One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(67)

We curve around slightly, then approach what appears to be the end, where the cave narrows down into a den-like space not so different from my domed tent. There’s another, smaller campfire that’s been built here. I peer behind us, just making out a piece of the vast opening where Martin still sits. Living room, I think. Making this the bedroom.

With two sources of heat, this place would feel cozy even as the temperatures plummeted. Had that given comfort to its inhabitant—say, Timothy O’Day—before the first winter storm arrived and buried all his available firewood in feet of snow?

“What have you found?” I ask Bob quietly.

“Just this. Someone’s clearly camped out here. But who? When?” Bob shrugs. “Marty has his symmetrical-stone theory. Believes it’s proof it was Tim. But I’ve been all through the cave, as well as the area outside of it. I can’t find any traces of Tim’s pack, gear, clothing. There’s also no sign of bedding.”

“I thought Tim didn’t have his sleeping bag or tent.”

“No, bush-craft bedding. A layer of harvested moss, or a mat of thin pine boughs. If Tim stayed here for the long run, he’d want something other than stone to sleep on, and not just for comfort, but for insulation as well.”

I nod. “Having a second fire back here implies this was a resting area. But you’re saying not for the long haul.”

“That would be my guess. There’s no food refuse either. Say, bones from small animals or discarded roots, dried mushrooms.”

“Do you really know how to live off the land?”

“I know enough.” Bob shrugs. “Like I said, I didn’t lie about everything.”

I still don’t feel like letting him off the hook just yet, but nod in acknowledgment. “Nemeth said plenty of hikers liked to take shelter in these caves, enjoy a campfire.”

“I found several more used caves,” Bob confirms. “Though to be fair, this is the only one with such a distinctly aesthetic approach to the stones ringing the campfires.”

“Maybe we’re all right. Tim did make it this far. Took shelter long enough to catch his breath, recoup his strength. Then he headed back out. Attempted to climb the cliff face, knowing he’d never survive through the winter.”

“If his journey ended here,” Bob says carefully, “we should’ve found his pack. That implies he moved on, if he was ever here at all.”

“Daisy caught a scent,” I murmur.

“We walked through that area; it’s right after this cave. I didn’t see anything.”

I sigh unhappily. “Did you happen to look down low? You know, for any underground openings?”

“I don’t do down low very well.”

Now we sigh together, knowing what we have to do next.



* * *



—

    We leave Martin to play with pebbles as we exit the cave. I hesitate for a moment, not just because of the heat awaiting us, but because I can’t stand the thought of once more being so exposed.

Bob seems to share my concern, both of us drawing to a halt right before the cavern opening. Here, we have a thin cover of shadow before bursting into full sun. The view is gorgeous from this vantage point, the gray-brown expanse of the boulder field rippling like a dry riverbed right before the green explosion of the abutting woods. A blue-tinged bluff rises to the right, not nearly as impressive as the cliff face, but offering up its own patchwork of forest shadings. If I squint hard enough, I think I can almost make out water in the distance. One of the streams we crossed or maybe even the lake near our campsite.

Or it’s all just wishful thinking.

I return my gaze to the piles of rocks strewn before us. Midafternoon now. Do this, return to base camp, welcome the rescue choppers.

Only a handful of hours left.



* * *



—

We jump down from the cave entrance without speaking. Bob heads straight for the cover of the largest boulder and I follow. We don’t put our mutual fear into words, just watch each other’s back as we thread our way to the place where Daisy detected the odor of decomp.

According to Luciana, the dog kept losing the scent trail. Now that I’m walking the terrain, I get Luciana’s point. It feels to me like the rocks themselves would trap the scent in places such as this corridor, making for an easier time, not more difficult.

We hit a dead end at a particularly large boulder. After a moment’s hesitation, we both scramble up to the top of it, leapfrog our way quickly another ten to fifteen feet, then drop down again. I feel a patch of coolness against my ankle.

Sure enough, there’s a thin black void beneath one of the rocks. Too small for a human to wiggle through, but further evidence of air pockets. We continue on more slowly.

Back and forth. I start sweating heavily again, using my bandana to blot at my forehead. It’s about as dirt-stained as I am. I long for civilization, running water, hot showers. I wonder how Luciana, Daisy, and Nemeth are doing.

Moving fast, I’m sure. As cavalries go, we couldn’t have chosen better.

“It’s been more than twenty minutes,” Bob says behind me.

I nod. I’m hot, tired, and defeated. And I have that twitch back. Bob is looking hinky as well. There’s something about standing in the middle of a barren rock field that feels so vulnerable. I have images of a wild-eyed human popping up to surprise us. Maybe even now the predator is hunkered down low, watching our progression, waiting to attack.