Chapter 19
Nineteen
Sloane
I freeze when Jillian steps to the side and reveals what she called me down here for.
Right off the bat, I spot a skull and what looks like a spine with a few rib bones still attached. Another rib cage is visible about six feet away from the first one.
This smaller gorge is so narrow it barely sees any sunlight and a wet, earthy scent hangs in the air. Patches of colorful lichen cling to some of the rocks, and the damp ground is covered in ferns.
There’s no noise, other than the sound of my heart beating in my ears. The eerie stillness is only emphasized by the pale bones poking out of the lush green.
It’s a cemetery, the dead marking their own graves.
Behind me, Emo begins to whine.
“She’s confused,” Jillian volunteers. “Usually after she finds remains, she gets a treat and a rest.”
“Well, her work is done. Why don’t you take her back? I’ll be a while, I have to take some preliminary pictures, put together a record of all this, before I call in a team to process the scene.”
“Are you sure?”
I smile at her. “Yeah. Like Emo, I work best alone.”
It doesn’t really matter to me, but I have a feeling Jillian would feel guilty about leaving me here if I didn’t give her a reason to go.
“Need me to pass on any messages?”
“Actually…” I turn to look up at the one stretch of the ledge that looked to be bare rock from the top. “See that section of the ledge where nothing is growing?” I point out. “I called the office for some backup before I came down. When they get here, can you ask whoever shows up to see if there is access up there from the actual hiking trail?”
My guess is, there will be, simply because I don’t think these bodies were dragged here. I think they were dropped here.
“Communication will be easier,” she points out. “I’ll pass it on. Good luck.”
With that, Jillian and Emo start walking back to the main gorge, and soon disappear out of sight. Then I ease my backpack from my shoulders and retrieve my camera. Time to go to work.
I start from where I’m standing, taking a few wide-angle shots first, to show the location of the bones in the general lay of the land. Then I start focusing in on more detail, and make my way around in a big circle.
Time passes, I’m sure, but I’m so focused on recording what so far look to be three or maybe four sets of remains, I barely notice. I find scraps of clothing, a ball cap, and even a few shoes and a stray boot. If those are any indication, I think we’re dealing with at least one male, and two or more females.
As tempting as it is to get in real close and start moving some of those ferns out of the way to see what else they might be covering, I know we need a real forensic team in here to handle a dumping ground of this size properly. I don’t want to mess up the scene.
I grab a quick break and fish a water bottle out of my pack, taking a seat on a boulder. I’m now on the opposite side of the remains, where the rock walls narrow. My guess is in the spring, the winter runoff makes its way down the mountain and through this branch of the gorge to stream into the main creek. I imagine the water would run pretty deep during runoff, and the creek would be more like a river. I’m thinking it’s entirely possible some remains may have washed away downstream.
Taking a few deep swigs from my water bottle, I screw the cap on and tuck it back in my pack. The sound of falling stones has me scanning the far rock wall, where it appeared to be coming from. My eyes are immediately drawn to the section of exposed rock, wondering if perhaps backup has arrived.
I’m just getting up when I hear some kind of snap, and the next thing I know, shards of stone fly off the boulder I was sitting on.
My feet are already moving before my mind registers someone is firing at me. My camera is bouncing on my chest, so I grab on to it and tuck it inside my shirt. Then I duck down as low as I can, and run in a zigzag pattern, heading toward the narrowing section. I should have better coverage there.
If I can get there.
Another snap, and this time I can hear the bullet ping when it hits something. Not me, thank God, but that can change, I still have about a hundred and fifty yards to go. I grind my teeth and keep my legs pumping.
I think the shots are coming from that clearing up above, but I can’t be sure, otherwise I maybe could’ve dropped behind a boulder to find cover. Whoever is up there shooting, clearly doesn’t like me roaming around down here.
Still, I make it into the narrow passage, only about four feet wide. I immediately slow down and take stock. I don’t think I’m hit, even though the massive rush of adrenaline could make it hard to tell. I don’t seem to be bleeding from any holes. Once I’ve established that, I take a good look at my surroundings. The walls don’t seem quite as high here and look to be narrowing even farther at the top. With my back pressed against the rock face, I’m pretty well covered.
But cowering is not my style.
Unfortunately, my pack is still back there, but my walkie-talkie is in my pocket. When I pull it out and try to call in, nothing but heavy static greets me. I’m not getting a proper signal here. Not even the radio’s high frequency waves can make it out of this gorge.
Afraid I’ll make too much noise if I try again, I tuck it back in my pocket. I’m going to have to find my own way out of here.
When I look to my right, I notice there’s a bend in the narrow gorge I can’t quite look beyond. Curious to see what potentially lies beyond, I slip my sidearm from its holster and, sticking close to the rock wall, start moving deeper.
I suspect the entire bottom of this gulley is flooded during the winter runoff, since the bottom is rockier here, slippery with moss and lichen. I have to watch my footing. The last thing I want is to slip and mess up an ankle.
Once I reach the bend, I’m able to see where at the end of the winter, the water would start flowing down the mountain. In spring this would be a waterfall, but right now it’s not more than a trickle finding its way down the pile of rocks and larger boulders filling the far end of this valley.
A pile of rocks I might be able to climb.
I can’t go back the other way and make myself an easy target, when the shooter could still be up there, and I can’t count on someone else coming to rescue me. Hell, I don’t even know if anyone would’ve heard those muffled shots. Normally a rifle discharge would make a sharp cracking sound, but these were dull snaps, most likely suppressed. It’s more than possible those guys have no idea what’s going on, and are on their way to that clearing I asked them to find. I may have lured them right into the sights of that shooter.
I’ll have to get myself out of this gorge and then backtrack along the ridge. Hopefully, I can approach whoever is up there without being seen, and keep the element of surprise on my side.
All of that is assuming the shooter is still up there.
Only one way to find out.
The rocks are treacherous, slimy and slick, and I’m having a hard time keeping my footing.
Pausing to catch my breath, I lean back a little to look up the rest of the way. I’m about fifty or sixty feet from the top, but those remaining feet are a lot steeper. I already tucked my gun back in its holster, needing both hands to climb, but I feel like an easy target.
I can do this .
I’m not exactly sure how much time has passed but, glancing up to the patches of sky visible through the tree cover, I’m guessing it’s mid-afternoon. The last thing I want is to still be stuck on this mountain when darkness falls. I have only a general idea of where I am in relation to base camp, or how long it will take me to get back there. Plus, there’s the matter of the shooter between me and the others. Unless, of course, he’s already gone, but I won’t know that until I get to the top.
Determined, I resume my climb, making sure my foothold is solid before shifting my weight. I’m so focused on getting to the top, I don’t notice the branch hanging low over the ledge.
Or the owl perched on the tip of it.
But when it suddenly lets go, swooping close before it flies off, it startles me enough to lose my footing. For a moment I’m literally hanging on by my fingertips as my feet try to find purchase, but then they slip and I land hard on the next rock down, twisting my ankle.
I can’t hold back the yelp as a sharp pain shoots up my leg, and I sink down on my ass. My eyes sting with tears, but I blink them away. That fucking hurts.
I may well have just royally screwed myself.
Taking in a few deep breaths, I wait until the sharp edge of the pain ebbs to a steady throb. I don’t think I broke it, but I don’t want to take off my hiking boot to check. I may not be able to get it back on. Grabbing the radio from my pocket, I try to call out again, but the moment I depress the button, all I get is a high-pitched squeal, followed by static.
I’m not going to be able to call for help so it’s up to me to get my ass out of here. There’s only about twenty feet to go to the edge. Once I’m up there, I hope I’ll have more luck here putting out a call, so the sooner I get up there, the better.
Pulling myself up, I tentatively test my ankle, putting a little weight on it. The pain has me grit my teeth, but the ankle itself seems to hold. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk on it much, but right now my main worry is getting up these last twenty feet.
With my jaw clenched and sweat running down my face and back from the effort, I manage to get up high enough I can almost reach the edge with my fingertips. Almost, but not quite, and the rock up to the ledge is worn smooth by the water, nothing for my hands or feet to grab hold of.
So close, and yet so far.
I sink down on my butt to get off my ankle, and battle tears of frustration. I could head back down a bit and try to follow a different route up. There may be an easier climb to my right. But first I need a break, I’m getting pretty dehydrated. Unfortunately, my water and my granola bars are in my pack down in the gorge.
I’m suddenly not so sure I’ll be able to get myself out of this situation. A growing sense of panic has bile surge up from my stomach and I fight to keep it down. Panic is the most unproductive emotion; it paralyzes if you let it.
Desperate for something to do, I pull free my walkie-talkie again. Surely, I’ll be able to transmit something from here, I’m almost at the top. But when I depress the button, once again the walkie-talkie makes all kinds of noise. It’s not until I try to figure out how to adjust the frequency, I notice the metal casing of the radio has a deep dent I’m pretty sure wasn’t there before. It also looks like one of the buttons next to the short antenna is missing. When my hand automatically wanders to the pocket where I’d tucked the radio, I find a hole in the fabric.
That is definitely new.
Holy shit.
I’ve been in survival mode, not really thinking about the fact someone was taking potshots at me. Of course I never realized how close I came to actually getting hit. I’m thinking about it now.
As I lean my head against the cool rock and close my eyes for a moment, Aspen’s beautiful little face pops in my mind. For the first time since the bullets started flying, I allow myself to cry.
I cry until my tears run dry and my eyes feel gritty and swollen. I would kill for a drink of water, but that’s not going to happen unless I get moving. I can’t sit here all day.
Tilting my head back, I open my eyes and look up at the ridge…
Just as the toe of a boot appears overhead.