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)
Then there’s movement ahead, a shadow detaching from the greater darkness. Then a voice, echoing in the tunnel.
“Who’s there?” the voice says.
A figure emerges into the edge of our lights and I’m about to cry out until I see that it’s a man in his thirties, dressed in hiking gear, a headlamp strapped to his forehead. He shields his eyes against our lights, his expression confused and slightly wary at our posse.
“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” the hiker says, lowering his hand. “Didn’t expect to meet anyone in here, let alone a bunch of trail riders.”
“We’re just passing through,” Eli says. His tone is neutral but carries a clear warning to the stranger: don’t ask questions.
The hiker seems to pick up on the undercurrent of tension. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. There’s a storm coming in fast.” He steps to the side of the tunnel, pressing against the wall to let us pass. “These old tunnels can flood pretty quick when it rains. Wouldn’t want to get caught in here when that happens.”
“We’ll keep that in mind,” Eli says, nudging his horse forward.
As I pass the hiker, our eyes meet briefly. There’s nothing threatening in his gaze, just ordinary human curiosity, perhaps a hint of concern at our obvious agitation. Yet part of me wants to go with him. For the first time since I hired Jensen, I’m starting to second guess my decision. Hanging out at a campground and roasting hot dogs sounds much more preferable than what this journey has become.
Jensen is the last to pass him, and I hear him murmur something I can’t quite catch. The hiker’s response is equally low, but his tone suggests surprise, perhaps alarm.
Then we’re moving deeper into the tunnel, leaving the hiker behind. The darkness swallows him within seconds.
The next section of tunnel is longer, the darkness more complete somehow. The walls press closer, the ancient stonework slick with moisture. Patches of ice glisten in our flashlight beams, forcing the horses to pick their way carefully.
“Not natural, this cold,” Hank mutters behind me. “Not for October.”
No one contradicts him. The temperature has indeed dropped far below what it should be, even accounting for the elevation and approaching storm. My breath clouds in front of me, the moisture crystallizing in the beam of my flashlight, and I shiver slightly.
“Almost through,” Eli calls back, his voice oddly muffled in the dense air.
A faint grayish light appears ahead, the end of the tunnel, though whether it opens to daylight or another tunnel is impossible to tell from this distance. The horses pick up their pace slightly, as eager as the rest of us to escape the oppressive darkness.
That’s when I hear it.
A soft scraping sound, like nails on stone, coming from somewhere behind us. I twist in the saddle. Nothing but empty tunnel stretches behind us.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Hank, who rides directly behind me.
But there’s no answer.
“Hank?” I call, louder this time.
Silence.
What the fuck? Where did he go?
I rein in Duke, turning him fully around. Cole and Red have already passed me, moving toward the growing light ahead. Only Jensen remains, his flashlight pointed at the ground in front of him.
“Where’s Hank?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.
Jensen’s eyes scan the darkness behind us. “I passed him not thirty seconds ago.” His beam sweeps the tunnel. “Hank!” he calls out, his voice echoing off the stone walls, returning to us in diminishing repetitions. Hank… hank… ank…
Nothing answers but the steady drip of water.
“We need to go back,” I say.
“No. We keep moving forward.”
“We can’t just leave him.”
“He probably fell behind to take a leak. We’ll wait for him at the tunnel exit.” His voice leaves no room for argument, but there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Something that looks disconcertingly like fear.
Suddenly a sound echoes through the tunnel—a distant shout, cut off abruptly.
Jensen’s head snaps around, staring into the darkness. “Ride,” he orders, voice tight. “Now!”
He doesn’t wait for my response, already urging Jeopardy forward, past Duke, toward the growing light ahead, clucking in a way that prompts both horses into a canter, one that has my hands in a death grip around the saddle horn.
Another sound reaches me, too distant to identify clearly, but raising the hair on the back of my neck nonetheless.
It’s low and echoing.
Sinister laughter.
14
JENSEN
“Hank!” Aubrey’s voice echoes through the tunnel, bouncing off the stone walls before fading into darkness. The worry in her tone cuts through the steady drip of water and the muffled breathing of the horses. “Did you hear that?” she asks me. “I thought I heard—”
Suddenly a beam of light appears around the bend behind us. Hank emerges on his mount a moment later, looking sheepish but distinctly unsettled.
“Sorry,” he mutters, clucking to his horse and hurrying to catch up. “Nature called. Didn’t think I’d be missed so quick.”