Amundson slammed through the doors of the Seattle Underground, his men at his heels. Where was the woman? Stairs ran down one side of the room, partially clogged with fallen brick. Otherwise the place was empty.
He started down, picking his way into darkness. Another wrench of the earth, and brick hailed down on him. He kept going and the walls groaned. He looked up. The red brick that yawned over the stairs ran like a wave, dust filling the air. Then they caved towards him.
Down or up?
Down was the place of graves.
He leapt up, shoving his men before him, as whole bricks slammed the arms he used to shield his head. He staggered and the shattered doors were—there—through the blinding dust. He slammed through into the street as the world seemed to explode. Bricks pummeled his back, the force tossed him forward and hurled him to the ground next to the woman’s abandoned leather jacket.
Dust made it hard to see as he lay there. He’d bet a month’s salary Drake was responsible for bringing the building down around him. In the street, people screamed. Someone stepped on his hand. If he didn’t move he was going to be trampled.
He struggled up and wiped blood off his face, and checked to make sure all his men had made it. Everyone accounted for, but the entire storefront was gone, and one side wall.
“Where’s Vallon?”
He turned to glare at the white gnome who’d appeared beside him, but Landon Snow didn’t look like much of an adversary anymore. His white hair stood in wild disarray. Dirt smeared his face and his pajama bottoms were covered in filth as if he’d fallen and crawled somewhere. In the process he’d lost one of the ridiculous moccasins he’d affected.
The earth lurched again and Amundson looked back at the building. Another wall crashed down, sending another wave of dust and debris into the street.