A trapdoor, Kate thought. Or an old cellar door or something like that. Mercy might indeed be down there.

As if in response, the floor seemed to quake again. Kate saw that it was because something was hammering against that door. It jumped up, banging the latch and the hinge that kept it closed. Kate figured if something struck it hard enough from the other side, the whole thing would just splinter away from the hinge and the floor.

Its Mercy, Kate thought. But what the hell is she doing?

Jack let out a small roar as he stormed over to the door. As he neared it, he reached to his back, for the Glock. He leaned down, taking a key out of his pocket, and unfastened the lockwhich, Kate saw, was just as old and battered as the one she had seen on the back of the trailer that sat behind her.

Kate could see what was going to happen. He was going to open that door and shoot her with a bureau-issued firearm. This was going to end terribly.

And she was also very aware that she may not live to see how it all played out.

***

Mercy was hunched down, waiting. The tape from her wrists and mouth were in a pile on the dirt floor to her right, beside the ropes she had untied from her legs. She was free, waiting like a coiled snake for that motherfucker to open the trapdoor. She held the lock pick in her right hand, holding it like a very small knife. It felt like a pathetic little weapon but she figured it she struck hard enough, the size would not matter at all.

She heard his footfalls coming towards the door, thundering toward her. Specks of dust and debris fell between the floorboards, raining down on her. He was muttering curses under his breath as he approached. As he drew closer, the trapdoor over her head shuddered in its weak mildewed frame.

She listened as he knelt down and rattled the latch. There was a click as it was freed and then the square of the door was washed in murky light. Mercy felt the muscles in her legs tightening, ready to pounce, ready to do whatever was necessary to get out of here.

Slowly, his face came into view as he peered down.

Mercy wasted no time. She sprang up fast and hard, bringing the lock-pick with her. Her eyes were closed but she felt the pick slam into his face. His scream was what forced her to open her eyes. When she did, she saw him teetering on the edge of the frame. The pick had taken him just below the eye and her hand still held the handle. With a final scream, Mercy shoved forward even harder. She felt bone give away and something soft starting to also yield behind that.