Chapter 20
twenty
She didn’t reply.
Elliot cursed under his breath but began removing his pack. If she was going to get herself killed, he wasn’t letting her do it alone. He pushed their gear through first, then followed, his shoulders scraping against the ice as he inched forward.
The fissure opened abruptly, and he tumbled into a low-ceilinged passage beyond.
Rue stood there, waiting, her grin huge. She held out her arms as if to embrace the cavern. “See? What did I tell you? Nature always provides a way out.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but his retort died as his headlamp beam caught something embedded in the ice wall behind her. Not another filament formation—something manufactured.
“Rue, look.” Slowly, he stepped around her, approaching the wall. There, embedded in the ice, was a climbing anchor, its once-bright aluminum dulled with age and exposure.
“Someone’s been here before,” he murmured, reaching out to touch it.
Rue was beside him in an instant, her bare hand hovering inches from the frozen metal. “That’s top-of-the-line gear.”
He scowled at the ice screw and carabiner. “Atlas Frost standard issue.”
“Maren,” Rue whispered, her voice catching.
He turned to look at her. She’d gone ghost white, and her eyes had that thousand-yard stare of someone who had just received the worst kind of news.
“Who?”
She blinked and shook her head. “No one. Nothing.”
She was lying. It hurt more than he wanted to admit that she wouldn’t confide in him.
He turned away, sweeping his headlamp beam across the walls.
If there were one piece of equipment, there might be more.
Something caught the light about ten feet ahead—another glint of metal, this time attached to a frayed length of rope.
“There,” he pointed, already moving toward it.
The rope was half-buried in the ice, but what remained hung free—about fifteen feet of high-tensile climbing line, still anchored to the wall by a solid ice screw. Beyond it, the tunnel curved sharply, opening into what looked like another chamber.
Rue ran her fingers along the rope, testing its strength. “It’s degraded, but still solid enough to support weight.”
Elliot played his light further along the passage.
More evidence of human presence emerged from the shadows: a crushed oxygen canister, bootprints preserved in what had once been mud but was now frozen solid, and most tellingly, a spray-painted arrow on the wall, its red paint stark against the blue ice.
“This wasn’t just exploration,” he said, throat tightening. “This was an escape route.”
Rue moved ahead, following the arrow, her steps quickening. “If they marked a way out, we can follow it.”
The passage widened as they progressed, revealing more abandoned gear: another length of rope, a broken ice axe, a torn backpack half-buried in the frozen ground.
Elliot felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Whatever had happened here, it had happened fast. Nobody abandoned this much equipment voluntarily.
“Elliot,” Rue called from ahead, her voice strange. “You need to see this.”
He caught up to find her standing at the edge of a small alcove, her headlamp illuminating what could only be described as a cache.
Stacked against the wall were three sealed equipment cases, a coil of pristine climbing rope still in its packaging, and all kinds of other equipment.
If it wasn’t for the layer of frost on everything, he’d think the gear’s owners were here somewhere, planning to return at any moment.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, kneeling to examine the cases.
The first contained emergency rations—freeze-dried meals, energy bars, and chemical heat packs.
The second held a first aid kit more comprehensive than anything they carried on their own expedition.
The third was locked with a combination padlock.
“This changes everything,” he said, allowing himself the first flicker of hope since they’d fallen. “With this gear, we’ve got a real shot at getting out.”
Rue nodded, but her expression remained troubled. “But who left all this behind? And why? And where did they go?”
All valid questions, but they didn’t have time to dwell on any of them. Elliot began gathering what they could use. His knee throbbed as he worked, but the pain seemed distant now, overshadowed by the sudden possibility of survival.
He looked at the arrow painted on the ice again and calculated the odds of it leading them to safety.
Rue was still examining the locked case, her brow furrowed in concentration. “What do you think is in here?”
“Nothing that matters right now,” he replied, already packing the gear into the abandoned backpack. “We need to move while we still have energy.”
She nodded reluctantly and stood, wincing slightly as she put weight on her right ankle. He caught the grimace before she could hide it.
“You’re hurt,” he said, not a question.
“It’s nothing. Just twisted it in the fall.” She waved off his concern. “I’ve hiked Kilimanjaro with worse.”
He didn’t doubt it—Rue had an almost supernatural tolerance for pain—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t serious. “Let me check it before we start climbing.”
She rolled her eyes but sat on one of the cases, extending her leg. He knelt, carefully removing her boot and feeling along the joint. It was swollen but not distorted, suggesting a sprain rather than a break.
“Can you flex it?”
She demonstrated. Her range of movement was limited but functional. “See? Nothing major.”
“Let me wrap it.”
He pulled a roll of athletic tape from the first aid kit, working quickly but gently to stabilize her ankle.
The muscle memory came back easily—he’d wrapped countless sprains during his military days.
His fingers moved deftly despite the cold, crossing the tape in a figure-eight pattern around her ankle and foot.
“So, doctor,” she said, watching him work, “will I live?”
“If the cold doesn’t get us first.” He secured the end of the tape. “How’s that feel?”
She flexed her foot experimentally. “Better. Thanks.”
As he helped her pull the boot back on, he couldn’t help noticing how small her foot seemed in his hands. Rue was all boldness and swagger, larger than life in every way that mattered, but physically, she was petite. Breakable. The thought sent a fierce surge of protectiveness through him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said, pushing down the surge of protectiveness that threatened to overwhelm him. “Just making sure it’s secure.”
He packed the remaining supplies, using the familiar routine to center himself. He tested the straps of the abandoned pack, grateful that whoever had left it behind had invested in quality gear.
“Ready?” he asked, shouldering the load.
“Born ready, Wilde.” Rue stood, testing her weight on the wrapped ankle. She moved with only a slight limp—manageable, but he’d need to watch her for signs of worsening.
They followed the painted arrow deeper into the passage.
The arrow led them around a bend and into a vast chamber that stole Elliot’s breath.
Unlike the previous spaces, this cavern soared upward in a natural chimney, its walls studded with what looked like dozens of climbing anchors glinting in his headlamp beam.
Someone had transformed this place into an escape route—a vertical highway back to the surface.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, tilting his head back to follow the path of anchors. They spiraled upward in a methodical pattern, each one placed at the optimal distance for a climber to ascend safely. “This is professional-grade work.”
Rue limped to his side, her injured ankle clearly bothering her more than she wanted to admit. “Surface access. Has to be. They wouldn’t have installed this if it didn’t lead somewhere useful.”
The question was, did they attempt the climb?
On the surface, they had a better chance of calling for rescue—if the comms had been restored at the station—but they’d also be more exposed to the elements and potentially trapped by the storm.
At least down here, they didn’t have to contend with slicing wind and blinding snow.
Elliot ran the numbers in his head, calculating their odds like a mission briefing.
The climb would be technical—at least a hundred feet, maybe more, with anchors spaced far enough apart that a fall could mean serious injury or death.
But staying down here meant slow hypothermia as their body heat leached away into the ice.
He studied Rue’s face in the pale glow of his headlamp.
Her jaw was set in that determined line he knew so well, but he could see the exhaustion creeping in around her eyes.
The adrenaline that had carried them through the fall was wearing off, leaving behind the bone-deep weariness that came after trauma.
“We need to rest first,” he said, though every instinct screamed at him to keep moving. “Eat something. Warm up as much as we can before we attempt that climb.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, but her voice lacked its usual conviction.
“You’re not fine. Neither am I.” He shrugged off the pack, his shoulder protesting the movement. “Five minutes. That’s all.”
She didn’t argue, which told him more about her condition than any complaint would have. Rue never agreed to rest unless she was running on fumes.
He pulled out two of the emergency rations from the cache, handing one to her. The packaging crackled in the cold as he tore it open, releasing the chemical heat pack inside. Within seconds, warmth radiated through the pouch.
“Beef stew,” he read from the label. “Could be worse.”
She didn’t have a smart remark, which worried him as he settled down beside her.
They ate in companionable silence, sharing body heat in the small space. The warm food helped, sending energy back into his limbs, but it also made him acutely aware of how cold they both were. Rue’s lips had a faint blue tinge, and her bare hand trembled slightly as she ate.
“Let me see your hand,” he said when she finished.
“It’s fine.”
“Rue.”
She sighed and extended her hand. The skin was pale, almost waxy, and when he pressed his thumb against her fingernail, it took too long for the color to return. Early stage frostbite.
“Shit,” he muttered, already digging through the first aid kit. He found what he was looking for—chemical hand warmers. He activated two of them, pressing one into her palm and wrapping her fingers around it.
“That’s better,” she said after a moment, some color returning to her cheeks.
He kept hold of her hand, rubbing circulation back into her fingers.
Her skin was soft beneath the calluses from years of climbing and adventure sports, and he found himself memorizing the feel of it.
When this was over—if they made it out—would she let him hold her hand again?
Or would they go back to their careful dance of almost-touches and unspoken words?
Dangerous thoughts.
He slid off his glove. “Here, take mine.”
She shook her head. “It’s too big. I won’t be able to grip anything.”
He flattened out her hand and slid the glove on over the warmer. It was too big. “At least wear it while you warm up.”
Rue flexed her fingers inside his glove, the movement slow and awkward, but at least they’d be protected. “This is ridiculous. You’ll freeze.”
Without his glove, his hand already burned in the cold. He tucked it inside his jacket, against his chest. “I run hot, remember? Wear it to warm up, and we’ll switch off if we need to.”
Her eyes softened for a moment, vulnerability flickering across her face before she tucked it away behind her usual bravado. “Ever the hero, huh, Wilde?”
“Not a hero. Just practical.” He wasn’t being heroic—he was being selfish. The thought of Rue losing fingers to frostbite made his stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with practicality and everything to do with how he felt about her.
They sat together in silence until they finished their stew.
Despite the circumstances, it was nice, sitting here sharing a meal with her.
He caught himself staring at the curve of her mouth in the pale glow of his headlamp.
Even here, trapped in a frozen cathedral beneath tons of ice, exhausted and hypothermic, she was beautiful.
He’d always thought so, ever since he was old enough to notice such things.
He remembered it so clearly—that summer when they were both sixteen.
He’d gone with his dad to the HORNET training compound in Wyoming, and they’d stayed all summer while Dad taught advanced combat skills to new recruits.
Rue had spotted their truck rumbling up the long drive to her family’s home and had raced them on horseback, her honey-colored hair streaming behind her as she leaned closer to the horse’s neck.
No saddle.
No reigns.
Just wild, untamed, unstoppable Rue. She’d jumped a fence just to show she could and landed with a whoop that made something in his chest ache with longing.
Even back then, she’d been fearless. Even back then, he’d been careful.
She beat them to the house and slid off the horse to greet them, wearing nothing but tiny jean shorts and a bikini top, her feet bare, and if Elliot was honest with himself, that was the moment he fell in love with her.
“What are you thinking about?” Rue asked, her voice pulling him back to their frozen reality.
“Nothing,” he lied, pushing to his feet, ignoring the protest from his knee. “We should move. The longer we wait, the colder we get.”
Rue stood, testing her weight on the wrapped ankle. She grimaced but didn’t complain. “Let’s do this.”
They approached the vertical shaft, and he scanned the rock face for the best route. The anchors created a zigzag pattern up the chimney. With proper climbing gear, it would’ve been challenging but straightforward. With their limited equipment and injuries, it would be a nightmare.
“I’ll go first,” he said, already testing the nearest handhold. “Test the anchors and set up a safety line.”
“Shouldn’t I go first?” Rue gestured to herself. “I’m lighter. If something gives way?—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended. He softened his tone. “Your ankle needs to hold your weight, not mine if I fall. I’ll secure the line for you.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but finally nodded and slid off his glove, handing it back to him. “Fine. But be careful. Those anchors could be compromised after sitting in ice for who knows how long.”
He clipped into the first anchor, testing it with a firm tug. It held. The rope from the cache was a godsend—new enough to trust with their lives. He secured it to his harness and looked up.
This was going to suck.