Page 4 of Rescued By the Operative

Ennis is being too cautious. “But what if it’s not? What do you suppose is on the other side of that wall?”

I shrug. “Let’s bust through and find out.”

“Hold on, cowboy. Let’s check the map.”

I turn to Ennis, who blocks the light from my headlamp from shining directly into his eyes.

“This has to be the cellar,” I say.

“But I also don’t feel like finding out the hard way that we dug all the way to their heavily guarded cache of artillery,” Ennis wisely says.

“But what if it is artillery, and the guards are small dudes? We can take ‘em prisoner and get our hands on some real firepower,” I fantasize.

“Are you for real?” Ennis says.

I grunt, “Fine, let me see the map.”

“Um…”

“What?”

Ennis curses, patting his pockets. “I might have forgotten it.”

“Awesome,” I sigh, taking a swig of water from our supply.

I run my hand over the wall. No insulation, just drywall in between studs. Someone put this up in a hurry and did a piss-poor job of it.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, but hold up. Let me go back to the ranch and get the map.”

I nod. “Fine. I’ll keep chipping away at these earth bags while I wait.”

“Don’t do anything crazy,” my brother insists.

“I won’t,” I say.

I wait until I can no longer hear Ennis’s retreat through the underground tunnel that leads to an abandoned mine shaft that opens onto Sterling Ranch.

If there’s danger on the other side of this wall, I’m determined to keep my younger brother safe from it.

In my gut, I know this is the old dormitory, where they used to house the single women and school-age children.

Since the shake-up last year, after The Prophet was arrested, and Child Protective Services opened a case file on a bunch of the children, the dormitory has been abandoned, according to Louisa and Goldie.

No one is watching the place.

I’m sure of it.

And I’m eager to be finished with this project.

I know it’s just a fantasy, but blowing this place sky high would feel pretty great, once we get the people out.

Feeling antsy, I forge ahead. There’s only one way to find out what’s on the other side of this wall.

I keep smashing.

This task is shockingly easier than slowly digging through dirt, and I’m not expecting how quickly the wall gives way with the force of my strikes against it.

My forward momentum is so great that the next thing I know, I’m tumbling face-first into what is supposed to be a root cellar.