Fear shot down my spine.
The chance to get out of here was now.
Richard had run. We could all run.
There were killers here in the monastery. How many? How many were there? And who were they?
Cormack cut the chains from Kara’s wrists.
She woke groggily.
Yolanda stood numbly, making a keening sound in her throat.
Louelle ran alongside me, her hand suddenly clutching mine. “We get who we can and then we go tell the mentors.” She paused for a second, her voice grown deeper. “Kill anyone who comes at us.”
I stared at her—nodding, but barely.
I couldn’t feel my legs beneath me as I ran with Louelle.
Cormack pulled the broken chains away from Kara’s wrists and ankles. Next to Kara, Ruth was chained and doubled over. I tried to rouse her, but she was either deeply asleep or unconscious.
I crouched down in front of Kara. “Are they down here—the people who did this to you?”
Kara turned her face to me, her eyes glazed and distant. “They’re everywhere.”
My fingernails dug into my flesh. “What do you mean, they’re everywhere?”
“You will see.” She let her face rest across the bloodied wall again.
“What about the others?” I persisted. “Where are they?”
“Floating . . .” Her voice limped out in whispers, her face still against the wall.
I wasn’t going to find out anything from Kara. My breath caught as I exchanged glances with Cormack. “What if the mentors are all dead?”
He swallowed, his cheeks drawing in and hollowing. “It’s war, then.”
Jumping up, I ran to the table and snatched up two large knives.
I had a better view from here inside the second room. Were the killers in there right now?
I caught sight of a pale, red-haired girl, strung up on the wall, in between two men that were hanging just like her.
Poppy.
She’d never left the island.
Blood rushed through my head and limbs.
With wooden legs I stepped to the door of the second room and peered through the gap in the door.
The room was hexagonal. Twelve people were strung up on the walls, two to each wall. Some of them missing one or more limbs. Dead, all of them. Including Poppy. Metronomes ticked away on twelve steps far below them, like a funeral march. The people must have been asked to walk onto the steps before they were hoisted up on the ropes.
My entire body grew cold.
The monastery hadn’t suddenly been invaded by a band of murderers. The entire cellar was set up for murder.
God, the monks.
It was the monks.
My mind screamed at me to leave. Escape.
But I couldn’t leave without checking, without being certain everyone here was dead.
I pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside.
Duncan half raised his slumped head to me, his eyes dulled. He was still alive. Somehow. Five knives were pierced through his body and into the wall behind.
“Duncan . . .” I could barely speak his name.
“This isn’t a good place, I have to warn you,” he rasped.
I fumbled with the hoist, already knowing it was useless. No one could save him. “We’ll get you down.”
“All told, it might be best if you kill me.” His voice chillingly matter-of-fact.
“No . . .”
“I was the safety officer at my work. If you remove the knives, I’ll bleed out.”
“I’ll get help. I’ll get help, Duncan.” But I’d vacated my words before I’d finished saying them.
He stared like he was no longer seeing me. “Tell my wife I did love her.” His head slumped again, chin hitting his chest.
I whirled around, checking the others in turn. All had been tortured to the point of death. Except for Poppy. Maybe. Maybe. She had cuts all over her body, but none seemed deep enough to kill her. But I couldn’t tell what else they might have done to her.
With a cry, I ran to her and used the hoist to lower her to the floor.
Please wake. Please wake.
Don’t be dead.
I knelt down to her crumpled figure. “Poppy, please . . .”
Her eyelids fluttered below a dark bruise on her forehead.
There. She was alive.
Working quickly, I sawed at the ropes around her wrists. I went too fast, making a small, shallow cut on her skin.
“Oh, hell. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Carefully, I pulled the ropes away from her rope-burned wrists.
Her eyes sprang open.
“I didn’t mean to cut you. I—”
“Evie. Evie, Evie, Evie . . .” She kept whispering my name as if nothing made sense, not even the fact that I was here in front of her.