The space was narrow, barely 8 feet across, with crates of supplies stacked against one wall and a low tunnel mouth on the other. "They will burn the house," Ayla said, her voice tight. "Let them. We're not in it." Above, the sound of boots thundered across the floorboards.
Shouts echoed, orders barked. Then came the crash of furniture being overturned, glass shattering, the heavy thud of doors being kicked in. Ethan crouched near the tunnel entrance, rifle ready, listening. "Spread out," Vance's voice called from somewhere above. "Check every room.
Find them." Footsteps moved through the house, slow and methodical. Someone entered the kitchen. Ethan heard the scrape of a chair being shoved aside, the clatter of pots being thrown. Then silence.
Ayla's breathing was shallow beside him. Ethan raised a hand, signaling her to stay quiet. The footsteps moved away. Voices faded. Then came the smell.
Sharp and acrid. Smoke. "They're burning it," Ayla whispered. "Good. Let them think we're still inside."
The smoke thickened quickly, seeping through the cracks in the trapdoor. The temperature in the cellar climbed. Ethan could hear the fire spreading above, wood crackling and popping as the flames consumed the house he'd built with his own hands. He felt nothing, just cold, hard focus. "How long do we wait?"
Ayla asked. "Until they stop watching. Until they think we're dead." Minutes dragged past. The heat became unbearable.
Sweat poured down Ethan's face, soaking his shirt. The air tasted like ash. Above, the house groaned and shuddered, timbers collapsing, the roof caving in with a thunderous crash. Finally, the voices outside began to fade. Orders were given to pull back, to regroup at the ridge.
Ethan moved to the tunnel entrance. "Stay close. Stay quiet. If anything goes wrong, you run. Don't stop.
Don't look back. Understand?" "I am not leaving you." "If I fall, you run. That's not a request."
Ayla glared at him, but she nodded. The tunnel was narrow and low, forcing them to crawl on hands and knees. Ethan had dug it himself over the course of 2 weeks, 20 feet long, angling up toward the surface behind the barn. The walls were shored up with scrap wood, the ceiling braced with planks. It wasn't pretty, but it held.
They crawled in silence, the lantern light flickering behind them. Ethan's shoulders scraped the walls, dirt raining down with every movement. His breathing was loud in the confined space, echoing back at him. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only minutes, they reached the exit. Ethan pushed against the wooden cover, lifting it slowly, just enough to see out.