Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“Fastest way across,” Jensen says, though his expression is wary. “Fast is good with the weather changing. We’ll only have to take a few of them and then we’re back on the open trail.”
And with us being followed by who the hell knows what, I think.
As if the weather hears Jensen, the wind gusts stronger, carrying the first stinging particles of sleet. The storm is approaching faster than any of us anticipated.
“Looks like we don’t have much choice,” Red observes, eyeing the darkening sky.
“Single file through the tunnels. Stay close, stay together,” Jensen commands. His eyes meet mine, serious. “Horses spook easily in the dark and we don’t know what’s in there. It’s a popular place for hikers and sightseers. Kids might be running about. Keep a firm hand on Duke’s reins.”
I nod, swallowing the knot of anxiety in my throat. There’s something primal about the fear of dark, enclosed spaces, something that goes beyond reason and taps into more ancient instincts. Honestly, I welcome the idea of kids running around and spooking the horses. Would at least give a sense of normalcy where the only other creatures we’ve seen so far seem to be no more than shadow.
“Bring your flashlights out,” Jensen orders, producing his own from his pocket. “Eli, take the lead. I’ll bring up the rear.”
We reorganize our line, Eli moving to the front with his powerful beam cutting through the gathering gloom. I fall into position behind him, with Red, Cole, and Hank following. Jensen brings up the rear, a solid presence at our backs that provides more comfort than I care to admit.
As we approach the nearest tunnel entrance, the temperature seems to drop further, the air becoming dense, almost resistant. The horses grow increasingly nervous, snorting and tossing their heads. Duke’s entire body trembles beneath me, and it takes all my strength to keep him moving forward.
“Easy, boy,” I murmur, stroking his neck. “Just a tunnel. Nothing to be afraid of.”
But as the darkness swallows us whole, I find myself wishing I believed my own reassurances.
It’s wonderfully dry inside the tunnel but the darkness is absolute, the flashlight beams creating narrow corridors of visibility that do little to dispel the overwhelming blackness pressing in from all sides. The temperature drops immediately, a cold that seeps through layers of clothing to settle against the skin like damp silk.
The tunnel is wider than I expected, designed to accommodate rail cars, but the ceiling feels oppressively low. Water drips somewhere in the darkness, the sound echoing strangely, making it impossible to determine its origin. Our horses’ hooves create a hollow, rhythmic percussion that bounces off the stone walls, multiplying until it seems like we’re accompanied by an invisible herd.
“Watch your head,” Eli calls back, his voice tight. “Ceiling drops in places.”
I duck instinctively, though his flashlight reveals nothing but empty space above. The beam catches ancient timber supports at regular intervals, the wood blackened with age and moisture. Graffiti covers the walls, some fresh and garish, others faded to ghostly impressions. Names, dates, symbols. Generations of people marking their passage through this manmade cavern.
The air tastes metallic, tinged with diesel fumes and something older, mustier. The scent of decades of darkness and neglect.
I’m pretty good with tight, dark spaces, but here the claustrophobia is starting to build.
“How long is this tunnel?” I ask, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the confined space.
“I dunno, maybe eight hundred feet,” Eli replies. “First one’s the shortest.”
“First one?” I echo, my stomach dropping. “How many are there?”
“Seven,” he says, and my heart drops. “Some connected, some separated by short stretches of open track. Hopefully weather will be better in those parts.”
The knowledge that we’ll be spending awhile in these oppressive passageways settles like a weight on my chest. I focus on the steady rhythm of Duke’s movements beneath me, the reassuring solidity of his presence, the comfort that we’re backed by Jensen at the rear.
We’re perhaps halfway through the first tunnel when Eli’s flashlight catches something reflective ahead, two points of light that gleam momentarily before vanishing.
“Hold,” he calls, raising his hand. Our procession grinds to a halt, the sudden silence more unnerving than the echoing hoofbeats had been.
“What is it now?” Cole asks, his annoyed voice barely above a whisper.
Eli doesn’t respond, his flashlight beam sweeping methodically across the tunnel ahead. For several tense seconds, nothing moves. Then the light catches it again—a brief flash of reflection, like eyes catching the beam.
“Someone’s there,” Eli says, his voice steady despite the tension evident in his posture.
Behind me, I hear the distinctive sound of Jensen’s rifle being readied.
“Hello?” Eli calls into the darkness, echoing. “Identify yourself. Please.”
Silence answers him, thick and oppressive.
My pulse quickens, the throbbing in my temples intensifying. I strain to see beyond Eli’s light into the impenetrable darkness that seems to swallow our beams rather than be pierced by them.