Chapter 12
The heavy footfalls above were unmistakable—rhythmic, purposeful, and entirely too close for comfort. Julian and Martha were back inside the house, moving deliberately across the kitchen floorboards toward the basement door.
"They're coming down," David whispered, his voice trembling as he gripped Beatrice’s frail arm to steady her. The old woman stumbled over the spilled papers from the yellow folder, her breathing shallow and raspy.
"Not through the door," Clara said, her eyes locked on the dark opening of the drainage pipe behind the water heater. "They're coming for the ledger. Julian knows I have it."
The water on the concrete floor was ankle-deep now, ice-cold and swirling with dust and loose debris. The steady roar of the storm outside amplified the acoustics of the basement, turning every creak of the house into a deafening threat.
"In. Now," Clara hissed, shoving Beatrice toward the mouth of the metal culvert.
The old woman didn't hesitate. With surprising agility for her age, Beatrice dropped to her hands and knees, sliding headfirst into the corrugated pipe with a dry cough. David followed immediately after her, kicking his legs inside the narrow metal tube to pull himself forward against the slope.
Clara turned back for a single second to sweep up the leather ledger that had fallen from her trousers into the rising puddle. As she snatched the water-stained book from the water, the basement door above flew open with a violent crash.
The harsh beam of a high-powered tactical flashlight swept down the wooden stairs, cutting through the damp air and illuminating the churning water at the bottom.
"Clara!" Julian’s voice boomed down the stairwell, stripped of all its polished charm, sounding feral and desperate. "You can't outrun what’s buried in this yard!"
Clara didn't answer. She dove backward into the drainage pipe, pulling her legs in just as a heavy boot slammed onto the bottom step of the staircase.
The interior of the pipe was pitch black, cramped, and smelled intensely of rust and stagnant water. Clara scraped her shoulders against the corrugated metal ribs as she wriggled forward, pushing blindly through the dark behind David and Beatrice.
"Faster!" Beatrice’s voice echoed ahead of them through the pipe. "The sluice gate at the end of the block is closed for maintenance! If it hasn't popped, we're trapped!"
Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped bird. She kept her right hand clamped tightly around the leather ledger tucked inside her wet shirt, using her left hand to propel herself forward through the rising water that now rushed past them toward the street.
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Behind them, muffled by the metal walls of the pipe, came the sound of a heavy crowbar striking the concrete floor near the crawlspace entrance.
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