“Can we open it?” I asked.

“I left a crowbar near the hinge last week,” he said. “But it will take time to pry it.”

“I can do it,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “Show me where.”

He handed me a small, heavy silver pen from his pocket.

“Press the top,” he said.

I pressed it, and a thin, powerful beam of white light shot out from the tip.

“Go,” Vincent said. “I will keep them behind the bend.”

I did not argue.

I turned and ran down the dark tunnel, the small light guiding my steps.

The water splashed up around my thighs, freezing my skin.

The tunnel grew narrower, the ceiling sloping downward until I had to duck my head.

Ahead, the tunnel ended at a heavy iron grate set into the concrete wall.

Beyond the bars, I could see the dark, wet trunks of overgrown weeds and the distant, blurred lights of the rail yard.

The grate was secured with a heavy chain and a thick padlocked bar.

I shone my light around the base of the wall.