Return to The Quarry

Chapter Ten

More explosions. Two to be exact.

Everyone on the island froze where they stood, huddled in the dark of the rocky shelter with only the lights from phone screens to see anything. Jacob and Nick climbed the steps first and glanced over the rocks to the dust and smoke that was rising from the site where several tall trees fell. New flames lit up the night, and given the direction in which they lay, it was a foregone conclusion what that new fire was meant to do.

It had completely blocked off the main drive, far enough inland that the fire would not be visible from the road. Not that anyone was on this particular road anymore.

In short, they were trapped.

For the first time, Emma looked as though she might break down at the news.

"No. No! We can't be!" she wailed.

"I'm afraid we are," said Nick. "There's no other way on or off the property."

Dylan waved his hands in frustration as he spoke. "Wouldn't they have had to have other entrances? Service roads? A fire evacuation route?"

Jacob shrugged. "Apparently not."

Laura cradled her head in her hands. "What are we going to do?"

A lapse in discussion followed. Then, tentatively as only a person who has been ridiculed for being foolishly preoccupied with crazy notions can be, Grace softly cleared her throat.

"Um, this is going to sound crazy," she began, "but there may be another way off the property."

Everyone's eyes snapped up to her. Ryan stood up from the rock on which he had been sitting.

"What do you mean? Where?"

"I don't know exactly. But here's the deal. In 1953, when Ginny Brown came here investigating Deirdre Alan, she questioned how Alan even got on Hackett property in the first place."

Kaitlyn snorted. "What, the main entrance wasn't a thing?"

Anton shrugged. "They were making illegal alcohol here in 1925 and they had pretty tight security."

Abi started at that. She looked around questioningly at the others. "Wait. Alcohol?"

Ryan and Laura's eyes met and he said "There were stills and a whole operation under the Hackett Mansion in the old abandoned mines."

"So this Ginny lady," asked Max, "what did she say about this other way in and out?"

Grace sighed. "That's the thing. This is the first part of her journal, when she was getting ready to come here. Once she arrived, she mentioned needing to hide her journals so that no one could read them. That would mean that if they still exist, they're someplace here on the property." She held up the marble composition notebook. "She mentions in the end of this journal that she sent this one home to her niece. But if we can find that other journal, and if Brown figured out how the actress got on the property, we might be able to locate that same route."

For a good minute, everyone looked to each other for what to do. Should they trust such a dubious sounding idea to be the key to their escape? As it was, there was no better sounding plan.

Nick was the first to speak. "So where do we start?"

Grace considered that. "Well, in order to understand what Ginny was looking for, you have to understand what happened to Deirdre Alan, the whole incident that brought her here." She hesitated. "Only, I'm not sure you're ready to hear it."

"Why not?" asked Emma, folding her arms around her to ward off the shiver she could feel crawling up her spine.

"Like Grace and I said earlier," Anton broke in gently, "It has everything to do with . . . you know. Werewolves."

No one knew what to say. Abi drew an uneasy breath, gave Nick's hand a squeeze and spoke.

"Right now, we're stranded on this island, and once we get to shore, finding this other way looks like the only way out." She cast her gaze around at the others, who gradually nodded their agreement.

With a deep breath, and a look to Anton, who motioned for her to continue, Grace sat down and took the notebooks from her bookbag. Everyone settled down on stones, the ground, on a felled log. Anyplace they could hear. In the sticky, mosquito-filled night, they were going to tell a ghost story of sorts.

"Yeah. Get Comfortable," Grace said. "We're going all the way back to 1925."