day.'
Annie just stood there as Sharon walked away, looking out the window at the darkened backyard, at the clothesline over in the corner, at the zinnias someone had planted around the poles, feeling a little silly for watching for armed soldiers coming to kill her. Suddenly, it just seemed too surreal, and she could feel her mind slipping, telling her that this was simply too preposterous to be believed. Surely there wouldn't be soldiers in a place with zinnias and clotheslines, and even if there were, surely they wouldn't be bent on murder. They were panicking, jumping to conclusions, following Grace's paranoia when they were really perfectly safe here. .. .
And then she closed her eyes and saw a burning barn and wanted desperately to get out of the house.Right now.
Three minutes later, they were all huddled around the front door, peering through the glass panel at the top. There was nothing out there, just a hint of light at the top of the trees that towered around the town, advertising that somewhere beyond their view, the moon had risen. Apparently, it was high enough to start painting the shadow of the cafe on the grass between it and the house.
And then part of the shadow moved.
Grace froze, afraid to look away, afraid to blink, but everything was still. Maybe her eyes were tired, playing tricks, or maybe an errant breeze in this breathless air had moved a single leaf on a bush.
But Annie and Sharon had seen it, too. They were already moving toward the basement door, down the steps without a sound. Grace followed, turning on the top step and starting to close the door. Had it squeaked when they'd opened it? She couldn't remember.
Outside the house, two shadowy figures crept up to the front door and immediately dodged to either side, flattening their backs against the siding. A shower of loose paint chips crackled softly, then fluttered down to the cement stoop.
Grace froze at the top of the basement stairway, the door an inch from closing. In this too-quiet town where the absolute silence had been ruptured only intermittently-by gunfire and jeeps and soldiers unconcerned with making noise-the faint shussing she'd just heard outside was menacing in its subtlety. Seconds passed, almost a minute, but she heard nothing more. She released her breath slowly, then took another step down and closed the door behind her. The latch engaged with a soft click.
Outside on the front stoop, one head jerked, cocked an ear toward the door. His partner looked over at him and lifted his brows in a question.Did you hear something?
They both listened, eyes narrowed on each other, palms wet on their rifle grips. After a sixty-second count, they entered the house quietly, the muzzles of their rifles swinging in a deadly double arc.
Down in the basement, Sharon and Annie waited for Grace on either side of the wooden door that led up the back concrete steps and through the storm door to the backyard. Neither of them made a move to open it. Maybe they were waiting for the last possible second before they risked making noise, or maybe they were just terrified of what might be waiting for them on the other side.
Grace reached past them for the metal knob, then froze when she heard a floorboard creak overhead.
The three women were rigidly still, their eyes rolled upward to look at the basement ceiling. Not one of them doubted the cause of
that long creak above their heads. Even though there hadn't been another sound for almost a full minute, they all knew. Somebody was upstairs.
A few seconds later, Grace felt a breath of air, the soft pulse of a baby's exhale touching her face.Air exchange! Air exchange! The thought screamed like a Klaxon in her head.
Someone had opened the door at the top of the stairwell.
The women stood motionless in the black basement while beads of silence gathered on the string of time. Grace was looking over her shoulder in the direction of the stairwell, listening, waiting. The Sig felt heavy hanging in her right hand.
They're up there. Men with guns a lot bigger than this one are standing up there at the top of the stairs, wondering if the treads will creak under their weight, listening for sounds from down here before they risk the first step. . . .
When it finally came-the barely audible tap of a rubber sole against the wood of the first riser-it was almost anticlimactic.
First step.
Grace's hand began to turn the knob . . .
Tap. Second step.
. . , farther to the right in perfect, beautiful silence . ..
The third riser creaked faintly just as the latch eased free of its housing and Grace pulled the door open slowly, not too far, just a crack, just big enough for Sharon to slip through silently, silently . . .
Grace never heard the next step, but she knew when it happened, because she felt the weight of that oh-so- silent boot coming down, as if he were treading on her chest instead of the fourth step down . . .
Sharon slipped through the doorway like a floating shadow. She rounded her back and went up the first few concrete steps bent in half, then squeezed to one side. The presence of the slanted overhead door bore down on her like a great, invisible weight. A few of her hairs brushed against its splintery underside and pulled free from her scalp.
In what had to be the most graceful movements of her life, Annie followed like water flowing uphill. She squeezed next to Sharon, every muscle in her body screaming with tension.
Grace felt the mass of their three bodies crowding the small space as she took a silent step after Annie, then turned and pulled the door closed behind her.How many steps have they come down now? Are they at the bottom, on the dirt floor? Can they see the door yet? She gritted her teeth and started to ease the knob back to its resting place, a millimeter at a time.
And then she heard them on the other side.
Sharon's hands went up instantly and pressed against the slanted door over her head. Someone on the other side of the door in the basement was talking, heedless of noise now. Apparently, they'd decided that the building was empty. She couldn't make out the words, just syncopated mumblings muted by the heavy wooden door. Stupid men. Stupid, stupid men. They hadn't checked behind door number two. Yet. She tightened her stomach muscles and pushed the overhead door up an inch, then another and another.
Annie's eyes lifted as a slice of muggy air wafted into the tiny space, then she straightened slightly and poked her head up into the night.Silly, she thought.What are you going to do if there's someone out here? Just sink back down and take odds on who'll find you first? The guys outside or the guys inside? She moved quickly then, up the rest of the steps, turning to hold the heavy door by its handle while Sharon and Grace crept up after her. The three of them shared the weight, easing it carefully back down until it stopped soundlessly in its frame. Still bent over, they froze at the unmistakable sound of the inner door opening, and then a low-pitched voice, muffled only slightly by the outer door and the three feet of space that separated it from their ears.
'Come on. Let's go out this way. . . .'
Before the man had finished his sentence, they were halfway across the yard, sprinting silently on the balls of their feet, heading for the side of the house. They'd just ducked around the corner and pressed their backs to the siding when the outer storm door began to lift from its casing.
'So now what, the gas station?' The man's murmur traveled clearly in the silence, snaked around the corner, and pinned the three women in place.
'Then the cafe . . .' Their voices receded as they turned away and started moving across the house's backyard in the opposite direction.
For a few moments, the women remained flat against the side of the house, watching, listening, waiting for their hearts to slow down.
Grace's eyes were wide open, but she couldn't see a thing. Somewhere the moon was probably washing open fields with pale yellow light, but it hadn't risen high enough to shine down into the hole in the forest that was Four Corners. For all she knew, this kind of utter darkness was common in a place so far from the reflected glow of city lights, but even she knew that this kind of utter silence wasn't common anywhere.
No sleepy bird sounds, no croaking frogs, no mosquitoes, for God's sake.
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the black night, and shadows began to separate into distinctive shapes. Directly across from where they stood, an elderly, virtually impenetrable hedge of lilacs ran the length of the house,
