Chapter Fifty-Four
ON THE OTHER END OF the tunnel, I crouch in a cave just larger than me. A small bit of light shines down from above, displaying a patchwork hatch made of nothing but burlap. So I guess this is as far as Sawyer got. This is my grand entrance. Where’s my confetti?
Nerves crawl through my body like ants scurrying from a foot-crushed hill. I clamp them down. There’s no time to waste.
My arm rejoices as I extend it up toward the burlap flap, peeling open the corner. The cave exits to a storage closet in the basement of the rectory. Fingers crossed I can make it up and out of here discreetly.
Bunny, my dear sister, this is for you.
And Grandma, I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. But when I free Bunny, we’ll celebrate with a cup of lemonade in your honor.
I suppress down the spring of emotions that erupts when thinking about Grandma. She wouldn’t want me to be weighed down by grief; she’d want me to wield her memory as a weapon for good.
I wrap my hands around the lip of the hole and jam my feet into soft bits of the clay wall to hoist myself up.
By any means, the closet isn’t bright, but to my eyes, the meager light is glorious.
It’s like I’ve stepped out underneath the twelve-o’clock sun—for a moment, at least, before my eyes adjust.
I wring my wrists and stretch my arms toward the low ceiling, my muscles and bones harmonizing at the release of tension.
I open the closet door and enter another room.
The room is full of boxes and boxes, all stacked neatly against the walls.
I was never allowed in the basement; as far as I knew, Egal’s supplies were all stored on the main floor.
Out of sheer curiosity, I walk over to a box and open the top.
My jaw drops. There are jars and jars of canned foods. Asparagus, beets, beans, and even—my favorite—SpaghettiOs. Where was all this food when I lived here?
I rip open another box. More non-perishable food.
Another. More.
Why isn’t this being stored with all the other food upstairs? Have the boys been making extra supply runs? There’s more food down here than there’s ever been before.
Know what? Fuck ’em. Chandler and all the damn doughboys can get fucked!
I go back to the box where the SpaghettiOs are and rip back the pull tab. I practically swallow the entire can in one gulp, the sweet, sugary tomato sauce sliding down my throat like nectar from the gods. I chew the soft, slightly off-tasting noodles and rejoice.
A whomp draws my head to the opposite side of the room, where a tattered door stands. Slowly, I tiptoe toward it and pull my dagger out of my pocket. I ignore the bang, bang, bang of my heart in my chest, in my throat, in my head, in my ears.
The handle jangles. And then the door flings open.
A small, muscular man tumbles out of the doorframe, but jumps back when he sees me. His black hair is mussed, flecked with blood, and he wears a ratty hospital gown. His strong, muscled body glistens with sweat.
“You gotta get me outta here,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. He falls to his knees and grabs my calf.
I point my knife at his forehead.
“Off the leg,” I say, my wounds rearing their ugly head. “Now.” The man does as I say, his body trembling. “What’s your name?”
“Garrett,” he answers.
I lower my knife. He’s one of ours.
“Where’s Eagan?” I lean over his shuddering shoulder. “Is he in that room?”
“He’s . . . he’s . . .”
“Where is he, Garrett?” He falls forward, weeping, his hands on his face.
I walk past him and into the room where he emerged. There’s a long, metal table in the center. And on top of it, a man.
He’s dead.
His forehead is cut open, sliced from temple to temple, his fleshy pink brain spilling out for all to see.
The smell is putrid, a mixture of rotten guts and dried, metallic blood.
I plug my nose to keep from gagging, but it’s no use.
I puke up the SpaghettiOs—little circular pastas fly all over the concrete floor.
At least the tomato sauce could pass for the blood that’s already on the ground.
I spin around and shut the door behind me before crouching down to meet his level. “You need to be quiet,” I say. “And you need to get the hell out of this place.”
“Help me . . . please.”
“Get in the closet.”
“Not another closet.”
“Quiet. There’s a tunnel.”
“Oh, god.”
“Garrett! Shut the hell up! If you go through the tunnel, you’ll get home. I’m going to get my sister and send her through with you. Can you wait in the closet until I come back with her?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a Mac. I came to rescue you.”
His eyes widen in pure relief. He moves like he’s going to hug me, but I shake my head.
“I need you to wait in that closet for my sister.” I can’t send Garrett, or my sister, through the tunnel alone.
I don’t think either of them could make it.
I barely did. “Oh, and Garrett? Take something to eat. Everything behind me is fair game.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“Don’t thank me yet.”
With that, I leave Garrett. The next mission has begun.