The chief’s house was at the end of Hickory Springs Road, a two-story house in a huge garden bordering on Bloody Dick Swamp. They could see it ahead, as well as the throng of cars parked along the street, meaning there were already too many people at the house, which would make it that much harder for Andi to get a reading on anything. At the very end of that line, Gelman was leaving his boring sedan, waving at them to drive closer. While George was still looking for a parking spot, Andi suddenly grabbed his hand tighter.
“Stop here.”
George didn’t argue. He set the blinker and parked the Escalade at the side of the road, hoping it wouldn’t get any scratches from passing cars. Before he could kill the engine, Andi was already out, his gaze focused on the muddy expanse of grass next to the road. George hurried to lock the car and reach his partner, who was striding away from the road, directly toward the heart of Bloody Dick Swamp, making squishing noises with his boots. When George reached him, he could tell from the way Andi’s shoulders had stiffened that he was receiving information in full surround. Without hesitation, George took his partner’s hand. They had found out during a cold case some weeks before that having a physical connection to George before he got dragged under helped to stabilize Andi.
“Little boots,whum, whum, whum, quick,splish, splish, down there, then right, light vibrations, smells sweet, not sharp at all, hunger, prey,thump, up, faster, pant, pant, left, so wet,pit pat, pit pat, over there—”
They had also realized that Andi could keep it together for longer when he didn’t have to translate what he was experiencing. Getting used to the way Andi phrased things, often using onomatopoeia when words failed him, was a work in progress, but George was proud that he understood most of what Andi had just relayed to him. He had found Tyler’s trail already; his heart had beat normally, not too fast, which would have indicated some sort of adrenaline, either from fear or excitement, and which Andi would have described with a more guttural, panting “ugh” sound. Tyler seemed to have made his way through the swamp with surprising accuracy, only falling once, then going faster, apparently with a destination in mind because his progress was straightforward, no swaying or detours. He had been alone, so this was probably a runaway case.
They reached a small hill, the flanks slippery from the rain and the general dampness of the swamp, swallowing footprints and scent traces alike. Once they reached the top, they saw a dip with a copse, the trees standing close together, creating a wall against the outside world. Andi was walking toward it, going directly for a gap between two angel oak trees. Inside the copse, they passed more angel oak trees, a few silver maple trees, magnolia trees, and cypress trees with some palmettos and fawn palms mixed in. They were huge, blocking the sun and bathing the ground in shadows. The earth was more solid here, not as wet as on the field beyond the hill. Andi was still marching on, no longer talking, fully focused on following whatever invisible trail the arthropods were providing. George stayed at his side, kept his eyes open to protect his partner from branches in his way and roots he could trip over. They reached some sort of clearing—George wasn’t sure if the space of roughly twenty-six feet in diameter could be called a clearing or was just a gap in the vegetation—where Andi stopped. He cocked his head, scanning the area for a moment. George followed his gaze, not sure what he was supposed to find. He certainly couldn’t spot Tyler or traces of somebody having passed through.
Andi pointed toward a huge boulder around which another angel oak had slung its gigantic branches. It took George a moment, but then he saw it. Partly hidden by a branch, there was a spot where it was darker, indicating some sort of opening.
“Door, wood, old lock, broken, he’s in there, alone, content, careful, it goes deep, structure good, food, so much food, coming and coming and coming, a feast, rotting flesh—” Andi dug his fingers into George’s palm. “Fuck, George, he’s down there with corpses!”
George felt a curse forming on his lips and managed to suppress it at the last moment. He had a missing kid down there—whatevertherewould turn out to be—and a partner fully open to the barrage of arthropods in a feeding frenzy. It was vital that he kept his cool, as the only person who probably could. “Can Tyler hear us?”
Andi looked at him as if he hadn’t understood the question, making George’s heart sink. His partner was in too deep, he—
“Yes, I think so. He’s down there in a room where the corpses are not. I think this is an old prepper bunker. There’s cans and weapons and toilet paper and stuff. Everything to survive the apocalypse.”
If the slight sarcasm tinging the last sentence had anything to say, Andi was back home, to George’s great relief. “Can we just go down there? Is it safe?”
“It’s stable.”
“Fine. I’ll call Gelman, tell him we found Tyler. Then we go in. Can you call out to Tyler so he doesn’t get spooked?” It was a stupid question, asked to mask the one George really wanted answered but didn’t dare say out loud in case Andi got his defenses up. His partner raised a brow, telling him silently how ridiculous he was.
“I’m fine. I can talk to a child—well, teenager—while you alert Gelman.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. We’re both learning, and we both know your concerns are substantiated.”
“Don’t be all reasonable about it. You know that freaks me out.” George squeezed Andi’s hand before he fished his cell out of the pocket at the back of his long-sleeve. Andi approached the boulder with the hidden door while George listened to Gelman’s phone ring. He took the call after the fourth ring, his voice breathless again.
“Donovan, where are you? You took off so quickly, I had no chance of following you.” That Gelman was using his last name meant there was company he wanted to present with a certain front. Probably the chief.
“I’m not sure exactly where we are, but we’ve found Tyler. He’s fine. Can you follow the GPS on my cell? Shireen should be able to put it on a map for you.”
“You what? How—? Forget it. I’m calling Shireen. We’re on our way.”
“Gelman? Tyler is inside an old prepper bunker. Since I don’t know how reception’s going to be down there, I’ll leave my cell out for Shireen to track. If you find the place and we’re not up yet, don’t come in, call for us. It looks stable enough, but we don’t want to take any chances.”
“Understood.” Gelman ended the call, and George followed Andi toward the boulder.
When he reached it, he saw that it formed a small opening, barely big enough for him to squeeze through, then widened into a round space, like the channel left by a drill, where his feet met planks of wood that were still able to hold his weight but already fraying at the sides. A trapdoor, the iron lock rusted and broken, just like Andi had said. George looked up at the small circle of blue heaven above him. He imagined the boulder, which seemed so massive from where they had come in, resembled a cheerio from a bird’s perspective. He bent down to open the trapdoor, tried to lean it against the stone, and realized quickly that it wouldn’t stay up. It was too deformed, the hinges creaking ominously. George knew Andi had had no problem closing it because he could find his way in absolute darkness, using the arthropods as his eyes, but George had no such connection and no flashlight either. The wooden stairs leading down into the bunker looked solid enough and were spaced evenly, so he would be able to feel his way down. How he would proceed once he was at the bottom, he didn’t know yet, but Andi needed him.
“Andi? Where are you?”
“We’re here,” came the muffled answer from somewhere deeper inside the earth. “If you go around the corner, there’s light. Lamps.”
“Thank you! I’m on my way!” George stepped onto the first stair and closed the trapdoor carefully, ducking his head. It wasn’t as dark as he had feared. The splintered wood let some light through, and a soft glow from around the corner at the bottom of the stairs beckoned him closer. His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, helping him find his way to the first old-fashioned oil lamp Andi had lit for him with the matches placed right next to it. Several burnt matches on the ground around the table where the lamp was placed told George that the bunker was still in use. Considering what Andi had felt down here, George knew he wouldn’t like what they were going to find.
He followed the tunnel, which was now high enough for him to stand easily and so broad two adults could pass without touching. The murmur of voices led him around another bend, past two doors, one of them steel, the other normal wood, still in great condition. The air down here wasn’t stale; there had to be some sort of ventilation going on. Then he reached a wide-open room with a huge table, several chairs, a sprawling shelf at one side with books, board games, tins with unknown contents, and a sewing machine, and in front of it a sofa that looked like something from the eighties but clearly hadn’t been used often. Andi and Tyler were sitting on it, looking up at him. A lamp, bigger than the ones that had led him here, was on the table, throwing flickering shadows at the two. The boy didn’t look distressed or harmed, just tired, clutching his teddy to his chest, his long, dark lashes almost touching the dark skin on his cheeks while leaning against Andi. Which was strange. Children usually avoided Andi, somehow sensing that he was different. Then again, Tyler was a fourteen-year-old who had taken his favorite toy with him. He seemed younger than most boys his age and still carried some baby fat with him, which George assumed couldn’t be easy for him.
“Hi, Tyler. We’ve been quite worried about you.” George smiled at the boy, who narrowed his eyes at him, a gesture that reminded George so much of the chief he had to blink.
“Andi says you’re okay.” It sounded as if Tyler was still debating the truth behind that.
