Chapter 76: The Night Run

The floorboards smoked under Edith's finger. She wasn't pointing at a trapdoor. She was pointing at the hearth.

"The chimney?" I asked, choking on the acrid smoke filling the cabin.

"The mine shaft," Edith corrected. "Archibald built the lodge on top of the main ventilation shaft. He liked the irony. Living on top of his fortune."

She coughed, a wet, rattling sound. The fire was climbing the walls now, eating the dry timber like kindling.

"How do we open it?" Ben shouted, banging on the window frame to clear the glass.

"You don't," Edith said. "It's sealed. Welded shut."

"Then how did you get them down there?" I demanded.

"The dumbwaiter," she said. "In the kitchen."

I looked toward the kitchen. It was engulfed in flames.

"There's no way," Lucia said, shielding her face from the heat.

"There is another way," Edith whispered.

She reached into her pocket. Not for a weapon. For a key.

A small, brass key.

"The coal chute," she said. "Outside. By the generator."

I grabbed the key. It was hot to the touch.

"Go," Edith said. "Save your... siblings."

"Come with us," I said, reaching for her hand.

She pulled away.

"This is my house," she said. "I built it. I'll burn with it."

The roof groaned. A beam crashed down in the hallway, sending a shower of sparks into the room.

"Sarah!" Ben yelled from the window. "We have to go! Now!"

I looked at Edith one last time. She was staring into the fire, a strange peace on her face. The architect of my nightmare, finally resting in the ruins.

"Goodbye, Mother," I whispered.

I climbed out the window. Ben and Lucia were waiting. We ran around the side of the cabin, past the smoking generator, to the coal chute.

It was a heavy iron door set into the foundation, padlocked.

I jammed the key into the lock. It turned with a satisfying *click*.

Ben pulled the door open.

A rush of cold, stale air hit us. It smelled of sulfur and old stone.

"It's a slide," Ben said, shining his light down. "Just like the Hoard."

"I'll go first," I said.

I slid down the metal chute, tumbling into the darkness. I landed on a pile of coal dust, coughing. Ben and Lucia followed.

We were in a tunnel. Not a basement. A mine shaft.

The walls were rough rock, supported by rotting timber beams. Old mining cart tracks ran down the center of the floor, disappearing into the gloom.

And lining the walls, like coffins in a catacomb, were the cribs.

Twelve of them.

But they weren't cribs.

They were tanks.

Glass cylinders, filled with a pale blue liquid. And floating inside each one...

I walked to the first tank. I wiped the dust from the glass.

It wasn't a baby.

It was a teenager. A boy, maybe sixteen years old.

He had dark hair. Blue eyes.

My eyes.

He was suspended in the fluid, a mask over his face, tubes running into his arms. He looked peaceful. Sleeping.

"Oh my god," Lucia whispered.

I moved to the next tank. A girl. Also sixteen. Also identical.

"She didn't just make babies," I said. "She grew them. She kept them."

"For what?" Ben asked, his voice echoing in the tunnel.

"For parts," I said. "For spares. Just like us."

I walked down the line. Twelve tanks. Twelve lives, suspended in time.

But the last tank... the last tank was different.

It was empty.

The glass was shattered. The fluid was gone. The tubes were torn out.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Where is who?" Lucia asked.

"The twelfth one," I said. "The one that belongs in this tank."

I looked at the label on the base.

*Subject 12. Male. Status: Active.*

And below that, a date.

*Awakened: Yesterday.*

"He's loose," I whispered.

"Who?" Ben asked.

"The one who sent the text," I said. "The one who took the picture."

I shone my flashlight around the tunnel. It stretched on for miles, a labyrinth of secrets.

"He's in here," I said. "With us."

Then, a sound.

Footsteps.

Slow. Deliberate. crunching on the coal dust.

"Sarah?" a voice called out.

It wasn't Edith. It wasn't Mark.

It was a voice I had heard before. A voice I knew better than my own.

It was my voice.

But deeper. Male.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

He was tall, thin, wearing a hospital gown that was too small for him. His hair was wet, matted.

He looked at me.

It was like looking in a funhouse mirror. He had my face, but twisted. Harder. Crueler.

"Hello, sister," he said.

He was holding something.

A detonator.

"Who are you?" I asked, stepping in front of Lucia.

"I'm the one who didn't get away," he said. "I'm the one she kept."

He raised the detonator.

"And now," he said, "I'm the one who finishes it."

"Don't!" I screamed.

He smiled. My smile.

"We are awake," he whispered.

He pressed the button.

A deep rumble shook the ground. Dust fell from the ceiling.

But the explosion didn't come from the tunnel.

It came from above.

From the entrance.

The coal chute collapsed. Tons of rock and earth slammed down, sealing the exit.

We were trapped.

Buried alive with the ghosts of the Sterling family.

And one very angry brother.

"Welcome to the family reunion," he said.

And then the lights went out.