Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(80)

Somewhere in the fifth passageway, my endurance snaps.

“This is far enough,” I hiss, trying to keep hysteria at bay. My nonexistent nails leave indents in my palms. “Where is Saul ? ”

Travis twists around and walks backward. His face looks like a Halloween mask in the lantern’s glow. “Saul?” he echoes with raised brows. He chortles. “We don’t have Saul!”

He’s still retreating, but I jerk to a stop and stare at how the light glints off his crooked teeth. This was all a ploy. No one knows where I am, and Travis has my gun. When I thought I was making the sacrifice for Saul, it was worth it, but now?

I want a choice.

Which is why I raise the rock and bash it into Travis’s head.

He crumples instantly, and something warm and sticky coats my fingers. Without waiting to see if he’ll recover, I stumble in the direction we just came from. The light doesn’t stretch far and soon I’m plunging into complete darkness again. The only sounds are my wild gasps and Travis’s groans, and it all echoes together to form a soundtrack of horror. The walls are uneven and unmerciful and I keep slamming into them. By the time I reach the next tunnel my entire body aches, my lungs burn, my ribs scream. I pause for an instant—just an instant—to listen. Nothing, that tiny voice whispers. But then comes the sound I’ve been dreading.

Footsteps.

“Oh, Alex!” Travis singsongs. My veins burst in terror and adrenaline. I shove away from the wall and keep going. Travis waits a beat. When I don’t answer, he bellows, “Alex! ” His voice is too close. There’s a manic abandon to the way he says my name, and I know that he’s a predator and I’m the prey. If I can just beat him to the ladder, get to my car …

No. That’s what he’ll be expecting. Be smarter than him. I push myself harder and try to ignore the way my head is throbbing. My hand trails alongside the wall now to adjust my steps to the dips and curves. Once again I’m counting, struggling to remember the number of steps it took and the twists we made to get to here. Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine. My palm scrapes over an angle and I breathe as quietly as I can, shuffling forward and feeling out the secrets of the mines. Yes, this is the first turn. He took us right, which means that the left would take me back to the ladder.

All my instincts are howling to dive, to go, to flee toward the certainty of light and air and life. Shuddering, I force myself to step back. Then I shuffle along the wall until I find a gap big enough to tuck myself inside.

Not a moment too soon. Travis thunders past, seething. Every pore of my skin is twitching, anxious, eager to crawl away. But I force myself to be still and wait. His mutterings become fainter. I begin to relax, thinking I’ve outsmarted him and there’s distance between us … until he whispers in my ear, “I know you’re here.”

A scream ricochets up my throat and it’s just about to emerge when I comprehend that Travis is moving away again. “I can smell your pretty sweat!” he shouts. My muscles are locked into place, so rigid that one twitch will shatter everything. There’s a thud, like a fist meeting packed dirt. Travis lets out a deafening scream. The darkness watches me cower, and I know it’s smiling. The salty taste of tears slips inside my mouth and my heart sounds like a chorus of bombs in my ears. That’s when I realize the rock is no longer clutched in my shaking fingers. Panic sears through me, and I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter. I won’t be able to surprise him again, and he has the gun. What could I use that would—

The pick.

If I can get to it, find it, I won’t be so helpless. Purpose surges through me, and after listening a few seconds more, I leave the safety of my hiding place. Nothing happens. To keep the fear at arm’s length, I focus on everything my father said about the pick. It’s in the very first tunnel, which would mean it’s near the very first entrance. Closer to the surface.

I’m going in the wrong direction.

But I can’t go back; there’s a very real possibility of slamming into Travis. The only option is finding the tunnels no one has ventured into for years. Tunnels my father told me nothing about. It’s them or Travis. Picturing Nora’s ruined face, I run.

Dad’s voice follows me through each blind turn. They hung it on the wall, as a way to remember where we’ve come from and where we’re going. The floor starts to slope upward. Once the surface feels close I thrust my hand over my head to feel the wall, alert for anything man-made or out of place. Suddenly my foot catches on something jutting out of the ground and I go sprawling. A tree root. Did he hear that? Biting my lip to trap a cry of pain, I’m just about to push myself up when my name booms through the darkness again.

“Alex!” a different voice calls, young and frightened and out of place beneath the ground. I freeze. That doesn’t sound like Travis.

“Hello?” I shout-whisper, terrified that he will hear and come.

No answer. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It has to be Travis. No one else is down here. Some part of me doesn’t believe it, though, and I stay where I am. Watching. Waiting. Even if it’s a trick, I can’t leave this place wondering if I’ve abandoned someone to a fate that was supposed to be mine.

Somehow he finds me. The lantern bobs into view, held aloft by one hand. A moment later, Travis himself. I tense, about to bolt, but then I see he’s not alone. Whoever he’s dragging behind him is short and painfully small, shrouded in shadow so the identity remains a mystery. Every organ inside me droops, as if it knows anyway. Knows before my mind fully does.