Genesis by Karin Slaughter Page B

could feel it choking his
throat. Sweat was pouring off him, and his knees were shaky as he
took step after interminable step down. Finally, his foot hit soft
earth. He felt around with the toe of his shoe, finding the rope at the
base of the ladder, hearing the chain rattle. He would have to crouch
down to get inside, leaving himself completely exposed to whoever
was waiting.
    Will could hear panting, more mumbling. Fierro's revolver was in
his hand. He wasn't sure how it had gotten there. The space was too
tight for him to reach the flashlight, and it was falling down the back
of his pants anyway. Will tried to make his knees bend, but his body
would not comply. The panting was getting louder, and he realized it
was coming from his own mouth. He looked up, seeing nothing but
darkness. Sweat blurred his eyes. He held his breath, then dropped
down in a squat.
    No gun went off. His throat was not slit. Hooks were not jammed
into his eyes. He felt a breeze from the shaft, or was that something in
front of his face? Was someone standing in front of him? Had someone
just brushed their hand in front of his face? He heard movement
again, chattering.
    "Don't move," Will managed. He held the gun in front of him,
sweeping it back and forth like a pendulum in case someone was
standing in front of him. With a shaking hand, he reached behind
him for the flashlight. The panting was back, an embarrassing noise
that echoed in the cave.
    "Never . . . ," a man murmured.
    Will's hand was slick with sweat, but it held steady to the grooved
metal grip of the flashlight. He jammed his thumb into the button,
turning on the light.
    Rats scattered—three big, black rats with plump bellies and sharp
claws. Two of them went straight for Will. Instinctively, he backed
up, slamming into the ladder, his feet tangling in the rope. He covered
his face with his arms, and felt sharp claws dig into his skin as the
rats bolted up the ladder. Will panicked, realizing he'd dropped the
flashlight, and he snatched it up quickly, scanning the cave, looking
for other occupants.
    Empty.
    "Crap . . ." Will exhaled, slumping to the ground. Sweat poured
into his eyes. His arms throbbed where the rats had ripped the skin.
He had to fight the overwhelming urge to escape up after them.
    He used the flashlight to take in his surroundings, sending roaches
and other insects scrambling. There was no telling where the other
rat had gone, and Will wasn't going to go looking for him. The main
part of the cavern was sunken, about three feet down from where
Will was sitting. Whoever had designed the structure knew what
they were doing. The depressed area would give a home-field advantage.
    Will slowly lowered himself down, keeping the light trained in
front of him so there wouldn't be any more surprises. The space was
bigger than he expected. It must have taken weeks to excavate the
area, lifting out bucket after bucket of dirt, bringing down pieces of
wood to keep the whole thing from caving in.
    He guessed the main area was at least ten feet deep and six feet
wide. The ceiling was about six feet overhead—tall enough for him
to stand up if he kept stooped over, but he didn't trust his knees to lift
him. The flashlight could not illuminate everything at once, so the
space felt even more cramped than it was. Add to that the eeriness,
the ungodly smells of Georgia clay mixed with blood and excrement,
and everything started to feel smaller and darker.
    Against one wall was a low bed that had been thrown together
with what looked like recycled wood. A shelf overhead held supplies:
water jugs, soup cans, implements of torture Will had only
seen in books. The mattress was thin, bloodstained foam sticking out
of the torn black cover. There were chunks of flesh on the surface,
some of it already rotting. Maggots swirled like churning waters.
Strands of rope were bunched up on the floor by the bed, enough to
wrap around someone head to