James checked his unused burner phone—7:07 a.m. James opened the tool locker on his porch and pulled out a shovel. He tightened his work gloves. He heard the throaty roar of a V-8 in the distance. His heart pounded. “Go to the cellar,” he said to Brittany as he threw the shovel back in the locker. They hurried into the cabin. He locked the front door behind them. She pulled the mat from the hatch and opened it. James tossed his gloves on the kitchen table and fished his car keys from his pocket. He grabbed her hand and put the keys in her grasp. “If something goes wrong,” he said, “you know what to do.” Her blue eyes were glassy. “Let’s just run now, together. We can make it.” “We need more of a head start. Besides, it’s only one car, no siren. They’d send the cavalry if they knew. Let me take care of this, and we’ll get the hell out of here.” She nodded. The alarm monitor chimed, “Alert zone one. Alert zone one.” “Go,” he said. He shut the hatch and covered it with the mat.
