At the sound of the baby crying, I spin back toward Laura, palm down, as if that will silence the baby.
Laura tries to muffle the baby’s face against her chest. “Hurry!” she whispers.
I can’t make the heavy bolt cutters work. Instead, I try to push the bolt up, hoping the wood is rotten or that the hinge or lock is loose, but nothing budges.
I look back toward the stairs up into the house. If they’re still sleeping, if the noise of the storm keeps masking our sounds, maybe we could go through the kitchen. No, that would never work with the baby crying. This is our only way. I try the bolt again.
The door from the kitchen suddenly flies open, and Laura screams. Dotson’s silhouette at the top of the stairs is stark in the kitchen light. He yells, then flies down the stairs, crosses the basement in three steps to the concrete steps we’re scaling, grabs Laura and backhands her, knocking her off her feet. I grab the baby out of her arms as she falls. It screams two octaves higher. Laura cries out in pain as she hits the cement floor, her head thudding. Clutching the writhing child with one arm, I heft up the bolt cutters and swing them at Dotson as he comes after me. His eyes are bloodshot and murderous, and he gropes for the child. I swing again, but my movement is awkward, and he snatches the tool away. How will I get us out now? I climb back to the double doors over my head and bang with all my might, screaming for help.
I should have called the police. They might have come, if only to apprehend me.
The baby is terrorized, leaning her weight toward her mom as Laura gets up and lunges at Dotson, struggling to block the bolt cutters with her skinny arms.
I bang harder with one hand on the doors over me, feel them give slightly. Rain seeps in through the edges. If the wood is rotten, maybe it will splinter open with enough force, in spite of the lock.
Dotson grabs my foot, and I cushion the baby’s head as I hit one step, then get dragged to the next.
I flip to a sitting position, holding the baby too tight. Her screams pierce my ears.
I yell for help, hoping the neighbor will hear me or Laura. I get back up as Dotson lunges up toward me. I kick and thrash at him, desperate not to drop the baby. I get one good kick into his jaw, then aim lower. I hit home, and he doubles over, grunting. I scramble to my feet, grab the bolt cutters back.
“Run!” Laura screams. “Take her and get out!”
Even if I could open the door, I can’t leave Laura there. Dotson rises again, his teeth bared as he comes at me. I kick at him, then lift up and bang again on the doors with the bolt cutters. I lose my footing and slip down one step, but I cushion the baby. My shin is bruised and bloody, but I swing the tool at him again.
Below us, Laura grabs a steel pipe lying against the wall. She comes back and swings at him, hitting his knee and knocking his foot out from under him. He falls and catches himself a few steps down.
I pray to God that the neighbor will hear our screams, that she’ll call the police again. But the storm is too loud. What helped me moments earlier is now my greatest obstacle.
Then I see Arelle staggering down the basement stairs. “Stop it!” she yells.
“Help me!” Dotson cries. “Arelle, get the gun!”
She freezes for a moment as Laura swings again, this time hitting the back of Dotson’s skull. Laura backs up as he falls, his legs going limp as he tumbles to the concrete floor.
Arelle runs back up the stairs, and I reach toward Laura with the bolt cutters. She grabs them and I pull her up until she’s just below me.
“Stop!”
Arelle stands at the top of the stairs with a shotgun. “Stop!” she shouts again.
Dotson lifts himself to all fours, gets his feet under him.
I get up the steps to the hatch, but I can’t hold the baby and work the bolt cutter, so I bang on it with the tool again, and more rain pours in. I scream louder for help, but Arelle will kill us all before I get it open. I hear her chamber a round, sense her aiming.
Suddenly there’s a crash above my head, and the doors fly open. Rain pours in, soaking my face. A man stands there, silhouetted by a streetlight.
“Casey!” he says. “Take my hand.”
I don’t know who he is, but I thrust the baby at him and turn for Laura. She’s still fighting Dotson as Arelle takes aim. I leap down and hurl myself onto Dotson’s back. “Go!” I yell, and Laura limps up the first three stairs, gritting her teeth. She pulls herself up faster than I thought she could.
Dotson wrestles me off his back, pivots, and swings. His fist crashes across my jaw and knocks me to the floor. Falling, I get a glimpse of Laura escaping out into the night. I’m disoriented, dizzy, as I grapple to get to my feet.
Then I see our rescuer coming in from outside, his eyes pale and his hair wet. As Dotson braces to deliver the knockout punch, the man delivers it instead. Dotson is knocked back to the floor, several feet from me.
As I try to get up, the gun goes off, its blast burning into my soul.