His original plan was no more.
He now needed a few moments alone with Alle.
A loud bang, then more pops came from the catacombs.
One problem was surely gone.
Two more were about to be solved.
———
ALLE WATCHED AS BRIAN WAS SHOT THREE TIMES, HIS BODY finally ceasing all movement on the floor. Her father was trying to find Brian’s gun and she used that moment to spring to her feet and race ahead, finding the passageway’s end and turning a corner. She had no idea where she was headed, but it was in the direction her father had been taking them.
Brian’s words still hung in her ears.
What in the world?
A shot rang out from behind her, louder than the others. She slowed, but kept a brisk pace, her head constantly spinning, checking her flank. She spotted a stairway fifty feet ahead, the path well lit.
Another glance back.
More pops.
Her shoulders were grabbed from the front, her body spun.
The unexpected violation startled her and she was about to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth and she saw Zachariah’s face.
———
TOM WAS PINNED DOWN, HUDDLED INSIDE ONE OF THE ARCHWAYS that framed an iron grille with a gate that separated the hall from bone rooms on each side. He was hugging the bars, keeping his body shielded, when he realized that the gate was not locked. He eased open the hinged section and rolled into the narrow room, his body now flush against a stack of blackened bones. He stared back, trying to spot whoever was firing at him.
Then he saw.
The bone rooms were not individual. The niches formed one long path, archways dividing them from the center passage. Lights illuminated the niches and the bones. He could actually escape the shooter, staying out of the corridor, the angle and pillars providing plenty of cover.
He crouched low and started to leave.
Another pop.
Bones a foot away shattered as a bullet slammed into the pile.
He dropped to the floor and lay flat. Bad idea.
He told himself to calm down, breathe slower. Think. He still held the gun. His shot a moment ago, the first time in his life he’d ever fired a weapon, had been a message that he was armed. Strange that his first shot was here, among so many reminders of death, when it should have been two days ago. He crawled ahead across the gritty floor, paralleling the bones inches away. A musty, dirty smell filled his nostrils, which reminded him of Abiram’s open coffin, but he kept moving, staying low to the ground.
He heard movement behind him.
He rolled onto his spine and stared back through the bars and arches.
A shadow grew in size.
Someone was approaching.
———
ZACHARIAH HELD ALLE TIGHT, HIS HAND OVER HER MOUTH. HE could feel her shaking with fear.
He removed his hand.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, concern in his voice and eyes.
Her head bobbed. “I’m okay. Brian is back there. He was shot. Somebody is there with a gun.”
“Listen to me, Alle. I need your help. Rocha will make sure your father is okay. No harm will come to him. But I need you to go with him. Find out what it is your father knows.”
“He told you.”
He shook his head. “He is holding back. There is no reason for him to be truthful with me. I would have no way to verify anything, and he knows that.”
“Why would he lie?”
“Perhaps he feels an attachment or duty to his father. I have to know if he is being entirely candid.”
“Brian is a government agent.”
His heart shuddered.
Had he heard her correctly?
