The concrete block structure was massive, as tall as the four-meter-high ceiling, and it seemed to fill the entire barn. A cement structure built inside of a metal structure, with a narrow perimeter to walk around.

  But I knew there had to be more.

  Were there other victims, trapped inside these walls, clinging to life?

  We had to check. But we were in no shape to.

  We needed to get out. Get help.

  I assumed there was an exit.

  I assumed we’d be able to find it.

  I assumed the gunshots had something to do with Chandler, and knowing Chandler, I assumed she was the shooter not the shootee.

  I assumed if the old man heard us escaping, he would have confronted us by now.

  But I also assumed he had more rooms in the pole barn. Specifically, a room where he made his statues.

  I assumed he could be in there with us, at that very moment.

  Lots of assumptions.

  We came up to the first corner of the barn. I put my back to the wall and peered around the corner and saw—

  Stairs. There were concrete stairs, descending into somewhere. A basement? A tunnel? A hallway into the main house?

  Only one way to find out.

  I beckoned my companions to follow, and began to go down.

  JACK

  The fear faded as quickly as it began, and I crawled through the dark hole, following my daughter and husband, rounding a corner and coming into the light and—

  The lobby we started in.

  Phin and Sam stood there, clutching small red bags and talking to the smiling guy in the lab coat who had, minutes earlier, threated to harvest all of our organs.

  “Congratulations on conquering the Escape Room of Terror, an Extreme Escape Room Experience,” he said to me. “Here is a certificate with your official escape time, and a gift bag of Freelocks Moisturizing Shampoo and Conditioner, now with dandruff control.”

  And to think, for a few moments there I’d actually been afraid.

  Funny how the mind works.

  “I thought it was really fun,” Sam said, beaming at me. “Did you like it, Mom?”

  “I found it… therapeutic.”

  Somehow, this hyper-violent theme escape room attraction in a suburban strip mall had helped me regain my memory.

  I was whole again.

  I remembered all of Lake Flathead. And more.

  I may have been hallucinating, because I’d been drugged, but I had everything back.

  Everything.

  Phin cozied up to me, held my free hand while our other hands clutched our shampoo bags. “You seem exhilarated.”

  “Memory returned,” I said.

  “That’s great. How much do you recall?”

  “Six hundred and forty-seven,” I told him.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “That number you told me to remember, three weeks ago in our kitchen.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Hiya, Jackie!”

  I looked over and saw Harry and Harry Junior coming through the door we’d originally entered the escape room through.

  “I didn’t want to crawl through the tunnel with my new prosthetic,” Harry said, waving his hand. “So we took the handicapped door.”

  “There was a door for the disabled?” Sam asked.

  “It’s California. There’s always accommodations for cripples like me.”

  Smiling guy stepped up. “Congratulations on conquering the—”

  “Hold the speech there, Marlon Brando,” Harry interrupted. “This was supposed to be an escape room full of puzzles. I counted, seriously, four puzzles. That’s all the puzzles we get for forty bucks a pop?”

  “The Escape Room of Terror is an Extreme Escape Room Experience. Here’s your participation certificate stating you survived, and a free bottle of Freelocks Moisturizing Shampoo and Conditioner, now with dandruff control.”

  “How about you keep the itch shampoo and refund me twenty bucks for lack of puzzles?”

  “Sorry,” said the smiling guy. “In the fine print of that waiver you signed, it explicitly said no refunds.”

  “I thought it was awesome,” said Harry Junior. “And you, my man, are fire.”

  The smiling guy seemed to smile even wider. “Thank you. Why do I feel like an insult is coming?”

  “No insult. Truth. I totally bought your performance, and you really scared me. I think you’re gonna be big someday. Can you sign your autograph on my certificate?”

  “Of course.”

  The smiling guy spent a moment signing it.

  “Thanks!” said Harry Junior. “And don’t forget to eat that bag of dicks.”

  The smiling guy lost his smile, then walked off to meet the next group of patrons.

  “I’m so selling this on eBay when he’s famous,” Harry Junior said.

  We headed out of the lobby, and when we got into the parking lot Phin said, “One thing I’m still confused by is how the rooms kept changing even though we used the same door each time.”

  “Easy, Dad. That main room was on a gimble.”

  “What’s a gimble?” asked Harry Junior.

  “The exam room was on one side, the bathtub room was on the other side, of a center room, and they were on a big rotating circle on the floor. The platform was so big and so slow we couldn’t feel it when it moved. That small room was in the middle of a bigger circle around it, divided into three rooms. The lobby, the church, and the merry-go-round horses. Every time we went into the door, the gimble moved and let us out at a different part of the circle. So it seemed like the room kept changing, but we were really changing rooms.”

  “My daughter, the genius.” I tousled her hair. “Now that we’ve survived the Escape Room of Terror, an Extreme Escape Room Experience, who wants to grab pizza?”

  Everyone wanted that.

  “And maybe we can have dinner without any more dad jokes,” I suggested, hopeful. “How does that sound?”

  Sam stopped walking and looked at me, her face super serious. “No way, Mom. Dad jokes are my favorite thing ever.”

  I stared at her, unsure if she was putting me on.

  “You’re exaggerating,” Phin said.

  “I never exaggerate to prove my point,” Sam said. Then she paused, and looked pointedly at her father. “I’ve told you that, a million times.”

  Phin’s eyes got super wide. “Holy shitballs! You told a dad joke!”

  It ran in the family.

  I laughed. I was good with that.

  I was good with everything.

  “Sam likes dad jokes,” McGlade whined, staring at his son. “Why don’t you like dad jokes?”

  “I love dad jokes, Dad.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I don’t tell you everything,” Harry Junior said. “Like I never told you about the time I didn’t buy that marionette at the toy store.” He paused. “There were strings attached.”

  Harry exploded with pure joy, then yelled, “I am the proudest father in the world!”

  Phin whispered to Sam. “Second proudest.”

  We continued to the Crimebago, everyone feeling pretty damn skippy, and before McGlade got in I caught his elbow.

  “Harry… I remember how Lake Flathead ended.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. It all came back to me.”

  “Just like all those boomerangs I tried to throw away.”

  “Sam likes dad jokes,” I said. “I tolerate them.”

  “Okay, spill. What happened? Did I save the day?”

  “Well…”

  HARRY

  I watched Mia and Tray follow Jack down the concrete stairs, and then heard the one sound you never wanted to hear in a redneck setting.

  Someone starting a chainsaw.

  I spun in time to see some bearded backwoods redneck insane inbred hillbilly homicidal freakazoid mother humper swing a freaking chainsaw at my freaking head.

  I managed to block with my prosthetic, and sparks lit up the barn, and miraculously I wet my pants again, which was a miracle because I was sure I was all out of pee, and then his chain snagged on my titanium pulleys and the saw froze and immediately stalled.

  He dropped the chainsaw to the floor, taking my hand with it, and the lunatic reached into his overalls and yanked out the mother of all hunting knives.

  And I was all out of moves.

  I was exhausted, dehydrated, still groggy from the toilet margarita, damp and filthy, had no weapons, and no combat skills. My hand-to-hand combat was one hand short.

  Fairwell, life. It was fun.

  And kind of surprising. Because I was almost positive I would save the day.

  Then the crazy man’s head snapped back like he was hit with a two-by-four, and the knife went flying, and he smashed into the concrete wall he’d built and left an eight-by-ten portrait of his own face in his own blood on the blocks, and he collapsed to the floor, and I turned and saw Jackie in one of her tae kwon do poses just as she slowly lowered her foot to the ground.

  “Nice kick,” I said, playing it cool.

  Jack played it even cooler.

  “I told you I was the protagonist,” she said.

  Touché.

  I followed her down the stairs and into a dimly lit tunnel appropriately lined with cement blocks—did this family own stock in a cement factory?—and just when we thought we’d made it out alive we ran into the absolutely deadliest person on the planet.

  “Jack!”

  “Chandler!”

  The women embraced, leaving me feeling alone and third-wheelish and awkward.

  But it was okay.

  With the trippy feeling in my head, I was sure I wouldn’t remember any of this.

  CHANDLER

  When Chandler saw the couple in the tunnel, looking like they’d lived through a war, all she could think about was Jack.

  Then she saw Jack. And the relief was extraordinary.

  “You came for us,” Jack said, hugging her tight.

  “That’s what friends do,” Chandler said.

  And she meant it.

  How about that? I’ve actually got a friend.

  “Are you okay?” Chandler asked.

  “It’s not as bad as a paper cut,” Jack answered.

  Nice callback, Jack.

  “There might be more people in there,” Harry said.

  So McGlade was also abducted. And he survived.

  I’m not his biggest fan, but I’m happy he made it.

  “Hostiles?” Chandler asked.

  “Just one guy whose head Jack practically knocked off. She probably killed him. I bet she killed him.”

  “The couple you brought out, they’re in bad shape,” Chandler said. “They need water, and you all need medical care. I’ll clean up whatever’s in the pole barn.”

  Chandler tried to pass, but Jack caught her sleeve.

  “We’ll call the authorities. They’ll send a team.”

  “I can do this, Jack. It’s what I’m trained for.”

  “Not alone.”

  “I’m always alone, Jack.”

  Jack shook her head and said, “No. You’re not alone.”

  Chandler wasn’t sure what to feel. She opened her mouth to say something, and when nothing came out she just nodded and led the group out of the tunnel, up the stairs, to the hidden doorway that only took a few broken fingers before Mick spilled its location.

  Then Mick made the stupidest decision in a life full of stupid decisions and went for a gun in his pocket, forcing Chandler to blow his last thought right out of his skull.

  Pushing the door open, Chandler climbed out to ground level and ushered them through the forest, away from the bodies of Zeke, Vern, Toddy, and Mick, around to the other side of the house to get everyone inside for hydration, first aid, and to call the authorities.

  While they’re doing that I can load up the bodies into Mick’s pickup truck and ditch it in the nearest lake. Forecast called for rain, which would clean up all the blood sprays better than I could without proper chemicals. Then I can go back to the pole barn and search for survivors.

  Jack said I didn’t have to do it alone.

  And I appreciated her words.

  But this is who I am.

  I’m a scalpel.

  And I’m at peace with that.

  As they rounded the corner of the house a gunshot pierced the air to Chandler’s left.

  High caliber, suppressed, subsonic round so no crack of the sound barrier breaking.

  Sniper.

  Chandler dashed forward, knocking over Jack, Harry, and the new couple, then heard groaning behind her and saw him, the concrete man, bleeding heavily from his face and from a GSW that blew off the top of his shoulder, still holding a wicked-looking hunting knife in his other hand.

  As Chandler drew her Beretta another rifle shot caught him in the top of the skull, making a little poof of blood mist, and his head jerked back and he fell.

  “Stay down,” Chandler ordered everyone.

  Then she sprinted into the woods, toward the unknown shooter.

  THE WITCH

  The witch watched as Jack and Harry came out of the secret entrance with the soldier girl.

  They apparently were able to save themselves. And two others as well.

  Like rats. Hard to kill.

  Then the old crazy guy with the beard came out of the woods, sneaking up on Jack with a big knife, moving so quietly not even soldier girl heard him, and the witch had to save Jack’s life so she’d be able to kill her later.

  So she fired. But hadn’t adjusted for the wind change, and the two-hundred-meter shot was off by a little bit, hitting the wildman in the shoulder but not bringing him to the ground.

  The witch fired again, this time scoring with the head shot, and then she looked around and saw soldier girl was missing.

  Rifle scopes were good for focusing in long range on a set target, but not good for sweeping an area. So the witch reached for her pack and fished out some field binoculars, and by the time she caught sight of soldier girl she’d closed the distance to within sixty meters and was closing fast.

  Dammit. I knew I should have killed her when I had the opportunity.

  The witch could shoot, and she could brawl, and even though she’d seen soldier girl impressively take down four men in less than eight seconds, she didn’t believe she would be beaten in a fair fight.

  But very few fights are fair.

  The best outcome for a risky confrontation was to avoid the confrontation if possible.

  The witch made a quick decision, then stood up and raised her hands.

  “I’m on your side,” she called into the woods. “That man was trying to kill you.”

  Soldier girl appeared out of nowhere, gun drawn, business end pointing at the witch’s head.

  She likes the headshot.

  How endearing.

  “You saw it. The crazy guy behind you had a knife.” The witch put some drama into it, forcing her body and face to act accordingly. “I’ve never been so scared.”

  “Why are you out here?”

  “Hunting.”

  “Hunting season hasn’t started.”

  “Not deer,” the witch said. “Wolves.”

  “You’re hunting wolves?”

  “They’re in the area. Killing livestock. Family pets. Even attacked a small boy. County put a bounty on them. A thousand dollars a kill, and you get to keep the hide. Do you have to point that at me?”

  Soldier girl kept the gun steady. “You’re in camouflage makeup. And a ghillie suit.”

  “Helps me blend in.”

  “Wolves don’t hunt by sight. They hunt by scent.”

  “Deer urine,” the witch said. “It’s pungent. But it draws them close.”

  “I don’t smell anything.”

  She’s a real suspicious one.

  “Must have worn off. Bottle is in my pack.”

  The witch pointed to the ground. Soldier girl squatted next to the witch’s equipment bag.

  “Hell of a rifle for wolves.”

  “I prefer to stay as far away from wolves as possible. You ever see a wolf pack hunt? It’s the most vicious thing ever.”

  Soldier girl quickly went through the witch’s equipment bag, finding the bottle of deer scent.

  It always pays to have a cover story.

  “Hey, are you military?” the witch asked. “You move really fast. Where’d you get your training?”

  She stood up, her gun unwavering. “Here and there.”

  The witch tried for mix of indignant and obliging. She spread out her hands.

  “Look, I saved your life. You and your friends. If you want to go to the cops, we can go right now. But I’m the type of person who knows how to mind her own business. So if you don’t want to go to the cops, that’s okay too.”

  Give her a choice. Follow the law, or not.

  Soldier girl avoided the question. “How’d you get here?”

  “Walked. Parked in a forest preserve two miles to the west.”

  “Wolf bounties, huh?”

  The witch nodded.

  “The problem is that there is no bounty on wolves in Wisconsin. They’re on the endangered species list.”

  Classic misdirection. If you’re doing something very bad, only admit to doing something semi-bad, to throw people off.

  “I lied,” the witch admitted. “I’m not working for the county. Local farmers hired me. What I’m doing is technically poaching. But these animals, they’re killers. Winter is coming. They’re getting hungrier. Just a matter of time before they go to a school, attack some child during recess.”

  Which is a pretty hilarious image. The witch could imagine them dragging little Betty Sue off the monkey bars, tearing her to shreds while the homeroom teacher screamed.

  “Wolves are nocturnal hunters,” soldier girl said. “School is during the day.”

  She’s testing me.

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but wolves hunt day and night.”

  Soldier girl’s gun stayed steady.

  Time to get irritated.