Chương 3
Adrian set the phone on his lap and pushed forward.
The tunnel was nearly level now, though debris made every yard difficult. His chair rolled over loose gravel, broken plaster, and lengths of decayed wood. Melissa walked ahead, moving the larger pieces with her slippered foot. Once, when the left front caster struck a brick and twisted sideways, Adrian lurched hard enough to catch himself against the wall.
His face tightened.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
A thin red line ran across his palm where the wheel rim had cut him.
He wiped it on his trousers. “Keep going.”
The baby began to fuss.
The sound was small, no more than a breathy complaint, but it filled Melissa with a terror greater than the gunfire. She stopped beside a recessed alcove and turned her body away from Adrian.
“He needs to eat.”
“We don’t have time.”
“You can explain urgency to him.”
Behind them came the distant scrape of the steel door opening.
Adrian listened, counting under his breath.
“How long?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”
“We have five.”
Melissa stared at him.
“I’m not suggesting he go hungry,” Adrian said. “I’m suggesting we make it to the exit before the men with rifles make the same turn.”
She continued walking. The baby’s fussing sharpened.
Each sound pulled at her body until her milk let down painfully beneath the robe. She pressed the blanket closer around him and whispered nonsense into his hair.
Adrian did not tell her to hurry again.
At the far end of the tunnel, a flight of six concrete steps rose to a hatch.
Melissa stopped.
Adrian looked past her. “That’s inconvenient.”
“My father said there was a lift.”
“There was probably a hand platform.”
They searched the walls. Beneath decades of dust, Adrian found a recessed crank connected to a square metal plate in the floor. He unfolded the handle and turned it. Chains rattled overhead. The plate rose an inch, shuddered, then settled back down.
“Again,” Melissa said.
He cranked harder.
The old mechanism groaned. The metal platform lifted slowly until it aligned with the base of the steps, creating a rough elevator no larger than the wheelchair.
Adrian rolled onto it. Melissa turned the crank from below while he gripped the rails.
Every rotation sent pain through her abdomen. She kept her body angled to protect the child. Halfway up, the chain slipped, dropping the platform several inches.
Adrian caught the rail with one hand.
Melissa froze.
“I’m all right,” he said.
The baby cried.
Footsteps echoed far behind them.
Melissa cranked again. Her arms shook. The platform reached the top, and Adrian rolled onto the landing. He leaned down, caught her wrist, and helped steady her as she climbed the steps with the baby.
The hatch opened into darkness beneath the ruined greenhouse.
Rain dripped through broken panes overhead. Ivy had swallowed the iron framework, and fallen branches lay across the old tiled floor. The storm wind pushed through gaps in the glass, carrying the smell of wet earth and cedar.
A body lay beside the potting bench.
Melissa stopped so abruptly that Adrian struck the back of her legs.
The man wore the gray jacket of Moretti security. One arm was folded beneath him. Rainwater gathered in the hollow beneath his cheek.
Adrian rolled closer, looked once, and reached down to remove the radio clipped to the man’s belt.
“Evan,” he said.
The radio had been shot through.
Melissa knew Evan as the guard who left peppermints on the kitchen counter and pretended not to notice when she took them. He had shown her how to fold the stroller one-handed. He had a daughter at Syracuse and a habit of saying “long story” whenever anyone asked about the scar beneath his chin.
She looked away before her mind could make him alive again.
Adrian searched the body quickly and found a second magazine, a folding knife, and a set of keys.
“There should be a utility vehicle outside,” he said.
“You knew him for eight years.”
Adrian’s hand paused at Evan’s shoulder.
Then he pulled the dead man’s jacket closed over the wound in his chest.
“I know.”
The greenhouse door was chained from the inside. Adrian cut the plastic tie holding the chain in place.
“Someone wanted this exit to look sealed,” Melissa said.
“Yes.”
“Someone who knew we might use it.”
“Or someone who knew Evan was posted here.”
She looked at the body again. “He was waiting for us.”
“Maybe.”
“Did you order him here?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Adrian opened the door a few inches and looked out.
The western lawn rolled downhill toward the trees. Lightning moved across the clouds without striking. Near the collapsed wall of the old carriage house, a black utility cart sat half hidden beneath a canvas tarp.
“No movement,” Adrian said.
Melissa followed him into the rain.
Water soaked her robe within seconds. The lace clung to her arms and legs. She hunched over the baby, using her body as a shelter while Adrian crossed the broken flagstones with both hands driving the wheels.
The ground changed from stone to mud.
His right wheel sank.
He pushed once. It spun deeper.
Melissa shifted the child higher against her shoulder, stepped behind the chair, and placed one hand on the push handle.
“I told you—”
“Be quiet.”
She shoved.
Pain tore through her lower body, sudden and bright. Her knees weakened. She swallowed the sound before it escaped.
Adrian twisted to look at her. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
“I gave birth three weeks ago, Adrian. Everything hurts. Push.”
Together they freed the wheel.
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At the utility cart, Adrian used Evan’s keys. The electric motor came to life without headlights.
The vehicle had two bench seats and a small cargo bed. Adrian locked his wheelchair beside the passenger side, braced one hand on the cart’s frame, and transferred himself with a practiced motion that still required more effort than he allowed anyone to mention. His injured legs dragged slightly. Melissa caught his shoulder when he slipped.
