Relentless

pistol, and I discovered my gun already in my hand, although I did not recall having withdrawn it from the holster as I raced along the hallway.
    The doorbell rang.
    The chimes conflicted with a final burst of “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” before Waxx’s call went to voice mail.
    Snatching open the back door, I said, “Not south across the meadow. They might spot us before we’re hidden by the fog.”
    They preceded me onto the back porch, and I pulled the door shut behind us.
    “Straight east,” I urged, “across the backyard, find the forest. We’ll stay in the trees around the meadow to the Mountaineer.”
    We were at the head of the porch steps when the sudden swelling roar of an engine froze us.
    Around the south side of the house came the Hummer, speeding across the lawn, wide tires unfazed by the wet grass. That it was black like a hearse seemed appropriate.
    Instead of turning right and parking athwart the porch steps, blocking our escape, the Hummer continued east without hesitation. Failing to glance our way, the driver had not seen us.
    The enormous vehicle vanished into the morning fog, and its crisp beams diffused, becoming an unearthly glow, goblin light.
    Apparently, he intended to park beyond view of the house so that if we came visiting, as they hoped, we would think the place deserted. They would move the sedan for the same reason.
    Out in the murk, the Hummer stopped. The driver killed the engine and the lights.
    If he meant to walk back to the house, we could no longer go east toward the woods because we would risk encountering him. The slam of the driver’s door carried clearly in the moist air. He was returning on foot.
    The only route left to us was north, away from the house, then west and across the state route, thereafter south and finally east across the road again to the Mountaineer.
    I indicated north, and Penny nodded, and the three of us took one step off the porch before we heard the voices: two men, coming around the north side of the house, evidently to try the back door.
    We could get out of sight quickly enough only if we retreated to the kitchen.
    Understandably, Penny was averse to going into the house again, and she hesitated. In an instant, however, she realized we couldn’t attempt to take these two men by surprise and shoot them dead because that still left one out front plus the driver, who would be alerted by gunfire. Our luck wouldn’t hold through so many confrontations.
    Besides, here in the open, we couldn’t protect Milo from return fire if we drew any.
    Crossing the porch, I feared the back door had locked when we closed it behind us, but that was not the case. Holding Milo’s hand, Penny ducked inside, and I followed.
    I almost closed the door and engaged the deadbolt. Instead, I left it ajar, suggesting we had successfully escaped by this route.
    The second floor didn’t appeal. We might go through a window, onto a porch roof, drop to a lawn, but doing so quietly and with Milo required the Fates to be in a better mood than lately possessed them.
    When Penny opened an interior door, I glimpsed a steep flight of concrete stairs descending into gloom. This seemed to be the worst of all possible options.
    Voices outside. Footfalls on the back-porch steps.
    The cellar was no longer merely an option. It was the only place we could go.
    I followed Milo and Penny onto the descending stairs and quietly closed the door behind us.

   The chamber below was not a black pit. A pale radiance suggested that part of the cellar was aboveground, with a few narrow windows near the ceiling.
    Nevertheless, darkness dominated. If we tried to proceed in it, inevitably we would blunder into something and make a lot of noise.
    At the top of the stairs, I felt the wall, found the switch, and risked the lights.
    Penny and Milo hurried down the concrete steps.
    As I followed them, I heard voices in the kitchen.
    Stepping away from the bottom of the stairs, I counted three casement windows in the north wall and three in the south, which were the sides of the house lacking porches. Set just under the ceiling, these openings probably measured eighteen inches wide by a foot high. The windows were hinged and were primarily intended to provide periodic ventilation.
    On this foggy morning, they admitted little light; and even Milowould have needed to be a circus contortionist to escape through one of them.
    The fluorescent tubes on the ceiling provided inadequate light, leaving