I tried to rouse Patrick but knew better than to move him. I was terrified of what might be damaged. Liam was standing on his feet shakily, trying to lick Patrick’s outstretched hand. Grant yanked some metal shelving from the far side of the room over to the space beneath the trapdoor. He scrambled up and pushed as hard as he could against the wooden door, but it didn’t budge. Whatever Colin had slid on top of it was doing its job.
Grant gave up and started circling our dank prison with his cellphone held above his head. “No signal,” he growled.
“Okay,” I said, struggling to sound calmer than I felt. “I left Michaelson a message about the lab before we left. The police are bound to send someone over to check it out. We just have to wait till we hear voices, then scream like hell.”
“What if Colin returns to finish us off before the police get here?”
I was touched that Grant wasn’t mincing words, but I wished he hadn’t articulated the truth out loud. It was better somehow as a dark thought lurking at the edge of my mind. Now I had to face the truth. Colin was making and selling drugs. He wasn’t going to tolerate witnesses and we were stuck here waiting for his endgame to play out. Grant had returned to Sheila’s side and gingerly examined her head. “She needs medical attention,” he said. “We have to get her out of here as quickly as possible.”
Patrick still hadn’t stirred. His pulse was there, but he was out cold and Liam was whining. I couldn’t tell if it was simply that he, too, sensed the danger of our current predicament or whether he was in significant pain. I sat on the icy floor next to Patrick and threw my jacket over him to try to keep him warm. Grant pulled off his own coat and draped it round my shoulders. It seemed ungracious at this stage to point out that my shaking was fear more than cold.
“It could be daylight before the police come to check on the lab,” he said.
“At least dawn, I would think. What are the odds that Hunter would think to call the police if we don’t return?”
“If he waits up for us, but if he went back to his own house to sleep, it could be tomorrow before he notices.”
“Brenna,” I said with a slight smile. “Brenna will know you’re missing and she’ll make a big stink about it, thank God.”
Grant made a soft, snorting noise and produced the slightest of smiles. “First time I’ll be glad she’s monitoring my every move.” He sat down on a wooden crate next to Sheila and continued to gently rub her arms and legs, trying to warm her up. “Let’s hope she hasn’t finally given up on me. Be just my luck.”
Liam lay down next to Patrick, his head down and his brown eyes looking pitiful. I moved to sit on the ground next to Grant, dousing the light from my phone and relying on his for now, hoping to conserve some battery life. “Here we go again,” I said finally. “I’ve landed you in the shite one more time.”
“My life would be very dull without you,” Grant replied.
“You have your fiancée.” I could’ve kicked myself as soon as the words crossed my lips. Why did I say these things? Why now? It was that reporter’s knee-jerk reaction to poke and probe even when we shouldn’t.
“Brenna and I aren’t getting married,” Grant said quietly.
“Did I misunderstand?”
“No, you understood exactly what Brenna wanted you to. We had discussed the issue. Brenna was ready, I was not. She tried to force my hand.”
I leaned my head on Grant’s knee. “No one can force you to do anything you don’t want to, nor should they, but I wish you’d chosen not to come here.”
“I’m fine with my choice and the consequences,” Grant insisted. “I have a problem with Brenna trying to make decisions for the both of us. That’s why in the long run we would never make it.”
“So what’s next?”
“Presuming I even have a next at this point, Brenna will be heading back to Wales soon.”
“I’m sorry about that, too.”
Grant nudged me. “Liar. You never really took to Brenna, even though she kept you from being the only woman in the room.”
“Or maybe because of it,” I admitted. “I can be pretty competitive.”
“You don’t say.”
“And we can both be pretty stubborn.” I sat for a moment before conceding, “Me more than you. I’ve taken so many risks professionally, but I’m scared to take risks in my personal life.” Saying those words was probably the biggest risk I’d ever taken.
“Just now when I realized that we may die in this hole in the ground,” Grant said softly, “my first thought was of you. Not Brenna. If this is the end, I’m glad I’m here with you.”
His words struck me. My first thought had been of him, too. I realized that if I had to go, I’d want to do it with his arms around me. That was love. I leaned back against the cold stone wall and started to laugh softly. “At least I’m consistent,” I groaned. “I have the worst timing when it comes to relationships. Terrified of commitment, I have to be at death’s door before I can admit I screwed up.”
“So you admit you made a mistake.”
“As your time to lord that one over me seems to be limited, yes, I admit I made a huge mistake. If I’d stuck around earlier and taken a chance on you, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”
“I don’t believe that. Things happen for a reason. In fact, we’re here in this place for a reason, and I hope it’s to help Nora’s mother.” Grant shuddered.
“Do you want your jacket back?”
“No, there’s just a draft over here.” Grant stood up and moved the crate, scanning the floor and the walls behind him. “There’s a ramp here that leads upward. Looks like the spot they may have used to roll the barrels of beer in and out in the old days.” Grant lay down and shone the light from his phone up into the dark hole.
“Is it passable?”
“There’s some kind of blockage about halfway up and it’s pretty narrow.”
“Could Liam fit?” I asked. “I’m not sure that would help, but if we hear the police arrive we could send him up.”
Grant squinted over at Liam where he lay, panting heavily at Patrick’s side. A sure sign of pain and stress. “I’m not sure he could make it. He’s not looking so good either.”
“Let’s keep that for a last option,” I said. “Let me take a look.” I lay on my stomach and slid partway into the hole. At one point it had been a wood-framed tunnel. Now much of the wood had rotted away and two sides at least were nothing but dirt. There would be a significant cave-in risk. I pulled myself forward and took a better look at the blockage. It was mainly branches, leaves, and dirt. I grabbed one of the branches and started to wriggle backward down the tunnel. Grant grabbed my feet and pulled.
I rubbed the dirt out of my hair, feeling my scalp crawl at the thought of the bugs that could be in there as well. “The blockage is pretty large, but it’s not packed tight. I think we can pull a fair amount down with this stick.”
“Could you manage to claw your way out and go for help?”
I wasn’t at all sure I could drag myself all the way out, and the thought of getting trapped in an underground tunnel boxed in on all sides was terrifying to me, but I couldn’t see any other alternative. “Let’s see how much we can clear out. If we’re lucky, the police will get here soon and we can go out the way we came, but in the meantime, it’ll give us some fresher air and a second option if we need it.”
I took Grant’s jacket and covered Sheila as much as possible so she didn’t get covered in debris. Grant and I took turns dislodging leaves, rocks, and sticks and scraping them down into the cellar. It was slow going, but eventually we had a large pile in the far corner. I slipped into the tunnel once again. I could smell the air at the surface. It was cold and fresh after the dank, stale air of the cellar. I loosened a couple more sticks and then wriggled backward again with Grant’s help.
“Is it clear?”
“Pretty much. As long as the sides don’t cave in it might work.”
Patrick made a groaning noise and we both rushed to his side. He rolled onto his back, displaying a gash on his head above his forehead. The blood had trickled down his face and he looked terrible. He tried to reach for his left arm but passed out again before he could make the connection.
“Looks like it’s broken to me,” Grant said.
I retrieved the string from the corner where it had rolled when Patrick tossed it down earlier. Then I broke down part of the wooden drying rack Sheila was lying on and used it to make a rough splint for Patrick’s arm. When I was finished, I covered Patrick with my jacket again and flopped down on the ground feeling exhausted. Grant sat down next to me, put an arm around my shoulder, and leaned his head on mine. I was tempted to stay right there, but instead I said aloud, “It’s nearly four a.m. Brenna should have noticed you’re gone by now. Hopefully she’s raised the alarm.”
I crawled over to check on Sheila. She was restless and murmuring in her sleep, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. I brushed the hair back from her face gently and tucked the coat closer around her and she seemed to calm.
I stood up and considered our options once more. Sheila and Patrick needed help as quickly as possible. I was going to have to summon the courage to make the crawl.
“What’s that?” Grant asked. “Listen.”
“It sounds like twigs breaking. Maybe someone’s coming,” I said. We stood side by side, silent and still, listening. The crackling noise grew louder and suddenly Grant pointed to the crack around the trapdoor. A thin trickle of smoke was coming through the space and an unmistakable smell of petrol followed. Grant grabbed my arm and pushed me over to the tunnel. “The shed’s on fire,” he said through clenched teeth. “We can’t wait anymore. You have to get out and find help. It’s our only hope.”
I knelt by the opening in the wall, fear replaced by full-on terror. I’d led everyone here and it was my responsibility to find a way to get them out. I entered the hole with my arms above my head, pulling myself along on roots and the remaining slats of wood from the original tunnel. I’d made it about three-quarters of the way when I grabbed at a board above my head and it came away in my hand. Now, not only had I lost the handhold, I had a two-foot-long piece of wood impeding my progress. I couldn’t throw it out of the hole above me. I’d have to try to crawl over it, though there was barely room for me in the tunnel as it was.
I suddenly regretted every ginger scone from the Chocolate Bar and every extra slice of Louisa’s homemade bread. Admittedly, the old me was too skinny, but she’d have made a better job of this ascent. I reached for another handhold and dragged myself over the board, gritting my teeth as the protruding rocks and shards of wood slashed at the bare skin of my waist. I was close to the top. It was about two feet above my outstretched hands. I grabbed for the next handhold and pulled, but the space was narrow and getting tighter. I couldn’t move.
I tried scrabbling with my feet to find a foothold but kept slipping.
“You okay?” Grant’s voice echoed from below.
I did my best to keep the panic from invading my voice. “I’m stuck. I need something to push off with my feet. I can’t get traction.
“Hang on. Let me see what I can find.”
I waited for what seemed like an eternity for Grant to return, forcing myself to breathe slowly and evenly.
“I’m going to try to connect with your foot and give you a boost.”
I felt a metal pole nudging the inside of my calf. “A little lower,” I shouted. The pole connected with the bottom of my foot and I felt a strong push. I used the leverage to move past the narrow spot, feeling my skin shred as I slid up, finally grasping the edge of the shaft with both hands. Above me I could hear the crackle of wood burning. It was now or never. I scrabbled with my feet until I could push myself up and out of the hole, my arms and legs trembling from the exertion. I could feel the blood running down my sides from the cuts on my body. I staggered to my feet. Flames were licking at the front side of the shed. I hurried around to the side. Thank God there was no sign of our arsonist, and in the distance I could hear the sound of sirens. It gave me hope, but time was running out for those in the cellar.
Entry through the front door was impossible. Colin had made sure of that. I used a plant pot to break the side window out. The air caused the flames to leap higher, but I pulled on the weakened planks until I opened a space large enough to slip through. I entered, staying low and putting my arm over my mouth, trying my best to breathe through the fabric of my shirt. I shoved the barrel from the top of the trapdoor and burned my finger grabbing the metal ring that pulled the door up. As soon as it was open, the smoke flooded down into the cellar. Grant was waiting below with Sheila in his arms. He’d used the crate and the shelving unit as stairs and, although he was still a good three feet below floor level, he managed to hold her limp form over his head, passing her up to me.
I had to drag her out of the shed by her arms. It must have hurt like hell, but her other options were worse. The back corner of the shed was beginning to give way and I left Sheila alone in the grass as I ran back into the building. Grant was standing there holding Patrick, who had been screaming in pain but was now frighteningly silent. I grasped him under the shoulders and pulled him out of the hole, once again dragging him out through the burning wreckage and leaving him on the ground next to Sheila.
Back in the shed once more, I found Grant standing holding Liam. I reached down, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and dumped him on the ground, trusting him to find his own way out. He began to bark the moment I let him loose. The final problem was Grant. His tower of shelves was just too short for him to use it to pull his way up to floor level. I looked around for inspiration. But the stress and Liam’s incessant barking weren’t helping my thought process. I began to cough and Liam grabbed my tattered shirttail in his teeth and tried to pull.
“He’s right,” Grant said coughing, too. “Get out.”
Liam tugged forcefully and sent me sprawling sideways. As I scrambled to sit up I saw one of the ceiling beams crashing toward the ground. It narrowly missed me. Choking, I lurched to the edge of the hole to see if Grant was still okay.
“Get out,” he yelled. “I’ve got this.”
By jumping from his position on the top of the box, he could just reach the fallen beam as it stretched across the opening to the cellar. He grabbed hold with his hands and swung his legs up onto the floor of the shed like a kid on a jungle gym and started inching his way out of the hole. I ignored his protests, taking hold of his legs and pulling until we were both sprawled on the floor of the smoke-filled shed. The last thing I saw was the flames shooting higher as the fire caught hold of the dried bunches of lavender mingling the heavy scent of flowers and death.