Mortal Pursuit

68

“I’ve got it.”

Barbara turned toward the rear corner of the closet, where Philip Danforth knelt amid the fallen wardrobes and the dislodged shelves, shining the flashlight at the wall.

“Got what” she asked.

His answer made her heart speed up: “A way out.”

She was crouching at his side an instant later.

“I’ve been checking the walls for damage.” Excitement trembled in his voice. “The explosion shook this place pretty hard. Look here.”

Her gaze followed the pointing flash. One of the heavy oak panels, four feet wide and eight feet high, had been wrenched partly free of the studs.

“We can pull the panel away,” Barbara whispered, “and crawl through.”

“Can we really” That was Judy. “Thank God. Thank God.”

From his perch on the wicker hamper, where he seemed permanently enthroned, Charles spoke up. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s another wall on the opposite side.”

Philip glanced at Barbara. “Is it oak”

She had to think for a moment, imagining the layout of the bedroom suite. “No. It’s the linen closet in the master bath. Drywall, not oak. Half-inch drywall.”

A shrug from Philip. “We can punch right through that.”

“They’ll hear us,” Charles said.

“I’m not talking about busting down the damn doors.” Philip was losing his patience. “This won’t make nearly as much noise.”

“They might hear us anyway. Even if they don’t, suppose they happen to come back while you’re crawling through-“

“Then they’ll shoot me.” Philip’s face was sweaty in the flashlight’s glow, the cut on his lip an ugly vertical line. “I’ll risk it.”

“They may shoot all of us. Will you risk that”

“I will,” Barbara snapped, fed up with her husband’s weakness, his unaccountable passivity.

Judy touched the bare spot at her throat where her fingers sought a crucifix. “Me too.”

“Now wait a minute-“

“You’re outvoted, Charles.” Philip spoke briskly, a man in a hurry. “Three to one.” He turned to Barbara. “We need a tool to pry the panel loose. Crowbar, claw hammer, something like that.”

“Damn it.” Charles made one last effort. “You’re all getting hysterical. You need to calm down and think-“

Judy whirled on him. “Oh, shut your fucking mouth.”

There was a moment of politely shocked silence, and even Judy seemed to blush. But no one apologized.

Barbara broke the stillness. To Philip: “How about this”

She handed him a heavy wooden hanger salvaged from the heap of clothes. Philip wedged one corner of the triangular frame into the crack between the panel and the stud.

“Could work,” he grunted, applying pressure.

As Barbara watched, the panel shuddered outward a fraction of an inch, the long screws groaning.

“It’s coming,” she whispered, exultation singing in the words.

Judy managed a tremulous half-smile.

And Charles … he simply watched, rigid on the hamper, his facial muscles oddly slack, his eyes empty-as if he were witnessing the death of hope.