Lanterns burn dim in the hold of weary hands, casting flickering shadows through the rock-strewn, secret tunnel.
Spider webs drape the walls of the forsaken tunnel, and squeaking poison-laced rats writhe through its narrow cracks.
The people—once hidden in the underground shelter beneath the country church—make their slow exodus toward the shrouded cave buried deep in the turf of the woods.
Neva walks among the women, her steps steady but heavy. Anna is beside her, and Mrs. Barlowe trudges along on her other side.
Her eyes, downcast and dim, mirror the melancholy pressing on her chest.
The sorrow etched into the faces of the country folk resonates in their hushed sighs and labored strides.
It's around four in the morning. The air in the tunnel burns with stifling heat. Neva has her hair tied in a messy bun, but damp strands cling to her cheeks and nape.
This tunnel connects to the underground shelter. The explosions that had pummeled the church above were violent—meant to collapse the four-storey haven and bury its people alive. But by a thread of grace, they escaped in time.
Rhett had met Neva briefly before she entered the tunnel. She was tasked to lead with the others ahead, while he stayed back with the men. In those few stolen minutes together, he had quickly informed her of the sudden siege on the church—an outright attempt to slaughter those hidden below.
And in return, Neva had told him of the secret treasure, the one her grandmother, Gracie, had spoken of in whispers.
It's strange. No one else seems to know about this treasure. Was Gracie the only one entrusted with its secret? Or had she been bluffing all along?
Still—it explains why the gang descended upon the church with such merciless intent. Perhaps it was a sacred secret, passed only to the chosen. A traitor must exist—but not among those here, not now.
The gang that once prowled around the church were taken out by Rhett. Hours later, the building itself was mercilessly bombed, and soon after, the thugs turned their attention to the shelter below. Their goal was simple: annihilation.
By now, the church must be rubble. But do the assailants know of the cave in the woods? If they do, then even this last refuge may no longer be safe.
Nearly two hundred people—elders, children, men, women, and babies—are herded through the blistering heat of the tunnel.
Their bodies drip with sweat, and every step feels like an eternity. The journey seems endless, a desperate march toward hope.
But at the end of every dark tunnel, there is light.
And at last, they reach the cave—a gravelly, vast hollow in the earth.
The sun rises, brushing the sky in deep blue and warm orange. The cavern, though cold and damp, feels like mercy. People drop down with tired thuds, gasping for air, soaked in sweat, their lips dry and cracked from exhaustion.
Neva stands near the mouth of the cave, cradling her heavy belly as she peers into the woods. The dark green of the forest quiets her soul. But a gentle touch on her wrist draws her back from the edge.
"It's dangerous near the opening," Rhett says.
She glances at his hand, then at his face.
He leads her deeper inside and spreads out a towel from their bag—the same one they used to dry off after swimming.
"Sit," he urges gently.
Neva lowers herself onto the towel, adjusting her swollen form and stretching out her legs.
"Water?" he asks.
She nods gratefully.
He hands her a bottle.
"Thank you," she murmurs between breaths and drinks in deep, urgent gulps. She was parched—burning.
Rhett settles beside her, watching her drink with tender eyes.
His fingers brush the gravel as he eyes the cave's hollow span. One entry point. No escape routes. Damp stones, poor footing. A single grenade could end this sanctuary.
The able-bodied men are now positioned at the mouth of the cave.
But if anyone comes, there's nowhere safe to run anymore.
His jaw tightens slightly.
For now, it's defensible. But not for long.
He can only hope the military will intervene soon.
He hears Neva exhale a long sigh of relief, brushing her hand over her belly.
She looks up and meets his eyes, offering him the bottle. He accepts it without hesitation, tipping it back and drinking.
His Adam's apple bobs as the water slides down, cooling him. His hair is slick with sweat, his honey–tanned skin glistening.
Neva averts her gaze, cheeks flushed. She scans the cave. Mrs. Barlowe's family is huddled close together; Anna sits with her father, Mr. Lonan—Barlowe's cousin.
He is a blind man—Mr. Lonan. He wears black glasses and always carries a cane.
Neva groans softly, shifting her weight. Rhett notices.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"I'm terribly uncomfortable," she sighs, locking eyes with him.
"The ground's hard," he says sympathetically. "But it'll be alright. We'll be home soon."
"It's not just that... it's my belly. It's so uncomfortable. The ground's wet and stiff, but I'll manage," she mutters.
His gaze softens, helpless and aching. There's so little he can do to ease her pain.
"Come here," he offers, patting his lap.
Her eyes widen. "No! There are people everywhere!"
"There's nothing to worry about," he insists, reaching for her waist.
"No!" she protests, pushing his hands away.
He sighs—he never wins these little battles with her.
Neva glances around, clearly searching.
"You're looking for the old lady," Rhett says knowingly, nodding toward Gracie.
Neva's eyes follow his, landing on the still form of Gracie, shrouded in a white sheet. Her chest no longer rises. Her soul has flown.
"She was sweet," Neva whispers, laying her head gently on Rhett's shoulder.
He looks down at her, a silent urge welling up inside him. He presses a kiss to her hair, wrapping his arms around her.
She looks up at him with drowsy, tender eyes. He leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips.
She smiles faintly, dreamily. He mirrors it.
Then she rests her head back on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, seeking a little rest—comforted by his nearness. He holds her close, gently tightening his embrace.
The breeze swirls in, cool and fresh.
Outside, storm clouds gather, lightning flickers in the darkening sky. Raindrops begin to patter against the trees and the cave's rocky mouth.
Not far off, Jayden watches. His somber eyes fix on the couple, something tugging at the chains wrapped around his heart—tighter, deeper, aching.