Behind them, Keller's calm voice echoed through the crypt. "Kill everyone except the girl." Dante's blood ran cold.
"They're coming!" Lark gasped.
"I know,” Dante shouted. Another explosion shook the tunnel, and the ceiling groaned overhead. Chunks of stone crashed behind them, slowing the pursuing mercenaries.
Rocco glanced back. "That collapse bought us maybe thirty seconds."
"Then we'd better use them wisely,” Dante said. The passage narrowed until only one person could pass at a time. Dante took point, and Lark stayed between them. Rocco guarded their rear. It was as though they were exactly where each of them belonged.
The tunnel suddenly split in two, and Dante stopped. "Damn it." One passage climbed upward, and the other descended into darkness.
Rocco knelt beside the dusty floor. "Tracks." He ran his fingers through the dirt. "And they’re fresh."
"Which way do they lead?” Rocco asked.
He studied them for another second. "Up."
Lark frowned. "How do you know?"
"These are military boot tracks." He pointed toward the descending tunnel and then to the upper passage. "Those go down and are smaller footprints."
Dante immediately understood. "Civilian prints."
"Exactly." Rocco stood. "Your mother would've planned an escape."
Lark nodded. "She always thought three steps ahead."
"Then we go up and follow the civilian prints,” Rocco said.
They climbed up the dark tunnel and found that the passage ended behind an old stone fireplace inside a caretaker's cottage overlooking the church. Dante carefully pushed the hidden panel open, and moonlight spilled into the empty room. He swept the cottage with his pistol.
"Clear,” Dante said.
Rocco checked the windows. "So far."
Lark slowly stepped into the tiny house. Dust covered every surface, and a rocking chair sat beside a cold fireplace. Children's drawings still hung on one wall. It looked as though someone had simply walked away.
She stopped in front of the fireplace. "My mother was here."
Both men looked at her. "How do you know?" Dante asked. Lark pointed toward the mantle at a small wooden horse sitting tucked into the corner. Its paint had faded with age.
Tears filled her eyes. "I made this,” she said.
Dante looked closer. "You remember it?"
"I thought I lost it." She carefully picked it up. "My mother helped me paint it." Her thumb brushed over a tiny carved heart on the underside. "I'd forgotten about it." Emotion tightened in Dante's throat. So many memories had been stolen, and so many lies were told. No one deserved to live like that.
Three sets of headlights swept across the windows, and Rocco immediately dropped below the sill. "They found the cottage."
Dante cursed under his breath. "Already?"
"Keller must have anticipated the escape route,” Rocco said.
Lark looked around desperately. "What now?" she asked.
Rocco looked over a faded map hanging beside the door. "There's an old logging road." He pointed through the back window. "If we reach the tree line, we'll lose the vehicles." Dante looked outside. He knew that their escape route wasn’t ideal, but it was better than waiting.
He looked at Lark. "Can you run?"
