Don’t think about it, she told herself. Just get George and hurry to the bunker.
She opened the back door and stepped into the tasting room. It was quieter than usual in here—too quiet. All of the ordinary sounds that she’d gotten used to were gone. No crackling fire, no pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, no clicking of Sniffy’s claws on the wood floor, no quiet conversations.
“George?” Her voice echoed down the hall.
There was no immediate reply, but as she crossed the room, she heard a kind of jingling sound coming from somewhere around the kitchen. She followed the sound. It led her down the hall, through the kitchen, and to an open door beside the pantry. This, in turn, led into the family hallway, where George and Elna’s bedrooms were located, as well as one other unused room and a door into the makeshift hospital room.
“George?” she called out again.
“I’m coming,” he said. “Give me a minute here.”
She followed his voice down the hallway and through a door. It was his bedroom, a quaint little space with a four-poster bed, an antique armoire, and a bunch of old paintings and faded photos hanging from the walls. George was standing in front of a small dresser near the foot of the bed, a cloth bag dangling from his right hand. He had the drawer open, and it appeared to be full of jewelry. By the looks of it, none of the jewelry was particularly valuable—lots of gold-plating, colored glass, and so on—but it all looked really old.
“I just can’t make up my mind what to bring,” George said, picking up a copper-colored bracelet and stuffing into the bag. Mr. Pasqualee had gotten too thin, his vest hanging just a bit loosely from his shoulders. Selene had done her best to treat his condition, and he was taking midodrine, but he still seemed to be diminishing.
“George, everyone left the guesthouse a long time ago,” Selene said. “They’re all inside the bunker by now. Didn’t you realize that?”
He gave her a confused look, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle. “I haven’t been looking around that long, have I? Just a few minutes. I figured someone would come and get me. I’m pretty sure I told Elna I wanted to grab a few things. Maybe she was distracted and didn’t hear me. She has so much to worry about all the time.” He grabbed a pair of silver earrings, wrapped them in a ribbon, and put them in the bag. “I want Elna to have some of these things. She didn’t really know her mother. It’s a shame. They’re so much alike.”
“That’s nice, George, but we’d better go now.”
She took his wrist and gently guided him away from the dresser. He came without resistance, shuffling toward the bedroom door. Selene reached back and shut the dresser door before walking out into the hallway.
“I have a few pictures in here,” George said, holding up the bag. “There are a few more things I’d like to bring along, just in case we don’t make it back, but I guess we’re out of time.”
“That’s right,” Selene replied. “We need to meet the others down at the bunker. Don’t worry. All of your stuff will be here when you come back.”
They were moving down the family hall when she heard it—a sudden loud bang coming from elsewhere in the house. She heard it a second time, louder and more forceful. This time, she realized what it was—a door being forced open. Judging by the sound and distance, it was the back door to the tasting room.
“Oh no, we’re too late,” she said, feeling a sudden choking terror. “George, they’re here! The enemies are here!”
George thrust an arm out in front of her, as if to shield her. “I’m sorry. I wasted too much time. I didn’t mean to.”
With the third bang, she heard the door crack and break. This was followed immediately by harsh voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“We have to hide,” Selene said. “What do we do?”
George turn and pointed down the hall past his bedroom door where a small hatch was just visible in the floor against the wall.
“The wine cellar,” he said. “It’s our best bet.”
Selene could hear footsteps in the front hall, more voices, the clank of what she assumed were rifles.
“Check every room.” A rough voice, loud and forceful.
She rushed to the hatch, grabbed the little loop that served as a handle, and pulled it open. It swung up, revealing stone steps leading down into an utterly dark cellar. She waved George ahead of her, and he started down the stairs, though he had to move slowly to navigate them.
“Don’t fall,” she said, as he wobbled on a step. “Careful now.”
Slowly, he descended into the shadows and disappeared. Selene could hear footsteps moving all through the guesthouse above them, but she couldn’t tell where they were. Suddenly, she heard the rattle of a kitchen drawer being pulled open, the thump of someone knocking something over on the granite countertop.
Too close, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She turned and backed into the cellar, looking toward the kitchen door. It was slightly ajar, but she could only see a sliver: the side of the refrigerator, some of the center island, a bit of the stove. Suddenly, a shadow moved across the gap, and Selene had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping in surprise. Ducking into the cellar, she pulled the hatch shut behind her, but it was a heavy wooden door with sturdy metal hinges. As it closed, it made a brief but noticeable grinding sound. Men were talking in the kitchen, so she didn’t know if they heard it. She also didn’t wait to find out.
Once the hatch was closed, she continued backing down the stairs into the absolute darkness. It felt cool down
