Dangerous Ground (Fiona Carver)

by Rachel Grant

  She dropped the pack and collapsed next to it. “Break time. I need water and protein. And if you slipped that bottle of whiskey into your pack, I could use some of that too.”

  She poured water down her throat with one hand and searched the outer pocket of her pack for a pepperoni stick with the other, then felt like she’d scored when she found the one that had a strip of cheese with it.

  She ripped the pack open and took a bite that included both, letting out a happy sigh as she chewed with closed eyes. “Damn. This beats dinner at Canlis.”

  “Canlis?”

  “A restaurant in Seattle. I went on a first date there once. The food was amazing.”

  “And the date?”

  “Full of himself. A bigwig in his family’s empire and in line to be the CEO. He figured his future greatness plus expensive dinner equaled owed sex on my part.”

  “I presume you set him straight.”

  “Hell yeah. Sex can be many things between consenting parties, but unless someone is a willing sex worker, the one thing it’s not is a transaction, owed, for any reason. It’s a gift. Shared and received. And I have no time for anyone who thinks otherwise.”

  Dean’s smile was genuine as he offered her the bottle of whiskey.

  She took it and held it up in a toast. “Good man. I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  “So you like me now?”

  She took a swig, then said, “You know I do. You’re just fishing for compliments.”

  He laughed. “Probably. I like you too. And I want to take you to Canlis when this is all over—because a fancy dinner after all we’ve gone through is the minimum of what you’re owed. And I do mean owed.”

  “I don’t know. I think I owe you more.”

  “I’m going to insist you let me treat you, and I won’t even expect sexual favors in return.”

  She handed him the bottle. “That’s good. Because I don’t do flings with friends or coworkers, and rumor has it that’s all you do.”

  He took his own drink. “Rumors rarely lie.”

  They each took another drink; then he tucked the bottle away. “I’m going to explore. I want to know what that stuff is sparkling on the walls.”

  She set down her snack. “I’ll help.”

  “No. Rest. Eat. I got this.” He stood and stretched, then promptly hit his head and one hand on a lavacicle. It shattered, and he cursed.

  Fiona slapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t laugh. It shouldn’t be funny.

  “Dylan is going to be so pissed I broke his volcano.”

  “He’s the one who littered the LUNA bar wrapper.”

  “Good point. I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

  Sitting directly on the cold rock floor should have chilled her, but she was sweaty from exertion, so she unzipped her polyfill coat and slipped it off to give the other layers a chance to dry. The air was cold in the tunnels, but with no wind or rain, she’d be fine without her coat for a bit.

  She watched Dean as he approached the wall, ducking to avoid the ceiling teeth. “About now I’m really wishing I’d listened to Dylan when he went on and on about lava tubes and volcano geology.”

  She laughed. “I’ve been thinking that for the last several hours.”

  “I crammed Volcanology 101 for this trip, just like I crammed Ornithology for Dummies, and we know how that went. Too much info to take in at once, and I didn’t know what I’d need to know. It doesn’t help that I couldn’t find any data on Aleutian lava tubes.”

  He reached the wall and shone the handheld light over the surface. “That’s not water.”

  His words brought Fiona to her feet. “It’s not?” The lines tracked down the walls in streaks. She’d been certain it had to be moisture of some kind.

  She crossed to his side and reached out to touch the cold rock wall, tracing the silver streaks. “It’s metal,” she said in wonder.

  “Meteoric metal.”

  She nodded. It was strangely exhilarating. Like being strapped into Space Mountain at Disneyland and seeing the stars streak across the ceiling for the first time. But without the roller-coaster part.

  “It must’ve struck during an active cone-building period for the volcano,” Dean said. “It—or pieces of it—hit a magma chamber, and what we’re seeing here is the iron or other space metals becoming embedded in the lava and ash that form the cone. The meteorite melted as lava flowed down, causing the streaks we’re seeing here.”

  “I wonder if an impact like that could have triggered an eruption? I know even less about meteorites than I do about volcanoes, but I researched what I could when I was home.”

  “Meteorites wouldn’t be Dylan’s specialty either, but he must’ve seen something that raised questions about how Pollux was handling the project.”

  She nodded. It was the only scenario that made sense. Otherwise, why bypass Pollux in sending in the meteorite sample?

  She wished she had the test results.

  “What does this all mean? Is there more meteorite embedded in the volcano? Or did it land in the North Pacific and this is just debris? I presume a meteorite with a debris field this extensive would have been large, which would mean a massive crater and a tsunami. There’d be evidence in the geologic record.”

  Her own words sank in, and she grabbed Dean’s arm. “Core samples would have been taken a year or more ago by a Pollux geologist as the navy was evaluating the most likely sites for the base. They’d have recognized a tsunami in the profile then. I wonder if they had other reasons to believe there had been a meteorite strike tens of thousands of years ago?”

  “Maybe someone found a cache of metallic stones. Were there accounts of military personnel bringing them home as souvenirs from World War II?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t delved deep into the personal histories of WWII. My job is to record the ruins of the base and that’s all. But that’ll be worth looking into when we get home.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you said ‘when,’ not if.”

  “We’re going to get out of here. I refuse to let that bastard win. Plus, I really want a free dinner at Canlis again.”

  He released her hand and walked along the wall, his light tracing the shiny streaks of metal. The flat rhyolite sheets under his feet made the tinny clanging sounds that were unique to rhyolite flows when pieces knocked together as he trod upon them.

  He stepped away from the wall as the room opened up and the lavacicles were higher, allowing him to walk with ease. The sounds of his footsteps changed from tinny clanging to the tinkling notes of cracking glass.

  He turned his light to the floor beneath his feet, and Fiona stepped closer to see what the light would reveal. The entire floor from where he stood, extending into the darkness beyond, had a glass-like sheen, which had cracked when he’d stepped on it in his heavy hiking boots.

  “It’s rhyolite, not obsidian,” she said. “I’m guessing this was a lava pool once upon a time.” She pointed to the distinct delineation between the dark basalt floor behind them, with its lack of shine, and lighter-colored rhyolite with a glassy sheen. “The magma forming this lava would be felsic, having a high silica content—certainly more than the basalt around it—which is why the rocks formed when the lava cooled were silica-rich rhyolite, which could have a glassy texture and be high in quartz. Hence the shine.”

  “You did cram some volcanology,” Dean said, clearly impressed.

  She laughed. “More that I’ve surveyed the outside of enough volcanic areas to know rhyolite when I see—and hear—it and why it can mimic obsidian. Plus rhyolite artifacts aren’t uncommon.” She pointed toward marks—more cracks—on the surface of the rhyolite pond, her stomach dropping as their meaning clicked in place. “Do those look like footsteps to you?”

  “Holy shit. They’re spaced about right.”

  He started to take a step forward, but she grabbed his arm. “Photograph them first. This is proof someone was here before us.”
<
br />   “Good idea.”

  He pulled out his camera and began snapping away as Fiona ran her own light all across the floor, very carefully walking along the edge, looking for other marks on the surface and finding them. “Dean. More footsteps here. I see tread marks.”

  “Two people were here.”

  “At least. Maybe three.”

  He joined her along what she figured was the east edge of the pond. Rhyolite could mess with compass readings, not to mention the metallic inclusions in the wall. “We should’ve been adding all the tunnels we’ve been through to Dylan’s map.”

  “We’ll write a description tonight. It’s not like we were measuring anyway.”

  “True.”

  After he finished with the photos on the edge of the pond, they carefully crossed the glassy surface, taking photos of the footprints on the way. They were nearly halfway across the surface when she saw a gap ahead.

  Dean must’ve seen it at the same time, because he suddenly said, “Fuck.” She heard cold fear in that single curse.

  They inched closer, stepping carefully. The two paths of footprints converged, and there were streaks and cracks and a jumble of marks across the surface.

  “A fight?” she asked.

  “Looks like it.” He shone the light on the mess of footprints . . . and there were dark-brown splotches that stained the glassy surface. “That could be blood.”

  She nodded and knew his heart had to be as ready to leap out of his chest as hers was, because just beyond the marks on the floor that indicated a fight and injury was a gaping hole where the rhyolite floor had given way.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Dean managed his breathing with the same degree of icy control he employed on a shoot when the lioness was finally in the frame, but not yet the perfect shot. He could not lose his shit now.

  He took a dozen photos, then inched forward, stepping carefully on the floor that had more in common with thin ice than he cared to think about.

  “We need our packs,” he said. “In case we fall too.”

  “They’ll make us heavier.”

  “Maybe you should go back to the packs. I’ll lie on my stomach, scoot to the edge, and look down.”

  “That might not be safe either.”

  “I have to try.”

  After a moment, she said, “I know. Okay. I’ll retreat to the packs, but I want it on record that I hate this plan.”

  “Duly noted.”

  She retreated and grabbed both their bags, then returned to the edge of what she called the pond. “Time to break out the rope and make you a harness or something. In case the ground gives way. I can tie it off on one of the basalt pillars.”

  He nodded and returned to her side, wanting to kick himself for not thinking of that. This was exactly the kind of thing they’d been saving the rope for. Paracord was great for their packs and signaling, but rope could hold his weight if he went through the hole. He just hoped it wasn’t too deep, or they might not have enough. “I’m glad you’re thinking straight.”

  She gripped his coat and pulled him to her. “Until we know how deep that fall is, you need to be careful. I’m not going to survive this without you.”

  He raised a brow. “So your interest in saving my ass is primarily selfish?”

  “Damn straight. You promised me dinner.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. He wanted to hold her like this forever, but instead he released her and said, “I always keep my promises.”

  “You’d better. Because I’m an excellent grudge-holder.”

  That made him smile. “I expect nothing less from someone who excels at everything she does.”

  In an alternate universe, he’d met Fiona before Dylan. In that same universe, he wasn’t relationship averse, and they spent lazy Saturdays when he wasn’t on assignment—and she wasn’t in the field—in bed.

  But right here and now, he had to deal with this universe, and he didn’t want her to see his hands shake as he looped the rope together to make a harness that might keep him from falling to his death.

  Much as he’d spent the last six weeks denying the possibility, he feared what he was going to find in the chamber below this one.

  He managed to keep the shaking to a minimum and stepped into the makeshift harness. He’d done enough climbing to know how to improvise, and his knot skills were better than average. He’d suspended himself from rock walls more than once to get just the right angle on a photo, and when a knot was the only thing to keep a man from falling into a pit of jackals, said man learned proper tying techniques.

  There was a sturdy basalt pillar not far from the edge of the glass-like floor, and he looped the rope around it. “Until we know how deep the hole is, we don’t want to tie off the rope. Which means you need to be my anchor and slide me down slowly if necessary. Can you do that?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know how I’d get you out of there, though. I don’t have the strength to pull you up.”

  “I know how to use Prusik knots to work as ascenders. I can climb back up the rope if the floor holds, but it wouldn’t be easy. Best to think of going down the hole as a one-way trip. I’ll make a second harness for you, and you can tie on and lower yourself after I’m down.”

  “Have I mentioned I hate everything about this?”

  “You have.”

  “You know there’s another tunnel to the side? We can explore that. Look for a way out.”

  “If Dylan went through that hole, then that’s where I need to go. You can lower my pack to me and explore the other tunnel, looking for an exit. If you find one, you can come back for me.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  He held her gaze. “Let’s see what I find down there. We’ll keep it open as an option.”

  He tied the rope to her waist and showed her how to let it out, using the pillar as a brake as needed; then he walked to the edge of the hole, lowering to his knees when he was ten feet away and then his belly. He used his forearms to pull himself forward, pausing after each six inches of progress to test the strength of the floor beneath him.

  He made it all the way to the edge, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bracing himself for what he was about to see. He was at once terrified and hopeful. His eyes burned with the intensity of the conflicting emotions.

  One more deep breath, and he opened his eyes. The white headlamp light shone down into the void. The floor appeared to be about a dozen feet below.

  His first thought was relief at not seeing a broken body on the smooth floor. It must’ve been the bottom of the lava lake that Fiona had speculated this was, but the lake had drained when the lava was molten, leaving only the cooled and hardened skin on the surface, which was now the floor he lay upon.

  There was something down there, though, and he couldn’t make out what it was with the diffuse beam of the flashlight, so he pulled out his camera and zoomed in, snapping pictures with a flash.

  “What do you see?” Fiona’s voice was low—as if she feared sound would shatter the floor—but it easily carried in the open chamber.

  “Not sure. Just a floor and another chamber.” He rolled over so he could look at the screen of his camera to see what lay below them. The rock floor was smooth, similar to this one but not as shiny. He zoomed in on the items that littered the floor.

  Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as he lay flat on his back, holding the camera above his face.

  It was an empty MRE bag, a protein bar wrapper, and a cream-colored cloth of some kind. The cloth was covered in streaks of dark brown.

  “I’m going down there,” Dean insisted. He’d crawled away from the edge, then carefully walked back to what they knew to be solid ground and showed her the photos on his camera screen.

  She couldn’t argue with him, even though she wanted to. Desperately. Instead she said, “We need to measure the depth first. I have a long tape.”

  She rummaged in her bag and found the twenty-meter tape and handed it to hi
m, along with a small roll of duct tape and her plumb bob. “Tape the plumb bob to it to give it weight.”

  He nodded and quickly taped the pointed weight to the end of the measuring tape, then made his way back to the gap in the floor of the cave. A minute later, he called out, “Ten feet, five inches.”

  She let out a breath. That was doable. He was over six feet tall, and she was five nine. If he could find a handhold, he could lower himself, then let go, dropping just over four feet, and he’d be able to grab her if she did the same thing.

  “Okay.” She paused. She hadn’t told him she was an experienced climber. She even knew what a Prusik knot was. But it had been nearly two decades since her last ascent, so she couldn’t make one to save her life—which was exactly what the knot was intended to do. She was as good as a novice and there was no point in claiming otherwise to give him false confidence in her abilities. “But it still seems risky—it could be a dead end.”

  “I think as long as we knot the line at intervals, the drop is short enough we wouldn’t even need Prusik knots to climb out,” he said. “No climbing skills required.”

  She nodded. She could climb a knotted rope—it was the getting over the lip part that would be the problem. “The floor would also have to hold with your weight hanging from it.”

  “That’s the risk. You don’t have to come with me, Fi. You can take the other tunnel. But I have to go.”

  “Maybe we should check the other tunnel first? See if it’s a way out?”

  He nodded. “Okay. But then I’m going down.”

  It took less than five minutes to discover the tunnel was a dead end.

  This was the end of the line. In a strange way, it was a relief. She wanted to follow Dean into the hole but didn’t want to worry she’d made a mistake.

  She backed out of the cramped one-way tunnel and found Dean waiting for her at the opening, as promised. “Okay then. Let’s prepare to descend.”

  He’d already rigged the ropes, so it didn’t take long to get ready. The plan was he’d go down first, she’d lower the packs, then she’d follow.

  He’d tripled the rope and knotted it so he could climb down. They’d have to leave the rope tied to the pillar behind, hanging through the hole, so they could climb back up if needed. But they would still have paracord and their rope harnesses to see them through the rest of their journey through the caves. All they could do was hope it would be enough.