Chapter 7 - Blood on the Pine
Thorne let out a choked, wet howl. The tendon in his leg gave out, and his massive frame crumpled sideways, slamming into the dresser. The shotgun slipped from his grip, clattering across the floorboards.
"Run, Lily!" I screamed.
I rolled onto my stomach, grabbed the dropped titanium pry bar, and drove the curved hooked end straight into Thorne’s collarbone with every ounce of strength I had left.
The bone snapped with a sickening crunch. Thorne shrieked through his voice box, a garbled burst of static and spit. He swung his massive, gloved fist, catching me square across the jaw. My head snapped back, the taste of copper flooding my mouth, but I didn't let go of the bar. I wrenched it sideways, pinning his neck against the floor.
"Where are they?!" I roared, leaning all my body weight onto his throat. "The basement?! Where is the entrance?!"
Thorne clawed at my wrists, his eyes bulging, his tracheostomy whistling frantically for oxygen. "The... the root cellar... under the pantry..." he wheezed out. "You won't... you won't save them, Ryan. The clean-up crew... is already thirty minutes out. They burn everything."
I brought my elbow down hard against his temple.
Thorne went limp, his head lolling sideways on the blood-soaked floorboards. He was still breathing, but he was out cold.
I sprang up, grabbing the 12-gauge shotgun and scooping up Caroline's revolver. I racked the slide of the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell, chambering a fresh round.
Lily stood by the doorway, her hands covered in Thorne's dark blood, the bloody scissors clutched tight. Her chest heaved. She didn't look like a scared toddler anymore. She looked like a soldier who had just survived another ambush.
"You okay, baby?" I asked, kneeling beside her, wiping a smear of red from her cheek with my sleeve.
"He hurts the quiet girl," Lily whispered, her chin trembling for the first time. "He puts needles in her head. Don't let him do it anymore, Daddy."
"I won't," I promised, looking into those hazel eyes. She wasn't my biological daughter, but it didn't mean a damn thing. In that moment, she was my kid, and I was going to burn this entire world down to keep her safe. "We're going down to get them. Stay right behind me. If you see anyone, you drop flat on the floor. Got it?"
She nodded fiercely.
We moved down the stairs, our footsteps silent on the runner carpet. The house felt like a hollow carcass. Outside, snow was beginning to fall heavily, fat white flakes sticking to the living room bay windows.
I pushed through the kitchen into the walk-in pantry. Shelves lined with canned beans, pasta, and spices. At the back, partially hidden behind a wall-mounted spice rack, was a vertical seam in the beadboard paneling.
I shoved the shelves aside. Behind them was an electronic keypad, just like the one on the floor safe.
I didn't bother guessing a code this time.
I brought the barrel of the 12-gauge shotgun point-blank against the electronic lock mechanism and pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
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The heavy steel panel shattered. Sparks erupted in a violent shower of blue light. The hidden door swung outward into the cold, revealing a dark, concrete staircase spiraling down into the earth.
And from the bottom of that staircase came the sharp, unmistakable sound of a child crying out in pain.
