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She looked through the drawers of the armoire, searching for batteries, and as she did she saw the notes again, the horrible pictures of terrified wom
en as they froze to death. Daughters, sisters, mothers. Her throat thickened. It had been her job to find them, to save them, to protect them. To protect and serve. And she’d done neither. She rifled through the notes again. A whole stack of them, one atop the other, his message growing
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clearer with each new page, with each new set of initials.
Hers were there, she realized.
B E W A R
T H E S C
R P I O N ’
H
Halden had been right about the whole “Beware the Scorpion” thing and when she looked at the final page, the entire note read:
B E W A R E T H E S C O R P I O N ’S W R A T H Yes, she was an intended victim, and certainly Elyssa O’Leary, but there were others as well. Were they all captured already, hidden in the tunnels of this old mine?
But where?
Or was he still planning to hunt them down? She didn’t have time to try and reason it out. She had to keep moving. Discovering one more battery in a drawer, she rummaged for another, needing two. Unable to find another, she switched the flashlight off, hoping, even with just one new battery, that it would offer enough light to lead her out of this crypt.
There was another door, she realized. Another exit to the tunnels? She tried it and looked down several steps to another dark passageway. How many of these suckers are there? Drawing a strengthening breath, she propelled herself forward into the musty-smelling corridor. She’d barely taken two steps when she heard something. Movement.
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Lisa Jackson
Oh, no!
Flicking off the flashlight, shivering in the dark with the closeness of the cold earthen walls surrounding her, she strained to listen. Heard it again.
A soft little noise . . .
“Elyssa?” she thought hopefully, then felt something brush across the back of her head. She nearly screamed.
Dropped the flashlight.
It rolled wildly, illuminating the walls and the thousands of tiny eyes staring at her. A whisper of wings fluttered as she spied the colony of bats nesting in the crevices of the ceiling. “Oh, hell,” she whispered, nearly undone, her heart thumping erratically. Bats? Frigging bats? That was a good sign, right? They had to find a way out, to hunt, to feed. Reaching down, she grabbed her flashlight and wiped the detritus, dirt, and bat crap from its handle. Her nerves were shot, her body aching and tired, but she kept on as the beam slowly faded. She didn’t take any of the tunnel’s spurs, just shined her feeble light down them because she couldn’t risk getting lost. If she stayed on this main path, she would be able to return to the hidden room, find a lantern or some other means of illumination, and start over. The light went out and plunged her into darkness. Regan reached her left hand to the tunnel wall and kept moving forward. One step in front of the other. The tunnel jogged, and jogged again, but she was certain she was still in the main one. Her foot bumped into something hard and she fell forward onto a set of wooden stairs. And was
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that fresh air from above? Something different than the stale atmosphere she’d been wandering in? She climbed on her hands and knees, holding on to the poker and flashlight as she worked her way forward. The bottom step was worn and wooden, the next a bit higher, curving upward.
Regan wanted to weep. This was it! Freedom!
Heart leaping, she ascended slowly. Trying to be patient, not clamber wildly as she sought freedom. Go slowly.
Be careful.
He could be waiting.
