The first bullet shattered the window six inches above my head.

The second struck the stove.

And the third nearly killed Percy Dunn.

He had been reaching for the little metal box when Wesley Cade threw himself across the room and knocked him to the floor.

Glass exploded.

A pot of beans crashed against the wall.

And outside, in the darkness beyond my kitchen, Rufus Bellamy screamed:

“THAT BOX BELONGS TO ME!”

I crouched behind the worktable, my heart pounding so violently I could barely breathe.

Three weeks earlier, that same man had laughed at my body in front of six miners.

He had told me I would eat the profits before Friday.

He had sold me three sacks of ruined flour for five dollars.

Now he was standing outside my kitchen with a loaded revolver, prepared to kill three people to get back whatever was hidden inside those sacks.

Wesley grabbed my wrist.

“Listen carefully. Percy knows the back way to the stable. Take the box and go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“He’s not here to bargain.”

Another bullet tore through the wooden door.

Percy cried out.

For one terrible second, I thought he’d been hit.

But he was clutching his injured knee, having twisted it when he fell.

I looked at the little black box lying beneath the table.

Its brass corners glinted in the firelight.

M. & V.

Four letters.

A secret worth more than three human lives.

I crawled toward it.

Outside, Rufus began laughing.

“You hear me, woman? You’ve got ten seconds!”

I reached beneath the table and closed my fingers around the box.

It was heavier than I expected.

Wesley pulled back the hammer of his old revolver.

“Nine!”

Percy dragged himself toward the back window.

“Eight!”

I looked toward the stove.

Then at the sack of flour beside it.

And suddenly, an idea came to me.

It was foolish.

Dangerous.

Possibly the last idea I would ever have.

But Rufus Bellamy had made one mistake since the day we met.

He believed a hungry woman could only think about food.

“Percy,” I whispered. “Give me that flour.”

He stared at me.

“What?”

“The sack. Now.”

“Seven!”

Percy pushed it across the floor.

I tore the top open.

“Six!”

Wesley understood before Percy did.

He grabbed a piece of burning wood from the stove with the iron tongs.

“Five!”

I rose just enough to throw a cloud of flour toward the doorway.

“Four!”

Rufus kicked the door open.

The flour burst into the air between us.

Wesley hurled the burning wood toward the opposite side of the room, not into the flour cloud, but against a pile of damp firewood.

The sudden movement made Rufus flinch.

He fired blindly.

The shot struck the ceiling.

Wesley lunged.

The two men crashed against the doorframe.

I grabbed Percy beneath one arm.

“Move!”

We stumbled through the rear doorway and into the cold night.

Behind us came a terrible crash.

Then a scream.

I didn’t know whose.

I only knew that the metal box was pressed against my chest.

And somebody was chasing us.

We ran behind the abandoned silver office.

Percy’s injured leg slowed him.

Every step made him gasp.

The street beyond the buildings was empty.

Most of Copper Jack had gone to bed.

No lamps burned in the mercantile.

No voices came from the boardinghouses.

It was as if the entire town had decided not to see what was happening.

Then Percy stopped.

“Ma’am.”

“What?”

He pointed toward the alley.

A wagon was waiting there.

Two horses stood harnessed beneath the moonlight.

And beside them stood Sheriff Amos Grady.

I almost cried with relief.

“Sheriff! Rufus Bellamy’s shooting at us!”

Grady looked at me.

Then at the box.

His expression didn’t change.

“Hand it over.”

I stopped.

“What?”

“The box, Mrs. Whitcomb.”

He knew my name.

He knew about the box.

But I had never told him either.

Slowly, I stepped backward.

Grady reached beneath his coat.

And pulled out a revolver.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Percy whispered, “Oh, Lord.”

I understood then.

Rufus hadn’t come alone.

The sheriff wasn’t there to protect us.

He was there to make certain we never reached anyone who could help.

“How much did he pay you?” I asked.

Grady’s jaw tightened.

“Enough.”

I looked behind us.

The alley was narrow.

The buildings rose on either side.

Percy could barely walk.

There was nowhere to run.

Then a voice came from the darkness.

“Amos, put the gun down.”

Wesley stood at the far end of the alley.

Blood covered one side of his face.

His coat was torn.

But he was alive.

And his revolver was pointed directly at the sheriff.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Grady smiled.

“You wouldn’t shoot a lawman, Cade.”

Wesley took one step forward.

“Tonight, I might.”

The sheriff hesitated.

I saw his eyes move toward Rufus’s mercantile.

He was calculating.

Trying to decide which man was more dangerous.

And then, from somewhere behind the buildings, a girl screamed.

“HELP! PLEASE!”

It was a child’s voice.

Thin.

Terrified.

I recognized it immediately.

The little girl who had brought me the ledger page.

The bookkeeper’s daughter.

Grady turned his head.

That was all Wesley needed.

He fired.

The bullet struck the wagon wheel inches from the sheriff’s hand.

The horses reared.

Grady stumbled backward.

And Wesley shouted, “RUN!”

I grabbed Percy.

We ran toward the scream.

Behind the old blacksmith shop, we found the girl kneeling beside a man lying in the dirt.

He was bleeding from his shoulder.

His glasses had been crushed.

A dark stain spread across his white shirt.

“Daddy!” the girl sobbed. “Please don’t close your eyes!”

The man’s name was Edwin Harlow.

Rufus Bellamy’s bookkeeper.

He looked up when I approached.

“The flour,” he whispered.

I knelt beside him.

“What about it?”

His fingers closed around my sleeve.

“I hid it there.”

My blood went cold.

“The box?”

He nodded weakly.

“Bellamy was going to destroy everything. I couldn’t let him.”

“What’s inside?”

His lips trembled.

“Not just money.”

He coughed.

“Not just stolen wages.”

I leaned closer.

“Then what?”

He grabbed my wrist so tightly it hurt.

“The mine collapse…”

His eyes filled with tears.

“It wasn’t an accident.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

I stared at him.

“What are you saying?”

He swallowed painfully.

“The supports were removed. Bellamy ordered it.”

Percy made a strangled sound behind me.

“Why would anyone do that?”

Edwin looked toward the mountain.

“Because those men found something underground.”

“What did they find?”

His breathing became shallow.

“A second vein.”

“Silver?”

He shook his head.

“Something worth much more.”

Before he could explain, a gunshot cracked from the street.

Edwin cried out.

I threw myself over the girl.

Wesley appeared beside us.

“We have to move!”

But Edwin caught my apron.

“Listen to me.”

I bent close.

“There’s a second compartment.”

“In the box?”

He nodded.

“Under the lining.”

“What is it?”

His eyes widened.

“The names.”

Then his hand fell away.

The girl began screaming for her father.

Wesley pressed his fingers against Edwin’s neck.

“He’s breathing. Barely.”

He lifted the wounded man with Percy’s help.

We carried him into the blacksmith’s shop and barred the door.

Mrs. Finch, the elderly schoolteacher who lived nearby, came running when she heard the shots.

She took Edwin and his daughter into her care while Wesley and I hid in the rear storeroom.

For the first time that night, we opened the box.

Inside were three objects.

A leather notebook.

A folded mining survey.

And a pouch containing twelve gold coins.

Wesley opened the notebook.

His eyes moved down the first page.

Then the second.

Then the third.

“Good God.”

“What?”

He turned the book toward me.

The pages listed payments.

Thousands of dollars.

False mining expenses.

Insurance settlements.

Money stolen from miners’ wages.

And names.

Rufus Bellamy.

Sheriff Amos Grady.

Silas Mercer.

The wealthiest men in Copper Jack.

But one particular entry made Wesley’s hands begin to shake.

BLACK MESA — EAST SUPPORT REMOVAL.

AUTHORIZED.

$3,200.

Below it was a date.

Three days before the collapse.

Percy stared at the page.

“They knew?”

Wesley said nothing.

“They knew those men could be buried?”

I felt sick.

Twenty-eight men.

Twenty-eight fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers.

Buried alive so someone could profit from what lay beneath the mountain.

I remembered the desperation at the mine entrance.

The women crying.

The rescuers digging through the night.

The bundles of food lowered through that narrow pipe.

And I realized something so terrible I could hardly say it.

“They didn’t expect anyone to survive.”

Wesley looked at me.

“No.”

His voice was barely audible.

“They didn’t.”

I remembered Edwin’s last warning.

The second compartment.

I lifted the pouch.

Twelve gold coins fell into my palm.

Then I peeled back the worn lining of the box.

Beneath it lay a narrow envelope sealed with black wax.

Written across the front were four words.

FOR THE FEDERAL INSPECTOR ONLY.

I broke the seal.

Inside was a small photograph.

Six men stood outside the entrance of Black Mesa Mine.

Behind them was a wagon loaded with heavy timber.

I recognized Rufus Bellamy.

I recognized Sheriff Grady.

And I recognized Silas Mercer from the portrait hanging in the town hall.

But the fourth man made Wesley go completely still.

His breathing changed.

I looked at him.

“Wesley?”

He took the photograph from my hand.

For several seconds, he said nothing.

Then he whispered:

“That’s my brother.”

I stared at him.

“Your brother?”

He nodded.

“Elias Cade.”

I had never heard him speak of Elias before.

“Where is he now?”

Wesley’s face drained of color.

“He’s been missing for eleven months.”

I looked back at the photograph.

Elias stood beside Rufus with one hand resting on the wagon.

There was something strange about his expression.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked frightened.

On the back of the photograph was a handwritten message.

I read it aloud.

IF THE EAST TUNNEL FAILS, SEARCH BELOW THE OLD ASSAY OFFICE.

My heart stopped.

The old assay office.

The abandoned building beside my kitchen.

The building where Percy and I had spent weeks baking biscuits.

Wesley stared at me.

And suddenly, the pieces began falling into place.

The hidden ledger.

The false mining records.

The stolen timber.

The mysterious gold.

The missing brother.

And the flour sacks that had somehow ended up in my hands.

“Percy,” I whispered. “Where does the old assay building’s cellar lead?”

He frowned.

“There’s a sealed tunnel underneath. They used it years ago to move ore carts.”

“Does it connect to Black Mesa?”

He hesitated.

“Maybe. Nobody’s used it since the old mill closed.”

Wesley folded the photograph.

“We need to get underground.”

But before he could move, Mrs. Finch burst into the storeroom.

Her face was white.

“There’s a crowd coming down the street.”

“How many?” Wesley asked.

“At least a dozen.”

“Miners?”

She shook her head.

“Armed men.”

Then she said the words that made my stomach turn.

“They’re carrying oil cans.”

I ran to the window.

Through the darkness, I saw Rufus Bellamy standing in the street.

Sheriff Grady was beside him.

Men were surrounding the Lantern Kitchen.

Two carried rifles.

Three carried lanterns.

And one was pouring kerosene along the wooden wall.

“No,” I whispered.

Not my kitchen.

Not the place Percy and I had built.

Not the only home I had left.

I shoved past Wesley.

He caught my arm.

“Where are you going?”

“To stop them!”

“You’ll get killed!”

I pulled free.

“Then help me!”

We raced through the back passage toward the kitchen.

But we were too late.

Rufus raised a burning lantern.

For one terrible moment, the flame hung in the darkness.

Then he threw it.

The Lantern Kitchen erupted in fire.

I screamed.

The roof caught first.

Then the wooden porch.

Flames raced up the walls.

The sign Percy had made began to burn.

The little railway lantern above the door crashed to the ground.

I tried to run toward it.

Wesley held me back.

“There’s nothing you can do!”

I fought him.

I screamed.

I begged.

But the flames climbed higher.

Everything I had built was disappearing before my eyes.

Then something impossible happened.

Beneath the roaring fire, I heard a sound.

Three knocks.

A pause.

Then three more.

Coming from below the floorboards.

Percy heard it too.

His eyes widened.

“Ma’am…”

The knocking came again.

And from beneath the burning Lantern Kitchen, a man’s voice shouted:

“HELP US! WE’RE STILL DOWN HERE!”

Wesley froze.

His face changed in a way I had never seen.

The voice came again.

Weak.

Desperate.

But unmistakable.

“WESLEY! DON’T LET THEM SEAL THE TUNNEL!”

Wesley staggered backward.

He looked at me.

Then at the burning building.

And whispered a name.

“Elias?”

His brother.

The man missing for eleven months.

The man everyone believed had vanished into the mountains.

He was alive.

And he was trapped beneath my burning kitchen.

But before we could reach the cellar entrance, Rufus Bellamy appeared through the smoke.

He raised his revolver.

Pointed it straight at Wesley’s chest.

And said:

“YOUR BROTHER SHOULD HAVE STAYED BURIED.”

Then he pulled the trigger.

TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4.