A quick gray moth of fear fluttered over his skin and he shuddered, even as he hated himself for doing so. He knew what had happened here six months ago. Everybody did. That serial killer Frank Snow had gotten loose and killed a bunch of people down here, including cops, before he’d busted loose and escaped. Despite a massive manhunt, the police had never tracked him down. Dave’s personal theory was that Snow was either dead or living somewhere in South America. He was no detective, but the odds of Snow poking up his head anywhere in the English-speaking world struck him as pretty damned thin.

And yet…

People said other things, too.

They talked about the hospital, and what had really gone down here that last awful night. Dave’s uncle told him there’d been human sacrifices and worse. Unexplained weather patterns. Weird lights in the sky. The only people to survive were a family that had moved back to Maine immediately afterward. They hadn’t talked to the media about what they’d seen.

Not that Dave Kellogg thought much about it before, but now he found himself wondering what would happen if Snow had never left the hospital. There were plenty of places down here to hide, empty tunnels and hallways where nobody would ever look. Snow could’ve been down here in the darkness right now, just behind the door. Waiting for somebody to wander down, poking around.

“Knock it off,” he told himself, more harshly than he’d meant to. “Fifteen minutes down here and you’re crying like a little girl.”

Still, he really didn’t want to go through that next door. What he wanted to do was to turn around and go back upstairs, go home, drink some beer, smoke some weed, and play some video games. If his uncle wanted that silver so badly, why then guess what, he could come down there himself and get it. Dave would even go with him—in broad daylight.

Good plan, a sour voice chided. Maybe if you wait long enough, he’ll go down and get it himself. And he’ll KEEP it for himself, too, all that silver, just waiting for the right guy to come along and scoop it up. I guess that’s not you, huh?

Dave thought about it.

The voice would not be argued with.

The voice would not be reasoned with.

He opened the door.

His flashlight swept the darkness, picking out fallen chunks of drywall, the sagging walls oozing moisture. Turning right he found himself at the mouth of a long hallway. It was surprisingly warm down here in contrast to the night air. Just a moment earlier he’d been able to see his breath. Now he was actually sweating.

Something caught his eye.

Up ahead, thirty feet or so down the narrow corridor, he saw several partially exposed pipes sticking out of the wall.