I SAY TO CHRISTINA AS I STRIDE OVER TO the wall rack and pull a semi-auto pistol from one of the pegs. Like all things my father made, it’s black, sleek, and dangerous. Once I’ve got it cocked and locked, I glance over to see my girlfriend staring at me with wide eyes.“He’s in the house,” she whispers, pointing to a screen next to the one that displays the yard—and this one shows the interior of the shack. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the camera when I came in, but this guy doesn’t, either. He’s skinny and young-looking. More like a boy than a man. Younger even than I am. His eyes are focused on the two doors at the back of the main room, just like mine were.“He won’t get in,” I assure her. “There’s no way—” My mouth snaps shut as he pulls the rusty nail from the ceiling and sticks it in the hole in the floor. We hear the machinery working above us, the floor moving aside, the stairway to the basement being revealed. “Okay, take this,” I say, walking toward her and holding out the gun.
