Digging her fingers in deeper, Claire said, “Again. One, two, three.” Each of them squatted deeper, braced themselves, and lifted.
The hinges groaned, but the lid shifted upward an inch. With a grunt, the three girls shoved harder and pushed the lid open. Side by side, they peered into the dark pit. A rusty ladder descended into the shadows.
“Hello?” Claire called. “Anyone down there?”
Her voice echoed, tinny, against the metal walls of the shaft. No one answered. Claire’s heart sank. She’d been so sure.... Or at least she’d wanted to believe it was possible. She’d imagined everyone fleeing the house—taking refuge from the flames belowground, protected by a fireproof lid. She supposed it had been a foolishly optimistic idea. After all, if they’d hidden from the fire here, why hadn’t they emerged when it was over?
“Guess we really are alone,” Mariana said.
“Except for the murderer,” Claire couldn’t help saying.
Reyva snorted.
“What? It’s true.” Facts were facts.
Reyva smiled—fleetingly, but it still counted as a smile. It looked mismatched with her black eye shadow, smeared after a night outside, giving her a comic book supervillain look. “It’s just that I’ve spent years cultivating a the-world-sucks-and-then-you-die attitude, but you with your wide-eyed pixie look...You’re an inspiration, that’s all.”
Claire had never been told she looked like a wide-eyed pixie. “Um, thanks?”
“So who’s first?” Reyva asked.
“Excuse me?” Mariana said.
Reyva pointed toward the darkness. “Don’t you want to know what’s down there?”
“Let me think...” Mariana tapped her chin in mock thought. “No. Definitely don’t care to see what’s in the pitch-black hole in the ground. Come on, fainting from thirst here. Let’s get that water boiling. Hydrate or die-drate!” She struck a cheerleader pose. “Team Hydration for the win!”
But Claire was already shining her phone light down the shaft. She doubted any victims of the fire were down there, but there could be useful supplies. If this was a prepper’s bunker, or even just an extra storage area for the camp, it could make the difference between life and death. There could be a functional phone. Or, more likely, canned food that would help keep them alive. Better to be thorough than to starve while a crate of beans and tuna lay a few feet beneath them.
“I’m not going down there,” Mariana said.
“Great,” Reyva said. “You can keep watch. Shout if we’re all going to die.” Holding on to the top of the ladder, she hopped into the hole and landed on one of the rungs. She began to climb down. Sticking her phone in her back pocket and giving an apologetic look to Mariana, Claire followed her.
Below her, she heard the sound of Reyva’s breathing and the squeak of the ladder with each step she climbed. Claire wonderedhow deep the shaft went—she imagined, briefly, descending miles underground—but as she completed the thought, she heard a thump.
“Made it.” Reyva’s voice drifted up.
She saw light splash against the metal walls of the shaft as Reyva, below, turned on her phone light. Soon after, Claire had reached the bottom too. It felt damp and cool, and the motionless air tasted rank, thick with the smell of mildew and urine. Wrinkling her nose and trying to breathe shallowly, she let go of the ladder and wiped her hands on her jeans, then again because she still felt coated in grime. After less than a second down here, she felt as if she needed the longest shower ever, but she resisted the urge to climb back up and join Mariana in the fresh, non-urine-scented air. She switched on her phone light too and swept the beam in a wide circle. It flashed against dirt and stone walls.
Reyva hissed.
Claire pivoted to face the way her beam was pointed. Both phones shone on a cage. It was large, about eight feet by eight feet, and empty, with the cage doors propped open. Clumps of dirty hay were scattered on the floor, and a bucket sat in the corner. Shackles dangled from the wall within the cage.
“Okay, that’s... disturbing,” Reyva whispered.
Shivers raced up and down Claire’s arms. Coming down here began to feel like a very bad idea. She’d pictured shelves. Maybe a bunk. Old equipment. Not this.
It felt as if the cage was waiting.
For us, she thought instinctively, and then banished the thought.
There had to be an explanation. She needed to think of it as a puzzle to solve. Gulping in air, she wondered if there was less oxygen down here. Sweat popped onto her forehead. She couldn’t help feeling that there was something about the stale air inside the bunker that felt like a held breath. Once, something or someone had waited in this cage.
Heart thumping, Claire inched forward, looking for clues—tracks, fur, or claw marks. She touched one of the bars and felt gashes, as if an animal had tried to bite through the iron. She spread her fingers along the gashes, trying to guess if they were from teeth or claws. “What was in it?”
“Guard dogs?” Reyva guessed.
“Kept underground?” That had to violate a half-dozen animal cruelty laws. She shuddered, imagining dogs forced together into this lightless, damp cage.
