The Depths of Betrayal

Day 26 – Buried Alive

Malcolm Reese hated waiting.

But as he lay against the cold dirt wall of his prison, listening to the distant voices above, he knew that was all he could do.

For now.

The pit was about ten feet deep—too high to climb, too sheer to dig footholds.

Above, the bastards who had thrown him in here were laughing, drinking, probably placing bets on how long he’d last.

He wiped the blood from his temple where Grady had cracked him with a rifle butt.

He had gone into Cole’s office with a knife.

And now he was rotting in the dark.

The question wasn’t if they were going to kill him.

It was when.

And Malcolm Reese didn’t plan on waiting around to find out.

He wasn’t alone.

In the corner of the pit, two figures sat in the shadows.

One was a wiry teenage boy, maybe sixteen, watching Malcolm with cautious, darting eyes.

The other?

A woman, mid-thirties, with short, dark hair and a bloodstained bandage around her upper arm.

She was thin, but her eyes were sharp.

She studied Malcolm for a long moment before speaking.

"You look like shit."

Malcolm let out a dry chuckle. "That supposed to be comforting?"

She smirked. "Only if you scare easy."

Malcolm exhaled, running a hand through his tangled hair. "And you are?"

"Hannah Mercer. Used to run supply runs between survivor groups before Cole’s boys caught me."

She tilted her head.

"And you?"

Malcolm hesitated.

Then—"I worked for Cole."

Her expression darkened.

The teenager, Jonah, flinched slightly, his gaze dropping to the dirt.

Hannah didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she let out a slow breath.

"And now you’re down here with us."

Malcolm nodded.

"Guess that means you’re not working for him anymore."

A humorless smirk crossed Malcolm’s lips. "Guess not."

Hannah leaned back against the wall.

"Then we better figure out how to get out of this damn hole."

Malcolm sat down, rubbing his aching ribs.

"Alright," he muttered. "We’re not dying in here."

Hannah scoffed. "Got a plan, genius?"

Malcolm ignored her sarcasm.

He was already scanning the pit.

Looking for weaknesses.

He pointed at the corner where the dirt was damp.

"That spot looks weaker than the rest. If we dig enough, we might collapse part of the wall."

Jonah shook his head. "They’ll hear us."

"Not if we work slow," Malcolm countered.

"Besides," Hannah added, "it’s not like we have better options."

Jonah hesitated—then, reluctantly, started clawing at the dirt.

Hannah smirked. "Guess that makes it unanimous."

And just like that—

The escape began.

They had only been digging for two hours when the voices above the pit changed.

No longer laughing.

Now they were tense.

Malcolm froze, straining to listen.

Then he heard it—

A voice he recognized.

Grady.

One of Cole’s top enforcers.

"Boss wants one of them out."

Malcolm’s stomach twisted.

Hannah cursed under her breath. "Shit."

Jonah went pale.

Above them, a rope dropped into the pit.

And then Grady’s voice—mocking, amused.

"Alright, rats. Who wants to go first?"

Malcolm’s hands curled into fists.

Because he knew what was coming.

This wasn’t a rescue.

This was an execution.

And if he didn’t act fast—

One of them wasn’t coming back.