Snowbound

SIXTY-EIGHT

Kalyn moved across the stone floor of the lobby and sat down on the hearth in front of the giant fireplace. She kept looking up and down the north- and south-wing corridors, watching the exposed stairwells that climbed fifty feet toward the rafters on each side of the lobby, the passage behind her, the adjacent library door, closed and locked. She set the shotgun on the stone, fished four shells of buckshot out of the pocket of her fleece jacket. As she reached for the Mossberg to load the shells, a pair of black boots emerged from the flue into the enormous hearth behind her and lowered silently toward the grate.

Devlin illuminated her face with the flashlight beam and held her finger to her lips so the women could see.

She mouthed, “Shhh. Someone’s out there.”

She traded the flashlight for the shotgun but couldn’t remember if she’d pumped it, opted to wait, as the slightest noise would give them away. She crept up to the door, strained to listen. Thought she heard something like a soft exhalation on the other side, perhaps the scrape of fabric against fabric.

She dropped quietly to her knees, lowered herself onto the floor, the right side of her face flush against the carpet. Their room was dark, but a lantern flickered outside in the hallway.

Through the crack under the door, the strand of lantern light was broken in two places. She saw the tips of a pair of boots, could have poked a finger under the door and touched them.

Ten feet away, invisible in the darkness, the infant began to cry.

. . .

Will and Rachael slipped out of the passage and into the stairwell. No lanterns or candles here, the darkness absolute.

Rachael whispered, “Should I turn on the flashlight?”

“No. Just go slow and keep one hand on the wall like we did before.”

Even as he said it, Will knew they might be walking blindly to their death, couldn’t stop himself from picturing a man crouched on the next flight of stairs, outfitted with night-vision goggles, just waiting for them to stumble past.

They proceeded carefully, one step at a time, Will’s heart knocking so hard he feared he’d faint. This was far worse than the wolves. At least you could see your attacker coming outside.

They reached the landing. Will traced his hand along the wall, letting it guide them to the next flight of stairs. Three steps up, he stopped.

“What is it?” Rachael asked.

“I see a light up ahead. Wait here.”

Will ascended the remaining nine steps. At the top, he reached an archway, and from there he could glimpse the corridor, where a lantern mounted to the wall threw shadows and light on a man dressed in black, standing at the door that opened into Devlin’s room.

Will glanced back down the steps, waved Rachael up. She came, stood beside him as the corridor filled with a baby’s wailing. They raised their shotguns.

The man leaned against Devlin’s door, his ear pressed to the wood. Will felt an eerie chill radiate down from the base of his neck into his spine.

Will and Rachael eyed each other, and she could barely see his lips moving in the low light.

Will mouthed, “That’s Javier.”

The man spun, bullets striking the walls of the stairwell, the iron railing sparking.

The Innises returned fire, then dived back into the archway, ears ringing. Will pressed Rachael up against the wall, whispered, “You hit?”

“No, you?”

“No. Don’t move.” Will peeked around the corner, gun smoke drifting through the corridor. The door was splintered with buckshot but still intact. No one there, just sprinkles of blood. Will motioned for Rachael to join him, and he spoke into her ear, “I think he’s pinned down at the end of the corridor, maybe fifteen feet away. All the doors are locked, so I don’t think there’s anyplace—”

Will heard a door squeak open.