Beast Brothers 2

I go to work on my ankles, holding my breath that no one will come in. No one does. I’m not even certain anyone is here with me. Earlier, I heard movement and the faint sound of voices, but nothing recently.

It takes a lot longer to get my feet free, despite having my hands available. I break three nails working at the nylon rope. Finally, though, it’s done, and I sit for a minute rubbing my feet and ankles. The tingling pain is tolerable, considering the alternative.

When I have some feeling back, I lie down on my stomach and peer under the door. I can’t see much, but it looks like an old, abandoned house, as I suspected. I put my ear to the crack, but still can’t hear anything. Eventually, I get up on my knees and take hold of the knob — at least there is one — and try to turn it.

It gives easily under my hand, but the door creaks alarmingly as I try to ease it open. I freeze, listening, but there’s still no sound. Did they really leave me alone here?

My shoes are gone. I’m in my stocking feet. Just as well, if I’m going to have to sneak around this house. Instead of trying to open the door slowly, I get to my feet and yank it open all at once. It makes a horrible screeching noise, but then it’s over.

40

Open

Zoe

Poking my head out, I see that the windows are boarded up, but crudely, so a little light still comes through. I really want to look for a bathroom, but I don’t. It seems better to get out of the house while I can and hope there’s someplace nearby with facilities.

I slip out into the hallway. The floor feels strange under my feet; I kneel down and brush my fingers over it. Dirt. I must be in a cellar or basement, then.

That would explain why it’s so quiet, if everyone is in the main part of the house above me. I still haven’t heard anyone moving around, though. Maybe they’ve got me locked down here and they think I can’t leave.

I’m reluctant to feel my way — who knows what might be living or growing down here — so I move to the center of the hallway and edge cautiously forward. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I can see rough concrete walls, covered in some kind of slimy substance. Ugh.

The hallway emerges into a large open space that must run the length, or width, of the house. I move through it cautiously, looking for a door and getting a sense of the layout. It’s mostly empty. An ancient water heater sits in one corner, and nearby are fuse boxes, dusty and covered in cobwebs.

I find the door; it’s solid metal and locked from the outside. Dammit. Maybe I can pry the boards off the windows, even though they’re high up and it’s doubtful I could squeeze through them.

Starting at one end of the space, I search it, peering into all the shadows, looking for any kind of tool or implement I might be able to use. Halfway down, nearly concealed by a pile of debris, I find a crowbar. Score.

It’s suspiciously new-looking, not rusted or mottled at all. I poke at the pile of debris, but it just seems to be trash. Hmm.

I keep searching. Better to have a grasp on any potential surprises, and better yet on possible hiding places … just in case. The hallway I came out of is roughly halfway down the wall; I move past the doorway and scope out the other half half of the area.

Nothing. I should just leave, but this crowbar is bugging me. Retracing my steps, I go down the hallway I came out of and follow it to its other end. It runs into another hallway, perpendicular to it, that looks like it has a room at each end. So the baseme

nt is laid out in an H shape, only one of the upright bars is three times the width of the other.

It’s darker on this side of the house, the windows more securely boarded. My pupils must be the size of quarters right now. I turn right down the hallway.

The room at that end is so dark it gives me the creeps. I edge up to the doorway slowly, wishing I had some kind of flashlight. Even a little penlight would help.

Though the darkness is absolute, it doesn’t feel empty. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a presence in the room. Despite the fact that it makes me sound like every dumb girl in every horror film ever, I clear my throat and say, “Hello?”

A rattling chain is my only warning. I stumble back and land on my ass as a low, lean shape hurtles at me out of the darkness. Propped up on my elbows, I stare at the snapping, snarling dog straining at the end of his tether to get to me.

“Oh my god. You poor thing.” What kind of monsters would leave an animal chained up in the dark? I want to cry and scream and brain every one of them with the crowbar.

I do a crab walk backwards, then get to my feet and pick up the crowbar again. The dog has fallen silent and is watching me suspiciously. From the look of him, he’s probably a pittie mix of some kind. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I promise I won’t forget about you.”

Backing away with my eyes on the dog, I debate whether to explore the room on the other end of this hallway. Better not; who knows what’s down there. I need to get out of here and get help.

As I start back down the connecting hallway — the center bar of the H — toward the big empty room on that side, there’s a ruckus above me. A voice comes over a bullhorn. “This is the police. We have the house surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

Muffled footsteps thud overhead. They are up there! My first thought is to get out of sight. What if the cops mistake me for a baddie? What if one of the actual baddies tries to come down here and use me as a human shield?

I scurry back across the center bar to the thinner upright and turn toward the room on the left, the one I haven’t been to yet. Pausing in its doorway, I listen for any telltale sounds, but it’s impossible to be sure because whoever’s in the house above me is going nuts, running all over the place.

Shots ring out and I duck instinctively. “Crap!” My crouch has me turned at an angle, and I see what I didn’t before: an enormous flashlight lying just inside the entrance of the room. Edging over, I try to pull it out with just my fingertips, in case it’s boobytrapped or something.

It comes free, and I pick it up and cross my fingers the batteries work. They do, and I shine the beam into the room.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, and in the big, empty space on the other side of the basement, someone kicks the door open.

41

Our Girl

Alex

“Zoe?” I yell. Lucas is right behind me. We want to find her before the cops do. If she’s been hurt, it’ll be up to us what to do about it. “It’s Alex.” I sweep the room, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other.