Emily Kenyon 01 - A Cold Dark Place

A rat or maybe even a raccoon lurked on the other side of the darkness.
    “Jenna?” Her voice echoed in the darkness. “Are you here?
    “Help me! Get me out of here,” called a faint voice-her daughter’s voice.
    Emily felt a jab at her heart. Toward the back of the bunker, the wall farthest from the ocean, there was a steel door. The voice was coming from there.
    “Honey, I’m here”
    The wind howled outside, the storm was moving at break neck speed from the gloomy waters of the Pacific. She wondered if she’d heard anything at all. The wind was messing with her. A whistle, then a shriek. There had been no answer to her call.
    She tried again, inching toward the door. “Jenna?”
    “Mom? Mom?”
    It was her! “Yes, it’s Mom!” Her gun now drawn, Emily reached for the door and lifted the lever handle.
    “Help me,” said the weak voice as Emily swung open the door to a small room. File boxes filled with county records were packed in rows that had once likely been neat. Right now they were a shambles. More paintball spatter. The smell of moldy paper permeated the air.
    “Help me,” came a voice once more. It was male this time. Young. A teenager.
    Nick? Or was it Dylan, toying with her once more?
    Emily aimed her light at the direction of the voice and scanned the room. A leg. A torso. A face. It was Nick Martin. He was on the floor, his legs bound by cording. His skin was ashen, and his eyes glittered like wet stones. His gaze sliced through the air. He looked so different from his photograph, even more so, Emily thought, from when she’d seen him last. With his mother. His dark hair, so carefully highlighted by Peg, was gone. Even his youth failed him right then; his handsomeness was no longer evident. He was caged. Angry and weak at the same time.
    “Mrs. Kenyon, help me,” His voice was a rasp. “We gotta get Jenna out of here”
    “Where’s my daughter?” Adrenaline was now a flood through her body.
    Brown eyes stared back. “Get me out of here,” he said.
    Emily bent down and began to untie the ligature that was wrapped around his surprisingly muscular body. She’d thought that he was slighter. A runner or something. But he was bulkier than she remembered. Much more so. She started to loosen the cording, but something struck her as terribly wrong. It was already loose. Oddly so. Anyone could take this off. A kid this strong could break this cord with a half-assed tug.
    “Mom! Don’t!” It was Jenna’s voice, this time, muffled.
    Emily peered over Nick’s shoulder. Was .Jenna right there? She looked into his eyes, but it was already too late. A pipe or steel rod came down on her, grazing her temple and striking her shoulder. Then another, this time dead on. The small musty room closed in. And as she began to fall only one thing came to mind:.Ienna and I are going to die.
    From the other side of the bunker, a cigarette glowed.

Chapter Thirty-nine
    Thursday, exact time unknown, in the bunker
    When Emily regained consciousness, two things were on her mind. Her daughter, and a gaping hole in her right temple that sent a rivulet of blood down her clammy skin. She shook her head, trying to startle herself into being fully awake. Where am I? Where is denna? Her mouth was like cotton, so dry, that at first she thought she’d been gagged. What happened? She tried to speak, but her words came out in a whisper. “Jenna?”
    A voice came at her like a dream, like the sweet song of an angel. If words could be uttered like a hymn, they had been just then.
    “Mom, I’m here”
    The phrase brought a smack-down bump to Emily’s awareness. It was a spark. It rekindled a flash fire of memory. Shed been in the bunker. Shed been tracking Nick and Jenna. Jenna was there. Shed been helping Nick get free. Then a curtain of darkness, sudden and complete.
    A battery-powered lantern glowed a few yards away. Within the yellow light was the silhouette of two figures. One was standing, a cherry ember hanging from his lips as he smoked. The other was sitting on the cement and clay floor. It was a much slighter figure. Jenna.
    Emily found her voice again. “Nick, what’s going on here? What are you doing to us? Jenna, are you all right?”
    “Shut up!” Nick said. “She’s okay. But she can’t talk.”
    Emily tried to lean forward to get a better view, but her body was frozen. “What have you done with her?”
    Nick sucked on his cigarette and exhaled, sending a sliver of smoke into the air, then,