“Stop,” little Fritz shouted. He’d reappeared in the doorway wielding a pistol, the weapon comically large in his shaking hands. With a smirk, his father took it from him and clapped him on the shoulder.

Phillip’s left hand was still under the woolen blanket. He had half an idea forming. Carefully, he stretched his fingertips for the sole of his boot and started to slide open the panel.

“Well done,” Sigmund cooed to his son. “Now. Help me tie them up.”

The family moved into the room. Again the man snatched Simone’s rifle by the barrel and this time managed to yank it out of her grip.

“Stand up,” the woman barked.

Reluctantly, Simone and Rebeka got to their feet. Rebeka’s shoulders were squared, but her hands trembled as she moved them behind her back. Shit. Phillip was almost done. He’d eased the components out of their hiding place—he just needed to fit them into the receiver—

“You too, Blackie. Stand up!”

Phillip palmed the components into his jacket sleeve and stood, clutching his pack. It was just inside the main pouch, it would take him five seconds—

“Mama,” the little girl said again, stepping into the cabin to tug at her mother’s wool trousers. “Monsters.”

“Yes, darling, I know. But we’ll take care of them, the Gestapo will take them away—”

Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Phillip turned his attention back to the open door with a heavy sickness in his gut.

Monsters. The little girl had no idea.

Red eyes blinked from the darkness beyond the cabin steps. Prowling, circling. He might not have noticed them if he didn’t know what he was looking for. Phillip risked a hasty glance at Rebeka, whose hands were shaking.

Well. He swallowed. Maybe the monsters would offer a quicker death than the Gestapo.

The woman spun Rebeka around to fasten her hands behind her back, and Rebeka faced Phillip. She mouthed three syllables at him, twice, to be sure he caught it. Jaw tight, he dipped his chin slightly to confirm.

Frequency.

At Sigmund’s feet, tendrils of shadow slithered into the cabin. Phillip forced himself not to look at them. The woman finished binding Rebeka’s hands and turned toward Phillip.

“They’ll have fun with you,” she sneered, pulling out a fresh braid of rope.

“Not as much as we will,” Phillip replied.

Her arrogant expression wrinkled for the briefest moment.

Then the screaming started.

Whump. Sigmund hit the floor face-first as the tendril of darkness yanked him backward. His daughter shrieked, banshee-like, but didn’t take his hand as he grabbed at her. The woman turned away, eyes widening, and Phillip plunged his hand into his satchel.