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Sam turned and charged up the steps.
Crouched in one of the tubs, her headlamp doused, Remi was just realizing her position was indefensible when the shots rang out.
Silence.
Then Russell’s whispered voice: “She’s in there. You take her, I’ll take him.”
“Dead or alive?” Marjorie replied softly.
“Dead. Mother says this is the right place. The Theurang is here. Once the Fargos are gone, we’ll have all the time in the world. Go!”
Remi didn’t think but acted. She climbed out of the tub and crab-walked to the shaft. She took a deep breath, let it out, then jumped.
One floor above Remi, Sam had found himself in a maze of small interconnecting rooms and corridors. Here, the roots and vines were much thicker, crisscrossing the spaces like monstrous cobwebs. Slivers of sunlight peeked through, casting the labyrinth in a greenish twilight.
Having left his machete back at the tunnel entrance, there was nothing for Sam to do but duck and weave his way forward and deeper into the maze.
Somewhere behind him he heard the crunch of footsteps.
He froze.
Three more steps. Closer now. Sam turned his head, trying to pin down the direction.
“Fargo!” Russell shouted. “All my father wants is the Theurang. He’s decided not to destroy it. Do you hear me, Fargo?”
Sam remained silent. He stepped to the left, under a thigh-sized root and through a doorway.
“He wants the same thing you do,” Russell shouted. “He wants to see the Golden Man in a museum, where it belongs. You and your wife would be co-discoverers. Imagine the prestige!”
“We’re not in this for the prestige,” Sam said under his breath. “Idiot.”
To his right, farther down the corridor, a vine snapped, followed by a barely perceptible “Damn!”
Sam crouched down, switched the .38 to his left hand, and looked around the corner. Twenty feet away, a figure was charging toward him. Sam fired. Russell stumbled and almost went down but regained his footing and dodged right and through a doorway.
Sam stepped across the hall and crab-stepped over a root into the next room. He paused, flipped open the .38’s cylinder.
He had one bullet left.
Remi landed hard at the bottom of the pit and tried to shoulder-roll to dissipate the impact but slammed into something solid. White-hot flames spread across her rib cage. She swallowed the scream and forced herself to be still. She was in pitch-blackness. She was belowground, she guessed.
From up the shaft came Marjorie’s voice. “Remi? Come on out. I know you’re hurt. Come out, and I’ll help you.”
Not going to happen, sister, Remi thought.
She cupped her hands around the headlamp, clicked it on, and took a quick scan. At her back was a wall; directly ahead, a wide, downward-sloping tunnel. Archways lined either side of the tunnel. Remi clicked off her lamp.
On hands and knees, she crawled ahead. When she’d put what she thought was enough distance between her and Marjorie, she turned her headlamp back on. One hand pressed against her ribs, Remi climbed to her feet. She chose an archway at random and stepped through it. To her left was another arch.
From the tunnel she heard a thump, then a grunt. She peered around the corner in time to see a headlamp turning toward her. Remi raised her pistol, took aim, and fired three quick shots. The muzzle of Marjorie’s weapon mushroomed orange.
Remi backpedaled, turned, and darted through the next arch.
Sam knew Russell was behind him and across the corridor.
One bullet, Sam thought. Russell had more than that, and probably spare magazines as well. Sam needed to draw him in, ten feet or less, close enough that he couldn’t miss.
Careful to keep the corridor in his mind’s eye, Sam crept deeper into the room, then stepped left through an archway. He turned right, stepped up to the next arch, and risked a glance into the corridor.