The tunnel walls were thick with mold, but the most important clue was on the ground beneath them. In the dust were fresh shoe prints. Small tracks from children’s boots crossed over deeper impressions left by a man’s heavy work boots.
“Someone’s been through here recently,” Eleanor said, studying the pattern. At that moment, Thunder froze and bared his teeth. His ears had picked up something no human could hear yet.
From deeper in the tunnel came the faint sound of children talking. It was muffled, but unmistakably real. Eleanor tightened her grip on the flashlight until her knuckles hurt.
Her heart pounded. Years of reports, failed searches, and difficult conversations with grieving family members had brought her to this point. The end of the hardest case of her career was waiting just around the bend.
She looked at her partner, whose whole posture showed he was ready. The dog understood they were close. “Go on, Thunder,” she said softly. “Lead.”
They moved deeper, weapons ready, into the damp dark. Before long, the narrow tunnel opened into a larger underground room that looked disturbingly lived-in. Her flashlight swept across the space, picking out ordinary household details that made the scene even more unsettling.
Old board games lay on the floor. Worn children’s books were stacked nearby. In one corner stood two neatly made cots. Someone had spent a great deal of time creating a twisted imitation of a home underground. Eleanor felt a cold sweat break across her forehead.
Thunder let out a low warning growl. Then his attention shifted to sheets of paper taped to the brick walls. They were children’s drawings—crooked houses, flowers, and two smiling figures holding hands…
