Page 61 of Silent Road

"Reality?"Sheila edged closer to Mark."You drug people, arrange them like mannequins, then pretend you've discovered some profound truth.The only thing authentic about your photos is the death."

Wells fired again, the bullet striking near her previous position."Death is authenticity!"he shouted."It's the one moment no one can fake!"

The facility's acoustics betrayed him—his voice gave away his position.

Sheila grabbed a length of pipe and hurled it toward the far wall.As Wells turned toward the noise, she launched herself from cover, tackling him from behind.They crashed to the ground, her gun skittering across the concrete floor.

Wells was strong, his hands like steel cables as he grappled with Sheila.Then, fumbling at his belt, he drew a knife and slashed at Sheila, opening a shallow cut on her arm.Sheila drove her knee into his side, trying to dislodge the blade.

They rolled across the floor, trading blows.Wells fought ferociously, each strike aimed at vulnerable points.But Sheila's kickboxing training gave her an edge in close combat.She caught his knife hand and slammed it against the ground until his fingers opened.

The knife clattered away, disappearing into the shadows.Wells headbutted her, stars exploding behind her eyes.They separated, both breathing hard.

"It didn't have to be this way," Wells said, blood trickling from his split lip."You could have been part of something profound.A moment of pure truth."

"The only truth here," Sheila said, "is that you're going to prison."

She feinted left, then drove forward as he moved to counter.Her shoulder caught him in the midsection, driving him backward.But Wells turned with the momentum, using her own force against her.

They stumbled together, locked in combat, neither willing to give ground.Sheila's boot caught the edge of one of the drainage holes.She felt the floor crumbling beneath them.

Wells realized their situation too late.His eyes widened as the concrete gave way, sending them both plummeting into darkness.They fell together, still tangled, into blackness.

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, like wading through deep water.Sheila's head throbbed as awareness crept back—the cold seeping into her bones, the rough concrete beneath her back, the absolute darkness pressing against her eyes.

She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.Her body screamed in protest, every muscle feeling like it had been beaten with a sledgehammer.The fall could have killed her.Maybe should have.

"Tommy?"Her voice echoed strangely in the darkness.No response.

Sheila fumbled for her flashlight, relief washing over her when she found it still clipped to her belt.The beam illuminated rough concrete walls stretching up to where they'd fallen through.Snow still drifted lazily through the hole far above, catching the light like falling stars.

She appeared to be in some kind of maintenance tunnel or drainage system.The space extended in both directions, disappearing into darkness.Pipes ran along the walls, many broken open.The air was so cold her breath formed clouds in the flashlight beam.

A soft groan beside her made her jump.Wells lay crumpled nearby, blood matting his hair where he'd struck his head.Sheila checked his pulse—steady but weak.He was alive, at least for now.

"Tommy!"she called again, louder this time.Nothing but echoes answered.

She studied the walls, looking for handholds.The concrete was rough enough to potentially climb, but the ice made it treacherous.She tried anyway, managing to get about ten feet up before her grip slipped.She crashed back down, barely managing to land on her feet.

"Hello?"she shouted upward."Anybody up there?"

A shadow moved across the opening far above.She sighed with relief as Tommy's face appeared, peering down at them.

"Thank God," she said."We need rope, something to climb with.And medical assistance—Wells is unconscious."

Tommy didn't respond.He just crouched there, watching, his face oddly blank in the dim light filtering down.

"Tommy?Did you hear me?We need help down here."

"You know," he said finally, his voice echoing oddly in the shaft, "growing up on the farm, we had this massive rat problem.They'd get into the grain silos, the barn, everywhere."

Sheila stared at him, puzzled."This isn't the time.Wells could wake any minute now.And we need to get medical assistance for Mark."

"Actually, I think it's the perfect time," Tommy said, settling into a more comfortable position."The first animal I ever killed was a rat, actually.Dad taught me all kinds of ways to deal with them—drowning, crushing, poison.Before he ditched the family, that is.But you know what was my favorite method?The traps."

Sheila swallowed uneasily."Why are you telling me this, Tommy?"

---