Bonner kept yelling, “Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!” and beating on the trapdoor with that ax handle he’d found. He sounded wild, out of his head. Like Adam. Like all of them.
Adam… why wasn’t he here? Disappeared all of a sudden, ran downstairs a while ago and never came back. Where was he?
“Son of a bitch!”
“Shut up, Seth, will you shut up! Quit beating on that door!”
Bonner stopped his hammering. From up in the tower, then, Mitch could hear noises-scraping sounds, as if something heavy were being dragged across the floor; hard footfalls on the stairs.
“Listen to that,” Bonner said. “They’re up to something. We got to get up there, Mitch.”
“How? That trap’s made of solid oak.”
“Get a tool, crowbar or something. Might be able to wedge a bar up in there and snap the lock.”
“We haven’t got a crowbar… ”
“One in Adam’s van,” Bonner said. He was so excited, spit came spraying out with every word. “I seen it, Mitch. I’ll run down and get it.”
Adam’s van. Adam. Where the hell was he?
“No,” Mitch said, “I’ll go. You stay here.”
Up in the tower, there was a loud thumping. Then a sliding, dragging, slithering sound-something heavy and loose being hauled up the stairs.
“No telling what them damn people are up to. We got to get up there, Mitch!”
Mitch turned his body in the cramped space, started down the stairs. He was almost to the bottom when Bonner yelled, “Son of a bitch!” again and beat another tattoo on the trap with that fucking ax handle.