Page 97 of Ruger's Rage
"We need to move," she whispers, pointing to a narrow passage at the far end. "That must be the exit."
Above us, furniture crashes. Footsteps thump across the floor, drawing dangerously close to the trapdoor.
I grip the gun tighter, aiming upward, prepared for the worst.
A scuffle breaks out—Sarah's voice crying out in pain, Ellie shouting something indistinct.
Then a gunshot that makes my blood run cold.
"Sarah," I whisper, horror washing through me.
"We can't help her by getting caught ourselves," Kinsey says, tugging my arm. "Come on."
She's right, but leaving feels like we’re betraying them.
Still, I follow her toward the passage, knowing our best chance is to escape and find help.
The exit tunnel is narrower than the one from the compound, forcing us to crouch as we make our way through.
It slopes downward sharply, loose rocks shifting underfoot.
"How far?" I whisper.
"No idea," Kinsey admits. "But it can't be more than a few hundred yards if it leads to a ravine."
Behind us, muffled shouting continues. I strain to hear Ellie or Sarah's voices but catch nothing distinct.
We reach what feels like the end of the passage—a crude door made of wooden slats covered with dirt and vegetation from outside.
Through cracks between the boards, cool night air seeps in.
Kinsey pushes against it, but it doesn't budge. "It's stuck."
"Let me try." I shoulder the door, using my weight.
It gives slightly but remains stubbornly in place. "Together."
We both push, wood creaking in protest until finally, it swings outward.
We tumble with the girls outside, dirt and pine needles cushioning our fall.
We're on a steep hillside, trees providing cover.
Below, a narrow ravine winds its way down the mountain.
Above and behind us, the cabin's lights twinkle through the trees, deceptively peaceful from this distance.
"Which way?" Kinsey asks, scanning our surroundings.
I point downhill. "Follow the ravine. It probably leads to a road."
Before we can move, the crack of gunfire echoes from the cabin.
Not the sporadic shots of before, but a sustained exchange—multiple weapons firing at once.
"That's not Marco's men," Kinsey realizes. "Too many guns."
Hope surges through me. "Ruger. It has to be."
