Barely twelve inches down, the first shovel hit something hard, and immediately they knelt on the hard ground, still digging quickly but more carefully. As soon as one end of the box had been uncovered, Bishop and Finn tossed aside shovels to begin prying up the very solid lid.

Hollis was close enough to hear Nellie whispering, “Still breathing, still breathing,” but she was still both relieved and surprised when the lid was yanked up with a jerk to reveal Simon’s white face, eyes blinking and tearing in the brightness of the lights turned on him and his prison.

Or maybe it wasn’t the lights.

He opened his parched lips, but Finn said quickly, “Don’t try to talk, Simon. We’ll get you out.”

He lay on his side in the box, which was just barely large enough to hold him in his bent position. There were plastic zip ties binding his wrists behind his back and binding his ankles, and more than one of his rescuers winced in sympathy when the ties were cut and he groaned as circulation began to return to his cramped limbs.

Finn’s deputies removed from their backpacks a collapsible stretcher and an emergency rescue blanket, both positioned close so that Simon could be lifted carefully out, his shivering body wrapped warmly in the blanket and belted securely onto the stretcher.

Finn gave him as much water as he wanted and then, no doubt more warming, something from a flask he produced, and it was only then that Simon cleared his throat and looked steadily up at his rescuers.

“Thank you.”

—

THE TWO DEPUTIES, DeMarco, and Quentin carried the stretcher down the mountain to the waiting ambulance, with the deputies set to return and keep watch over the site until it could be exhaustively searched and studied in daylight. Simon tried to protest that he could walk, but Nellie told him calmly to shut up and enjoy the ride, and he grinned rather weakly in response.

As soon as they were on their way, Nellie turned to the others, noting in the surprisingly bright light that Bishop was gazing thoughtfully down at the open box and that Finn was frowning.

“What?” she demanded.

Miranda said, “He was taken Tuesday evening. It’s almost dawn on Thursday.”

Diana added, “He can’t have been buried in this box so long and still had air to breathe. Look at the box. It’s pretty much airtight, barely large enough to hold him in that cramped position, and it was buried with a foot of dirt over it.”

Hollis was nodding. “Maybe five hours of ambient air. Less.”

Nellie frowned, watching as Bishop knelt once more and searched the inside of the box with his flashlight. He stopped when he reached a spot in one corner of the end where Simon’s feet had been, and they all shifted position slightly until they could see a very small, round hole.

Bishop reached down and held his fingers near the hole for a moment or two. “Air,” he said. “Under pressure.”