Kinder Garten slumped back in his chair.
“Honestly, things could be better. I’ve only got one camera down there. I couldn’t risk being in there long enough to place more than one. What I want to get is a 35-millimeter full-frame CMOS sensor camera for full HD video capture. Then we’d be able to see everything. Of course, what they’re really waiting for is the finale. That’s what I advertised anyway.”
He looked up at Apollo, then at Emma, grinning, the excitement of a promising start-up company acting like a painkiller.
“You promised they’d get to watch the troll eat our child,” Apollo said.
Then his face dropped. “I’m sorry,” Kinder Garten said. “In the past it didn’t take this long though. It tries to raise the children, but it’s terrible at it. What it wants to feed them, they can’t always eat. Or it forgets its own strength. But it’s been different with Brian. I can’t say why, exactly.”
“It’s like he’s being protected,” Apollo said, looking to Emma. She hadn’t looked away from the screen.
Kinder Garten peered up at the ceiling. Impossible to ignore the smoke slipping between the floorboards now. A black cloud formed above their heads.
Then Kinder Garten raised his good arm. “But let me show you!” he said. “I have proof he’s okay. I’ve got pictures of him.” He reached for the iPad, tapped in his code, and carried on.
“You’ll see,” he muttered.
He opened the photo gallery and swiped from one file to the next.
“You’ll see.”
But before he could find the image, Emma stepped back and raised the mattock. She swung sideways, with better aim this time. The pick lodged in the side of Kinder Garten’s head, right above the left ear.
The power of the attack sent Kinder Garten over just like before, but this time when he landed, the force of the fall tore the mattock from his head. When it pulled free, it took a portion of his skull with it. Kinder Garten thrashed on the ground, and the side of his head bled wildly.
Apollo and Emma watched him from a distance. They could see his brain. It looked like uncooked, gamey meat. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He seemed lost in shock, but then his eyes shifted toward Apollo.
Kinder Garten bled and choked and cried, and even though the house above them had broken into flames, even though the whine of a fire engine could be heard in the distance, even though they had to get back up the stairs and escape, they couldn’t go yet.
They couldn’t move as Kinder Garten’s blood pooled on the ground. It reached the iPad, face up in its case. It reached their shoes and soaked the soles. His eyes lolled back in his head until only the whites could be seen.
His hand tapped at the ground three more times and went still.
APOLLO BENT AND pulled at the iPad, watching the body. Its eyes stared up at the ceiling. The protective cover had been soaked through with blood, but when he slipped the device out, it was fine. When he looked at the other monitors, five of the eight men remained in their seats, watching with a nearly catatonic glassiness. What would this show offer next? Apollo pushed both monitors off the desk, and they fell backward and cracked on the floor.
Curiosity overcame Apollo. There was one thing he had to see, a question he needed answered. They pulled at Kinder Garten’s sweatshirt, lifting the right side.
“I think Cal must’ve hit him at least once,” Apollo said.
But when he lifted the shirt high enough, the wound didn’t look made by a bullet. Instead the flesh hung loose, and the skin appeared to have three long parallel tears.
“Good for you, Cal,” Emma said.
The heat above became powerful enough to make both of them sweat. More smoke curled down into the basement through the floorboards. Soon it would fill the space. The sound of wood cracking, crackling, played through the basement.
The heat turned oppressive, and the smoke now obscured the exposed beams in the ceiling. Apollo and Emma covered their mouths. Outside they heard the sirens. No doubt the neighbors were out in force. Apollo and Emma weren’t going to be escaping via the driveway anymore.
They scanned the basement. An old blue washing machine and dryer set sat side by side. There was a supply closet containing a threadbare broom and two nearly toothless rakes, a shovel with a splintered handle, and worn-down work gloves.
Because it was an unfinished basement, the ceiling showed the woodwork and floorboards of the first floor, and even piping was visible, running from the kitchen connections and the bathrooms, leading to a boiler tucked into the far corner of the basement. The large upright cylinder looked like a missile. Pipes ran from its top and up into the ceiling.
“Why did they have so many space heaters if they had this big boiler down in the basement?” Apollo asked, staring at the machine.
“The pipes are cut,” Emma said, pointing to the ceiling. “All of them.”
Kinder Garten’s blood appeared in their peripheral vision. The pool had found the level of the ground, slightest of angles, and begun rolling downward. It turned into a tributary, searching for its confluence. It ran toward Apollo and Emma, and for only a moment Apollo imagined the man’s blood sought them out. Instead it found its way to the boiler, rolling underneath it. From below the boiler, as they moved closer, they heard a faint, dribbling sound.
Apollo set down the iPad. He and Emma moved to one side of the boiler and pressed their hands to it. Together they pushed, and the boiler rocked slightly. It was like trying to upend a fridge or a grandfather clock. Push again, and the boiler tipped. When it fell to the ground, it clattered and cracked.
And below it they found a large hole cut in the concrete. Kinder Garten’s blood dribbled into that darkness. The hole, not even or neat, looked as if someone had spent many nights here, chipping and chopping. The work did not seem recent.
They looked into the portal. Hard to even say how far down they would fall. Firemen barked to each other on the street. The floorboards above Apollo and Emma were burned black by now.
She sat and scooted to the hole, but before she dropped through, Apollo stopped her.
“Wait,” he said. “We need one more thing.” He took out his phone, turned it on.
“You’re making a fucking phone call?” Emma said.
He reached for the iPad and opened it again. He swiped, and a series of apps appeared.
On the other end of the line Patrice picked up. “You’re still alive then,” he said, sounding relieved. “Your mom came by here this morning, looking for you. She’s real worried. Did you call her? She said you sounded off.”
“Patrice, you have to shut up. I won’t be able to call you again.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“Do you have Daylight up in the App Store?”
“You saw it yourself,” Patrice said. “Biggest bug is that you still only get one use out of it. Drains so much battery power.”
Emma sat at the edge of the hole, looking like a woman hanging her feet off a pier.