At the top of the stairs was a closed door, a small bit of rope in place of a doorknob. Lynn put a finger to his lips before pressing his ear to the door. He frowned, hands moving smoothly through signals neither of them had forgotten.
Two people, non-threatening.
Lynn looked at him, brow quirked in silent question. Anderson nodded and Lynn slowly pushed the door open.
Anderson's skin tingled as they slipped out into the sad, broken remains of what had once been an immense, likely beautiful kitchen. All that filled it then was animal skeletons and dead ivy. Anderson could hear the voices now, high-pitched in confusion and worry.
More captives? He looked at Lynn, who shrugged and nodded: no way to know, but that was his guess.
They crept cautiously through the house, grabbing up a broken chair leg and a piece of heavy boarding on their way. It wasn't a .45, but Anderson could make do. If nothing else, he'd shift and kick the ever living shit out of someone.