The squirrel continued to berate him from its perch. Poor thing had probably fled to the mill like they had, running for its life, but the lively critter was plump and bright-eyed so it must have access to shelter and a food source. He looked around to see if the squirrel had a family somewhere, and when his attention returned, the animal was gone, the ultimate vanishing trick.
“Where’d you go, buddy?” He moved closer, pushingthe branches aside and narrowly avoiding being poked in the eye.
“Progress?”
He jumped, turned to face Kit. “You scared me.”
She peered at him over her mask. “Sorry. It’s boring watching Tot sleep, and I got nothing with the phone. There’s not enough sunlight to use the solar charger either. I figured it was okay to risk a quick progress check on you, since she’s completely conked out.”
Once he’d stopped moving, his nerves informed him that his back and knee were killing him and the headache clung tighter than ever thanks to his busted cheekbone. Plus he had no concrete progress to report, which hurt most of all. “You could have at least brought more candy,” he quipped to cover his fatigue and discomfort.
“I did.” She handed him another peanut butter cup and a bottle of water.
He arched a brow. “Already ate the other?”
She shrugged. “Like I said, watching a baby sleep is boring and I didn’t bring a book to read.”
He quickly crammed in the candy and gulped the water before slipping the mask on again and gesturing to the pile. “I’ve moved stacks of bricks and a cubic ton of rotted planking. So far I’ve uncovered a squirrel, and yes, I screamed like a preschooler if you must know.”
She laughed, but her gaze was on the floor, roving the walls, scanning every crack and crevice she could find. Something snagged his thoughts. “Where did it go?”
He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until she answered. “Where’d what go?”
“The squirrel.”
“I’ll protect you if it comes back,” she said.
“Ha-ha.” He waded deeper into the ash-coated branches. At the back, the part of the mass that skimmed the brick wall, the leaves were protected and whole. It wasn’t a bunch of blown-in foliage, as he’d first thought, but an actual shrub sprung up from the ground that had been there prior to the slide. That didn’t make sense. There was no fracture in the stone floor here that he could tell, so where had the plant found soil to plunge roots into? Same place into which the squirrel had vanished?
Pulse thumping, he burrowed into the branches, found the slender main trunk of the shrub, and followed it. As he scrabbled his way to the source, his fingers found the answer first. At the base of the plant was a metal square, four feet by four feet. It was bolted into the stone, but a softball-sized spot in the corner had rusted away. Some opportunistic seed had tumbled into the crevice, set down roots, and headed for the sky. Plenty of room for the rodent to find shelter below as well and use the trunk as a highway to come and go as he pleased.
He whistled. “Would you look at that?”
Kit crowded in next to him, her shoulder soft against his.
“Archie’s tunnel?”
He put a palm over the compromised corner. “Feels cool, like there’s air coming up from below.”
Kit squeezed his forearm, and he clapped a hand over hers and returned the pressure, allowing her excitement to mingle with his own.
“The tunnel. It’s gotta be,” she whispered. “Oh my gosh, you actually found it.”
He relished the admiration in her tone, but his optimismwas tempered. Finding a tunnel was a step, not a solution. He pointed. “The bolts securing this thing are solid iron. It’s going to be a task to knock them loose.”
“Then we better get on it.” She was already prowling, snatching up a brick, shoving aside the branches that covered the trapdoor. Brick clanged against metal followed by a yelp as the brick broke to pieces in her grasp. “Well, that’s not going to work.”
He joined in her searching for something with more heft. The snow began to fall more steadily, and they were both shivering when his foot encountered something hard in a patch of slimy pine needles.
“All right,” he cheered, grabbing up a rusted sledgehammer. “Back in the day, tools were built to last, that’s for sure.”
She watched, wide-eyed as he lugged the hammer over. “Sorry, squirrel,” he called. “Fire in the hole! If you’re down there, take cover.” He swung the hammer like a golf club at the exposed top of the bolt. He felt every millimeter of the impact that ignited the pain clear to his skull and relayed it to every nerve and sinew.
The bolt stood firm. He clanged away again and again until it finally sheared off enough that he could kick it free with his boot heel. If he could get the other three bolts to do the same, he could lever the lid away from the opening. He was already sweating and puffing like a steam engine when Kit gestured for the hammer.
“My turn.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, and handed over the tool. She slammed away until she, too, was sweating. He thought she would give up when the bolt head sailedoff and ricocheted against the bricks. Two down. Two to go. They took turns slamming at the third, but it remained stubbornly set.
