Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2) (22 page)

"What do you suggest we
do?"

"I need to speak to the rest of the
crew — the Rollinses and Harrison — but I think we need
to demand answers, not that I expect them to tell us the truth. But
if on the off chance that our people are still alive, that they've
been hidden somewhere, then we need to get them back."

"Then what?"

"Then we leave." He sighed. "Tomorrow,
if possible."

"Who's there?" Finn demanded, crouching low where he had fallen and
extending his hands out before him in a defensive posture. He could
feel Bix lying motionless between his feet. He didn't know how
badly he was hurt. He could have easily broken his neck falling
down the steps. "I'm warning you, stay away!"

Rustling noises came to him from
several directions at once, giving him a better sense of the size
of the underground chamber. It seemed fairly large, and there had
to be at least four others in it with him and Bix.

But other
what
? That was the
question. Were they people? Wraiths?

Something moved off to his right,
making a fluttering, scraping sound that rose the hairs on his
neck. He spun around to face it. He heard a sharp inhale, and the
air stirred near his face. He recoiled and tripped as his feet hit
Bix's body. But whatever it was, it had moved away
again.

It's like
Eddie
, he thought, remembering the day he'd
found Doc Cavanaugh's murder scene. Eddie had moved as silently and
stealthily as whatever was in the room with him now.

"Bix,"
he whispered. He put his mouth as close to Bix's ear as he
could. His friend's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and he
raised his hand to push Finn away. Relief flooded into Finn.
"Shh. Don't move, Bix. Be quiet."

The two boys remained silent and
still, waiting and listening. It seemed the others in the room were
doing the same. All movement had stopped, and the only sounds
arriving in Finn's ears were the rush of blood through his head and
the air moving through his open mouth.

He stayed like that for a long time,
waiting for something to move, to attack him, to touch. And for a
long time, nothing happened.

* * *

"I don't think they mean to attack," Bix finally said.

Finn jerked up, startled by his
friend's voice. Despite speaking softly, it had sounded like a
shout in his ears.

"And you're totally crushing me," Bix
added.

"What?"

"Get off. I can barely
breathe."

Finn sat up. Almost immediately, the
other things in the room began to move, as if spurred by his
actions.

It's your mind playing
tricks on you,
he thought. But then he
remembered Bix had heard them, too. Were they other prisoners like
themselves?

"How long have we been lying here?" he
asked Bix. He honestly had no idea. It felt like hours.

"Beats me. I think I may have passed
out. I might even have peed my pants."

"Jesus, man!" Finn exclaimed, pushing
away in disgust.

"Nope. Or maybe just a little. A few
drops."

"Stop it!"

"Sorry, I can't help it," Bix said.
"Are you okay? I think I might have a concussion."

"I'm all right."

Bix pushed Finn away and tried to sit
up. "Had the damn wind knocked out of me."

Once more, the other things in the
room shifted, sending shivers through Finn's body. "We're not
alone," he said.

"Yeah, I know. I sort of saw them when
I fell."

"Them?"

"At least two. I don't know, maybe
three."

"More like four, I think."

"Oh, now you're just being
competitive."

"Am not."

"Should we introduce
ourselves?"

"What? No!"

"Who are you?" Bix asked, louder.
"What's your name?"

The rustling noises resumed, followed
by whispering.

"We won't hurt you," Bix
added.

Yeah, as long as you don't
hurt us,
Finn wanted to say.

"You first," came a deep voice out of
the darkness. "Who are you?"

"Bix," Bix said. "And this is
Finn."

Finn hissed his
disapproval.

"Byron," the man answered.

"And the others?" Finn asked. "How
many of you are there?"

"Three," the man said.

"Told you," said Bix, nudging
Finn.

"Four, actually," he corrected
himself, and Finn nudged Bix back. "They threw someone else down
here before you two showed up. Maybe a day before, don't know,
can't tell. He's hurt though, badly. Came to a few times, mumbled
something unintelligible. Think it might've been his name, then
passed out again. I don't think he's going to make it."

"Jesus," Finn repeated.

"Think it might be the other guy from
the dock?" Bix whispered. "The one we saw last night."

"Might be."

"Yeah, they brought us in on boats,
too," Byron said. "Blindfolded us and threw us down
here."

"How long have you been here?" Bix
asked.

"Well, judging by the position of the
sun, I'd say I have no clue."

"He's got your dry sense of humor,"
Finn muttered.

"Hey, my sense of humor is all I got.
At least it's keeping me sane."

"Can't have been more than a couple
days," Byron said. "Otherwise the stink would be worse than it
already is."

"And who are the other two?" Finn
asked, once more wrinkling his nose. The air did smell pretty
ripe.

"Jerry and Charlie."

"How'd you end up here?"

Byron didn't answer.

"Did you know Adrian and Jennifer
before?"

"Never saw any women. Just men. Don't
know their names."

"A bunch of men picked us up on the
road," a new voice said. It sounded young and scared. "We weren't
doing anything, just trying to escape from—"

"Charlie," Byron quietly said. "Zip
it."

No one spoke for several minutes after
that. Then Finn said, "It's okay. We wouldn't trust us, either. Not
in this world, but especially not after being lied to by those
people up there and shoved into this hole down here."

"They're going to kill us!" Charlie
said, his voice drawn thin with panic.

"Charlie Michael!" Byron snapped.
Then, in a softer voice: "We're going to get out. I
promise."

The shout made their ears
ring.

"Charlie's your son?" Finn
asked.

"Yes. Both he and Jerry."

"How old?"

Byron hesitated. "Eight and
eleven."

"Jesus."

"Father Adrian wouldn't like you
taking the Lord's name in vain, Finn."

"Father Adrian can kiss
my—"

"Shouldn't we be figuring out how to
get out of here?" Bix asked.

He leaned on Finn's shoulder as he
stood up. There was a thump and he swore under his breath.
"Ceiling's low," he said. "Barely five feet. Some
boards . . . rafters, maybe. Feels like dirt between
them. Maybe we can dig our way out."

Something spilled down on Finn's head
and he shook it out. It did feel like dirt.

"It's sound proofing material, I
think," Byron said. "There's wood if you dig up through it. I
already tried."

Bix was moving about the room now.
"Steps are over here." His feet scraped as he ascended them.
"They're steep and narrow. The door at the top feels
solid."

"Steel," Byron said. "And with narrow
steps and double doors, we can't easily force our way
out."

Bix came back down again. Finn could
hear him moving away, crawling over the floor. "There's a wall
here. I make it about fifteen, eighteen feet on edge."

"Have you found anything you can use
for a weapon?" Finn asked. "Anything to break out?"

"No. Nothing. Careful over there," he
called out. "We use that corner as the bathroom. There's a small
hole hollowed out in the ground. We've covered it with a blanket or
something we found down here."

"Great."

"Do you know what they're going to do
to us?" Charlie asked.

An image of the cage came to Finn, of
the man they had shoved inside. His skin turned to ice.

"No," Bix quickly said. He was heading
back around the room in the other direction. "This side's shorter.
And— What the hell?"

"That would be the other guy," Byron
said.

"You could have warned me!"

"I told you about the toilet
corner."

"He's alive," Bix said. "He's
breathing."

"You said he spoke his name. What was
it?" Finn asked.

"Not sure," Byron replied. "He was
mumbling and it sounded like Jones. Most of it was babble. It
didn't make any sense."

"Not Jones," Charlie said.
"Jonah."

"You know him?" Byron asked, responding to Bix's surprised
exclamation.

Guided by Bix's voice, Finn felt his
way over to the man lying against the wall. He could hear Bix
shaking him, trying to rouse him. "We know a Jonah."

"He smells like
blood,"
Bix whispered.

"Jonah?" Finn said. He reached out and
found an arm, traced it up to the shoulder. The shirt felt wet, but
when he rubbed his fingers together, the wetness turned sticky.
"He's bleeding."

"You figure that you've been here a
couple days?" Bix asked of the others.

"No more than that. They've fed us
twice. Not a lot, just enough to keep us from starving."

"And they brought Jonah in after you
arrived?"

"Yes."

"Timing's right," Bix mumbled to
Finn.

"Except it's not him," Finn replied.
"It's not our Jonah."

"How can you tell?"

Finn found Bix's hand and guided it to
the top of the man's head. "Curly hair. Jonah's is
straight."

"Damn," Bix breathed. "What're the
chances of that, coming across someone else with that
name?"

Finn turned around. "What exactly did
he say?"

"It was just mumbling, mostly," Byron
answered. "He was pretty beat up and barely made his way over to
the corner there. Kept saying something about sheep or something.
Rams and breaking the bike. That mean anything to you?"

"No," Finn replied.

"Like I said, it was mostly nonsense.
When I asked for his name, he just kept saying Jones. Or
Jonah."

"Well, this isn't the guy we know,"
Finn said.

"Jone . . .
uhs
," the man mumbled. "Rams
say . . . kill . . . him.
Broke . . . bike."