They had climbed to within sixty feet of the plank.

Once again Ethan leaned out over the ledge, heard Hecter groaning, and imagined the cable biting into Hecter’s fingers.

The remaining abbies had taken the hint and spread out.

He took his time shooting them down from left to right.

No misses.

Watched them plunge into the darkness, taking out a handful of others who had just begun to climb.

He was out of ammo.

“All right,” Ethan said.

Hecter pulled him back onto the plank and they hurried on, crossing the rock face until they rounded the corner at the end.

They rushed up the widening ledge into the mountain.

Ethan could hardly see a thing in the passage, and up ahead, the door to the cavern was shut.

He pounded the wood.

“Two more out here! Open up!”

The bolt slid back on the other side, hinges creaking as it opened.

Ethan hadn’t noticed the door his first time here, but now he made a careful study. It had been constructed of pine logs stacked horizontally and cemented together with an earth-based mortar.

He followed Hecter inside.

Kate shut the door after him and shot a heavy steel rod back into its housing.

Ethan said, “My family—”

“They’re here. They’re safe.”

He spotted them over by the stage, flashed an I-love-you sign.

Ethan surveyed the cavern—several thousand square feet with kerosene lamps hanging from wires in the low rock ceiling.

A scattering of furniture.

Bar on the left.

Stage on the right.

Both rickety-looking, as if they’d been assembled out of scrap wood. At the large fireplace toward the back, someone was already building a fire.

Looked to Ethan like only a hundred people or so, everyone huddled around torches, eyes twinkling in the firelight.

He said, “Where are the other groups?”

Kate shook her head.

“It’s only us?”

As her eyes welled up, he held her. “We’ll find Harold,” Ethan said. “I promise you that.”

The abby screams reverberated through the passage beyond the door.

“Where’s our army?” Ethan asked.

“Right here.”

He looked at a half-dozen scared-shitless people who had no business even holding weapons.

The definition of ragtag.

Ethan examined the door again. The bolt was a long piece of solid metal, half an inch thick. It spanned the five-foot wide door, which had been expertly cut to fit snugly into the arch. The housing looked durable.

Kate said, “We could all stand right outside the door. Shoot anything that tried to come down the passage.”

“I don’t like it. No telling how many of those things are coming, and no offense”—Ethan glanced at the terrified faces surrounding him—“but how many of you can shoot accurately in a pressure situation? These things don’t go down easy. Those of you with .357s? You’d better score head shots every time. No, I think we stay in here. Pray the door holds.”