Sitting and waiting for my flashlight batteries to die was not an option. No one knew where I was, but at least I was alive. I had to try to escape on my own and going back the way I came in wouldn’t work. If this was a tunnel instead of a room, there had to be an opening at the other end. I prayed this was so.
Stuffing the phone back into my pocket, and wiping my eyes, I shone the flashlight at walls and ceiling. Nothing there gave me any hope. The beam above me groaned as more dirt sifted down.
How long would it be until the ceiling collapsed? The builders of this tunnel had used railroad ties or something similar to shore it up, but these had weakened with time. It would be safer to move on down the narrow passageway. Cobwebs clung to my hair and arms as I crept forward, trying not to jar the supports holding up a mountain of dirt.
The tunnel narrowed. Tree roots protruded like accusing fingers from ceiling and walls, slowing my progress. The ceiling dropped lower and I had to bend over.
Inches of dirt beneath my feet muffled my footsteps. The tunnel began to slope upward. Was it a long or short tunnel? Had someone, long ago, dug this as a means of escape? Could this have been used during the Civil War? If so, there should be another opening somewhere but would it have lasted through a century and a half, or had the second doorway already been sealed by collapsing dirt and rocks?
Excerpt from Murder By Moonlight, the fourth Ned McNeil cozy mystery. Free with Kindle Unlimited.
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