I hear a car pulling into the driveway.
Phillips looks out the window. “That’s okay. Walsh does.”
CHAPTER 103
Cross
ALEX CROSS HAS SPENT the past hour looking for a pole, a brick, a nail—anything. But the tiny underground enclosure is bare except for a bolted-down chemical toilet, a couple of filthy mattresses, and the cooking pot, which Alex can see is half filled with soup. The door to the rear exit is locked. Solid steel. A single industrial bulb glares down. The only other break in the ceiling is an air-vent grate, welded on.
“We need some kind of tool,” says Alex. “Some kind of weapon …”
“Forget it,” says Damon. “We’ve searched every inch of this place.”
“One night,” says Amy, “I thought about grabbing the soup pot and hitting the fat fuck in the head with it. But he always keeps one hand on his gun.”
“No sense in shouting from down here,” says Lucas. “The walls are too thick.”
“Right,” says Alex. “It’s bombproof. And we’re about twelve feet down. Under a pigsty.”
“Is that what we’re smelling?” asks Lucas.
“That—and ourselves,” says Damon.
Damon is right. The air is ripe with body odor and the emissions from the toilet in the corner. The pungent smell, the head injury, and the lack of oxygen all combine to make Alex feel dizzy.
Think, Cross, think!
Suddenly, the hatch creaks and a shaft of light shoots down the ladder. Alex can hear snorting pigs and footsteps rustling in the straw overhead. A few clumps of dirt and manure drop onto the ladder steps.
Kicking feet appear in the opening.
Not Brophy’s.
Alex, Damon, Lucas, and Tyne rush to the bottom of the ladder and look up.
“Back away!” Brophy’s voice from above. “Make room!”
The figure coming down feetfirst is female. As she descends, she thrashes her legs, feeling for support.“Stop! Where are you taking me?”Her voice is muffled by a thick canvas hood draped over her head and shoulders. She sounds terrified.
“Shut up!”Brophy’s voice again. Now the barrel of his shotgun is pointing down into the space, almost touching the woman’s head. As soon as she clears the first two rungs, his booted feet come down behind her.
When the woman reaches the third rung from the bottom, she almost slips off the ladder. Damon grabs her around the waist and sets her feet on the floor.
“Take your hands off me!”she screams, twisting and throwing her elbows.
“Melissa?” Damon yanks the hood off her head.
Melissa blinks. “Damon!” She throws her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. “Oh my God—Damon!”
“Move back, all of you!” Brophy stops midway down the ladder. He holds a shotgun in one hand. With the other, he reaches up and pulls down the hatch. It closes with a solid thunk, sealing the dank room shut with all six of them inside the small space.
Damon moves toward Brophy. “Did you hurt her? Did you touch her? I’ll kill you!”
Melissa pulls him back. “Damon! I’m okay!” It’s only then that she notices the others in the room. Her eyes go wide. “Dr. Cross! Professor Lucas! Amy!”
Melissa whirls on Brophy. “Who are you, you sick bastard?”
Brophy slowly descends the rest of the way down the ladder and pokes Melissa in the belly with the barrel of his gun. “You’re the sick one,” he says. “All of you. Sick. You goddamnmixers.” His tone is low, deliberate, menacing.
