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look inside.”
    “I know, but you can’t. It’s not going to open.”
    “There has to be a way.”
    I lightly tug at his hand. “You’re not going to find it today.”
    “But I was so sure it would be different. I was so sure.” His voice cracks.
    “I know. But you saw the door. It’s sealed shut. Nothing has changed from the last time we were here.”
    “But—”
    “It’s time to go now.” I slowly lead him away from the bunker, his larger frame falling against mine. His manic energy from earlier is gone. This is always how we end up leaving Camp Hero—him dejected, me trying to hold him up and struggling against the weight.
    We start through the path in the woods. “Lydia,” he says softly, “I hope you never have to know what it feels like to lose someone you love. I know you must think I’m a crazy old man sometimes, but I think you’d be surprised at what you would do if it were you. At what you would feel you have to do.”
    I blink drops of water from my eyes. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Grandpa.”
    “I know there’s something here. I know there is.” The conviction in his voice sends a chill across my skin. As I shiver in the cold rain, I realize I’ve left my sweater at the bunker.
    “Grandpa, we need to turn ar—” But I stop before I finish the sentence. If we both go back there, I’ll never get him to leave again. “I forgot something. Can you go to the car? I’ll meet you there soon.”
    He nods. I squeeze his arm before I let go. I stand watching as he shuffles down the path, a hunched gray figure fading into the trees. As soon as he’s out of sight, I walk away, ducking under branches and wiping raindrops from my cheeks.
    In just a minute, I’m stepping out and into the clearing, pushing my dripping bangs off my forehead. My sweater is on the ground near the tree trunk I was leaning against, the cream-colored fabric curled into a wet ball. I pick it up and turn back to the path. But something catches my eye. I freeze and drop the sweater back to the ground.
    The bunker is still tucked into the side of the hill, half covered with leafy branches. It all looks the same, except for one major difference: The cement door is wide-open.

C HAPTER 4
     
    “I s anyone there?”
    My voice is loud in the empty clearing. There’s no answer. I look around, searching for a park ranger, for anyone who can explain why this sealed concrete has suddenly opened. But I’m alone.
    I inch closer. The cement has shifted, leaving a large, open space on the right side, as if it’s an ordinary sliding glass door that someone pushed to the left.
    I pause within arm’s length. “Hello?” I call into the darkness of the open door. Shadows fall across the entrance, and I struggle to see into the space beyond. There are several black shapes, what looks like broken furniture spread across the floor.
    Why is the seal open? And how ? Goose bumps rise on my arms, and I know they have nothing to do with the cold rain. I should go get camp security and notify someone that the bunker is open. I should get my grandfather, though I know he would go barreling inside without a second thought. I automatically reach for my cell phone before I remember that I left it in the car.
    I turn away, ready to find help, when I hear a low humming noise. I cock my head, concentrating on the sound. It’s a faint buzzing that echoes through the cement, and it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away. I take a step toward the bunker, and another one, until I’m standing in the entrance, framed by the concrete. The large, open space is shaped in a half circle, with a wide, curved back wall. The floor is littered with broken pieces of wood and layers of dust. The smell hits me. It’s musty and acidic, like old batteries.
    There are metal doors all along the wall, some nailed shut, some boarded up, some falling off their hinges. I follow the low humming sound to the second one from the right. The door is a dull