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Harry hit the soft ground in a crouch and stopped to listen. The distant murmur of voices echoed through the dark tunnel, and when she reached out her hand, her fingers brushed hard-packed earth. The place was really just a hole in the ground, like an escape tunnel out of a prison. She had to duck to move forward, and she said goodbye to her favorite jeans as she dragged her knees along the rich, dark soil.
She came out into a small chamber lit by a single, plastic flashlight hanging in the top center by a twig. It swung gently, as if caught in a breeze. There couldn't be any wind in such a place, she reasoned. It must have been one of the kids. A young, confused head had brushed against it, or fingers that still wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else, other than in a dimly lit hole under the ground. Harry reached out for the opening she knew would lead to another tunnel, and her hand came back moist. She held it up to the light overhead. Drying blood. She wiped it on her jeans and pulled the gun out of her coat. It was old, but its aim was true as long as it didn't get wet.
She climbed into the smaller tunnel with her gun tucked neatly into the cuff of her jacket. As she got closer, the whisper of young voices got louder, but an older voice trumped over them. A man spoke in a soothing, steady rhythm. Harry couldn't understand the words, but she could see how he might lure them: it sounded almost like he was reading a bedtime story. She inched closer with her ear out, straining to hear more but not willing to go farther. She could only make out snatches of what he was saying, but the voice was eerily familiar.
"The children came to him and wept... idols had fallen... a leader to bring them to salvation..."
A religious prophet who lured children to him on the premise that he would save them? To Harry, he sounded like a younger, more washed out version of Charlie Manson. It would be hard to bring these kids back. Some of them might never be rehabilitated, as Charlie's twisted family had proven. Some still sent him letters. It's easy to brainwash a kid, and only a chump works on the most innocent.
"...spill blood to open the gates to the great... Only in the name of... Commanded to follow..."
Harry inched forward. She could see a distant light shimmering in the nonexistent wind, and she crawled with her elbows and feet scrabbling to catch hold in the softening dirt. Hot air from the chamber had softened it with moisture. She tucked the gun a little farther into her sleeve.
"And in the name of our true Savior, we will produce more children to be sacrificed."
Harry froze. His voice sounded just inches away, but she still couldn't see the end of the tunnel or the chamber beyond. What was she thinking, climbing down this rabbit hole into a bad situation that she couldn't make better? Would firing underground at a cult leader surrounded by children as he read his twisted fairy tale be the best option for a disgraced cop whose head was already on the chopping block?
"The unborn are the Savior's bread, their blood the Savior's water; we provide our Savior with sustenance so that we may feed forever in the glory of a wrathless fever..."
Harry pushed forward, and she finally felt the tunnel start to turn. It twisted and, around the corner, she could see the flicker of a light. It was man-made; probably a cell phone or a flashlight. She peeked her head around the corner, and part of the small chamber was revealed. Soil had started to accumulate around her nose and mouth, but she didn't dare spit out the grainy stuff. Any sound and she would be caught. How quickly could a bunch of kids in a religious fervor chase a person backwards through a tunnel beneath the earth? She didn't want to find out.
"For the sacrifice of an aborted child, you receive the Savior's blessing. You will not perish."
His voice sounded different, as if strained under the conditions; it wavered, then resumed full volume. He had leaned forward and was back again. A murmur broke out around the room; all their voices seemed to be farther from her than his. He was at the mouth of the tunnel. If she needed to, she could grab him... But she would have all of them on her tail in a second, and he would fight against her.
"Those who do not sacrifice of themselves will be punished as is commanded in the Book of Lost Children. Unwilling children will have their sacrifice chosen for them, for all must sacrifice in order to keep the Savior's grace. Without the Savior, we are all sheep without a flock. Without the Savior, we perish."
Harry could smell his cologne. The familiar sickly sweet musk turned her stomach, and she struggled to breathe through her mouth.
"Let us recite a prayer from the first chapter," he said. When he spoke again, the chorus of many hushed voices followed along, as if they knew this one by heart. "The Savior is love. The love we received not from our parents. The love of a mate, a friend, a sister, a brother. The Savior will protect those worthy of saving in everlasting glory. The Savior knows our sins, and our trespasses. The Savior is all-seeing, and all-knowing. The Savior craves the blood of the unknowing and unwilling. The Savior needs the sacrificial flesh of the unborn. The Savior must avenge all wrongdoing. The Savior is everything."
Bile churned in Harry's stomach. The young voices sounded hollow, like they were only shells of their former selves. They probably were. A rustling caught her attention, and Harry held her breath.
"We read from the Book of Lost Children each day to affirm our faith in the one who will save us all. And, each day after we read, one is chosen to stay behind and worship in the flesh. Who would volunteer to receive the Savior's grace this night?"
Harry pulled back and started the crawl backwards into the first chamber. If they found her, she would have to hurt them to get away. She slithered out into the first chamber as the murmuring of young voices started down the tunnel. She climbed up the wall and into the entrance, which was the only exit, and pulled herself out in time to come face-to-face with Selena.
"Selena! I thought you were dead. Come on," she said as she scrambled up onto her feet. She held out a hand that Selena didn’t take. Harry pulled her phone out of her pocket and shined its screen's dim light on the girl. She was hollow-eyed and her clothes were spattered in dark black. Harry squinted her eyes at the stains. "Selena, are you hurt?"
Selena opened her mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Harry could hear voices behind her in the tunnel. She held out a hand to the girl.
"Please, come with me. I'll help you," Harry whispered.
Selena leaned forward and vomited onto the ground. The voices in the tunnel hushed, and Harry could hear them ripping at roots and twigs in their way.
Harry met the girl's eyes and mouthed, 'Please.'
Selena looked down at the mouth of the tunnel, and Harry darted away into the woods. She didn't go far, but put enough distance between them that they couldn't see her. She hid her phone and squinted through the darkness. One by one, dirty children poured out of the hole in the ground. A few faces she recognized as the missing; others had been missing longer than she had been around. They crowded around Selena, then pulled her through the woods. Harry held her breath as they passed by her. Selena didn't make a sound.
Harry waited for a few minutes, until she was sure that all the kids had come out of the tunnel, then she crept back to the entrance. With a deep breath, she embarked again on a subterranean journey. She knew what the supposed Savior would be doing with the one who stayed behind, and she just hoped to catch him in time before he did any permanent, lasting damage.
Back in the tunnel, Harry crept forward until she could hear them speaking. The man's voice was soft and smooth, like caramel left to cool on a baking sheet. She could tell why they almost couldn't help but listen to him. His voice sounded musical, as if he were singing every word, and brought the mad face of Willy Wonka to mind. Harry shuddered at the thought.
The girl spoke once, a solitary, "Thank you," after a dubious blessing.
Harry checked her gun in her sleeve and pushed herself forward again, her mouth clamped shut against the grunt of effort. As her head came around the bend, Harry could see the two in the much larger chamber below. In a corner of the room, amid a dozen small sitting pillows, was what looked like a beanbag chair. On top of it, on her back, was a girl whose face Harry vaguely recognized through puffy, purple and yellow bruising. The girl's eyes were clamped shut as tight as her mouth. The man was on top of her, his face buried between her exposed breasts.
Estelle. She was the first in Selena's group to disappear. Harry pushed forward again. The drop wasn't far, she could see, but she wouldn't be able to get into the chamber without him noticing. She looked around the room as the false prophet rubbed himself on the girl's half-naked body. Her insides boiled with fury. His immaculate red robe slipped off, revealing his naked back, and he fumbled with the buttons on the girl's skinny jeans.
He didn't have a speck of dirt on him, Harry realized. There must be another way in—and out. She searched every inch of the walls with her eyes, but she didn't see the door until she popped her head into the room and looked down below her. Behind a curtain rod stood a small door that Harry could almost reach. She took a breath, squeezed her hand around the gun, and tumbled forward into the room.
