The boy breathed a sigh of relief. “Is that all? It’s just rats. I think one brushed my leg back there somewhere.” He motioned into the darkness. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, okay,” Bart sighed, still peering into the hole. “Jeez, I wish I knew what was back there.” He reached in and rapped that third wall once again. Only this time the stone wasn’t in place. His fist encountered empty air and kept going, and his arm sank through the opening up to the elbow. He lost his balance and fell against the wall and said, “Shit.”

He said it even louder when something grabbed his wrist.

It was clammy and cold, nearly freezing. His crotch shrank at the mere touch. And it was strong. It jerked his arm further into the hole, shoulder deep, banging his face against the wall and shaking the flashlight from his grasp. His neck was bent at an angle against the brick till he could barely breath or cry out, and still the pressure grew. All he could manage was a gasp.

Then the last of the Coleman’s fuel burned up and the lamp winked out.

4

Chapter Four

Del couldn’t be sure how long he stood there. Nor could he tell which direction the stairs were in or the walls or even Bart for that matter. He was lost in the blackness. It disoriented him, tilted the floor and turned the world on its side and made him fight to stay on his feet. “C’mon, Bart, this ain’t funny, Where are you? Bart?”

There was an uncharacteristic whimper in reply. “Oh, shit, something’s got me, oh shit, oh shit. . . .”

“Hang on, Bart. Just hang on. Dammit, where’s the flashlight?!” He flailed his fists helplessly at the claustrophobic darkness as if it were a tangible thing. There was a whimper rising in his own throat but he forced it down. Not now. You can’t be scared now. He dropped onto his hands and knees and crawled along the rough stone floor, fighting his tears back. “Where’s the flashlight!” His knees were bruised from the rubble, and something ragged cut his palm and made him cry out in pain. But he wouldn’t stop. Don’t stop! Keep looking! He was starting to cry when his hand finally closed around something long and thin and smooth. But the rat connected to it hissed not a foot from his face and he slung it away with a shriek. “I can’t find it,” he sobbed. “Bart, I can’t find it!”

“Goddamn it, Del,” came a pained voice, gasping and full of tears, “gimme a fuckin’ hand!”