross shifts himself again. “I’ve been thinking about that. I might have an idea of what he’s planning.”

Both Bill and I look at him.

“Maybe the plan is to starve us a bit,” he says.

“Think about it—why come after us when we’re alert and able-bodied? After days without food, we’ll be so weak you could push us over with one finger.”

Bill pales beside me and looks down at the top of his wife’s head.

“At the rate we’re going, he’ll be able to do whatever he wants to us soon enough. Right now, I think he probably assumes we’re not going down without a fight, and he’d be right. So maybe he’s waiting until the fight leaves us altogether,” Ross finishes.

It would make sense. After all, we’re not going anywhere. We’re trapped in here. All the guy has to do is wait. Just have patience, and we’ll all be weak as kittens.

I’m tough, but enough days without food, and I’ll barely be able to lift my head up, let alone fend off an attacker. It’s an utterly terrifying realization, but the more I think about it, the more it sounds like what must be going on.

It also says something about the attacker, that he doesn’t think he can take us on in a fair fight.

When he took Bill and Patricia, they were unconscious and defenseless. Apparently this sicko isn’t equipped to handle people who can fight back.

Coward. Whoever he is.

“Lemme fill this up again,” Bill says, heading for the bathroom again.

His knees pop as he walks away. I put out my hand to Ross’s forearm. I want so badly to be able to give him some encouragement, some hope, but right now I’m really struggling to cope with the theory he’s just suggested. I’m afraid he’s exactly right.

It only gets worse a moment later when Bill comes bursting out of the bathroom, shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

“The faucet—there’s no water coming out. I think they might’ve shut off the water, too.”

FIFTEEN

I twist the faucet handle back and forth, but there’s nothing.

I stare for a second, then try the other one, the hot tap this time. There’s a guttural sound from within the pipes, but nothing comes out. The sink is empty, the faucet dormant as my heart pounds in horror.

This can’t be happening. I go to the shower and try it as well. Same story.

My hand comes up to my forehead as I take a step back, suddenly feeling light-headed.

“They must’ve shut it off sometime last night. What we drank this morning was just the leftover water in the pipes,” I say, my words coming out shakily.

Bill stands beside me, looking ashen. I take the water bottle from him with a trembling hand, shaking it then peering inside to see how much we have left.

Less than half. Probably no more than twelve ounces of water. For four people.

Ross stares at me as I stumble out of the bathroom. My throat is dry, as if the sudden realization that plentiful water is no longer available has suddenly made me all the more thirsty.

Seeing the look on my face, he runs a hand through his hair and blows out a loud breath. He was right, so right. The guy wants us so weak we’re barely more than a pulse.

Before long, he’ll get his wish. I walk back over to Ross and sink down beside him, feeling slightly numb as this new problem stacks on top of all the others.

This one, however, is different.

This isn’t just a low phone battery or an injured ankle. We are talking about the difference between living and dying now, and the scale is going to tip soon.

The human body does not do well for long without water.

Ross blinks hard beside me.

“Okay. Okay,” he says, bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth and biting on it like he frequently does when trying to think through a problem.

“We’ll figure this out.”

I know he’s just trying to grapple with the situation, say something, anything. He doesn’t know what to say or what to do. Neither do I.

Bill comes back over, his eyes darting between us.

“How long do we have you think?” he asks.

Ross shuts his eyes as he exhales. “A human can go about three days without water… but that’s talking about someone who’s already hydrated. Us, I’d say much less. Maybe a day and a half? Two days, if we’re lucky.”

He curses under his breath, bringing his hands up to cover his face. This is bad. Really, really bad.

My eyes sting as the urge to cry rises up within me, but I stifle it. I literally can’t afford to lose the fluids.

Ross slams his fist into the carpeted floor beside him. “Why won’t he just come for us already?”

He knows why. He’s just frustrated, desperate. Like I am. Over the next day, it’s going to get a whole lot worse.

Bill and Patricia said they hadn’t had any water or food in days when we found them down there, which means they’ll last even less time than us. Bill seems to understand it too. He sits and leans back against Patricia’s chair, his eyes staring blankly at the floor.

My hand pushes the hair from my face again as I fight for mental clarity in all this. The dark thoughts are almost overpowering at this point—so many obstacles to overcome, each worse than the last.

All of us are trying to come to terms with the reality of the situation, and it’s hard.

Hard because I don’t want to die. I am not ready to die.

I just can’t give up. I don’t think I know how.

We have to keep fighting. I refuse to go down like this, slowly wasting away in this room until we’re so emaciated the masked man can carry us out of here without a fight.

There’s got to be something else we can try, something else we can do.

I think about our search below ground, and how it yielded nothing. An inkling of an idea starts to form in my tired mind, making me look up at Bill and Ross.

“I want to search the cavern again,” I tell them.

Both turn to look at me.

“But shouldn’t you conserve your energy?” Ross asks.

“We didn’t find anything,” Bill reminds me.

“That was because we only searched around the perimeter. What if it’s the same as up here—the hole is in the floor? We never checked the ceiling above us, only the outer walls,” I say.

“Are you saying you think there might be a ladder in the center of the cavern somewhere? Leading up to the office?” Bill asks.

“I don’t know, but honestly, it’s our only hope. I can’t think of anything else left to try, so I think it’s worth the shot while we still have some energy.”

Ross frowns. “I don’t know…” he trails off.

Clearly, he’s not too taken with the idea. He might think such a waste of my energy is a fool’s errand, and he may be right. Or, maybe not.

“I think it’s worth the risk. I mean, what’s the alternative? Take no risk, and continue wasting away up here—or gamble on the chance, however slim it might be, that there’s still a way out?”

After another second, Ross relents. “You’re right. It’s worth a shot at least, since I suppose we’re in trouble whether you find something or not.”

Bill looks between the two of us. “So what are we doing? Are we going down there or not?”

“You don’t have to go,” I say. “If you want to stay and be with your wife, I completely understand.”

He shakes me off. “No, I’m going with you. I can’t just sit around up here waiting for someone to come take us. If there’s a way out, I want to find it.”

Okay then, it’s settled. We’re going to make one final, last-ditch effort to get ourselves out of here. It’s the only chance we have.

Bill steps over to Patricia to tell her he’s going down again. Ross reaches out and grabs my hand.

“Just… be safe,” Ross says.

“I love you. We are not going to die here,” I tell him in a fierce tone.

I sound convincing, and I think it’s because I’m also trying to convince myself. But I have to believe there’s still a way out of this. I can’t just give in and give myself over to the monster who runs this motel.

If there’s any chance, even the slimmest, most insane odds, I’ve got to take them.

“Take the spear,” I say, handing the sharpened closet rod to Ross.

I give him a soft kiss, then I stand back up, casting one last look out through the split in the curtains.

Outside, the sun is shining brightly overhead. It’s a gorgeous day, one of those perfect end of summer days that serve as a final farewell to the season.

I think about what life is like in New York City right now. Everyone in Central Park, lounging on the grass, reading, talking. Laughing.

The rest of the world has no idea of the horror taking place in this little unassuming motel off the highway in the middle of nowhere. Neither did I, before yesterday.

Yesterday, my biggest concern was our furniture getting scuffed during transit. It seemed like a huge issue at the time. That seems truly laughable now.

It’s a lesson I thought I’d already learned during my time in the Army. The first couple of years after I got out, it was like I was impenetrable.

Nothing that happened in everyday life fazed me, even “problems” that had been points of stress before I signed up. After what I’d seen and been through, I understood that little inconveniences truly weren’t that big of a deal.

There were much bigger problems around the world that people had to deal with. I’d seen that firsthand.

But then the years passed, and that feeling began to fade. Little things began to bother me more, and honestly, I started taking each day for granted.

I had it so good, and I didn’t even realize it.

Like even yesterday, even with all the hassles of the move-out, we had the freedom to just… go wherever we wanted.

We weren’t locked in a tiny room and left to starve to death. I had water to drink, and fresh air on my face. When the very necessities of life are suddenly taken from you, your priorities shift.

As I move toward the hole in the floor, I make a promise to myself that if we ever get out of here, I won’t take a single thing for granted ever again.

Bill and I prepare to head down again. There’s a dull ache in my muscles from all the exertion yesterday, and the lack of sleep doesn’t help. I’m trembling slightly too—my body’s way of telling me it could use some fuel. But there isn’t any, so I’m just going to have to deal with it as best I can.

Bill is looking shaky, too. I make sure to head down the ladder first, taking each step with careful precision. We cannot afford another injury, not now.

Once I get to the bottom, I remain by the ladder to keep an eye on Bill as he descends.

He’s breathing heavily and moving slowly. My mouth feels dry, and I’m starting to get a headache around my temples. Is it the first stages of dehydration or just the hunger?.

Bill makes it to the bottom, and I study his face.

“You good?”

He straightens up and then nods.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and nudge my chin in a signal for him to do the same. Only when I tap the screen, nothing happens. It remains dark.

The phone is completely dead.

My blood cools. Please tell me Ross’s phone still has some charge.

Bill pulls it out and then… the screen lights up. I let out a shaky breath as he taps the flashlight on.

Looks like we’re going to have to search together. We won’t be able to cover as much ground as quickly that way, but we literally don’t have another choice.

“We’ll just have to spread out as much as we can,” I tell him.

He and I start down the tunnel toward the main cavern. There isn’t another sound besides our shaking breaths as we move forward, hunched over occasionally when necessary.

I’m keenly aware of every calorie I’m burning with each step but keep pushing on. There has to be some sort of passageway to the office from down here, it just wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Bill and I just have to find it before we run out of energy.

The tunnel opens into the main cavern space, and we both straighten up. As Bill moves the flashlight up to the ceiling, I estimate it’s about ten feet high, at least where we currently stand.

Bill looks at me for a moment, and I gesture for us to go forward. I get about five or six feet away from him where I can still reliably make out the ceiling overhead. This is about as good as we’re going to get.

Together we start forward, necks craned upwards to try and spot anything out of the ordinary overhead. It’s slow going. This isn’t like walking down the aisle at the grocery store.

My feet keep tripping over the jagged floor of the cavern. Every step forward is another potential for a misstep and a twisted ankle.

Bill is faring similarly well, the light whisking from the ceiling once as he nearly topples over. He throws out a quick apology and rights himself.

If only we could just see down here, all of this could be over in seconds. If a passageway exists, we’d notice it immediately and be good to go.

Instead, we’re stuck moving at a snail's pace, necks cramping and phone battery draining with each passing moment.

“Wait a minute,” Bill says from beside me, snapping my head over to him.

“I think⁠—”

His words are cut off by a surprised gurgle as he lurches forward. From what I can see, the ground suddenly drops a foot in elevation in front of him, and he goes down hard.

The phone goes down as well, clattering against the unforgiving rock at his feet.

All I can do is watch Bill hit the ground before the entire world is thrown into complete darkness.

Ross’s phone breaks on impact.

SIXTEEN

Bill cries out in pain as I stumble blindly toward him.

“Bill? Bill?” I call out, feeling in front of me with my hands.

I nearly trip myself, the toe of my boot catching on a rocky outcropping and tilting me forward before I manage to right myself.

“Over here,” Bill says before letting out a string of curses.

His voice sounds pretty close, but it’s now so dark in here that I literally cannot make out my own hands in front of my face. I follow the sounds of fabric rustling, practically on all fours so I don’t fall down myself.

“Hey, what was that? Are you guys okay?” Ross calls down from the motel room.

His voice sounds distant, having to travel down the shaft and tunnel before it gets to us in the cavern.

Blood rushes through my ears. If Bill is severely injured like Ross, I don’t know what I’ll do. There’s no way I’ll be able to get him back up the ladder, which means he’ll be trapped down here again.

I lick my dry lips and feel forward some more, hands coming down across jagged rock.

Based on his voice, he’s right in front of me, but I can’t see him. It’s like I’ve gone blind. Even when I place my hand just an inch from my face, there’s just… nothing.

An empty, crushing void all around us. We’ve been dipped in total darkness.

“Bill?”

“I’m okay, just split my knee open. Ground totally dropped out from underneath me,” he says with a grunt.

“Jenna? What’s happening down there?” Ross calls down again.

There’s a note of panic in his voice now. I tilt my head in the direction he’s calling from.

“We’re okay—Bill just tripped,” I shout.

“I lost the phone, too,” Bill says. “I’m sorry Jenna, I—I thought I saw a hole in the ceiling and got excited and lost track of my footing.”

My pulse quickens as my head snaps back toward him. “A hole? Where? Where was it?”

Bill hisses in pain again. “I’m pointing to it, but I don’t think you can see. Maybe two steps back from where I am? Looked like a hole anyway.”

Carefully I rise to my feet, Bill whimpering some more beside me.

My throat is completely dry as I look upwards, and my heart is thumping fast. I don’t know what I expect to happen here—it’s still entirely dark. All I can really do is just wave my hands around blindly overhead in the hopes of scraping against something, like a rope or a fire escape ladder or something. I’ve always hated being so short.

What if there is a ladder, and it’s right above us, just inches from my face, and I can’t see it or reach it?

The thought is tortuous, leaving me standing there for a few seconds, heart thudding heavily as I try frantically to figure out what I’m supposed to do next. Bill lets out another small groan from beside me, pulling my attention back down to him.

“Are you bleeding?” I ask, reaching out to try and locate him.

“I think so,” he says, sounding a little shaky. “My hands are all sticky. I think it has to be my blood.”

He’s right in front of me. My fingers graze his shoe as I work to figure out where his body is in relation to me.

If he did cut open his knee, that’s bound to cause a lot of bleeding. I’ve got to get it stopped. Reaching down, I grab the bottom hem of my shirt and pull hard until the fabric rips.

“What was that?” Bill cries out.

“My shirt,” I say, continuing to tear the bottom of my shirt off.

“For your knee to help stop the bleeding.”

I hope I’ve got enough cloth here to use as a makeshift wrap. With one hand, I feel my way up Bill’s leg until I reach his knee.

The warm blood pouring from his wound covers my hands as I work quickly to wrap it. Wrapping the bandage around the underside first, I draw it back over the top and tie it off, making it as tight as I can.

Bill lets out a little grunt, but doesn’t say anything more. He’s tough, or at least trying to be.

“There,” I say, sitting back. “That should hold for now.”

Another battlefield dressing.

Now both Ross and Bill need to be treated by a medical professional, but this is the best we can do for the moment.

With that taken care of, I push back to my feet and stare up into the darkness. I’ve got to figure out a way to view the ceiling. With my phone dead and Ross’s now broken, we don’t have another battery-powered device to use.

Bill and Patricia’s phones were taken by the masked man. They weren’t in room number five. There is a lamp up in our motel room, but obviously that needs to be plugged in to work.

I don’t know what to do now. Yet another obstacle in our path, another setback.

It seems like everything I try falls apart. And each time, someone ends up hurt. I’m out of ideas, energy, and patience. It’s almost like something is laughing at me now from the darkness.

Each time it feels as if we’ve made a tiny step forward, we fall back a hundred yards. Just one thing after another, unrelenting. All of it piles up, one failure on top of another, compounding and metastasizing until this whole situation is like a city-sized boulder of bad luck rolling down a hill.

I feel small, powerless. Everything I’ve tried has failed.

Now, to know that a ladder to the unlocked office might be just a couple feet away from me, but to have no way of finding it? It’s cruel.

On top of that, I have no idea where the tunnel back to the room is now. In all directions, there is just darkness.

Nothing but endless black, pressing in against my face and oozing into my pores. I’ve never been in an environment so devoid of light, of life.

Part of me wants to just curl up on this horrible cold rock floor and just cry myself to sleep. I’m so tired, I’m sure it wouldn’t take long.

The masked man would come, but I’d be too tired and defeated to care anymore.

The rational part of my brain snaps me out of that ridiculousness quickly. There is no happy ending unless I keep fighting.

Giving in is giving up, and I don’t give in. Ever.

So, with a short breath in, I set my shoulders and start feeling around on the ground around us.

“What are you doing?” Bill asks.

“I’m gonna find my way back to the ladder and get Ross to throw down that spear I carved. If I drag it across the ceiling, I’ll be able to tell if there are any holes,” I say.

“Smart,” Bill says. “How do you think of this stuff?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t know how to quit,” I reply.

Another groan as Bill rights himself.

“Can you walk?” I ask him.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s just go.”

We begin to fumble our way back—at least I hope it’s the way back.

“Ross, can you say something again? We’ve lost the light down here,” I shout into the darkness.

“Come toward my voice,” Ross calls down a second later.

He’s definitely still pretty far off. With Bill just behind me dragging one leg, the two of us crawl back toward the shaft to the motel room. The longer we spend in complete darkness, the more I can feel my eyes starting to adjust.

In front of us, the darkness is just a shade lighter, thanks to the few photons of light that filter down from the motel room. It’s not much, but it helps.

Suddenly Ross’s voice bursts down the tunnel again, much louder this time. And much, much more frantic.

“Jenna, Bill, you guys need to get back up here. Right now.”

SEVENTEEN

I freeze for a second as my heart goes ice cold.

Ross’s words register, and then I’m scrambling forward as fast as my arms and legs will carry me. I hear Bill struggling along behind me, not able to move as fast.

“What’s happening?” I call out, my voice tight.

“Someone’s here, pulling into the parking lot,” Ross says.

That sends my pulse skyrocketing, each beat a pounding thump in my ears as I reach forward for the edges of the tunnel.

“Get up here, now,” Ross calls down.

I finally manage to find the tunnel entrance with my hand, my fingers catching on the rough rock.

“Bill?” I call behind me, head whipping back and forth even though I still can’t make much out.

There—an almost imperceptible shift in the layers of darkness as Bill’s frame comes into view.

“Here,” he pants.

“Take my hand,” I say, waving it around until it connects with his.

With one hand on the tunnel wall and the other clasped with Bill’s, I get to my feet and step into the tunnel, my shoulders hunched and head low in anticipation of the low ceiling.

It’s still not low enough, and my head clacks into the solid rock.

“Ow.” I bend over even more as I let out a hiss and rub my scalp.

“Watch your head,” I warn Bill.

“Guys,” Ross shouts to us, his tone urgent.

Now that we have some light from the ladder shaft, I race down the tunnel and find the ladder rungs.

“Go, go, I’ll be fine,” Bill says, waving me ahead to climb as he catches his breath.

Ross is hunched over the hole above, his head obscuring part of my view as he peers down.

“Who is it? Is it the guy?” I call up as I grab hold of the bars and hoist myself up.

Ross’s head lifts and turns back toward the window again before he shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s a big truck. It’s still pulling in. ”

I’m moving as fast as my body will go up the rungs, the hunger, thirst and fatigue temporarily suspended thanks to the adrenaline pouring into my veins by the gallon. I reach the top, and Ross scoots aside to make room for me to climb out.

“I’m glad you heard me,” he says, as my head pops up through the opening.

As quickly as possible I climb out of the opening and run to the window to scan the parking lot. The big tractor-trailer is impossible to miss. It’s just rolling to a stop on the gravel.

I suck in a breath. Who is it?

The driver’s door opens, and then a man gets out and looks around. It takes my brain a half-second to register, but then I recognize him with a start.

It’s Gary, the nice truck driver who gave us a ride.

“That’s—”

“Gary,” I say, completing the sentence for Ross, who’s made his way back to the window with his makeshift crutch.

“He must’ve seen our van still out there on the road,” Ross says breathlessly.

Oh my— wow, he’s right. Vaguely, beneath all the crazy of the past twenty-four hours, I remember our parting conversation last night. Feels like a hundred years ago.

Gary mentioned he’d be driving back through here today on the return route, but I’d completely forgotten about it.

He must have passed our van and then doubled back to make sure we were alright.

I begin pounding at the window, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Hey—hey in here,” I shout, my voice ripping out of my throat at top volume.

Ross is right beside me, waving his arms and shouting desperately as he pulls the curtains all the way open to maximize our visibility.

“Gary! Gary, over here!”

“Who’s Gary?” Bill says from behind us.

“We know him. It’s the guy who picked us up when our van broke down yesterday,” I say over my shoulder.

“Are we saved?” Bill asks.

“We sure are. We’re getting out of here,” Ross confirms, beaming as he continues to wave and slap on the window with his free hand.

Gary is ambling toward the lobby. He hasn’t seen or heard us yet.

Flashbacks of yesterday rocket to my mind, sending my nerves into overdrive. We can’t let him leave without noticing us like the guy in the sedan did.

I pound on the window with both fists and jump up and down, yelling. He has to spot us.

Suddenly Gary’s head snaps toward us. Our frantic motions must’ve caught his attention from his peripheral vision.

He stops walking and turns to face us dead on. My chest floods with relief, and I scream even harder now, this time with joy and celebration. The excitement of finally being spotted, being recognized—being rescued— fills every corner of my body.

“Yes, over here—over here,” Ross shouts, cheering. He turns and plants a hard kiss on my forehead then goes back to laughing and cheering.

Gary heads in our direction as my heart soars. We’ve done it, we’re free. Gary can help us get this door open, or if that doesn’t work, he can go for help and find someone who can. The police. The National Guard. Whatever it takes. We’re saved.

The nightmare is over.

All of this horribleness will soon be over, and everything will be okay. I break down into tears of relief as Gary hustles toward us, my body relaxing as the mere presence of another person alleviates so much of the stress I’ve been bearing trying to figure all this out.

“We’re in here… we’re trapped,” Ross shouts through the window to Gary as he approaches.

He’s pointing toward the door, trying to signal that it's locked, that we’re trapped.

I do the same, just waving him forward with a big smile on my face. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see another person in my life.

“What’s going on?” we hear him say through the thick glass as he comes to a stop in front of us.

“The door—it’s locked from the outside. We can’t get out,” Ross says quickly, his shoulders rising and falling with excitement.

I’m breathing hard myself, my heart tap-dancing in my chest.

“We’ve been trapped inside since you dropped us off last night,” I yell to make sure he can hear me through the glass and wall.

Far too much has happened to try and fully explain it all now. The full story will have to wait for a later time. Right now, all that matters is getting out of this motel room.

“Y’all are stuck, huh?” Gary asks, placing his hands on his hips.

I have a big smile on my face, but it fails a bit at the tone of his voice. It strikes me as slightly… odd.

Like he isn’t totally surprised by our situation.

Gary’s voice is calm, almost like he’s arrived to find exactly what he was expecting.

Then my eyes drift down to his pocket. There’s something sticking out of it. My brow furrows a little as I try to figure out what it is. It’s black, folded over so it fits into the small square of fabric.

Whatever it is, the thing appears to be made of some sort of synthetic material, like neoprene.

“Well isn’t that something,” Gary says, a slight smirk on his weathered face.

Ross stares at him through the window, a smile still hanging on his face as he blinks.

“What?” he asks.

I can’t take my eyes away from the black thing sticking out of Gary’s pocket. My chest has tightened to the point I’m no longer able to breathe.

Because I’ve finally figured out what he’s got in there.

It’s a mask. A black mask.

Gary is the masked man.

EIGHTEEN

I reach toward Ross, suddenly feeling faint.

“Ross,” I say in a low voice, my head starting to shake rapidly.

“Why isn’t he opening the door? Come on, man,” he says, turning back to Gary.

He hasn’t made the connection yet, a smile still on his face, but less bright now. He puts his hands flat on the glass as he looks out at our “savior.”

“Get us out of here,” he says impatiently.

I grip my husband’s shoulder and move closer to his ear. “Ross, it’s him. He’s the masked man. It’s been him all along.”

Ross glances over at me for a moment, and then whips his head back toward Gary’s gotcha grin.

“I told y’all I’d be back, didn’t I?” the guy says with a wink, and then he reaches into his pocket.

He pulls the mask from his pocket and flaps it out dramatically before taking the edges in both hands. Ross stumbles a step back from the window, his face pale.

I’m struggling to recover myself—going from absolute elation to battle mode in the span of a minute is disorienting. I thought we were saved, that we were going home, but now I’m reeling, desperately trying to figure out what comes next.

Ross wags his chin back and forth almost violently as Gary pulls the mask over his face, still grinning.

“No… no,” Ross says, slamming a fist against the glass.

Gary just stands there a minute, watching us through the mask.

With it on, he looks utterly terrifying. It’s molded to his face, but doesn’t have a mouth opening, only two vertical strips of black mesh where the eyes should be. He doesn’t look human.

Bill sees the mask and staggers backwards, making a sound of terror. I can do nothing but stare out at the masked man standing in the window, my heart in my throat.

A second passes, my heart thudding heavily, my ears ringing. Two seconds.

Then Gary rushes toward the door, and mayhem breaks loose.

I’m screaming at Ross to grab something to block the door as Gary disappears from my view in the window.

The doorknob rattles. He’s unlocking it from his side. I’m almost dizzy with fear.

A moment later the knob turns, and he’s pushing the door open. I throw my shoulder against it and jam my feet into the carpet to brace myself, but the door is still moving.

“Grab something,” I shout to no one in particular, throwing my entire body weight against the door in an attempt to keep him from pressing inside.

Ross crawls across the floor toward the bed slats as Bill rushes up to help me hold the door. He throws his weight into the door as well, and it snaps closed again.

Gary grunts in anger from outside and comes crashing back against the door, forcing it to open an inch as Bill and I shout and push back.

“Here, here,” Ross yells from somewhere behind me.

I’m pushing with everything I’ve got. My thighs are on fire as I turn around and press my back to the door, digging my shoes into the carpet to try to find some purchase this way, but I keep sliding.

Ross is on all fours in front of me, holding up one of the broken slats.

“Move to the side a little. I’ll jam it under the knob,” he says.

I turn again so that my right shoulder is buried in the door. Ross drags himself forward, trying to get the wood piece into position so it can act as a brace.

Gary is making sounds like an angry bull, and he’s about as strong as one. He’s making headway, lunging against the door and opening it by an inch more each time. He’ll be inside any minute at this rate.

“Hold him back,” I shout to Bill, who doesn’t respond. He’s red in the face, clearly trying with all he’s got.

Finally, Ross gets the board into place, angling it so that one end rests up underneath the doorknob. He plants the broken end into the carpet where the jagged edges dig in deep.

Immediately the board comes under tension as Gary mounts another assault. The board bends slightly from the pressure, but it holds. I move away from the door and jam my foot behind the board to make sure it stays embedded in the carpet and doesn’t start sliding.

The rough wood digs into the arch of my boot, making me wince, but there are worse kinds of pain. Like what will happen to us if Gary gets in here.

The banging and pressure against the door ceases in an instant, leaving us all panting in the ensuing silence. The door sits quietly in front of us now, as if nothing had ever happened to begin with.

I blink hard, my mind whirling. What’s he doing? Has he tired himself out?

Then there’s a heavy click. The door lock.

He’s relocked it, but why?

Footsteps on the gravel outside tell me Gary’s moving away from the door. Bill goes to the window, peering warily through the glass.

“He’s leaving,” he says through heavy breaths.

Ross and I look at each other.

“I don’t think so,” I say, licking my lips as I go to the window to look out as well.

Gary’s back is to us as he heads towards his truck. He must’ve realized he’s not getting in through the front door. Not with that beam underneath the doorknob.

But I can’t believe he’d give up that easily, right? Not after all he’s put us through. He’s playing some kind of sick game, and he hasn’t won it yet.

“Maybe he’s planning to just to wait us out some more,” Ross says, crawling back to his feet.

He’s grimacing hard as he hobbles forward, face soaked in sweat. All of us watch as Gary opens up his truck door and climbs back inside. My heart skips a beat. Could he really be leaving?

“I think he’s going,” Bill says excitedly.

Then the cab door opens again, and Gary gets back out. Only this time, he’s carrying a sawed-off shotgun. Bill backpedals away from the window.

Instead of walking back towards our room, Gary is making a beeline for the office. He marches across the parking lot and then yanks open the glass door, stepping inside the lobby a second later. With the angle of our window, he’s out of view now.

“What’s he doing? Where’s he going?” Bill asks aloud, though none of us have the answer.

I shift all the way down to the end of the window to try and get a better angle at the inside of the office, but it’s no good. Gary has disappeared from view.

Ross runs a hand through his hair.

“That prick knew exactly what he was doing when he picked us up last night,” he says. “Probably scattered nails on the road, knowing someone would eventually pop a tire. He set a trap.”

He’s probably right, but we can’t focus on that right now. How we got here doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is we’re here now, and we need to prepare for whatever Gary has planned next.

I glance out the window again, tongue flicking over my molars as I scan the outdoors for any sign of him. He’s been gone for almost a minute now, what’s he up to?

A muffled thud from beneath our feet answers that question. My head snaps down to the floor.

Gary is in the tunnels. So there is one that connects to the lobby.

There’s no time to celebrate my hunch being correct because we’ve got to get that hole in the floor covered before Gary can get up here.

The sounds from below grow louder and closer as he rushes down the tunnel toward us, the shotgun scraping against the rock walls below. All eyes move to the square hole completely exposed in the center of the room.

“The mattress,” Ross shouts.

Leaping over the bedframe, I grab fistfuls of the mattress edge and tip it down towards Bill and Ross. Because the bedframe is bolted to the floor, we won’t be able to move it and get the mattress flush against the hole.

All we can do is angle the mattress so that one side of it covers the hole while the other end sticks up into the air and scrapes against the wall. Bill tugs at the mattress to try and adjust it some more. It shifts another few inches and obscures a bit more of the opening as the clanging gets louder and closer from below.

We don’t have long now. He’s coming.

The mattress doesn’t perfectly cover the hole, but it’ll at least block the passage. Ross drops down to one knee to peer underneath the bedframe and see how we’re doing.

“Pull it toward you Jenna, we’re almost⁠—”

A deafening blast throws me backwards as the bottom of the mattress explodes in a cloud of foam and fluff. Gary must have blasted it with the shotgun from the base of the ladder.

I’m on my butt now, blinking hard, jaw opening and closing as I attempt to clear my ears and get my hearing back.

Across from me, Ross is shouting something I can’t really hear.

The ringing in my ears starts to lessen a bit, and then I’m jerked back into the world around me.

“...over the hole,” Ross screams.

I didn’t catch the first part of what he said, but I did just make out a muffled click from below—the sound of Gary closing the shotgun after reloading.

And then I’m diving for the carpet again, hands thrown over my head instinctively as the next blast tears apart my hearing.

Bits of white fluff are raining down through the air like confetti as I crawl away from the hole, throwing a look over my shoulder at what remains of the mattress. It’s nearly in two pieces at this point, and the hole is once again exposed.

All I can hear is my ears ringing. I try to pull my scattered brain back together.

Gary will come up into this room, sooner or later.

He’s cleared the mattress, which means the pathway is open. I suck in a breath, fighting hyperventilation.

It’ll be tough for him to climb and shoot at the same time. That’s the only thing going in our favor at this point.

Knowing I have precious few seconds until Gary comes up the ladder, I get back to my feet and grab the sharpened dowel rod from the closet.

Ross is reaching for the rest of the wood slats to try and block up the hole as Bill lets out a stream of panicked words from somewhere outside my field of vision.

Time slows as I approach the hole, homemade spear gripped tightly in my hand. Through the shredded corpse of the mattress, I see ladder rungs, then movement from within the shaft as Gary climbs toward ground level.

I’m betting he’s got the shotgun in one hand and is gripping the ladder with the other. Either way, I’ve got to strike now, or we’re all dead.

With a grunt of effort, I hurl the spear down into the hole, hoping against hope that it strikes something vulnerable. An eye would be ideal.

A surprised yelp tells me I connected with something. We hear clanging and banging as Gary falls or maybe slides back down the ladder rungs, and then there’s a heavy thud as he strikes the rock floor at the bottom.

I want to peer into the hole to see him, but I’m wary of the very real possibility that he’ll blow my head off with the shotgun if I do.

Everything falls quiet. There’s nothing but my pulse whirring in my ears as Bill sits up from where he’s flattened to the floor.

“Did you get him?” he whispers in a tight voice.

I shake my head to tell him that I’m not sure. Putting up my hands in a staying motion, I caution the others not to approach the edge of the opening. The silence stretches another few seconds with no sound from below.

Grabbing hold of a chunk of mattress, I toss it over the hole.

The sudden movement elicits another shotgun blast, followed by chunks of the ceiling raining down upon us.

Yep. He’s still alive down there. Terribly injured I hope, but still armed.

Bill blinks hard, eyes wide with terror. Ross looks at me and mouths, “Good job.”

Unfortunately the job isn’t done.

Cursing rises from the bottom of the ladder, and Gary lets out a pained groan.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he growls.

His threat is followed by the sounds of some commotion, but the noises seem to be getting quieter. He’s moving down the tunnel away from our ladder.

My heart leaps at first but then squeezes hard as I realize what’s happening.

He’s going to climb the ladder to the room beside us.

“He’s going for the connecting door,” I say to Ross, who looks behind him.

We don’t have much time before Gary makes it into the next room. My eyes dart around our room in search of anything we can use to block the doorway.

“TV,” I shout, pointing to it. Bill rushes over to help me.

Together we grab hold of it and lift it from the shelf, the old model weighing much more than more modern versions. We ease it down, and it lands with a glassy crunch in front of the door.

I wedge the remainder of the wood slats behind it then whirl around in search of anything else we can use.

“Maybe we can⁠—”

Pounding on the door cuts me off.

“You’re dead, you hear me? Dead,” Gary roars through the wall between rooms, his words muffled.

There’s a creak as his room’s adjoining door swings open, unlocked. That leaves only the one door between us. More thumping against it. I stand there, muscles tensed with every nerve in my body alight.

There’s some jingling as Gary fumbles with the master keys on the other side. Ross and Bill throw themselves up against the door in preparation.

Another click, and the door is unlocked. Gary pushes it, finding it blocked by the heavy TV and the bed slats. Roaring in frustration, he starts trying to force himself inside.

Ross and Bill dig in as I run up to the door and press both hands against it, the three of us enough to slam it shut once again. Gary curses and pounds on the door, but doesn’t try to push in again.

I don’t move from my position, sweat-soaked palms still up against the door’s steel surface. At any moment, I expect him to try again. Bill’s right beneath me, breathing hard.

But it doesn’t come. I lick my lips and look down at the doorknob. It’s not moving. What’s he doing in there?

It’s the same situation as we had with the front door, and maybe he’s realizing it. Whichever door he tries, it’s still going to be us against him. And because he’s installed bulletproof glass and steel-reinforced doors, he can’t just blast his way into the room.

I feel my heart starting to flutter with a brief taste of momentary victory, or at the very least, a stalemate.

Then another shotgun blast goes off, shaking the wall and making me realize the folly of my thoughts. Yes, the windows and doors are reinforced to keep people in… but the walls aren’t.

He just blew a hole straight through it.

Drywall and dust fill the air, sending me down to the floor in a fit of coughing as I shout for the others to get to cover. My eyes shift to Patricia, who’s curled up into a ball in her chair in the corner, her head shaking back and forth, tears pouring down her face.

Scrambling back to my feet, I race over to her and yank her down to the carpet.

“Stay down,” I scream, expecting another shot to ring out.

Only there’s muffled cursing from behind the remains of the drywall, and then we hear a door creak open and closed. My mind races as I pick my head up off the floor.

Where is he going? I can see into the other room in the aftermath of the shotgun tearing through the thin sheets of drywall and wood framing. Ross coughs as he leans with Bill against the door, the only cover.

Crunching gravel outside. He’s heading away again. I push up off the floor and step over debris to the window. Gary is hustling back toward his truck, shotgun still in hand as he jogs as fast as his weight will move.

I draw a conclusion in my mind. “He’s out of shells.”

The words pour out of me as Gary continues to move quickly for his tractor trailer. It’s the only explanation, because he was essentially through that wall.

Looks like he didn’t want to come inside without a loaded weapon. There are four of us and one of him after all. In a couple of minutes though, he’ll be back inside the motel, he’ll be armed, and this time, there will be no keeping him out.

We’re out of options, at the end of the road. Unless…

My head snaps up as an idea hits me like lightning, and I drop back down. “Bill, can you get Patricia back into the tunnel?”

Ross looks over at me, his face soaked in sweat and a film of white powder from the exploding drywall.

“What?”

“When he comes back, he’s getting in here. There’s no stopping him. The tunnel is the last place we can go. He’ll have to climb down to us, and only through that straight shot of a ladder shaft. It’s a pinch point,” I explain before running over to Ross and helping him to his feet.

There is no discussion, not this time. We don’t have the seconds to spare. Outside, the tractor trailer’s door creaks open as Gary gets back inside. He’ll have the rest of his ammunition within seconds.

“We need to move, right now. Go, go,” I shout to Bill, who stumbles over toward Patricia.

She’s still on the floor where I left her. Bill coaxes her upright as I get my weight under Ross and help him cross the room. With one hand supporting him, I hastily grab a fistfull of the window curtain and throw it so that it’ll at least partially obscure what we’re doing from Gary outside.

“Get her down,” I hiss to Bill, who practically shoves Patricia down the hole.

She disappears down the ladder, and then I’ve got Ross lined up next. His eyes go wide as he readies himself, gaze locked on the window.

“He’s coming back.”

“Then hurry,” I say, as Ross slides down into the hole.

His movements down the ladder are chunky, desperate. He’s skipping rungs, dropping several inches at a time before landing on his good leg.

“Go Bill,” I say to him as the sound of Gary’s boots crunching across on the gravel fill my head.

In three more seconds, he’s at the door. Bill starts down the ladder, hissing and grunting as he shifts his sliced knee. He needs to move faster, or the next meal I eat is going to be made up entirely of buckshot.

Jingling keys as Gary unlocks the door. There’s not enough time.

Even if I started climbing now, Gary will be able to just lean over the hole and shoot me right off the ladder. My head pounds, hands trembling with pure adrenaline as I stare down at Bill’s head.

Move, move.

The door to Room 6 swings open again. This isn’t going to work. The next shot from Gary’s gun is going to kill me, I’m too exposed.

“Bill, clear the ladder,” I scream down to him, his wide eyes popping up to me.

I’m out of time. I don’t look to see if Bill has obeyed my command. There’s only one chance of me getting out of here alive. I need to be at the bottom of that ladder, right now.

Grabbing a large chunk of the obliterated mattress, I toss it into the hole, hoping Bill will know what to do with it at the bottom.

Hearing Gary cock the shotgun, I grab the quilt from the floor and whip my head toward the shared wall. The gaping hole in the wall that fills with Gary’s rage-filled eyes, his raised gun barrel.

And then I jump, grabbing the sides of the ladder with my blanket-covered hands. As planned, I start sliding—fast. The top of my head barely clears the trapdoor opening when a deafening blast blows the remaining drywall to smithereens overhead.

My stomach drops out, and the world is a blur as I sail down the twenty feet of ladder, gripping its sides as hard as possible with the quilt, trying to slow my descent to the jagged rock floor below. Can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t scream, just clench and pray.

Then I hit bottom, and everything goes dark.

NINETEEN

Everything hurts, my wrists and spine especially, but neither appears to be broken.

My legs and ankles are intact as well, aching, but I’m alive.

The thick chunk of mattress at the base of the ladder absorbed most of the impact, leaving me to just tumble out across the rocky ground after my fast landing.

Blinking hard, I open my eyes to see the faint outline of dark rock overhead. It’s moving, like a river.

No—I’m moving, being dragged by Bill and Ross as another thunderous shotgun blast rings out. The tunnel explodes into dust around us as chipped rock sails through the air.

My companions stop dragging me now that we’re all out of firing range, slumping back against the wall as they both suck in oxygen desperately.

“Stop running,” Gary hollers down the shaft angrily.

He loads another couple rounds into the gun, the noises reaching us down in the tunnel loud and clear. I’m back to full awareness now, managing to shake off the aftermath of the heavy collision out of sheer necessity and the intensity of the situation we’re in.

Gotta keep going, keep moving.

Right now, we’re clear of Gary’s immediate view down the shaft. But if he comes down here too, he’ll have us within seconds. Ross pants beside me, hand clutched around the wooden spear I tossed down here earlier.

Where’s Bill?

I whip my head around and then see him as he hobbles back toward us, eyes wide with excitement.

“I can see the door to the lobby,” he hisses to Ross and me. He hooks an arm through the air, urging us to follow him.

My heart pounds. In his hurry to get to us, Gary must not have shut the trapdoor in the office floor, allowing ambient light to filter down into the cavern and expose the location of the shaft.

“You understand it’s over, don’t you? You’ve got nowhere else to go,” Gary shouts in the background.

My thoughts are moving at the speed of light as I concoct a plan. Bits of information, memories, all of it darting back and forth across my brain as I work out what comes next.

There’s no way we’ll be able to get everyone up to the lobby before Gary realizes what’s happening. But if Bill and I can get up there, we can grab that shotgun we saw mounted behind the check-in desk.

Then, for the first time in a long time, this will look a little closer to a fair fight.

I hurriedly whisper the plan to Ross and Bill, who nod. Ross takes a gingerly hop-step back toward the ladder as Bill and I head down the tunnel toward the open chamber, moving as quietly as we can.

Patricia is huddled against the wall in front of us. Bill passes her, and then her eyes meet mine. She’s shaking her head, trembling as I skirt around her. If I can get to that shotgun, I can save her. I can save all of us.

I just need a little time.

Right on cue, I hear Ross’s voice rise from behind me.

“Come on down here and fight us then, prick,” he shouts up to Gary, earning another shotgun blast down the ladder shaft.

The noise echoes through my ears and leaves a ring. I stagger to the side, jaw opening and closing as I work to pop my ears before continuing. If I live long enough, I’ll be needing hearing aids a little earlier than normal. That would be a good problem to have.

Gary and Ross continue shouting at each other behind us as Bill and I spill into the main cavern.

“There,” he says, pointing.

I see it, too. Light filtering into the cavern from the rough circle cut into the ceiling. I can just make out the first bar of a hanging ladder as the two of us run toward the opening.

Bill falls behind on account of his knee, so I reach the hole first and look up.

It’s only a couple feet overhead because the roof of the cavern naturally slopes down here. Jumping up, I manage to get my fingers around the first rung and then do a pull up to grab for the second.

Thank you, Army PT.

Letting out a grunt, I grab onto the next bar and continue up, the sounds of Ross and Gary’s yelling slowly getting dimmer as I move upward through the rock shaft.

Light above. Freedom. It’s all so close.

Bill is right behind me, struggling his way up the ladder as I emerge above ground with a gasp.

My head whips around to take in my surroundings. There’s a table, a chair, and a small cot against the far wall. Shelves all around. This has to be the room behind the door in the lobby.

I pull myself all the way out of the hole and gulp down some oxygen. Bill comes out just behind me. He’s clutching at his side, clearly feeling the exertion. The makeshift wrap around his knee is dark with blood and dust.

We can’t spare any more time for rest or first aid, though. Sooner or later, Gary is going to realize what Ross is up to, that it’s just him shouting and buying time, not the rest of us.

I need to be armed by the time he figures it out.

Now that we’re above ground, I can barely hear what’s happening below. With the reinforced windows and doors, it’s much quieter than it should be.

Reaching for the doorknob, I pull open the break room door and find myself staring out at the lobby.

My chest pangs. All the anarchy of the last day, the terror, the bone-deep exhaustion. All of it started in this innocent looking lobby.

Nothing here gives any hint of the horrors taking place in the dark, dank caverns below.

I want to scream at my former self as she approaches the desk, tell her to turn around and just march back down the highway to rough it in the van for the night.

Save myself all this pain and suffering.

But here I am, still standing, facing this lobby again. It looks the same, but I’m forever changed. All of that will have to be unpacked another day.

After I take down Gary.

There’s the shotgun, resting on a rack on the wood-paneled wall. I lift it off its stand with a grunt as Bill steps into the room, his eyes on the lobby doors.

They’re unlocked. Freedom lies beyond. But we can’t leave, not with Ross and Patricia still stuck below ground.

The shotgun feels good in my hands. Heavy. Powerful. Exactly what we need to tip the scales.

Unfortunately, it won’t do us much good without ammunition. I open it to find it empty.

“Help me find some shells,” I whisper to Bill as I drop down to my knees behind the desk and yank open the first drawer I see.

He does the same, papers flying up into the air as he rifles through the drawer on his side. I put the shotgun down atop the crusty tile and start digging through my drawer. There has to be some ammo here somewhere.

My hands tear through the contents of the drawer but come up empty, so I move to the one below it, yanking it open as my heart thuds against my ribs.

We’re so close. So close to getting out of this.

The shells have to be here. I push up to my feet to check the bottom drawer, jerking it open in a flash. My eyes flick over the contents of it—pens, crumpled papers, and… a stack of IDs.

While that’s strange, it’s not just the presence of the IDs themselves that freezes me where I stand. Goosebumps rise across the back of my neck as I pick up the ID on the top of the pile.

It’s Patricia’s, and the one underneath is Bill’s… only the faces in the photos do not match the faces of the people I know as Patricia and Bill.

My throat dries as I stare down at the discombobulating mismatch, my mind collapsing in on itself in pure confusion.

And then I feel the cold steel of the shotgun barrel press into my back.

“Guess the jig is up, huh?” the man I’ve been calling Bill says from behind me.

TWENTY

Bill-not-Bill jams the shotgun into my back even harder.

“Give me your wallet, out of your pocket right now. Do it,” he grunts.

I reach a shaking hand into my pocket and retrieve my wallet. Bill snatches it from my fingertips and tosses it behind him.

“Who are you? What’s going on?” I ask over my shoulder.

I’m reeling right now, physically and mentally. Any momentum I gained from the discovery of the lobby tunnel has been completely shattered. I’m still trying to come to terms with this latest development—is this really happening?

The Bill imposter jabs me in the back again to urge me toward the door, proving once and for all that he isn’t the crime victim I suspected he was. He isn’t Bill.

At least, not the Bill on the ID in the drawer. And Patricia isn’t Patricia. The people pictured on those ID’s look nothing like the couple we’ve been trying to help, the man and woman we released from those filthy cages.

That’s when it really hits me. The complete, horrible truth.

The real Bill and Patricia were probably captive in those cages at some point.

But the two people we found were not them. The people we’ve been sharing a room with, sharing a water bottle with, are part of this.

They’re working with Gary.

Suddenly the events of the past few days race through my mind in reverse like a video on rewind.

The water going out after Bill went in to fill the bottle.

Ross’s phone breaking “accidentally” at Bill’s hands.

This whole time, he’s been trying to sabotage us.

“Who are you?” I ask again.

“You can just keep calling me Bill. Now walk,” the stranger grunts.

The sad irony of it all settles over me as I step out of the motel lobby. It’s the moment I’ve been desperate for, but under the circumstances, there is no cause for celebration.

I’ve got my hands up, my fingers trembling, and a shotgun at my back as the bell above the door jingles, and I taste fresh air for the first time in over a day.

The warm air clings to my sweat-soaked face as we march back toward Room 7. Our shoes crunch across the gravel as we go.

Bill’s breath is hot and sticky on my neck as he leans in toward me.

“Just keep walking. Nice and easy.”

“Gary,” Bill then calls out toward the room.

“Gary, come out here. I’ve got the other gun. And the girl.”

After a few seconds, the door to Room 6 creaks inward, and out steps Gary, shotgun in hand.

“About time,” he says, grinning.

My heart sinks down into my shoes. This whole time, we’ve been playing right into their hands. Now I finally understand why the “bad guy” wasn’t trying to break in last night—one of them was already inside with us.

I don’t know what the two of them planning to do with us—what this is all for—but I doubt asking would do me any good. These men are completely in control, and there’s nothing I can do to help myself, not at the moment anyway.

As if to prove my point, Bill jabs me in the back with the gun barrel, sending a sharp pain through my liver.

“I’ll tell you though, Gary,” he says. “This one just don’t have any quit in her. Should’ve seen her,” he says.

Then leans forward, close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my neck again. A shudder goes down my back and through my arms and legs.

“I like that. So will the buyers—girls with a little spunk always fetch a higher price,” he hisses into my ear, sending a spike of pure panic through my bones.

So that’s it then. That’s what’s going on at the Pines Motel. They’re trafficking men and women unfortunate enough to check in there.

My throat is so tight I can hardly swallow as I continue the forced march back toward the horrific motel.

Back toward the place I was so desperate to escape. After all the injuries, the weariness, the hunger, the thirst, all of it—I’m right back where I started.

Actually no, that’s not right. I’m worse off. Much, much worse. Because now all our cards have been played, and everything is out on the table.

My vision blurs a little as I fight not to fall into complete despair.

Bill forces me back inside, and we walk through Room 6 then step through the destroyed wall into seven.

Chunks of drywall litter the carpet. The mattress is nothing more than scattered bits of fluff at this point, the furniture pockmarked with shotgun holes. Bill walks me right up to the edge of the shaft opening. Gary comes into the room with us.

“I knew soon as I saw you, you’d be worth a pretty penny,” he says, grinning as he winks at me.

The look in his eyes makes my skin crawl. Bill, still behind me, leans over a little to look down into the hole in front of me.

“Hey down there—I’ve got your girl up here. Come on up in the next ten seconds, or I swear I’m going to shoot her until she stops moving,” he calls out.

There’s a moment of silence. I can only imagine what’s running through Ross’s head right now.

“Bill?” Ross calls upwards, clearly utterly confused at who’s speaking.

“There you go, slugger. Now get your crippled behind on the move before I throw your wife down in chunks.”

Gary lets out a snort from beside us.

“How do I know you have her?” Ross demands. He sounds scared, but he’s being smart. For all he knows, this could be a bluff to flush him out.

Unfortunately, my captors aren’t lying.

“Say hi to your sweetie, Jenna,” Gary urges.

When I don’t immediately obey, he slaps me across the face, making me yelp.

“Jenna,” Ross groans from below us, clearly heartbroken that their story was true.

My eyelids close, blocking out my terrible reality for a second. I’m shaking uncontrollably, though it infuriates me for them to see it. I physically can’t help it.

They’ve beaten us, utterly and completely.

Another moment of silence from below, and then I hear sounds of Russ shuffling forward, grunting from the pain.

He appears at the base of the ladder, face illuminated in the room’s light.

“What… what’s going on?” he asks.

“It’s them, Ross. Bill and Patricia—they’re part of this,” I call down.

Bill grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks my head back, making me gasp. “No talking. That’s my job, you hear?”

“Show’s over, Ross,” he yells into the hole. “That goes for you too, sweetheart, hope you had fun playing house.”

I blink. Is he talking to me?

Patricia appears at the base of the ladder, tear-streaked face looking up toward us. She’s still crying, not looking cocky like Gary and Bill are. For a moment I’m confused… and then the final pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place.

Patricia isn’t working with them after all. I think she might be a victim too, and Bill just lied about her name, like he did his.

But if that’s the case… she knew about Bill all along.

Thinking back on their interactions since we’ve been together, I’m seeing them in a new light.

Every time her “husband” approached her, she seemed to shrink away. I thought it was because of the trauma that she went through, but maybe it was because Bill was the trauma.

She was terrified of him. He must have threatened her.

And yet, she could have given Ross or me some clue about his identity. Instead, she didn’t say a word, just allowed us to go on thinking Bill was on our side, a victim like her.

We trusted them both completely—big mistake as it turns out.

“Why? Why pretend to be with us?” I ask Bill, my head spinning.

I really thought he was one of us. I was counting on him.

“Why? Gary wasn’t back yet,” he says.

“And Alice managed to get her mouth gag off. She started screaming, so it was time to blend in and buy time.”

Alice—that’s Patricia’s real name.

“Come on up now. Playtime’s over, Wifey,” Bill coos down the ladder.

Alice sniffles and then slowly begins to climb toward us. I still don’t understand why she wouldn’t tell us the truth or at least give us some kind of heads-up.

As she comes up into the motel room, she looks at Bill with red-rimmed eyes.

“You promised me,” she says in a quiet, quivering voice. “I did what you asked. You promised me I’d see him again.”

Bill breaks out into a grin. “By golly, she’s right, I did promise. Gary, why don’t you go fetch Jason for us?”

My brow furrows. Jason… that’s the name Bill told us belonged to his child with Alice. Gary steps out of the room again as my mind races. Details are clicking into the big picture at a rapid pace now.

Earlier when Bill told Alice to stay safe “for Jason” before leaving her alone with Ross, he was really threatening her. Reminding her what she had to lose if she told us the truth.

If that’s the case, then…

The screams of a child shake me from my thoughts as Gary comes back into the room, a small boy stumbling along beside him on his tiptoes as Gary pulls him by the hair.

“Jason,” Alice cries out, dropping to her knees as Gary releases the boy, and her son runs toward her.

“Mommy,” he screams, nose and eyes red from crying.

They embrace, both of them sobbing. Both tired and filthy. My heart aches just watching them, but this emotional mother-son reunion isn’t the end of the nightmare.

Far from it.

Bill clears his throat from behind me. “All right, that’s enough of that. Gary?”

Gary steps toward Alice and Jason, who are still clinging tightly to each other near the trapdoor hole. Reaching forward, he grabs the back of Jason’s shirt again.

Alice realizes what’s going on and starts screaming, her voice reaching a pitch I didn’t even know was possible as she fights to keep hold of her son. Gary is winning the tug of war, prying the boy from his mother’s arms.

“No,” the woman screams, her knuckles white as she flails and grabs Jason’s little hands.

Gary grunts and pulls harder. Jason’s screaming now, too.

“Mommy,” he screeches, kicking his legs and leaning forward, trying to get back to her.

Finally, Gary has had enough. He lets go of the child long enough to lift the butt of his gun and bring it down onto Alice’s head with a heavy thunk.

Her crying and pleading cuts off instantly as she crumples to the floor, out cold.

Jason, completely overwhelmed at the sight of his mother laid out and bleeding from the head, screeches so loudly it makes my ears hurt.

“Throw him down already,” Bill shouts.

My heart skips a beat. “No,” I shout, but it’s too late.

Gary flings Jason toward the hole, and the little boy flies through the air like a sack of potatoes before disappearing down the tunnel shaft with a scream.

TWENTY-ONE

I can’t breathe.

Did that really just happen? Did I just witness them kill an innocent child?

The horror takes my brain completely offline for a few seconds. When I regain awareness, I hear Jason’s cries from the bottom of the shaft—but I also hear Ross’s voice.

My body flushes with instant relief. Ross was able to catch the child or at least break his fall.

Gary leans forward to peer into the hole before frowning. Then he shrugs and steps back.

“I always keep my promises,” Bill says to me with a wink as he steps around to the front of me. “I said she could see him again, and she saw him.”

He’s sick. Truly sick and twisted, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.

Only a truly, truly depraved individual could get actual enjoyment from the suffering of others the way he has. And a child at that, a little boy who hasn’t done anything to anyone.

A hot tear burns a trail down my cheek as I stand there, my body rattling. Not from fear, but from rage.

Rage at the fact that Bill and Gary have committed these atrocities. At the fact that they’ve done so who knows how many times before.

And especially at the fact that I am simply unable to do anything to stop them. They have the weapons, the keys, the location, and every other possible advantage.

Ross and I are both exhausted, hurt, starving, dying of thirst. I’ve got nothing left, but I remain standing out of spite alone.

Whatever happens to me, I will not have it said that I died pleading with monsters like these.

“Now that all that is settled, we can get back to business,” Bill says with a cluck of his tongue.

He looks around at the utter destruction of the motel room before shaking his head.

“Look at what they’ve made us do to Mom’s place, Gary. Wasn’t supposed to come to this, but you just wouldn’t give up, would you?” Bill accuses, his eyes filled with derision as he regards me.

So he and Gary are brothers. Looking at them together now, I can actually see the resemblance, especially in the nose. Beneath the surface, they’re even more alike. Monsters by blood.

Another shock runs through me as I realize something—that old broken down pickup truck out in the parking lot… it’s the same as the one the woman in Gary’s photo was leaning against.

The woman in the photo wasn’t his wife. She was his mother. Since the very first second we laid eyes on his tractor-trailer, this was planned. Every moment.

I spit toward him, having no more words.

He just scoffs, and nudges his chin at Gary to drag Alice away from the hole.

“You can spit all you want. But if I were you, I’d save the saliva. We won’t have anything for you to drink until tomorrow morning when we leave,” he says.

That makes my blood run cold as I stare at him.

“What’s tomorrow morning?” I ask quickly. “Where are you taking me?”

Bill says nothing, just smiles at me again before bringing up the shotgun. He juts his chin toward the motel door.

“Walk.”

I shake my head. If they really are planning to traffic me, he can just shoot me. I’d much rather die right here instead.

“I won’t. You can shoot me if you want, but I’m not going out there with you.”

Bill pushes his tongue into one cheek as he studies me for a moment. Then he points his shotgun meaningfully toward the hole in the floor.

“If you don’t come along nicely, I’ll let Gary head down there and shoot the little boy— and then your husband. He gets a kick out of it. Isn’t that right, Gary?” Bill asks as he turns to his brother.

Gary doesn’t respond, just looks at me with this sickening hunger in his eyes that makes my skin crawl.

“Run for it, Jenna—just leave me, get out of here,” Ross shouts from below.

Bill grins at me again. He knows I won’t make a break for it, because if I do anything other than what they want, Ross and Jason are dead. The child has no chance against them, and with his ankle the way it is, neither does Ross.

Gary’s stomach-turning expression fills my mouth with the taste of bile as I fight against tears.

“There we go. There’s a good girl. Now get walking,” Bill says to me.

Gary leans over and pulls Alice back to her feet. She’s just starting to come to, blood gushing from the wound on her forehead. She’s probably concussed. Her eyes look glassy, and her legs are unsteady as Gary forces her toward the door with me.

At Bill’s instruction, I reach forward and open the now-unlocked motel room door, moving as if my body weighs a thousand pounds.

For so long we fought to escape this room. Now I’m walking out the open door, but definitely not under the circumstances I’d hoped for. Absolutely everything has gone wrong, and I have no idea what to do.

For the first time in my life, I’m completely at a loss.

Gary locks the doors to rooms six and seven before hustling over to the office and locking that door, too. Ross and Jason are trapped down in the cavern—there’s no way out for them now. They’re stuck down there.

I picture Ross huddled in the dark with Jason. His own ankle is shattered, and the little boy has to be beyond terrified.

The thought of the two of them cornered and helpless makes me so distraught, I feel as if I’m going to throw up.

Bill marches me forward with another grunt. I look down at my boots as they step along the gravel. My vision wobbles at the edges. I’m fighting the urge to cry again. This doesn’t even feel real.

Beside me, Alice sobs, her arms clutching her sides as she’s marched forward, too.

“Please,” she whispers through the tears, “Just let my son go.”

“He’ll go in with all the rest down there, when it’s time,” Gary says.

His words shake me to my very core. There are bodies down there, who knows how many. Ross and Jason will be two more. Gary’s words drop Alice to her knees.

She cries even harder, weeping and begging, her pleas spilling over themselves. Gary just yanks her back upright and forcibly pushes her forward again.

I see where we’re headed now. Gary’s tractor-trailer rig sits in front of us, its plain white trailer standing tall as we approach. There’s a low hum emanating from it as the refrigeration unit whirs along.

I start to dig my heels into the gravel, but another jab from Bill forces me forward again.

We reach the back of the trailer, and Gary steps forward to throw the handles and unlock the doors. They swing outward with a creak, a blast of icy cold air hitting my face like a slap.

“Well, climb on in, girls,” Bill says from behind me.

I glance back at him. Based on that blast of refrigerated air, the temperature inside has got to be near freezing.

“Reefer unit, that’s what they call these trailers. Keeps your perishables from perishing. Also, the noise is handy for obscuring any sounds from inside,” he says with another wink.

My heart nearly stops. He’s really going to put us inside.

I can’t do this. I need to fight back, I need to⁠—

The impact of Bill’s punch to the gut doubles me over. I drop down to the gravel in a fit of coughing as I fight for breath. My vision blurs again, his shoes just inches from my face.

“I can see what you’re thinking. Now up you go.”

The pain in my stomach is so strong I’m seeing stars as he yanks me roughly back to my feet. I still can’t breathe, my mouth opening and closing like a fish as he and Gary practically toss me into the trailer.

I land on the ribbed metal flooring with a bang, still clutching my sides. Out of the corner of my eye, I see them throw Alice in next. She’s screaming again, begging for them to spare her child. The sound is near hysteria, the screeching like that of a wounded animal.

Gary forces the barrels of his gun into her arm, pushing her back from the edge.

I’d be screaming too, if I could breathe. Instead, I can do little more than reach out with a trembling hand as I lie against the icy-cold metal.

Gary and Bill stand outside the trailer, looking at us. Their expressions are completely unfeeling, as if they’re perusing crates of vegetables.

We are products to them, nothing more. My hand reaches out toward them, shaking as I gasp for oxygen. A tear rolls down my cheek.

They stare at me for another moment.

Then they step away and bring the trailer doors closed, and everything goes dark.

TWENTY-TWO

All there is is darkness.

I can feel its heaviness as it weighs against me, pushing down against my chest like an elephant.

Heavy, unending darkness, and cold. So cold.

The whirring of the refrigeration unit fills my ears as I blink hard, Alice’s screams echo from somewhere I can’t see.

It’s so cold in here.

So dark, and so cold. The sharp slam of the trailer doors shutting in our faces still rings through my mind. I’m lying with my cheek to the icy floor, oxygen feeling like it’s coming in through a straw.

I hear heavy thuds as Alice pounds against the insulated inside of the doors, her hysterical wailing a steady stream of agony.

My body trembles as the temperature of the room starts to permeate my skin. Dragging myself upright, I pull in a breath and tenderly touch my stomach. I’ve never been punched before. I feel nauseous, like I might vomit at any moment.

Alice stops her pounding and collapses somewhere across from me with a thud. She’s still sobbing, her wracking calls still slightly muted as I work to get my body reconnected to my brain.

Even in the dark, it feels like the world is spinning and nothing is real.

“I’m sorry,” Alice says from the dark.

“He told me if I didn’t say anything, they were going to let Jason go. I—I just… I shouldn’t have believed them, should’ve said something, should’ve⁠—”

“It’s okay,” I wheeze, closing my eyes as I lie back down.

I’m too tired, weak, and bruised to talk to her. I just want to lie here.

The cold continues to seep into me like a virus, infecting more and more of my body as I continue to shiver. My fingernails rattle against the floor as I pull in another cold breath.

It’s probably about forty degrees in here. Not cold enough to kill us, just enough to keep us miserable.

They’ve beaten me. It hurts to admit, but it’s the truth. The thought filters through my body and makes my muscles relax as I lie there, giving up cell by cell. All that we did, all that we tried… it was for nothing.

At every turn, we were beaten. From the moment we stepped inside that motel room, it was over.

Now here I am, lying in the pitch black darkness, shivering. Absolutely exhausted. So weak I seriously don’t know if I have it in me to stand up.

My throat feels like a desert, cracked and dry. My tongue has swollen up, the rough surface of it brushing against my teeth as I try to drink my saliva. Anything to drink at all.

Ross is trapped with a shattered ankle in a pit under the motel. No way out. He’s going to die down there, alongside Alice’s little boy. They’re going to starve to death, slowly. When they’re gone, Bill and Gary will put them wherever they put the rest of their victims.

Alice and I will be shipped off to who knows where, in what country. No one will ever know what happened to us or where we went.

Gary and Bill will continue to do what they’ve been doing, with no one the wiser. All of our efforts were useless.

Maybe we would’ve been better off just going to sleep in Room 7 when we had the chance. We’d have woken up in cages but it would’ve at least saved me from the agonizing feeling of hope.

It was cruel, allowing myself to think that maybe, if we could just be smart enough, we’d find a way out of here.

That spark within me that refused to die, no matter what insane thing happened next, that little piece of me that refused to give in, refused to surrender, had gotten me this far in life.

But it’s gone now. I can feel that small ember fading in the face of hard, cold reality. There is no way out, I have nothing left.

All hope is gone, leaving behind nothing but an overwhelming ache in my chest that makes me wish I could just check out mentally. I don’t want to be around for what comes next. For the future Gary and Bill have planned for me.

I cough against the floor, cheek rubbing the cold metal. Alice continues to sob softly. I’m sure I’d be crying too, but I literally don’t have the energy. All I can do is lie here.

Lie here and wait to die.

My husband is gone, my freedom has been taken from me. My body will no longer be my own. It’s a reality so awful that I just want to shut my eyes and disappear forever. Blink out of existence, like I was never here at all.

Maybe if I keep my eyes closed long enough, that’ll happen. I don’t know what else to do.

A few hours from now, we’ll be on the road, driving away from this place. Never seen or heard from again, just a fading memory. A once-was, swallowed up by a new version of reality that shuts my body down to even think about.

My gaze is weak as I peer blankly into the darkness. I can feel the last urges to fight back draining out of me with each passing second in this cold, dark box. It leaks out of my skin like my body heat.

A single tear forms at the corner of my eye, hot and wet. I feel it slide across my skin as I blink in a daze. Alice keens in the dark beside me, but I hardly hear her now. I’m fading away, just trying to be anywhere but here. It’s so, so cold.

The temperature numbs me, body and mind. My spirit is being drawn out of my body, leaking out of my ears and dissipating into the darkness that surrounds me. Soon, I’ll cease to exist at all.

There is nothing I can do to stop this, so I might as well just give in. Just continue to lie here, eyes closed, and let myself disappear. No more fighting, no more worry, no more anything.

Then I think about Jason, Alice’s child.

The look in his eyes as Gary dragged him inside the motel room. Everything that small boy has been through and will experience before his short life comes to a close.

He’s down there in the dark with Ross, probably believing that his mother is dead and that he will be too soon.

My thoughts shift to my husband. Broken as he is, I know for a fact that right now, he’s telling Jason that it’s going to be okay, that he will protect him and get him back to his mom, doing everything he can to soothe the traumatized child.

That’s the kind of man Ross is.

I can see the scene in my mind, as if I’m there with them.

Despite everything that’s happened, Ross is telling the boy that everything is going to be all right, promising him that life will be good again. Tears are streaming down my face now.

He would have made the best daddy someday.

A sudden visceral reaction rocks my entire body. My heart squeezes so hard it’s like a giant hand has reached into my chest and gripped it, pumping new life into the failing organ.

The words I want that blare through my mind, shocking me with their power and impact.

My eyes fly open, and my breaths quicken.

I want that future with Ross more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. That picture he’s been trying to paint for me— kids running around the yard of our new home, catching fireflies at dusk, family vacations and movie nights piled on the couch with our blankets and cocoa.

I want it all.

Though he’s not really talking to me, Ross’s kind but firm voice echoes through my head, stirring me even further. He’s saying there’s still a fight to be had, reminding me we can’t give in, no matter what.

Get up, Jenna. Keep fighting. Don’t ever give in.

A tingle goes down my spine as I take in another breath, feeling stronger. Putting a trembling hand against the floor, I push upwards, righting myself. The tears stop abruptly.

There’s that spark again, that willpower deep inside me.

I thought it had been extinguished, but tiny as it is, Ross’s voice fans the flames. The possibility there’s still a future out there for us acts as an accelerant.

I take in another breath, swiping the tears from my face.

People need my help. If I give up, they die too. Alice, little Jason, Ross. They need someone to save them. No one else is coming, no one else will help.

I am all that stands between them and the abyss. Sniffling, I run a shaking hand beneath my nose to wipe away the dripping mucus.

Thinking of their suffering is bringing me back from the brink. Reminding me why I joined the Army to begin with, why I continue to fight in a world that can seem so dark and overwhelming at times.

Some people don’t have the means to defend themselves.

It is the duty of those who are strong to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

And by God, am I strong. Everything I’ve been through in my life has made me that way.

Even as hunger ravages my body, my head throbs, and the chill eats away at me, I remember a single, immutable fact.

I do not know how to give up.

Even in my darkest moments, I simply do not give in. I do not give up, ever.

With my stepdad, with bullies, with anything life has thrown my way, I just refuse to give in, period.

This moment is no different.

There is still air in my lungs, and that means there is still a fight to be had.

A duty to fulfill. There are those whose lives will be immeasurably worse if I do not act. I set my brow and clench my fists, feeling a burst of energy course through me.

I set a single intention in my mind. No, not just an intention—a promise. To Ross, to Jason.

To Bill and Gary.

I will not surrender here in this freezing tractor-trailer. I will not give up. I will not give in.

Somehow, some way, I will find a way.

TWENTY-THREE

Now that I’ve made that promise to myself, it’s time to figure a way out of this.

The facts are not great. Stuck in a freezing cold box with no food or water, or even light. The box is locked from the outside. In a few hours, I’ll be out of time.

I have inadequate clothing for the temperature, and I’m still reeling from the blow to the stomach. I’m running on three hours of sleep.

And yet, I will not give in. Now that I’ve remembered who I am, what makes me me, I feel different. I can look at all those listed facts, and instead of falling apart, I can get focused.

They’re just obstacles, and obstacles can be overcome.

There’s a way out of this, I just know it. I have to choose to believe that. My brain spins as I try to work through my options, which admittedly are few.

Still, I won’t give in, because I just don’t quit.

That’s who I am, and I remember that now. So with another rub of my arm against my nose, I push back to my feet. As I do, my arm brushes against something in the pocket of my cargo pants.

My trusty Swiss Army knife. I have it out in a moment, fingers fumbling blindly as I work to pull out the two inch blade. The walls in here are insulated to keep the temperature regulated. If I can cut through them, maybe I can get to the outer wall, and then find a way through that, too.

Alice continues to sob uncontrollably behind me as I crawl blindly forward, hand outstretched to feel for the wall. There it is. I put my knife against it and then stab downward, but it’s no good. It’s a hard plastic insulation, too thick for my tiny blade to penetrate. I don’t let it stop me.

Think, Jenna.

Mentally, I rewind our walk to the trailer in my mind. Seeing the doors, the mechanisms, the back of the truck. My chest tightens as another idea strikes me, sending another shiver down my arms.

That’s it—the vent door.

On the back of the trailer there was a small vent door, no more than a foot wide and two feet tall, that can be opened to allow a flow of air through the cabin. It was locked and shut, but if I can find it here on the inside, it could be our way out.

I just have to find it.

“Alice,” I call out.

“That’s your real name, right? Alice?”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. I say her name again, and this time, the crying pauses long enough for her to respond.

“W-what?” she says, the word coming out quiet, broken.

I can’t imagine what she must be feeling. What she’s been through. It’s a miracle she’s even functioning at all. Knowing this, I also know that it can be beneficial to have something else to focus on.

Right now, that’s finding this little vent.

“I think I can get us out of here, but I need your help. Can you help me?” I ask her.

Alice sniffles. “You… you want me to help?”

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “We need to find a vent door. Feel along the back with me—the texture of it will be different from the plastic wall insulation.”

There is a moment of silence, and then a cough. “Okay,” Alice says, and I hear her shift her weight to get up.

I make my way toward the back of the trailer, still moving completely without sight. My crawl stops when my fingertips scrape the cold plastic. This is the back wall.

“Are you next to me?” I ask aloud.

There’s heavy breathing from somewhere close.

“Yes. It’s cold,” Alice says, her teeth chattering together.

“I know, that’s why we’ve got to find this, okay? I need you to focus on the wall,” I tell her.

We start our search. In my mind, I remember it being somewhere along the bottom of the left door. The insulation is cold to the touch as I bring my hands over its surface.

A sudden gasp stops me in my tracks.

“I—I think I found it. Is this it?” Alice asks.

She’s off to my left, and at knee-level. I drop down to my knees and feel forward until I touch her arm or leg.

“Where is it?” I ask.

A tapping from just off to my right draws my head. She’s tapping to show me where. It sounds metallic. I jut out a hand toward the sound, fingers coming down on cold metal with ridges.

“I think that’s it,” I say breathlessly.

“What is that, metal?” Alice asks.

“Some sort of grate to stop anything from falling through,” I tell her.

My fingers run across the surface of it as I map it out in my mind. This is definitely the vent, but the grate prevents me from being able to kick out the lock that holds the small door closed.

“How are we going to be able to get through?” Alice asks, her voice catching in her throat.

A new obstacle, but I won’t let it stop me. There is always a way out.

And this time, I know what to do. My Swiss Army knife has a file tool.

Well, a nail file. But it’s still a file, and it’s our only chance of getting through this grate.

“What are you doing?” Alice asks as she hears me pulling out the tool.

“I’ve got a nail file here. It’s not much, but it should be able to get us through this metal.”

“A nail file?” she asks.

I’ve finally got the file out, able to find it by its rough texture against my fingertips.

“Think prisoners and jail bars,” I tell her as I hold the file up to the first section of the grate.

It’s a grid pattern, with square holes about a half-inch wide. The metal itself is probably a quarter inch or less thick. A daunting task, but it’s what must be done.

I start filing, bringing my arm back and forth as I begin sawing through the corner of one grid square. It doesn’t take long before my arm begins to burn. My hand feels hot too from squeezing the tiny nail file so tightly.

“Is it working?” Alice asks.

I hear her hands on the grate.

“I don’t feel anything,” she says.

Reaching forward with my other hand, I try to feel around to check my progress.

Did it do anything at all? My heart pounds as I pull my fingertip across the grate surface.

“Here, I feel it,” Alice says suddenly, her words pouring out of her.

She grabs my hand and holds it over the mark. There—an indentation. A definite, real, indentation.

We can do this. That tiny indentation is enough to fill me with a burst of energy, and I begin sawing in earnest. I don’t know how much time passes like this, my thoughts focused only on the task at hand.

We have to get through this grate before the morning. Time has no meaning inside this sensory deprivation box, which makes me work all the more. When my right hand cramps enough that I can no longer hold the file, I switch to my left. When that one fails, Alice steps in, each of us keeping our hand on the mark that continues to grow. It is our lifeline, our light in the darkness. Hope.

Flexing my hands open and closed, I try to work out the knots that have formed from holding the awkward position. I’m going to need these to function if we’re ever going to get out of here.

My arms are trembling from the lack of fuel at this point, but I just have to ignore that and try to push on. Alice has been at it for a while, giving me the chance to do jumping jacks to try and maintain body heat. I cannot let myself shut down, not now.

“Jenna,” Alice says quickly.

I stop my motions instantly and turn toward her voice.

A tapping on the grate. “I got through. I sawed through. See?”

Hurriedly I throw my hands back on the grate, trembling fingers stopping over the sharp edge of the newly severed piece. She’s right—it’s working.

“Do the next one down along the side,” I tell her, grabbing hold of her hand and placing it so she knows where I mean.

“Right there. We just go all the way down.”

Alice dives back in. I can tell by the quickened pace of her filing that she’s feeling invigorated too. We can really do this.

It’s just a matter of doing it in time.

That’s the biggest concern at this point, getting this done before Bill and Gary take us on the road.

Both of us are exhausted and dehydrated, making the filing work harder than it should be. I feel it on my next round, my arms and shoulders turning into stone as I numbly pull my arm back and forth. Alice and I stopped speaking hours ago. We need to conserve energy.

But through it all, I just keep going, and so does she. There is no chance of quitting, not now. Not when we’re so close.

Life becomes that motion. Back and forth, back and forth. My entire body aches from the cold and the position hunched in front of the grate.

My hands are raw, and they tremble enough that I need to hold onto the file with both hands. I just keep going. My throat feels as if it’s a quarter of the size it once was. Each swallow is painful.

Saliva left my mouth long ago, leaving me completely dry and barren. I just keep going.

A dogged determination has set in. This won’t beat me, just like everything else I’ve been through hasn’t.

I know my body’s timeclock is ticking toward failure, but I hold on. I get through two of the grate bars before I physically can’t close my hands around the Swiss Army knife anymore.

Alice takes over while I lie back, trying not to move so I can hopefully regain some energy. I pass in and out of consciousness. I’m here, and not here. My body is crying out for something to eat and drink.

The cold continues to leach into me. At this point, I don’t know if the pounding in my skull is because of the lack of water or the oppressive cold.

When it’s my turn to file again, I’ve lost track of how much time has passed. What I do know is that we’ve almost gotten down the length of the grate.

This is the final connecting piece, and then the entire side will be cut.

That fact gives me a little boost of energy, which is desperately needed. I can practically sense freedom in my pores, each movement of the nail file bringing it just a little closer.

Just. Keep. Going.

The dull ache in my skull has grown into an almost ear-splitting pain that reaches across every inch of my brain. My mouth is like cotton. My arm shakes as I pull the file back—and then feel it break through.

That’s it. We’ve managed to file all the way down.

“Alice,” I say, her name coming out slightly crackled thanks to how dry my mouth is.

She crawls over to watch as I wrap my fingers around the edges of the grate. Then I try bending it inward toward me.

It bends a couple inches, but the metal is stiff enough not to give any further. We’ve got to clear this grate to have any hope of getting at the vent door itself.

So I shift position, aligning my hip and leg with the wall holding the vent and bring up my boot to feel for the edge of the bent grate. My legs have more strength than my arms.

Pressing with my heel and sole, I manage to pry the grate a bit further out, then give it a hard kick. Now we’re talking.

Kicking the grate back takes a few more good kicks that leave me winded, head spinning, but it’s worth the effort.

Each blow widens the gap between the grate and the vent door behind it. It’s bent toward us at a nearly ninety degree angle now, confirmed by Alice who reaches in after each kick to monitor the progress.

“One more,” I say, gritting my teeth as I line my foot up. “Make sure you’re out of the way.”

“I’m good. Do it,” she urges.

I rear back and slam my foot into the grate, the heavy thunk ringing out inside the trailer as it bends another few inches. That should be enough. I flip back around and feel along the wall for the opening again.

Here it is. Success.

The grate has been moved aside enough that I can put my hand and arm inside the opening, up against the vent’s outer door. My heartbeat picks up. That means I can get my foot inside.

There’s only one thing left to do now.

I lean back on my hands and brace my left foot against the wall beside the opening. My right one is about to become a battering ram.

“Get behind me, okay,” I say to Alice. “Keep me from sliding backwards when I try to kick it out.”

She feels around until she finds my shoulders then comes to sit behind me, back to back.

Lining up my boot in the dark, I take a few careful practice kicks. Good. I’ve hit the target every time instead of the peeled back grate off to the right of the opening. Hopefully, a few good kicks, and we’ll be through.

“Brace yourself. Ready?” I ask Alice.

“Ready,” she says. “Fire away.”

The first thrust comes down hard, making the door rattle, but it manages to hold.

The second kick sends the door flying open with a bang. In a heartbeat I’m down on my knees, heart in my throat as I stick my head out to breathe fresh air for the first time in hours.

The warm air hits my skin, and it feels so good I almost burst into tears. It’s so wonderfully refreshing compared to this icebox we’ve been forced to stay in.

The width of the vent opening only allows my head to poke through, with my shoulders pressed against the interior walls of the trailer.

A quick glance around shows nobody running toward the truck which means the noise from kicking open the vent door hasn’t alerted Bill or Greg. The sky is still dark, but light enough that I’d put it around four-thirty or five AM.

The motel office is still lit, its warm lighting filtering out to the gravel parking lot. As I watch, the door to the lobby’s back room is pulled open, and I hurriedly duck my head back inside the trailer.

They’re still awake, which means that getting out of here is going to be all the more challenging. If they hear or see anything, it’s over.

That’s if we even can get out of here. I’m not even sure it’s going to be physically possible, but we’ve got to try.

“They’re still awake, so we’ll have to be quiet,” I tell Alice. With a bit of light filtering in now through the opening, I can just make out her outline beside me.

She nods silently, the whites of her eyes seeming to glow in the dim light.

This is going to be tricky. Because of the size of the opening, we can’t just slip out through it easily. After a quick head-poke to make sure they aren’t looking in our direction, I position myself so that I’ve got my shoulder flush with the wall and one entire arm sticking out through the hole.

I grasp wildly but can’t reach the lever that has to be pulled up and over to open the door. It’s just too far away. The strain starts to hurt my shoulder, so I pull back inside, breathing heavily.

“What?” Alice asks.

I shake my head. “It’s too far to reach.”

Alice lets out a sob as she leans back. I lift my hand to my head and run my fingers through my wild hair, eyes flicking back and forth. Maybe…

Scrambling back to my feet, I press myself up against the trailer’s back wall again, only this time I try to push my entire left leg out of the opening. I’ve got to contort myself into this horrible half-squat position due to the height of the vent along the wall, which makes my thigh muscles start burning almost instantly. The rough edges dig into my skin as I wiggle my leg through, letting out a hiss.

But with my leg out, I can reach much farther. My toe scrapes the lever we need, and my pulse starts racing.

“I feel the handle,” I hiss, my words mumbled since this position requires my face to be mushed against the inside of the door.

Leaning in as much as my body will physically allow, I manage to give myself another couple inches of length. It’s enough to get the toe of my boot under the lever, and then I lift up. It pops up, and then a quick kick out unlocks it.

A thin beam of light appears inside the trailer as the door starts to swing out. Alice lets out a gasp of excitement, and I hurriedly extract myself from the vent opening to join her. Together we push against the door, forcing it open.

My heart soars as warm night air rushes to meet us. Alice and I both jump out and land on the gravel drive outside the trailer.

The sounds of the world return in a rush. Gravel crunching underfoot. Bugs buzzing, the wind blowing. Alice drops to her knees, beginning to cry again quietly as she thanks God, the Universe, the angels, basically everything and anything that we’re free.

I quickly close and latch the door again before Gary or Bill can notice it. Then I peer around the back of the trailer toward the lobby, a small smile growing on my face, despite everything that’s happened to us.

I’m smiling because for the first time since this whole nightmare started, I have the advantage. For once, I know something our captors don’t.

I’m no longer where I’m supposed to be, and I’m about to make Gary and Bill well aware of that fact.

TWENTY-FOUR

A warm breeze blows over us as we remain crouched behind the tires of the trailer.

My gaze is locked on the lobby in the distance. Gary and Bill aren’t visible right now, which tells me they’re either in the backroom or down in the tunnels. I hope it’s not the latter. I shudder to think what might be happening if they’ve gone down there to hunt for Ross and Jason.

Can’t think about that right now. Focus. The best thing you can do for them is focus.

Maybe they’ve gone into one of the rooms to get some sleep. After all, they’ve got a drive ahead of them. Before too much longer, the sun will be up, and Bill and Gary will be expecting to leave and take us to market, wherever that might be.

That’s not going to happen.

Waving for Alice to follow me, I creep around the backside of the trailer toward the cab. We remain low, moving quickly across the gravel before reaching the front of the truck. I try the driver side door handle with baited breath.

It clicks open. Gary didn’t lock it in all the commotion from earlier.

Guess he wasn’t too worried about it because they didn’t count on us ever getting out and going anywhere.

I pull myself up into the cab and shut the door behind me as quickly as possible while keeping an eye on the motel lobby in search of any movement. Can’t have the cab’s overhead dome light giving us away.

Right in front of me is the steering wheel. I climb over the driver’s seat to get further in. I’m searching for anything in here that we could use.

My gaze falls to a mostly empty thirty pack of plastic water bottles on the floor of the cab between the seats. A piercing sting in my throat reminds me of just how thirsty I am. My trembling hand digs through the plastic packaging before latching on to two of the bottles.

Sliding back across the seat, I ease the door open just a little.

“Alice,” I croak out and drop one of the bottles to her. I’ve barely shut the door again before I’ve got the cap off my and am sucking down every last drop of its contents.

The feeling is absolutely indescribable. It’s room-temperature water that’s probably sat in the sun all day but to me, it’s literally the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Tears fill my eyes as I drain the last of the bottle, the plastic crunching and twisting from the force of my sucking.

All across my body, I can feel the energy and healing occuring. It’s like I’m an electricity grid that was down and is coming back online one neighborhood at a time.

The shadowy, sticky feeling clouding my mind recedes like a shadow as life-giving water floods throughout my system, every fiber of my being soaking it in like a dry sponge.

As weak and dehydrated as I was, I really wasn’t in any shape to try and take on two grown men. I could barely think or plan, save for my most base survival instincts.

But now, it’s like my mind has fuel to move again. My thoughts pick up speed, having shed the sluggish weight that critical dehydration brings.

The stupor is gone, replaced by pure determination.

It’s time to turn the tables.

Ross and Jason are still down there in the pit, and they need my help. I look over the length of the cab in search of anything that might help me accomplish that. My eyes stop on a wooden baseball bat sticking out from behind the seat on the passenger side.

It’s not a gun, but it’s better than nothing.

Grabbing hold of the bat handle, I slide it out while keeping one eye on the motel. No news is good news in that department.

Reaching back down to the floorboards, I grab another two water bottles to take with me. When we get to Ross and Jason, they’ll need it.

With those tucked under one arm and the bat in the other, I slip back out of the cab and shut the door carefully behind me. Alice waits at the front wheel. We’re both crouched down behind it, the massive rubber tire more than tall enough to keep us out of sight of the motel lobby.

A whoosh of sound from that direction pulls my gaze around the edge of the tire. Gary’s just pushed the office door open and is stepping outside as he says something over his shoulder. I can’t hear it clearly.

My heart pounds as we watch him walk down the walkway to Room 7 and unlock the door. He steps inside, and it closes behind him.

I work my tongue over the edges of my front teeth as I try to figure out a gameplan.

“Okay,” I say to Alice. “I want you to start heading down the road, just get clear of all this. Stop anyone who drives by and get them to send the police here.”

To my surprise, she starts vehemently shaking her head no.

“I can’t leave my son. Or you, after everything you’ve done for me, despite what I’ve done to you. Let me help. Tell me what I can do, and I’ll do it. I owe you that much,” she says.

There’s a resoluteness written across her face that I haven’t seen before. While I was trained to always try and get civilians out of harm’s way if possible, I can see she’s not going to go along with it.

And honestly, I could use the help.

“All right,” I say.

I cast another glance toward the motel. Then I shift my attention back to Alice.

“Here’s what I want you to do…”

I give her a quick overview of my plan. She nods dutifully after I’m finished and then starts immediately toward the forest beside us. I watch after her for a moment until she disappears into the trees and is absorbed by the darkness.

I grip and regrip the bat with a sweat-soaked palm. Then I start across the parking lot in a hurried crouch, keeping as low as possible and trying to stay in the shadows.

My heart is in my throat the entire time. At any moment, I expect shouting, gunshots. But I make it across the lot to the office without issue, chest rising and falling.

Back pressed against the wall to one side of the lobby, I clutch onto the bat with both hands and try to settle my racing pulse.

Moving ever so slowly, I ease over just enough to peer inside, eyes flicking over the area. The lobby is clear, but the door to the backroom is cracked a few inches. Through the gap, I can see part of Bill’s legs as he lies on the cot. I know it’s him because I recognize the shoes.

He appears to be sleeping, probably trying to catch up after being awake, spying on us. I’m tempted to go in there and give him a courtesy wake-up call with this baseball bat, but the little bell over the lobby door would alert him.

So I slide back into my cover position, eyes flicking back and forth between the office and room 7 as I plan my next move.

Bill’s asleep for now, so Gary is the more immediate threat.

With that information in mind, I race past the glass office door and windows then tuck myself into the recessed walkway area running in front of the arm of motel rooms. Thanks to the awning, it’s dark under here.

Moving quietly past the rows of room doors and windows, I stop just before I get to Room 7. There’s a muffled thump from inside as Gary moves about.

He’s definitely awake in there. I freeze in place for a second to see if he heard my footsteps approaching, but it doesn’t appear that he did.

Adrenaline is racing through my body, making my hands buzz as I hold onto the bat. I feel like my breathing is so loud he’ll hear me through the reinforced door and window, but I know that’s ridiculous.

Glancing back toward the tractor trailer in the distance, I squint to see if Alice is back yet. I don’t see her, wait—there, she just stuck out her hand to let me know she’s there.

I raise my hand to her while sliding as close to the Room 7 door as I dare.

My pulse thunders in my ears. All my senses are heightened, keenly attuned to each individual tap or bump that happens around me.

I stop right beside the door frame, back to the wall. My arm is still raised, but then I let it drop.

The moment I do, a loud bang echoes out through the night. Alice just slammed a stick against the metal side of the trailer.

The commotion from inside the room stops. I picture Gary inside, frozen as he tries to listen and figure out if he really heard something.

“Bill, that you?” I hear him call out.

I stay completely silent. Then a shadow cuts across the yellow square of light that paints the concrete and gravel in front of me. Gary’s coming to the door.

I hear his keys jingle as he unlocks it. My fingers tremble around the bat handle, and my arm muscles are so tense they feel ready to explode. The room door swings inward.

Shoes squeak as Gary coughs. He’s right there. Inches away. But it’s too soon.

I’m still pressed back against the wall outside the door, out of sight.

Time seems to slow as I hear him moving through the doorway beside me. Then I’m swinging, putting every ounce of strength and energy into the arc as I bring the bat around with a grunt.

Gary’s face appears only briefly before my bat crashes into it, exploding in a shower of blood. He lets out a gurgle then drops hard, collapsing backward into the room as I surge forward.

My pulse pounds as I flip the bat around in my grip, so I’ve got the barrel facing downwards.

Gary’s face is a mess of jagged teeth and smashed cartilage and blood. His eyes go wide as he sees me standing over him.

“Surprise,” I hiss at him before jabbing the end of the bat down into his forehead with a thunk. His skull bounces off the floor, and he’s out like a light.

A bell tingles behind me, and I hear Bill’s shout as he pushes open the lobby door.

I whirl around just in time to see him bring his shotgun up, preparing to fire. I dive forward as the blast rings out, striking the hard floor and rolling to the side.

My eyes snap up to the shotgun leaned against the wall. Gary’s gun. I drop the bat, shoulder the shotgun and squat down behind the chair to aim at the doorway opening.

The sound of rapid footsteps over crunching gravel fills the air.

“Gary?” Bill shouts in a desperate tone as he runs this way.

Gary’s lying motionless in the doorway, his boots sticking out across the threshold.

“Gary, stay down,” I warn, just in case he’s regained consciousness and is thinking of trying anything. He doesn’t respond.

My heart beats hard against my ribs as I tap my finger against the shotgun trigger, breathing slowly through my nose and working to slow my heartbeat.

I exhale just as I see Bill’s shadow approach the doorway. When his head breaks my line of sight, I squeeze.

The gun slams into my shoulder as the recoil jolts through me. Shotgun pellets pierce the wall and fly out into the open air, but Bill’s not on the ground. He managed to pull back in time.

Curses ring out in the night.

I swallow hard, glancing down at the gun in my grip. No more ammo. Before Bill can realize that fact, I dart across the room and slip into the hole in the floor.

Gary had the hatch open—looks like he was throwing all the pieces of destroyed furniture down into the tunnel. I race down the ladder and jump off halfway, landing in a pile of mattress pieces and broken wood.

I roll off of it as Bill lets out a yell from somewhere above. Must’ve gotten a look at his brother. The light visible through the trapdoor flickers as Bill stands over the hole, but I’m already moving full speed down the tunnel.

He doesn’t shoot down the shaft trying to hit me. I’m not sure what he’s doing now, but I’m bursting out into the main cavern, which is faintly illuminated by the small square of light overhead.

“Jenna?” Ross calls out. I turn my head toward his voice. He’s in one of the cages.

Both he and Jason are locked up, but I don’t have time to stop and free them. I’m in a race to get up into the lobby.

“I’ll be back,” I whisper as I flash by them, my eyes trained on the square of light in front of me.

I get underneath it and start pulling myself up as fast as I can go with the gun pinned underneath my chin. I’ve got to get up there before Bill realizes what I’m doing and comes over to stop me.

I climb until my head pops out through the break room floor.

The last time I was in the lobby, Bill and I were coming for the shotgun, or so I thought. It was here that I discovered his betrayal—while we were searching for shells for the gun.

The good news is I remember which drawers he was “searching.” The ones on the left of the check-in desk. One of them might contain the spare shells I need.

Crawling out of the trapdoor hole, I grip the shotgun in one hand and start crawling for the door, staying low behind the desk so he won’t see me from outside.

Bill left the backroom door partially open when he rushed out after hearing me score a homer on Gary.

The lobby is quiet as I slip through the doorway. Through the lobby windows I see the first rays of light just beginning to rise above the trees.

Diving for the lefthand drawers, I yank them open and stuff my hands inside in search of shells. I’ve got to find some, or this is all going to end in a way I desperately don’t want it to.

The shrill sound of a ringing bell freezes me in place.

That’s the lobby door opening. Bill must have figured out where I was headed.

He hasn’t seen me yet. I’m hidden behind the desk, and I don’t dare breathe for fear of giving away my position.

“I know you’re in here,” he calls out. “Saw the door move from outside.”

My hands tremble as I clutch the shotgun against my chest. The lobby door closes behind Bill. This is bad, really bad. I don’t have a single shell left.

But he doesn’t know that.

I’ve got to make him think I got ahold of more ammunition.

“I found the ammo. One more step, and I’m putting a hole through you,” I say, putting as much deadly promise into the words as I can muster.

I’m hoping to hear him scramble back out through the door to take cover, but instead, there’s nothing. No movement. No response.

I blink, my heart racing and my breaths shallow. What’s he doing just standing there?

Finally, he speaks.

“You know, that would be something… considering the fact that I’ve got that ammo box in my pocket here,” he says slowly.

Mockingly. He knows he’s got me.

My stomach sinks as I remain crouched. I might be able to make it back down into the cavern before he rounds the desk, but then what? I’m still out of ammo, and he still has a gun.

A loaded one.

He’ll be able to trap me down there, and we’ll be right back where we started.

“I want you to stand up now, nice and slow,” Bill commands over the raised countertop.

“I know that little scheming brain of yours by now,” he says in a tone that’s almost affectionate. “You’re thinking of trying to scramble back to the breakroom hatch, but I wouldn’t try it. I can see it, which means I can shoot it.”

My throat is so tight I can hardly breathe. What can I do here?

He’s right—if I make a break for the opening in the floor, he’ll be able to shoot me easily. Do I risk it anyway?

I lick my dry lips and chance a quick peek around the side of the desk to try and figure out where he is in the room.

Maybe I can jump him somehow, catch him by surprise? Jab the butt of my gun in his face?

My quick glance shows he’s about five feet back from the desk, standing in front of the fabric couch.

Way too far away.

“That’s right. I’ve gotcha now. Might as well put down that empty gun and show yourself,” Bill says, the words spilling out through his twisted grin.

But I’ve got a smile on my face as well.

My peek told me his position, but it also revealed something else.

I let the shotgun clatter to the floor and slide it out from behind the desk.

“Fine, you’ve got me,” I call out, and he chuckles.

“But she’s got you,” I finish.

“Wha—” is all Bill manages to get out before Alice slashes the tendons on the backs of his ankles from underneath the couch.

TWENTY-FIVE

My Swiss Army knife might be little, but that blade sure is sharp.

Bill’s still clutching the gun as he staggers forward a step, and then his knees crash to the floor.

I’m around the desk and on him in a flash, using Alice’s distraction to disarm him with a crunching elbow to the nose. He lets out a gurgle, one hand coming up instinctively to cover it.

I grab for the shotgun, but Bill holds it away from me, still clamping his nose with his other hand.

A flash of silver as Alice stabs him in one side and then the other. Bill doubles over, and I dive to pull the shotgun from his hand. Breathing heavily, I push back to my feet, turning the shotgun to aim it right at Bill’s face.

Only then does he stop squirming and fighting. Blood runs from his nose, his sides, his ankles. It pools on the floor beneath him.

Alice, who was behind him, walks around so he can see her. Bill’s eyes go wide when he spots her, his mouth opening.

“That’s for my son, you sick creep,” she spits at him.

I nod to her as she steps behind me.

“My gun was empty Bill, you’re right—thanks for loading this one though,” I say, bringing the barrel closer to his face.

Seeing him cringe away from it fills me with a deep satisfaction as my pulse finally begins to lower.

Not so tough now, is he? No more smug look on that face, just blood and fear.

I like Bill better this way.

“Okay, okay,” he whimpers, his hands raised shakily.

We did it. Despite everything, we found a way through.

I want to scream and cry and laugh all at once. I’m beyond exhausted, absolutely strung out, but it’s over at last.

I take the spare shells from Bill so that Alice can load Gary’s shotgun. I keep watch over the man as he remains kneeling on the floor. He doesn't meet my eyes.

“Got it?” I ask her.

She nods, clicking the barrel upright with shells inside. I turn back to Bill and nudge my chin forward.

“Time to walk, Bill.”

He lets out a grunt of pain as he clamors back to his feet, wincing and hissing as he limps forward. With two sliced Achilles tendons, all he can manage is a slow, flat-footed shuffle. Poor guy.

The little bell overhead dings cheerfully as we emerge into the peachy morning light. The trees that surround us are highlighted by its glow, looking gilded.

“Get Gary over here,” I tell Alice, who nods and heads over to Room 7.

I hear her shout something and then see Gary limping his way out of the room, Alice behind him. It’s the complete opposite image of what transpired a few hours earlier when Bill and Gary were herding us to the trailer like sheep to slaughter.

Bill seems to get the full picture of what’s happening now, because he starts shaking his head rapidly.

“No, no, no,” he says and stops walking, but a nice stiff jab with the shotgun in the back gets him moving again.

Gary’s breathing heavily as he reaches us, his face a bloodied mess. Alice walks with the gun pointed directly at his back as we cross the gravel lot together to the big rig.

When we get to the back of the trailer, I order Bill to step forward and climb in. He takes a step forward, and then turns around.

“You won’t do this,” he says.

I eye him dangerously. “Bill, you’ve tortured me in almost every way possible over the past day and a half. I don’t think you understand just how much I want to do this.”

He must realize I’m serious, because he drags himself up into the trailer, grunting and wheezing as he pulls himself inside with difficulty. Blood continues to leak from his cuts, leaving a trail.

Gary is up next, moving unsteadily toward the opening and climbing in. With both of them inside, it’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine.

“Enjoy the air conditioning,” I say to Bill, giving him that same exaggerated wink he gave me several times.

The brothers’ shouts are cut off by the shutting door, replaced by the gentle hum of the refrigeration unit and the songs of morning birds. I throw the handle to lock the trailer and let out a long breath. Beside me, Alice lowers her gun.

I tell her to stay by the trailer while I grab something from the lobby. Hustling back across the parking lot, I pull open the lobby door and step back over to the front desk.

While I hadn’t been able to find any shotgun shells in these drawers, I did come across something else.

A large bike lock—perfect for securing the trailer doors. I don’t think Bill or Gary would be able to get any part of themselves far enough through the vent hole to open the doors, but it’s not a chance I’m going to take.

They’re going to be cooling their heels—literally and figuratively—until the police arrive, and I’m going to make sure of that.

Once the lock is on the doors, I take the key and toss it into the woods behind us.

Alice steps forward and pulls me into a hug, taking me a bit by surprise.

“I just want to say thank you, and I’m so, so sorry for not telling you about Bill,” she says.

We pull apart.

“I’d say we're even now after you saved my life back there,” I tell her.

She sniffles, eyes brimming with tears as she nods. We hug again, both of us crying now.

As I release the tears, I’m also letting go of the horrible fate that Bill and Gary had planned for us. All of that awfulness washes away as we hug and cry.

Then Alice and I head back toward Room 7, where it all began.

We spend the next few minutes releasing Ross and Jason from the cages in the cavern, using the set of keys that Alice took from Gary when she woke him up.

Once I’ve helped Ross and Jason up the ladder for the final time, my husband pulls me into a hug.

“Thank you,” he whispers to me as he sobs.

“I was down there and I—I thought… I thought you’d…” he trails off.

He doesn’t need to finish. He feels the same sweet ache as I do, that sensation of a wound being closed now that we’re safe and together again.

I just want to stay in this moment forever. All of the pain, the stress, the torture that we’ve gone through, all of it starts falling away as we hug and kiss.

We made it through, we still have each other. I’m crying all over again as I watch Alice hug Jason, running her hands through his hair and kissing his little face.

We did it. We’re free. As we all walk out of Room 7 for the final time, I look up at the sky. I’ve never been so thankful to witness a sunrise.

I’m absolutely filthy, smelly, covered in blood and tired and hungry. But I’m so, so grateful. I’m still here and still breathing.

And I never gave up. That knowledge fills my chest with light as I help Ross limp forward, supporting half his weight with my arm around him.

We earned this. Even when everything was so dark, we found a way through. As the sun crests over the tops of the trees, I vow never to take another new day for granted again as long as I live.

There is so much to live for, so many good things in store for us. Just feeling the fresh air on my face is enough, the sun warming my skin. I get to experience all of this, and it’s so incredibly wonderful.

Life is wonderful.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when we get home?” Alice asks her son.

“Eat ice cream,” he says. “And play with Duke.”

She grins over at us. “That’s his dog.”

To Jason, she says, “I know he misses you.”

Ross looks down at me with a grin. “What about you? What’s the first thing you want to do?”

“Move into our perfect new house,” I say.

Then with a grin, I add, “And the second thing I want to do is get started on filling it with those kids we’ve been talking about.”

Ross’s eyes pop wide and he lets out a little shocked ha! noise. Then he leans down and starts peppering the top of my head with kisses.

“I’m thinking five, maybe seven,” he says.

“Slow your roll there, cowboy,” I say. “Let’s start with two and see how it goes, okay?”

He beams at me. “Deal.”

I give him a squeeze as we slowly head up toward the road. A few miles away, our van is still parked on the side, all our things waiting for us.

Alice and Jason walk alongside us, all of us absolutely filthy and disheveled and deliriously happy.

As the clouds part, and the sun shines overhead, I see headlights ahead. A car is coming down the road and slows down at the sight of us.

This time, I keep my Swiss Army knife in hand, just in case.

Nikki and Noah thought they’d found the perfect neighborhood. Then they find two wedding rings buried in their backyard. What else are their friendly new neighbors hiding? 

Enter the neighborhood in Such Lovely Neighbors.

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ALSO BY JACK DANE

THE APARTMENT ACROSS THE HALL

HIS FIRST WIFE

THE OTHER COUPLE

THE NEW SITTER

SUCH LOVELY NEIGHBORS

DONT GO DOWNSTAIRS

WHICH SISTER

WE’RE LIKE FAMILY HERE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jack Dane writes thrillers and psychological fiction that largely takes place in New York City, where he lives. When not writing, Jack enjoys going to jazz clubs, taking people-watching walks in the Park, and exploring the city by night, where he picks up ideas for his next book.

Get a FREE copy of his thriller novella The Weekend Trip by heading to jackdanebooks.com

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Copyright copyright 2026 by Jack Dane

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places, and plot are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any places, business establishments, events or occurrences, are purely coincidental.

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