Page 232 of The Reluctant Hero

My whole body stiffens up as I take in the interior.

Outside, the place is falling apart. Inside, someone gutted out every single apartment and left one long room supported by random pillars. The wood under our feet is so fresh I can smell the pine.

“The outside is a shell,” South notes as if I can’t see it with my own eyes. She’s lucky I’m too confused to comment on it.

She paces all the way down the line while I stand in place. The space is enclosed. I glance back at the wooden piece that South kicked down so easily. It’s the only entrance I can see.

“Of course,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“You said it was underground,” she calls my attention from the other side of the long stretch.

We get busy looking for an underground hatch or a loose board. It takes hours before we call it quits.

“Not this site yet,” South nods and walks out.

It must feel good to be that sure of yourself. Or to just not give a shit about it all. I’m sure this is something that’s keeping her entertained for the day.

I try to reset the panel over the doorway and then give up. It won’t stay upright now that South cracked it down the center. By the time I get back in the truck, muttering curses under my breath, she hands me another page.

“This one.”

She sends out a text and starts driving.

“This might be pointless,” I grumble.

“It might not,” she shrugs. “Either way, you’re out of the house for a bit.”

I give her a look of disbelief but keep my mouth shut.

The next two spots are the same. More shoddy housing gutted on the inside, with the surroundings showing signs of severe poverty. The second building makes me want to heave. Dilapidated outside, the inside is set up with rooms that interconnect for the illusion of privacy. It has the same type of wallpaper the sex rooms had set up. There are shelves waiting for tools and cameras that make me sweat, pointed everywhere. The only thing saving it is the fact that it doesn’t look ready.

The third has a lot of furniture stored there: chandeliers like the one I saw at the entrance of the underground labyrinthof filth, ovens and fridges, tables, and chairs. Anything it might take to start up a new site.

I make notes of everything on the pages to keep track of what I’m seeing, just in case.

“These have been used,” I wave two pages at South as she drives to the last destination. “So what was this one for?”

It’s just after one, and I’m getting nervous about getting home before anyone else does. Did the maids suspect anything? I mean, South walked right in. Hopefully, they think I’m holed up in my room like a sulky teen.

“A place to store items as they come in.”

Her bland tone gives me a chill. I’m pretty sure she meanspeople, not items.

The last stop is in the middle of nowhere outside the city limits. A bunch of houses set in a cul de sac that should have seemed normal. Everything has been demolished to create a high-rise apartment complex. The barest traces of the start of construction are taped off so people won’t walk in. Beams jut up from a concrete foundation without much more added.

“Different,” South says before she gets out.

“You don’t say,” I glare at her from inside the truck.

I’m sighing, bracing myself for one more fruitless search, when South waves at me.

I’m out of the truck so fast my ass should have been oiled.

“What?” I ask her in excitement.

She doesn’t answer, pointing down at the ground.

I’m too familiar with the looped handles set in the floor. A double door leading into hell.

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