To the left, it led down for quite some ways. What looked to be a living room was off to the right of that, a series of closed doors to the left. It opened into the front foyer, where there was a curved staircase going up. Lindsey couldn't see it from the kitchen, but she knew it was there. She'd seen it when she'd first come in.

Eulie was nowhere in sight. She could only hope that he'd taken that first bullet and had crawled off somewhere to die.

And okay. All right. She would bet big money that Tracy was in the basement behind that door with the new hinges. How else could Lindsey have heard those screams so clearly while standing out in the backyard?

Once she found Tracy, they'd hunker down here in the kitchen, waiting for reinforcements to arrive.

Lindsey now quickly built a barricade, tipping the table onto its side. They could huddle here, between the table and the fridge. And Lindsey would shoot anyone who came through that kitchen door.

Although, God, what if there was a second route down to the basement? What if Lindsey was wrong, and that wasn't the basement at all, but instead another closet?

Before she could get to the door and unlock the bolts-as quietly as possible-the lights went out.

Great. She definitely hadn't killed Eulie. And now Eulie had killed the generator.

So much for her theory that he didn't have bullets for his gun. Tracy was shaking, but at least she wasn't dead yet. It felt very good to not be dead. "Do you think that he killed her?"

And who exactly was the woman who'd come to the door? Lindsey? Tess? Alyssa? Tracy knew that the Troubleshooters were looking for her. They had to be. Except it didn't make sense. Why send only one person-a woman-to the door? Why not bring an entire team crashing through the windows, like in the movies?

Unless the woman at the door was just an unlucky Mary Kay representative. Or a political petitioner, looking for a signature. Or...

"No." Beth's voice was grim in the darkness, even with its soft Southern twang. Grim, but slurred, almost as if she were drunk or on the verge of falling asleep. "He'd never shoot to kill. Never."

"Why isn't she screaming?" Tracy strained her ears, but she heard nothing. Not even the squeak of footsteps on the floor overhead.

"I don't know. Lord, I'm going to be sick. I'm going to...Connie Smith, Jennifer Denfield, Yvette Wallace, Paula Kettering..."

"Beth," Tracy said sharply, feeling for the other woman in the darkness, hands out, searching. "Don't lose it." And wasn't that just too crazy? She herself was on the verge of panic. It was crowding her throat, filling her with fear and dread-and she was the levelheaded one. "Stay with me. We need to make a plan."

"A plan."

She connected with Beth's leg. "Where's your hand?" There it was. Thin and cold, her grip not as strong as Tracy had hoped. Her chains clanked. Step one in any plan would involve getting out of these chains. "Do you know where he keeps his keys?"

"In the kitchen, on a hook by the door," Beth said, her voice getting even softer. Almost dreamy. "I've never seen it, but he told me. He always told me, because he knew I'd never get there, I'd never reach them. I was always chained-"

"You're not chained now," Tracy told her, giving her a shake. "Can you make it over to the stairs, and turn on the light? At least then we can see what our options are."

"If I turn on the light, he'll know. Connie Smith, Jennifer Denfield, Yvette Wallace-"

"Beth!"

"-Paula Kettering, Wendy Marino, Julia Telman...Lord, I think he...He must've...drugged me."

Beth pulled her hand free, and Tracy heard her scrambling away. She heard sounds of retching, as if Beth had jammed her finger down her throat.

"How did he drug you?" she asked. Dear God, she didn't want to be left alone here in the darkness.

"In the soup," Beth gasped. "Or the ginger ale. He usually drugs me...after the fight...so he can chain me back up...He must've...planned...Didn't unchain you...Knew it would be...fast..."

"Where's the knife?" Tracy asked, through the tears that she couldn't stop from streaming down her face. Beth was checking out, and she was going to be alone here in the dark. "At least let me have the knife."

And there it was. Cold and hard in her hand.

"Use it," Beth breathed. "Finish me."

"What?"

"When he finds out I didn't kill you...He'll take one of us upstairs," Beth told her, weeping now, too. "I don't want to die like that. Please...Please...Finish me."

Sophia couldn't stand it another second. Everyone was having trouble with the snow and ice. Everyone was moving as quickly as they could, but despite that, it was going to be hours before Dave and Decker got the help they needed.

"I'm leaving my post," she told Tess, who manned the computer.

"Sophia, you can't." Tess spoke the words, but her expression countered them.

Sophia knew that Tess was nearly as worried about Dave and Decker as she was. "I'll get Stella and Rob to help you. They know these roads much better than I do, anyway."

"Lindsey took the only car," Tess said.

"Rob's got a truck with a plow." His back was out, or he'd be out there using it himself. As it was, he could barely hobble from his bed to the restaurant and back.

"The plow that's attached to the truck that he doesn't even let Stella drive?" Tess asked. "You think he's going to let you borrow-"

"I'm not going to ask," Sophia said. "I don't need a key to get it started." She would hot-wire it. It was one of the skills she'd picked up, living on the streets of a third-world country.

Tess's eyebrows went up. But she wasn't convinced. "Have you ever used a plow before?"

"No, but when I applied to work for Troubleshooters Incorporated, I put on my resume, Up for Learning New Skills," Sophia said.

"I'm in charge here, and officially? I can't let you do this."

Sophia nodded. "Unofficially?"

Tess tossed over her motel room key. "I know you're allergic to wool, but tough, you'll just have to itch. Wear at least two of my sweaters. And at least two pairs of socks. Take plenty of supplies. Blankets. Wear one of the training jackets so I can track you. And take the first-aid kit from the kitchen. I am so going to get my butt kicked for this. Probably worst of all by Decker and Dave."

Provided Sophia found them alive.

Lindsey turned on the gas stove. All four burners. The flames lit the kitchen, creating shadows that leaped and jumped on the walls.

It was better than nothing.

She was ready for him, for when he came back. And he would come back, of that she had no doubt.

Was he really wearing body armor? If she got the opportunity to shoot him again, she'd aim for his head.

A far-more-burning question, though, was whether or not he was armed. For all she knew, he had a closet filled with AK-47s somewhere in this rambling house.

All she had were her handguns with their limited range-even more limited since she was now going for headshots. She was a decent enough marksman, but a human head was a very small target. Especially considering the adrenaline that was coursing through her system.

Lindsey had just unlocked the door to the basement, throwing the bolts as silently as possible, when her cell phone shook. It was Jenk, thank God.

"I'm in, it's him," she whispered, moving so that her back was to the wall, behind the barricade she'd made from the kitchen table. "What's your ETA? Please say now or soon."

But he didn't. Instead, he said, "Shit. We're still at least three miles away. When we're moving, we're doing about an eight-minute mile, but the weather's getting worse. All the local backup has been shut down-everyone's been ordered to get to shelter."

"Shit," she agreed. "Because the next thing I was going to ask you for was an ambulance or a Medevac helicopter. I haven't found Tracy yet, but..." She had to take a deep breath, glancing at the gleaming ring of hair still hanging above the sink, remembering Eulie's words. You'll scream as I slip the knife between your scalp and your skull... "I have a nasty feeling we're going to need medical help when we do."

"I've got Lopez with me, and-damnit! There's ice on the roads, beneath the snow. We are just not making it up this hill. We've been in and out of the SUV, pushing it for twenty minutes now."

"Get to shelter," she told him, her heart sinking.

"Not a chance. We're-"

"Shhh," she said. What was that sound? Floorboards as someone crept closer? Or just the old house creaking in the wind? "Look, I came inside, pretending my car went off the road. He let me in, we talked, it became clear he was Eulie, so...God, Mark, I shot him. But I think he's wearing body armor, because it didn't drop him. No blood. He's somewhere in this house, the power's out, and I can't talk now-I've got to listen for him. Just...be safe."

She cut the connection, but her phone shook almost immediately as he text messaged her. Hng on. On my way 2 U.

Find shelter, she messaged back. Dont die.

On my way.

Cant help me if U R dead, she messaged.

Get out, he messaged back. Wait fr us in ur car.

Yeah? Like hell. Cant leave Tracy, she told him.

OK. I cant fnd shltr. Get it?

God, there was definitely a sound coming from the hallway. She dropped her phone and held her weapon with both hands.

And water exploded, directly into her face.

Lindsey covered her eyes with her left elbow, trying to move, but trapped between the table and the refrigerator, there was no place to go. He was spraying the wall across from her with some kind of high-pressure hose, and the water bounced off, drenching her, choking her, stinging and cold.

She turned, trying to spot him but, of course, he was standing out of range, way back in the hall. She fired her handgun anyway, trying to blast him right through the plaster wall.

Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and all she could hear was her heart hammering and water, dripping off the table, off her face, into the puddle she now sat in on the floor.

She was soaked to the skin.

The son of a bitch had limited her options. He'd made it impossible for her to grab Tracy and run. She wouldn't last ten minutes out in the freezing storm with wet clothes.

"I've got a team of Navy SEALs coming as backup," she called out to him. "They'll be here in minutes."

"Thanks for the tip," he called back from what sounded like the living room. "I'll work faster. Of course, when they come, I'll kill them, too."

And, with a shriek, the smoke alarm went off.

Beth was Tracy's only hope.

"No one's finished," she told Beth as somewhere in the house a smoke alarm started ringing. She couldn't think about what that meant-if the house truly was on fire and she was chained down here. "We're still fighting. We'll use this knife, but we'll use it on him. Now I need you to go up those stairs and turn on the light."

But Beth had given in to the drugs the monster had fed her. She'd given up.

The drugs he'd used must've been some sort of roofie-type deal, because Beth was still talking, still seemingly conscious, though very woozy. She was even able to move-she was just very compliant and relaxed.

"Please," Beth begged. "Finish me."

"I'll finish you," Tracy lied, "if that's really what you want. But wouldn't you rather be set free?"

Beth was back to muttering and chanting that list of names. Jennifer whatever and Cathy something.

"Go up those stairs," Tracy ordered her, "and turn on the light. Can you do that?"

Beth didn't answer. She just dragged herself away.

Jenk lost Lindsey.

It was as if her phone had gone completely dead.

"God damn it," he said. "Lopez, use your phone-try calling Lindsey."

He had his back to the rear of the SUV, as they all slipped and slid, trying to get enough traction to push the vehicle up the hill.

"I'm not getting through," Lopez reported.

"It's windy as shit," Izzy said. "Maybe a tower went down."

Or maybe Eulie had smashed Lindsey's phone, then smashed in her head, and...

The fucking SUV slid a good twenty-five feet back down the road, despite their efforts to prevent it from doing so.

Gillman swore. Loudly.

"Leave it," Jenk said. He opened the back to get his weapon, opened the front to get the map.

Lindsey needed him. Right now.

It was time to use the only form of transportation he could absolutely count on. It was time to run.

The piece of wood that had pierced Decker's side wasn't quite as long as Dave had feared.

He'd imagined a nine- or ten-inch spike, skewering all of Deck's internal organs.

Instead, it was about two inches long and skinny, like a giant splinter. Well, really, more like nature's own shiv. And yeah, Decker had bled, appropriately enough, like a stuck pig, but his unconscious state more likely came from a blow he'd received to his head.

He was still out, the bastard, which meant that Dave had to carry him. Through blowing snow that stung his face-like being hit with BBs made of ice. Through drifts that were sometimes as high as his hips.