Mara stopped digging.
The sheriff laughed.
"I wondered how long it would take you to crawl out of whatever hole you've been hiding in."
Caleb aimed toward the opening.
"Still talking too much, Gideon."
"Seventeen years, Caleb. Seventeen years, and you come home just to die in a cellar."
"You always did have a gift for welcoming people."
Voss moved closer.
"Your father should have taught you when to quit."
"My father taught me plenty."
"Not enough."
Caleb's expression hardened.
"Why don't you come down here and tell me about it?"
Voss laughed again.
"Oh, no. I've learned not to underestimate a Mercer with a gun."
A pause.
"That's why I brought fire."
Mara went still.
Caleb looked up.
"What?"
"You heard me."
Something heavy struck the kitchen floor.
Then another object shattered.
A strong chemical smell drifted through the hatch.
Kerosene.
Mara's face drained of color.
"No."
Voss spoke almost gently.
"You have one minute to come out."
Caleb looked toward the tunnel.
Mara was already digging again.
Her hands scraped against stones.
Dirt filled her sleeves.
Caleb joined her, pulling loose earth away with both hands.
Above them, Voss counted.
"Fifty seconds."
Mara found a larger stone wedged between two roots.
She pulled.
It did not move.
Caleb grabbed it beside her.
Together they strained.
The stone shifted.
A narrow gap opened beyond it.
Fresh air touched Mara's face.
"There's space!"
"Keep going."
"Forty seconds!"
A crash sounded overhead.
Then the first flames began to roar.
Heat seeped through the wooden ceiling.
Mara shoved herself through the opening.
The passage narrowed around her shoulders.
She crawled forward, dragging herself through dirt and roots.
Behind her, Caleb pushed the loosened stones aside.
"Go!"
She reached the smokehouse foundation.
A wooden trapdoor blocked the exit.
Mara struck it with both hands.
It did not move.
She pushed harder.
Something heavy rested on top.
A barrel.
She could feel its weight through the wood.
"Caleb!"
"I'm here!"
"I can't open it!"
Smoke began drifting into the tunnel.
Caleb crawled toward her.
He placed his shoulder beneath the trapdoor.
"On three."
Mara braced beside him.
"One."
Above them, a beam collapsed inside the house.
"Two."
The smoke thickened.
"Three!"
They pushed together.
The barrel shifted.
The trapdoor rose an inch.
Then two.
Then enough for Mara to wedge her fingers beneath it.
With one final effort, the door flew open.
Cold night air rushed over them.
Mara scrambled out.
Caleb followed.
Behind the smokehouse, the cottonwood branches glowed orange against the darkening sky.
The house was burning.
Flames climbed the kitchen walls.
Sparks swirled upward like furious stars.
Mara staggered to her feet.
For a moment, she could only stare.
Her grandmother's house.
Her mother's house.
The last place Daniel had called home.
All of it disappearing before her eyes.
She took a step toward the flames.
Caleb caught her arm.
"No."
"My grandmother's things—"
"There's nothing you can do."
"The photographs—"
"Mara."
"The blue bowl—"
He turned her toward him.
"Look at me."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"That's all I had left."
Caleb's face changed.
The hard caution he had worn since arriving in Red Hollow gave way to something raw and deeply familiar.
He knew what it meant to watch a home disappear.
He knew what it meant to stand helpless while the past burned.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She pulled away.
"Sorry doesn't bring it back."
"No."
He looked toward the house.
"It doesn't."
A shout came from the front yard.
"Check behind the buildings!"
Caleb seized Mara's hand.
"We have to move."
They ran into the cottonwoods.
Behind them, Sheriff Voss stood in the burning doorway, watching the roof collapse.
Silas Rook approached him.
"Think they're dead?"
Voss studied the flames.
"Mercer has always been difficult to kill."
"Should we search the creek?"
"At first light."
Rook nodded.
"And the reverend?"
Voss looked toward the elderly minister, who stood beside the gate with his hands bound.
"Take him to the jail."
"He hasn't done anything."
"That's what makes him useful."
Rook hesitated.
"What about the girl?"
Voss's eyes followed the sparks rising into the darkness.
"Find her."
"And Mercer?"
The sheriff's expression became almost thoughtful.
"Bring me his body."
By midnight, Mara's feet were bleeding.
They had crossed the dry creek, climbed a rocky ridge, and descended into a narrow canyon where the wind carried the scent of sagebrush and rain that might never come.
Caleb had given her his coat.
She had refused it twice.
He had placed it around her shoulders anyway.
Neither had spoken for nearly an hour.
Behind them, the glow of the burning house had finally disappeared.
But Mara could still see it whenever she closed her eyes.
At the bottom of the canyon, Caleb stopped beside a cluster of boulders.
"We'll rest here."
Mara shook her head.
"We should keep moving."
"You can barely walk."
"I'm fine."
"You're leaving blood on the stones."
She looked down.
Her boots were torn.
One heel had separated from the sole.
A dark stain spread across her sock.
Caleb crouched beside a rock and opened his saddlebag.
Mara frowned.
"Where did you get that?"
"My horse was waiting beyond the ridge."
"You planned an escape?"
"I planned several."
"You expected my house to burn?"
"No."
He looked at her.
"I expected Voss to be dangerous."
She sat reluctantly.
Caleb removed a small tin of salve, a clean cloth, and a flask of water.
"May I?"
Mara hesitated.
Then extended her injured foot.
He worked carefully, cleaning the cut without unnecessary words.
His hands were rough.
The knuckles carried old scars.
But his touch was unexpectedly gentle.
"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.
"Army surgeon."
"You were in the army?"