Chapter 29 - Fire on the Limestone
The blizzard struck the ridge with full fury as Mark and I slipped out the back scuttle of the woodshed.
The wind shrieked through the bare branches of the oak trees, whipping the dry snow into blinding white curtains that concealed our movement from the convoy parked in the front lane. Fifty yards to our right, the high-pitched shriek of the hydraulic drill tore through the night air, its diamond-tipped bit grinding relentlessly against the front seal of the cliff cavern.
We scrambled on our bellies through the deep drifts behind the barn, our boots sinking into the freezing mud beneath the snow. The old lime kiln stood like an ancient stone tomb against the base of the bluff, overgrown with frozen briars and choking ivy.
Mark grabbed the iron grating that covered the vertical flue, bracing his boots against the masonry. With a sharp, ragged heave, he ripped the rusted iron free, tossing it silently into a snowbank.
"I’ll cover the flue," Mark whispered, his breath steaming against his wool scarf. "You drop in. Grab whatever is in that steel locker, and tie it to this tow strap. I’ll haul it up."
I didn't hesitate. I slid boots-first into the black hole of the flue.
The stone chute was slick with fifty years of soot and freezing moisture. I slid ten feet in absolute darkness before my boots slammed down onto a solid concrete surface with a dull, hollow echo.
I clicked on my penlight.
I was standing inside an eight-by-twelve room blasted directly out of the living limestone. It was warm—unnaturally warm, heated by an old, humming dehumidifier connected to the battery bank. Along the southern wall stood a massive, fireproof safe, its heavy combination dial gleaming under the thin beam of my light.
The dial was already unlocked. The heavy chrome handle had been thrown open.
Inside, stacked neatly on steel shelves, were three olive-drab military ammo cans and a stack of five leather-bound ledgers. Taped to the front of the top ledger was a single photograph from nineteen-seventy-five: Evelyn, standing in front of this very house, holding me as an infant, with Arthur smiling beside her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
Written across the back of the photo in Evelyn’s handwriting: *Paid in Full.*
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Suddenly, the northern wall of the cavern groaned.
A series of spider-web cracks shot across the solid limestone. Dust and pulverized rock sprayed into the air like white smoke as the tip of Victoria’s hydraulic drill broke through the ceiling, the deafening scream of steel against stone vibrating through my teeth and skull.
