FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 71

 Chapter 71




Just to prove to Driscoll that there was no one inside the cabin, I burst out from our cover and dashed across the campground. 

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Driscoll called.

“It’s empty.”

I banged on the door with my fist. 

Nothing happened.

Driscoll hesitated, sensing a trap.

The door was locked, of course. I slammed my foot against it. The second kick did it. Now there was a splintered hole. Just to make sure, I backed off to one side. 

Nothing.

I stuck my hand through the door and unlocked it.

Driscoll was running up as I turned on the lights inside.

“There’s gotta be an escape hatch somewhere,” I said.

“Let’s hope so.  I’ll look around the closet and kitchen areas. You take the living room.”

I started searching. It would be difficult to cut a square or circular hole in the knotty pine planks.  The trap door would be under something. I started by moving the couch out, away from the wall.

Nothing.

“Anything?” Driscoll called.

“Not yet.”

I moved to the big comfy armchair and pulled it to one side.  Nothing.

“Anything?” Driscoll called again.

“No.”

There was a table in the kitchen area. But the chairs were in place. How do you position yourself to drop down a hole and then pull the one or two chairs back into their places?

Driscoll came over and shone his flashlight onto the wooden floor beneath the table. “This wouldn’t work,” he said but examined the floor nonetheless. “Okay, genius, where is it?”

Something made me turn back to look at the furniture I had moved.  My eyes fell on a rectangular Indian rug, replete with tassels.  I had walked over it to get to the armchair. 

But there were no wrinkles in it.

I hurried over and knelt by it, running my finger along the edge. “They glued the rug to the floor,” I said.

Driscoll came over.

I felt air coming up on one edge of the rug. I pulled it up with my fingernails.

“Bingo,” I said.

I pulled it all the way up. There was a simple rope pull cord attached to the bottom of the trap door.

“Move over,” Driscoll said.

I did.

He shone his flashlight through the opening.

We saw a flight of stairs leading down at least seven feet. There was a string of lights along one wall, but the lights had been turned off.  Driscoll lowered himself onto the stairs and made it to the tunnel floor before he saw a black switch. He turned it on. The tunnel lit up.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “This is extensive.”

He clambered up the stairs. “Got to call this in,” he said, giving me a pat on the back as he hustled out the front door.

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