Panic made me clumsy, frantic, but I shifted my weight, threw my weight into it, and it popped with a sharp snap that nearly sent me sprawling.
I scrambled in, dragging the hatch shut behind me just as bootsteps pounded across the porch.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
Damp. Tight. Earthy.
I grabbed the gun and started to crawl forward on my hands and knees, choking on dust, the air thick with smoke seeping in from above. Every inhale burned. Every exhale caught.
Orange light bled through the slats above me, flickering like warning signals. Two sides of the cabin were engulfed now.
At the far end of the crawl space, there it was.
A sliver of light.
My way out.
I dragged myself toward it, elbows scraping rough dirt, lungs screaming. I almost smiled when I got close enough to reach for it.
And then I saw the boots.
Heavy. Planted.
A shadow loomed just beyond the gap, still and waiting.
My breath stuttered, panic clawing up my throat.
No. No, no, no.
This couldn’t be how it ended.
Not here.
Not like this.
My fingers reached for the gun, slick with sweat.
I didn’t want to shoot anyone.
But I would.
I had to.
I squeezed my eyes shut for one second, one breath, steadying myself.
What would Remi do?
She’d survive.
She’d fight, even if she had to crawl through hell to do it.
She wouldn’t hide. She wouldn’t back down.
She’d go out swinging.
I curled my fingers tighter around the grip, easing the gun up, moving into position behind the slats.
If I shot his ankle, he’d go down. But he’d scream. They’d know.
