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Isn’t it always?
***
All I can see is the shadow that is Rafe descending below me, the thin beam of the flashlight dancing in the dark. The steps creak under our feet. Not concrete but metal, and I pray that I’m not about to put my foot through a hole and break my leg.
But Rafe is right there, turning to catch me when I reach the end of the staircase, steadying me. He grabs my hand and flashes the light around us. It’s a big space with a strong smell of wet and mold with something foul lacing it.
Something like urine and shit and rotting meat.
I flinch, glad for Rafe’s big hand around mine. “Do you see anything?”
He says nothing, turning the flashlight in a circle. Shadows seem to flit around the basement, and something rustles along one wall.
Rats?
“Guys?” That’s Asher, calling from up the trapdoor. “See anything?”
“Not yet!” I call back.
“Shh.” Rafe squeezes my hand.
Another rustle.
I turn away from him, and I swear something big has just scuttled behind some stacked crates. A squeal leaves my lips before I can stop it.
“Oh shit. Oh shit.” I’m squeezing the hell out of Rafe’s fingers, just like I did as I gave birth to our son, and like then, he just lets me. “I saw something.”
“What?” He turns, lifts the flashlight. The ray of light hits a pale mass quivering in a corner—and before I can comprehend what I’m seeing, something knocks into us, dropping us to the floor.
“Help!” I yell as my hands hit the slick concrete, leaving skin, the impact jarring my spine, and Rafe leans over me in a protective gesture. “Guys!”
After that, it’s all a blur. There’s noise behind us as the guys come down the stairs, and the thing that bowled us over snarls.
An animal, I keep thinking, my mind stuck on a loop. A wild animal, reeking of sweat and blood, maybe a big cat. A puma.
Then the guys are right here, and there’s scuffling and fighting around us, and someone is screaming. The flashlights throw haphazard shapes against boxes and metal shelves and trash and… and people.
Kids, I realize after a long moment of lying dazed on the floor, staring. Kids. Teenagers, dressed in rags, their eyes huge as they are rounded up.
Tyler hauls a struggling kid in front of us, gripping him by the shreds of his shirt. The boy—it’s a boy, I think—flails at him with bony arms and legs, his shaggy blond hair hiding his face.
Holy shit.
I should have expected it. After all, it’s what we were afraid we’d find. But seeing them is such a shock to my system I’m not sure I can breathe.
Dirty, thin, pale, bloodied. Cringing from the light, clinging to each other desperately, huddling on the filthy floor.
“You all right?” Rafe whispers, gently hauling me to my feet. “Meg?”
“I’m fine,” I say, my lips feeling numb. My eyes burn. “Don’t let… don’t let Zane see them.”
“Too late,” Rafe says grimly as he steadies me, pulling me to his side. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” My palms feel sticky, which means I probably scratched them good, but I don’t feel any pain. Can’t feel anything. “What are we going to do?”
“Tessa is calling the police.”
Of course. The police. An ambulance. I can’t think straight.
