Page 98 of A Light in the Darkness
“I don’t like it.” He says. “One man and woman—a missing woman—and twenty kids? This isn’t an orphanage.”
I don’t tell him that I think that may be exactly what this is. An orphanage isn’t the word I’d use, but I suspect it’s something of the sort. I’ve barely even gotten a look at these kids, but I can tell they’re different races, ages. They have no more in common with each other than being children. I’m fairly certain they’re all stolen, but I don’t dare say that out loud.
I press a kiss on Claire’s forehead as I pass her, and Kent and Libby stop just inside to wait for us. I see Libby fall to her knees, and Kent drops down to console her. I don’t even know what to say to Claire when her eyes meet mine—they’re so full of so many things that neither of us can put into words.
We’ve seen horrors—endured things no one should—but using a bunch of kids as a line of defense must take the cake for the most despicable thing either of us have witnessed. I see the tears in her eyes, buried behind stubborn resolve, and she doesn’t need words to let me know exactly what she’s thinking.
She won’t abandon them. And neither will I.
“I know.” I assure her. “We’ll make this right.”
She only nods as one of the toddlers burrows deeper against her, trying to get closer despite the bulk of the vest.
“I love you.” She tells me. And it’s enough to encompass all the other things that don’t need said.
“I love you too.” I kiss her lips this time as she tilts her head back for me, and then I let her go to follow Kent and Libby, my gun still at the ready… just in case.
They turn right, the way Kent came, and I follow them with Michael at my side, our lights illuminating the space for them. Something still nags at the base of my skull, but I put it down to the fact that we just stumbled into a hellhole. Regardless of how goodthose kids looked, there’s no saying how long they’ve been there, where they came from, what’s happened to them. And I’m sure whatever potential trauma they’ve got, me shooting a gun over their heads and killing the adult with them didn’t help.
“This is sick.” Michael whispers, leaning toward me as we follow the ground until we come out at the fork, where they lead us forward through the uncomfortable tightness of the mine shaft. Each step we take away from Claire makes my heart pound harder, and my palms are sweaty on the trigger that I ghost my fingers over.
When we step out into the night air, my nerves ease a little, though not enough to discount the fact that everything about this space has seemed off.
Libby leads Kent, and subsequently us, around the canyon, to an alcove we didn’t pass by when we first came down here. The shadows divide as we turn our lights into the space, and then Libby steps aside so that we can see the tour bus parked in the nook.
It’s massive—the kind you can fit dozens of tourists on. As the light glances over the faded letters peeling on the side, I see ‘Canyon Caravan’ printed on the side.
“Can you drive this thing?” Michael asks, sounding reasonably doubtful.
Driving a fucking tour bus is not something I’ve done—it isn’t even on my bucket list, but it can’t be too hard as long as we don’t have to back up… like to pull it out of the space it’s parked in.
“You have keys?” I turn to Libby, suspicious. I didn’t see her pick anything up on the way out, a fact that’s just now occurred to me.
Michael glances at me, realizing the same thing I just did, and then turns to sweep the space behind us, making sure no one is sneaking up on us.
“They’re inside,” she says, gesturing to the door.
I don’t bother asking how she knows, or why if they’ve been there the whole time, she’s never made an escape. I know Stockholm syndrome is a thing, and I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt.
The doors open easily, a wave of hot, musty air hitting me in the face as I part them and step inside. True to her word, the keys are there… sitting on the driver’s seat that looks to be covered in nineties bowling alley carpet. I turn the scope of the flashlight, letting it bounce around the empty bus.
I realize, a moment too late, that it’s not empty.
The sting in my shoulder immediately steals my breath, and I stumble backwards, the door lever catching me in the back.
There’s another shot somewhere, and everything in my body tries to pull itself together, tries to get me to my feet so that I can get back to her.
I make it up on one foot before losing my balance and toppling forward.
They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die, and maybe there’s something to that saying. Because she is my entire life at this point, and as I lay on the filthy ground, my blood pooling around me, I swear, all I see is her.
That alone is enough to take the pain away.
Chapter fifty-five
Claire
I’ve been mentally preparing myself for things to get worse. Every time I see something barbaric—being auctioned online, meeting my buyer, hearing just a portion of the cruelty that Taissa and the others faced in their captivity—I think it probably can’t get worse. And each time, I’m wrong. Because there are about twenty children here, and even though they seem unharmed and cared for, I have zero doubt in my mind that they are stolen, the way I was. Maybe they weren’t all ripped straight from the womb, but they were ripped from their homes, their families, and that somehow hurts so much worse than knowing it happened to me. I see my childhood in each one of them, and that fucking hurts.
