Chapter 8
Sarah’s eyes scanned the handwritten lines of the ledger, her pulse roaring in her ears like a distant freight train. Every member of her family was accounted for on the page, listed down to the exact minute they had turned off the main highway and onto the dirt road leading to the lake house. There were notes detailing Leo’s college major, Grandpa Arthur’s past medical history, Grandma Helen’s favorite perfume, and Toby’s exact shoe size.
"This isn't a rental property," Sarah said, her voice trembling so violently she could barely articulate the words. She dropped the ledger back onto the metal desk as if it were burning her skin. "Arthur, look at these dates. Some of these entries go back twenty years. Families... other families... they've been brought down here before us."
Grandma Helen stepped forward, leaning heavily on the edge of the metal desk to steady herself. Her pale face looked ghostly under the harsh fluorescent light. "Look at the labels on the boxes, Leo," she murmured, pointing a shaky finger down the long, dim aisles of shelving.
Leo grabbed the gooseneck desk lamp, tilting its head forward to cast a brighter beam down the nearest aisle. The rows upon rows of cardboard archive boxes weren't blank. Stamped in black block letters on the side of every single box was a family surname, followed by a pair of dates.
MILLER: 1994 - 1999.
HARRISON: 2003 - 2008.
SINCLAIR: 2012 - 2017.
"Five-year intervals," Leo whispered, his dark eyes widening in horror as he calculated the timeline in his head. "Every five years, a family comes here for a summer vacation. And every five years... they disappear into these boxes."
"Mommy, I want to go home," Toby whimpered, tugging frantically at the hem of Sarah’s soaked black shorts. He looked up at her with big, terrified eyes, tears finally spilling over his lashes. "There are people watching us. Up there."
Toby pointed directly toward the high, shadowy rafters near the ceiling.
Everyone froze. Leo snapped the gooseneck lamp upward, sweeping its bright beam across the dark steel girders high above the archive shelves. Crouched motionless on a narrow catwalk near the ventilation shafts were three figures dressed in heavy black utility gear, their faces completely obscured by dark helmets and tinted visors. They weren't making a sound, but their heads were tilted downward in unison, staring directly at the family standing below.
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Grandpa Arthur cursed under his breath, instinctively stepping in front of Toby and reaching out to grab a heavy metal pipe leaning against the edge of the desk. "Who’s up there?" the old man bellowed, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Show yourselves! What do you want with us?"
One of the figures on the catwalk raised a gloved hand slowly, holding up a small remote control with a blinking red light. A second later, every fluorescent light in the massive underground bunker clicked off simultaneously, plunging them into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
