It was a six-by-six culvert of crumbling concrete, broken by roots and vines, and a couple thousand years old. It ran beneath the town, and, aside from the cemetery, it represented the last original construction leftover from twenty-first-century Wayward Pines.

It felt cold and dank and ancient.

People stood single file, their backs against the walls like schoolchildren assembled for some terrifying drill. Tense. Expectant. Shivering. Some wide-eyed, others blank-faced, as if in complete denial of what was happening.

Ethan jogged up the tunnel to Kate.

“Everybody in?” she asked.

“Yeah. Lead the way. Hecter and I will bring up the rear.”

As Ethan moved back down the line, he held his finger to his lips, urging silence.

When he passed his wife and son, he caught Theresa’s eye and winked, squeezing her hand as he hurried by.

They had already begun to move as he neared the end.

He pulled the last torchbearer out of line. She tended bar at the Biergarten on weekends. Maggie something.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

She was young, scared.

Ethan said, “Just hold your light. It’s Maggie, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Ethan.”

“I know.”

“Let’s go.”

The group moved slowly enough as a whole for Ethan, Hecter, and Maggie to backpedal without fear of falling. The torchlight flickered across the crumbling concrete, illuminating an empty stretch of tunnel forty feet behind them, the walls fringed with light, the center space disturbingly black.

There was the sound of footsteps in water, a few hushed voices, and little else.

As they traveled, Ethan’s mind wandered to Theresa and Ben. They were only fifty feet away, but he didn’t like being any distance from them under these conditions.

They came to a junction.

Maggie’s torch momentarily illuminated the intersecting tunnels.

For a split second, Ethan thought he heard screams echoing down through the dark, but they were lost to the sound of his group’s passage.

“Are we doing okay?” Maggie asked.

A tremor in her voice.

“Yes,” Ethan said. “We’ll be safe soon.”

“I’m cold.”

Her costume for the fête was a bikini under a raincoat, and fur-lined boots.

Ethan said, “We’ll have a fire where we’re going.”

“I’m scared.”

“You’re doing great, Maggie.”

Two junctions later, they hung a right into a new tunnel.

As they passed an old iron ladder that climbed into darkness, Ethan stopped.

“What’s that sound?” Hecter asked.

Ethan looked at Maggie. “Let me have your torch.”

“Why?”

He grabbed it and handed her his shotgun.

Climbed with one hand on the rungs, one hand gripping the torch.

After ten steps, Hecter’s voice reached up from below.

“Ethan, not to complain, but I can’t see a thing down here.”

“I’ll be back in one minute.”