Tell Me Why, Hep.

The wind howled like a wounded animal, rattling the rusted-out shell of the old VW Beetle as Lily and Hep huddled inside. The storm had come back with a vengeance, the sky splitting open with jagged bolts of lightning that illuminated the ruined landscape in ghostly flashes. About the time they climbed inside the old car the sky split open and hail the size of marbles pelted the metal roof, creating an unbearable cacophony, each impact sending vibrations through their bones.

Lily was shivering, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or the aftershocks of adrenaline still coursing through her system. Her entire body ached from the interrogation, bruises forming beneath her skin like storm clouds gathering before a downpour. She hadn’t even had time to really assess the damages yet or to see if anything was broken and needed medical attention. She wiped at a streak of mud on her face with the back of her hand, her breath misting in the frigid air. Was that blood mixed in with the mud? She just couldn’t quite tell. 

Hep sat across from her in the cramped space, arms wrapped around himself for warmth, his hand’s rubbing up and down from his shoulders to his elbows in an effort to generate a little extra warmth. His wild, rain-soaked hair clung to his forehead, and he kept glancing at the storm outside as if expecting the men from the farmhouse to materialize from the darkness. It was entirely possible, Lilly realized. 

Lily had a million questions, but only one managed to break through the chaos in her head. “Why the hell did you take that painting?” she asked, nearly shouting to be heard over the storm.

Hep glanced down at the bundle of canvas tucked against his side, shielding it from the leaks in the roof where water dribbled through rusted-out holes. “Didn’t take it for the art,” he admitted. He pulled it out, keeping it close to his chest like a secret he wasn’t ready to share yet. “Something about it… caught my eye.”

Lily scoffed, trying to find a more comfortable position in what remained of where the passenger seat had been. The bare metal bolts and floor pressed into her sore thighs, and the standing shifter loomed nearer to her face than she was comfortable with. “What? You an art collector now?” Her shouts were barely audible over the raging storm and bouncing hail.

Hep either ignored the jab or was unable to hear it, and carefully unrolled the painting between them Both of them instinctively shifted their bodies to shield it from the icy rain dripping onto their shoulders. It was getting in through the rust holes in the roof, then falling from the ripped and rotten roof lining. In the dim light, the image slowly took shape—broad brushstrokes of muted blues and grays, a winding dirt road disappearing into a cluster of trees, the hint of a structure just beyond the bend.

Lily sucked in a breath as the hail threatened to break the windshield of the car. “I know this painting,” she said, blinking hard as memories fought to surface. “Marcus painted this. He did it not long after we met.” She shouted, hoping Hep could hear her, because she really didn’t feel like repeating herself. 

Hep’s jaw tightened. “You sure?” His voice could barely be heard over the crash of thunder and the continuing blast of ice bouncing off of metal and tempered glass.

Lily nodded, running her fingertips lightly over the dried paint, as though she needed to be careful not to smudge it. “He told me it was the view from his mother’s house.” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Or something like that.” She let her voice trail off. “He said it in a weird way—‘the view from Mother’s’, except his mom died when he was really young.”

Hep’s expression darkened instantly.

“What?” she asked with a blasting shout, noticing the shift in his demeanor. The hail turned into a pelting rain and they could finally start to hear without screaming. Lily’s ears rang from the relentless noise of it all. 

“You don’t get it,” Hep said, shaking his head. “He wasn’t talking about his mom’s house.” He pointed at the bottom right corner of the painting, where the signature had been almost completely worn away by time and weather. But beneath it, faintly visible, were four capital letters carved into the paint: MOTR. Before he’d taken the painting out of the frame, those letters hadn’t even been visible. The’d been completely covered by the ornate wooden frame someone had hand carved. Hep regretted leaving that behind at the farm house. What if it held more clues? He hoped they could go back for it. 

Lily frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Hep exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his damp hair. “MOTR isn’t a person. It’s a place. There’s an old abandoned mine entrance about ten miles from here—been closed off for years. Used to be some big corporate project before everything went to hell.” He tapped the painting. “This? This is the view from that mine. The road leading up to it.”

Lily felt her stomach drop. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve seen it with my own damn eyes. Only, without all the trees. I wouldn’t have recognized it from the painting if I didn’t know.

The weight of the revelation settled between them like an anvil. Lily stared at the painting, her mind racing. Marcus had never been a liar—at least, she had never thought he was. But this? This was a blatant deception.

“Why would he lie about it?” she muttered, mostly to herself. “Why not just say it was a mine? Tell me why, Hep.”

Hep’s silence was answer enough. 

Lily’s mouth went dry as the pieces started to come together. The men who had tortured Marcus had been looking for a bunker. A hidden place underground. A place with supplies, security, maybe even power.

And Marcus had known about this mine all along.

Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the twisted trees and broken landscape. The wind shrieked through the cracks in the car, making the whole structure groan. The storm wasn’t letting up—it was getting worse.

Lily let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the painting tightly. “Marcus knew,” she whispered. “He knew where the bunker was all along.”

And then, the real horror dawned on her. That’s why they were after me.

Part 8 of a series.