The flames were consuming the upper floor of the bunker, and Marcus could already feel his lungs burning from the smoke and lack of oxygen. But he still couldn’t find a way to get them out of this mess. They couldn’t push their way out. They couldn’t blow the door. They couldn’t call for help. Even the closest neighbor would never reach them in time. This place would be their tomb.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. There’s something that I need to tell you before—”
She stood up and smacked him hard across the face. “Don’t you start that crap with me. I know you. You’re much too stubborn to give up on anything. Now we’re getting out of here.”
“I’ve got nothing! There’s no way out.”
“There’s always a way. Think harder.”
The sound of the crackling flames filled the space. Beaman started to hack and cough from the smoke.
“What about Conlan?” Maggie said. “He’s paranoid enough to build an underground bunker out in the woods, but he’s not paranoid enough to have a back door leading out of the place?”
“You’re right. Holy crap, you’re absolutely right. I’ve heard of some cult and militia compounds where they built secret escape tunnels in case they were ever raided by the federal government. Conlan might have built something similar. We just have to find it in time. The two of you check the room with the mirrors. Maybe one of them is on hinges. I’ll check Conlan’s bedroom.”
Ignoring the pain in his ankle, Marcus sprinted toward the bedroom and shone his flashlight’s beam over the walls. He grabbed high on the bookshelves and pulled, tipping each one over. The sound of them smashing against the concrete reverberated off the block walls like cannon blasts. There was nothing behind them. The light played over the walls, and he quickly scanned them for any symbols or markings that would indicate a hidden mechanism of some sort. He shoved Conlan’s bed aside and checked beneath it. There was nothing there.
Any escape tunnel had to be in the next room. If there was an escape tunnel.
The smoke was quickly filling both floors now. The trapdoor was gone, and the plywood was caving in near the back wall. They didn’t have much time.
He ran into the room containing the bodies and the pentagram and found Maggie and Beaman working their way around to each of the mirrors lining the walls. They were pulling on them, shoving against them, and feeling their surfaces. Marcus ran to a point in between them and started doing the same thing, working his way toward Maggie.
But he stopped when Maggie said, “Wait. I think I’ve got something.”
“What is it?”
“This one’s colder than the others.”
Marcus ran over to her. “Stand back.” He grabbed the Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster and smashed the butt of the gun into the mirror. It shattered and the pieces of glass rained down onto the concrete floor.
And there it was. A small and ragged hole in the earth just big enough for a man to crawl through. Marcus shone his light inside. The tunnel traveled up for about fifteen feet that he could see, but then it curved off.
Something crashed down in the adjacent room. The floor above was giving way. They needed to move.
“Beaman. You go first.”
“I don’t like tight spaces.”
“Do you like burning to death?”
The old man swallowed hard, made the sign of the cross, and climbed into the hole.
“Okay, Maggie. Your turn.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah. Later. We’re not out yet.”
She climbed inside and crawled forward down the tunnel. He allowed her some space, and then he followed. The shaft was cramped, and its floor was just hard dirt and rock. It grated against his forearms and elbows as he crawled and squirmed through the small space. He had never experienced claustrophobia before, but he understood the sensation now. It felt like the entire weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.
Then Maggie stopped her forward progress, and Beaman’s voice echoed back. The old man said, “The tunnel’s blocked!”