Chapter 6
The red tally light blinked with a steady, hypnotic pulse, casting an eerie crimson glow over Leo’s tense face. On the small digital viewscreen, the kitchen looked identical to the one they were currently standing in, down to the floating red-and-white cooler and the high, barred windows. But the timestamp in the corner read August 18th, 2:14 PM—three days from today. And in the center of the empty, water-logged room on the screen, a figure was standing motionless, staring directly into the lens.
"Put that down, Leo," Sarah whispered, her voice dropping to a terrified rasp as she stared at the screen. She reached out and grabbed her son’s arm, pulling him back a step. "We shouldn't be looking at that. Turn it off."
"No, wait," Grandpa Arthur said, stepping closer through the knee-deep water, his weathered eyes narrowing. He pointed a sturdy finger at the screen. "Look at the corner of the room, behind the counter. There's a set of stairs cut into the baseboard. We didn't see those when we came in."
Leo shifted the camera slightly, angling the lens to match the perspective shown on the tiny monitor. Sure enough, half-submerged beneath the kitchen counter, a heavy wooden floor panel had slid open, revealing a steep, pitch-black stairwell leading downward into the earth beneath the cabin. A faint, rhythmic hum echoed up from the opening—the distinct sound of electrical machinery running smoothly despite the surrounding floodwaters.
"An escape hatch," Grandma Helen breathed, clutching Toby tighter as the water level around them stabilized, hovering just below their waists. "Arthur, do you think it leads out to the lake shore?"
"Only one way to find out," Leo replied grimly. He tossed the digital camera into Sarah’s hands—she caught it reflexively, her fingers freezing against the warm plastic casing—and waded toward the counter. He gripped the edge of the hidden wooden floor panel and pulled upward.
The panel resisted at first, locked by a thick coat of rust and swelling timber, but with a sharp heave, Leo wrenched it free, sending a cascade of splintered wood splashing into the dark pool below. A blast of dry, sterile air rushed up from the subterranean stairwell, smelling sharply of ozone and old paper, sharply contrasting with the damp, earthy stench of the flooded kitchen.
"Toby and I will go first," Grandpa Arthur said, stepping forward without hesitation. He shifted the eight-year-old higher onto his shoulder, ignoring the strain in his back. "Leo, you take the rear. Sarah, stay right in the middle where I can see you."
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As Grandpa Arthur lowered his legs into the dark opening, finding the first solid metal rung of a spiral staircase, Sarah glanced down at the digital camera in her hand. The screen had shifted angles on its own. It no longer showed the empty kitchen three days in the future. Instead, it was displaying a live, high-definition feed of Grandpa Arthur stepping down into the dark—followed closely by a second, shadowy figure descending right behind him that they couldn't see with their own eyes.
Before Sarah could scream a warning, Grandpa Arthur’s foot slipped on the wet metal rung with a sharp clang.
