A few minutes later, Connor throws the shovel down and stretches his arms over his head. “Forget this. This is a waste of time.”
Everyone nods, myself included. This digging expedition was a big bust, and I feel like a total idiot.
“Sorry, guys.” I stand up with a sigh. “I really thought we’d find something here.”
“All good,” drawls Chase. “I didn’t have anything better to do.” He stands too and tosses his cigarette on the ground.
“Chase!” Jasmine shrieks. “You trying to start a forest fire? Stamp that out!”
She points a stern finger at the cigarette butt. It’s starting to smolder. Rolling his eyes, Chase brings his boot down on it.
And there’s a resulting metallicclank.
We all stare at the ground, then at each other.
“What the fuck?” Jasmine demands.
My heartbeat takes off as I watch Chase kick the ground again.
Clank.
“Hey. Give me that shovel,” he says, motioning to Everett.
Everett hands it over, and the two guys start to clear the dirt and dried leaves away until, finally, a black metal panel is revealed. It’s about two feet square, with a latch on one side and a handle.
My breath hitches. “Is that a hatch?”
Chase flips the latch and pulls on the handle, and it opens with a metallic groan, revealing a dark cavern underneath.
“Holy shit,” Connor breathes.
My feelings exactly. I shine my phone flashlight inside to find a solid-walled passage, with a ladder leading down at least fifteen feet.
“What is that?” Everett says over my shoulder. “Some kind of fallout shelter?”
“I don’t care,” Jasmine says, inching away. “I’mnotgoing down there.”
“Well,Iam.” Chase pushes the hatch all the way open and starts to descend without a backward look.
After a beat of trepidation, I follow him, with Connor behind me. I’m not sure if Everett and Jasmine follow. I’m too focused on what’s ahead of us. When I reach the last rung, Chase extends a hand and helps me to the ground, then arcs his phone light down the corridor. It’s so narrow that he needs to turn sideways to fit through, but it seems to go on beyond the beam of the flashlight.
I’m right at Chase’s back as he walks on. The passageway is constructed of rough-hewn stone and earth, and soon we come across papers nailed to the walls.
Drawings.
Of women.
I’ve seen my father’s artwork before, and I recognize it now.
These are Gabriel Thorn’s.
“Oh God,” I whisper, freezing. “Oh my God. This is it. This is his place.”
My feet refuse to move. Chase must sense it, because he reaches behind him, his hand seeking out mine. He entwines our fingers and squeezes.
“It’s okay,” he says gruffly, waiting for me to give him a signal that I’m ready to go on.
After several deep breaths, I nod. “I’m good. Let’s keep walking.”
