I walk around and set a few stable points so that we’ll be able to see what’s going on while we’re below ground.
Delia steps onto the porch. “Is Grant out here?”
I shake my head. “Last I saw him was in the kitchen.”
“Can you look around out here?” she asks, darting back into the house.
Four minutes later, we still haven’t found him, and I watch through my key as the first truck drives through the gap in the fence.
“Gotta get y’all underground,” Joe says. He unlocks the padlock and swings the cellar door open. “You’ll hear a loud bell clangin’ soon as those trucks arrive. That’ll be Martha. My brother lives the next farm over, and he’s got a telephone. If Billy hears that bell five times, he’ll call the sheriff and get over here with his gun.”
We all thank him for his help, and I add, “Please be careful.”
“No need to worry about us. We’ll be fine. And if I find that other boy, I’ll do my best to keep him safe.” Once we’re down the ladder, he says, “Y’all might want to get settled before I close this lid. It’s gonna be mighty dark down there.”
Light isn’t a problem, actually. Even if one of us was afraid of the dark, we have four bright blue CHRONOS keys in a hole that’s maybe seven feet across.
It’s more the size of the cellar that bothers me. There are shelves on one side, and the whole thing reminds me of the linen closet at Holmes’s hotel in Chicago. I shiver, partly from that memory and partly because it’s chilly down here.
I transfer the local stable points I set outside the farmhouse to everyone’s keys as the trucks roll into the yard. The two cars hang back about fifty feet down the road. One of them seems pretty full. Several people get out, some of them climbing up on the hood.
“I can’t believe Grant took off like that,” Delia says. She’s sitting in front of Abel, wrapped in a blanket. Abel’s arms are around her, and Joe’s second shotgun is near his feet.
“I don’t blame Grant for running,” Abel says. “We aren’t exactly in an optimal situation. This hole is crowded enough with the four of us, and he’s probably safer on his own. He’s got a new ID. He’s got cash for a fresh start. He’ll be okay.”
“I hope you’re right,” she says.
When I look back at my key, one of the men is shouting something. They’re all dressed similarly, mostly in jeans and plain shirts, but I’m positive the shouter is Willis, judging from his build and the fact that he’s moving with a slight limp. I can hear noise from outside, but it’s too muffled to pick out words.
We do hear the bell, however, at 1:13 a.m. Martha rings it five times, waits a few seconds, and repeats the signal. Two of the men behind Willis look around nervously and get down from the truck bed, moving around the corner of the house.
“Do you think the sheriff will even come?” Delia asks.
It’s not clear who she’s asking, but Abel finally says, “Yes. Otherwise there’s trouble on all fronts. Some will complain because he allowed a mob to get the upper hand. Others will complain because a dangerous criminal escaped. And they’ve got grand-theft auto against me now as well.”
He shoots an annoyed glance at me, and I’m a little surprised when Delia speaks in my defense. “If she hadn’t gotten you out of there, those crazies would have you already, Abel. You’re wearing a key, so I think you know that as well as I do. I remember watching them drag you out of that cell. Grant and I were useless, and Kiernan wasn’t around—she did the best she could. Thank you, Kate.”
Tears spring to my eyes, maybe because I’ve been feeling a little underappreciated, but also because Delia’s thanks now seem misplaced. The “crazies” are mere yards away, and they could drag Abel out again—although with three guns down here, they’re going to find it a little more difficult.
“I never said I wasn’t grateful,” Abel says. “It’s just the planning could have been—”
“Shut up, Abel.” Delia’s words are harsh, but her tone is affectionate, and Abel shakes his head and then kind of chuckles, hugging her to him.
Kiernan has been very quiet, his eyes glued to one of the stable points. When I lean back to see which one he’s watching, he quickly shifts to a different view.
So I start jumping between them, trying to see what caught his attention. I watch Willis yelling from two different angles, with others in the trucks joining in occasionally.
Then I shift to look at the cars and find what caught Kiernan’s attention. I almost missed the blip of blue light inside the second car, probably because the entire cellar is flooded with the same shade.
“Simon’s out there,” I whisper. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He catches the suspicion in my voice and hisses back, “I just realized it myself!”
Of course, when you’re crammed in a cellar, shoulder to shoulder, whispers aren’t really private.
Delia says, “That’s the one with Saul, right? His lieutenant.”
Thug is more like it, but I nod.
“Why’s he here?” Abel asks. “Does he know we’re CHRONOS?”
“Yes,” Kiernan says, “and I suspect he’s here because he’s as bloody twisted as his grandda. He wants to be here when you hang or they shoot you or whatever the hell they’re planning.”
I don’t know why I have a hard time believing that’s Simon’s only reason. He was perfectly willing to put me in the path of a serial killer in 1893. And while the vast majority of people in this county are at home, minding their own business, and wouldn’t hear about a lynching until it was long over, I suspect half of the people on Martha’s front lawn are there for the same reason Kiernan thinks Simon is hanging around. They wouldn’t kill Abel themselves, but they’re happy, maybe even a little eager, to watch someone else do it.
I shift from the cars to watching the front porch. Joe is pointing the shotgun at Willis, and I can read his lips perfectly. “Get off my property.” There are a few more words, and then Joe’s expression shifts from determined to terrified. Delia and Abel gasp at the same moment that Joe lowers the gun.
I know what’s happened before I switch to the other view. They have Martha. I shift my eyes over to Kiernan’s key and watch as Simon walks toward the trucks. Kiernan blinks twice before I can say, “No, Kiernan. You can’t go in there.”
I’m pretty certain he can’t jump in anywhere, but he keeps trying, his expression furious.
A truck is coming in from the other side of the farm, driving fast across the lawn. A middle-aged man in overalls gets out of the truck, his gun raised, then sees Martha. One of the masked men has an arm around her waist and the muzzle of his pistol wedged under her jaw.
Kiernan might not be able to jump out, but I can. I shove the gun into my pocket, freeing up both hands so that I can set the cellar and current time as a stable point. As I’m finishing, someone bangs on the cellar door.
“It’s Simon,” Kiernan says. “He just walked around the side of the house.”
Kiernan’s right. I pull up the stable point outside the cellar and see the back of Simon’s head. I can also see the wheels of a car driving up directly behind him.
Then Simon starts talking, his voice muted a bit by the wooden door. “I’m sure you’ve got guns down there, just like we do up here. Don’t start shooting yet. I’m here to negotiate. I know Abel and Delia are down there, and it’s mostly you I’m talking to. I’m sure Kate has been painting a dreadful picture of the Cyrists, but she’s been . . . I guess you’d say brainwashed . . . by her grandmother. The only reason she’s here is that Prudence is protecting her, although I don’t know how much longer their little agreement can hold.”
Kiernan tenses up beside me, and then he yells, “Get to the bloody point, Simon!”
“Kiernan! I thought you might be down there, buddy. My point is that there’s a way for Abel and Delia to get out of this safely, if they listen to reason. You, too. Kiernan. My earlier offer still stands, if you’re tired of babysitting for Pru.”