An hour later, the late afternoon light faded. The power had been unreliable since they had arrived. Nigel felt exposed. The lodge was too big to defend, and unsettling noises woke him in the night. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or something else. He had been trying to reach Mr. Tage’s radio all day.

Maybe his not at the radio, or he’s at the Bromwick! Either way, I need to get to a phone.

The light in the basement that was illuminated from ambient light from the outside was fading. Nigel reached for his flashlight, but it wasn’t there. His phone was charging in the upstairs office. Nigel risked going upstairs without a light source. He didn’t mind bumbling around in the dark as much as injuring himself on the ancient staircase. When he found the radio room, he had been looking for something else. The room looked like it had not been cleaned in forty years. It was also full of hazards. Nigel hugged the wall and used his hands as a guide to assist his ascent. He cursed himself for not taking a flashlight or even his phone.

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Where are the girls? Perhaps they are looking for me.

After several minutes of ascending, he felt a sagging underfoot.

The staircase is unstable!

He made a mental note to mark the spots that needed repair. He didn’t want anyone to get injured. Just as he completed the thought, the board snapped. He caught himself just before falling. The muscles in his arms strained as he tried to find a handhold. He thought he heard some movement below, then it started.

“Deta check’ean moneta?” a voice in the dark questioned.

A flash of memory came into his brain. He realized that the people they fought in the battle for the lodge said the same nonsensical words. Moments later, he heard the footsteps of several people. Soon the staircase echoed with the gibberish.

“Dana petee chumbe clump,” a female voice said.

The lodge isn’t cleared. Those crazies have gotten in somehow.

He was almost clear of the hole when something grabbed him from below. He yelled as unseen hands clawed at his pants. A dull pressure shot through his ankle. It felt like—something was biting him. Soon, the pain turned into a thousand needle pricks all at once. The pain shot up his leg like fire burning through dried brush. Nigel couldn’t take it anymore; he screamed. Moments later, he was pulled below.