As she sped across the next intersection, a loud grumbling rose to her right. A glance over showed a growing well of brightness. She skidded into a turn and ran toward it, not with any plan, simply drawn by the instinct to flee the darkness for the light.
Or maybe it was something else, something her body reacted to before comprehension reached her mind.
Then she heard it.
A deep-throated scraping behind the engine’s grumbling.
Please . . .
Ahead, the glow sharpened into spears of light, driving through the snow, sweeping past the next intersection. The brightness illuminated a huge snowplow. It shoved heavily past and continued onward until it vanished out of view.
As she ran, the noise of the machinery’s passage obscured any audible sign of pursuit. Still, she refrained from looking back and only raced harder. She reached the intersection, and rather than striking off in the wake of the plow, she turned in the other direction. The street remained scraped enough to hide her footprints. She fled along the plow’s path, pushed by the wind from behind. She prayed the hunters would think she had chased after the plow.
After she crossed another block, faint calls, muffled by the snow and wind, carried to her from behind. She recognized the sounds of momentary confusion and took advantage of it. While the hunters might split up, she trusted she had gained enough of a lead. She fled another three blocks, then ducked off the plowed road. By the time her pursuers hunted down this spot, the storm should have erased her path.
Or so she hoped.
She continued through town, lost, freezing, and hobbling worse as the adrenaline wore off. Her heart pounded in her throat, while terror strangled her. She fought to hold back tears that would only turn to ice. For the moment, she seemed to have shaken off her pursuers. Such a reprieve left her time to think aboutwhoshe had left behind,whohad helped her escape.
Tag . . .
She stumbled to a wall, leaning a shoulder against it. Would they torture him in her stead? Would he tell them where the others had gone? She stared in the direction of Monte Antelao, but there was no sign of the peak through the snow.
Fearing for the others, fearing for herself, she shoved off the wall and headed into the blizzard.
But where can I go?
46
7:55 p.m.
Sharyn continued deeper into the bunker. Behind her, the howling winds set her teeth on edge. Outside, the blizzard raged at full force, an icy beast at their door. It didn’t help matters that the Castello proved to be a dank, frigid labyrinth covering three levels, each deeper than the next, connected by narrow stairwells.
She stayed next to Duncan, both carrying flashlights. The group had already searched the upper floor and its connected outer tower. The latter proved to be a hollow shaft, showing the stubs of old timbers that had supported floors long ago.
After that, they had descended to this second level, but it looked no more hopeful. It had become quickly evident that the old Axis bunker had been cleared of any sign of its former builders, leaving rooms scarred by graffiti and filled with garbage: broken bottles, crushed cans, a moldy mattress.
“Clearly, no one called in any housekeepers before locking this place up,” Duncan commented.
She nodded and stepped around a charred spot on the floor, marking another old campsite. Throughout their search, they had found piles of dry branches, stacked or scattered across the levels. Trespassers in the past must have hauled in this supply to fuel their fires.
And we’re now the beneficiary of their largesse.
Russo and her cat remained on the top floor, prepping a bonfire. The woman wanted it positioned near the open doorway to draw off smoke. No one wanted to be choked out during the night by smoldering fumes.
As Sharyn continued, Duncan ran his fingertips along a doorframe, where rusted hinges were nailed into raw stone. The whole place was like this—constructed from a mix of manmade and natural materials. Some of the rooms had walls composed of crumbling bricks. Others were chiseled straight out of dolomitic rock.
A low murmuring of voices echoed out of the darkness, rising from where Archie and Laurent searched a warren of rooms off to the left. It did not sound like they were having any better luck.
Duncan paused in the next chamber and tugged some wires sticking out of a wall. “I wonder if this was once an old radio shack. For communicating and coordinating Axis forces.”
“Could be.” She cast her gaze wider. “Though, as remote as this bunker is, I think its purpose was less about fighting and more about hiding. Meant as a shelter to retreat to in case of danger.”
“You may be right. This place is certainly off the beaten track.”
They continued on, searching room by room. After another ten minutes, the scuff of boots drew her attention. A glow of lights revealed the return of Laurent and Archie.
“Anything?” Duncan asked.
