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I shone the flashlight down. As I did, a clanking sounded behind me and light filled the tunnel.
I leaned into the pit, holding the flashlight down as low as I could, afraid the sound of clicking it off would echo down the tunnel.
"Can you see anything?" Botnick's distant voice asked.
"No," the other man answered. "It's too dark. We need a light."
"Dawn? You'll find a flashlight in my office. Glen? Help me search the room, in case they're still here."
Shadows moved at the far end as they backed away from the opening. I peered into the pit.
"How deep?" Jeremy whispered.
It dropped down about four feet, then stretched into another tunnel. I twisted around and lowered myself. Water seeped through my nylons, my toes squelching in the mud below. It smelled foul but didn't stink like raw sewage.
Jeremy stepped down behind me, barely rippling the water. I considered asking for verification that we were not, in fact, standing in sewage...and decided I was better off not knowing.
I shone the light down the tunnel, but darkness swallowed it after no more than a yard.
"Is it me or is this light getting dimmer?" I asked.
"Hard to say," he lied. "Give it a shake."
I did, and the light seemed to flare brighter. "Should we wait here, or continue on?"
Jeremy peered down the tunnel, then looked back down the one we'd come in. A clank. I recognized the sound of the trap door opening and ducked even as Jeremy pulled me down.
A beam danced over our heads. Mud oozed up to my ankles, swallowing my feet.
"See anything?" a woman whispered.
"No," Botnick replied.
"Where does the tunnel lead?"
"To the street, I was told. Guy who owned the shop before me ran some underground political paper. Always worrying about being raided."
"I'm going in," said the other man.
"Wait, you don't know what's..."
I didn't catch the rest. They'd pulled back, their voices now indistinct. Jeremy leaned down to my ear.
"We should move. Can you put on your shoes?"
"Not if I plan to walk in this. I'm fine."
I started into the tunnel. He caught my arm.
"You're in stockinged feet and can't see where you're stepping."
"I'm--"
"Here--"
"Don't offer me your shoes. Gallant, but it hardly solves the problem unless you're going to squeeze into my heels. I'll be careful."
"Feel before you step. I'll lead and take it slow."
