But it wasn’t starting from one minute and fifteen seconds.

The red numbers read: *00:45.*

“It’s a countdown override,” Daniel said, his eyes wide.

“They didn’t come to capture us,” I said, the cold truth finally settling in my chest.

“They came to bury us,” Caleb whispered from the corner.

The cell phone in my hand began to vibrate again, the green screen lighting up my fingers.

I slid my thumb across the vibrating glass and pressed the phone to my ear.

“Adrian,” a voice static-heavy and cold said through the speaker.

I did not answer.

“You have forty seconds to walk out with the child,” the voice said.

I cut the connection and shoved the phone into my pocket.

“Daniel, help me with this oak table,” I said.

The table was six feet of solid, iron-trimmed timber used for curing meats a century ago.

We dragged it across the damp flagstones, the wood screaming against the rock.

We wedged it diagonally against the iron pipe on the heavy oak door.

Dust rained down from the mortar joints in the ceiling.