The path he’d spotted was overgrown, clearly not part of the official trail system. It disappeared behind the rock face, heading up the mountain at a steeper angle.
Nash hesitated. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea with your ankle.”
“Let’s just go,” Amy said, already moving toward it. “We’ve come this far.”
Something was pulling her forward—an instinct, a feeling, a certainty that they were close to discovering something important. Her ankle protested with each step on the rough terrain, but the discomfort felt distant, secondary to the anticipation building in her chest.
The hidden trail twisted upward for another quarter mile before opening into a small clearing. Ahead, partially obscured by scrub oak, was another cave entrance—larger than the first.
Amy froze, holding up her hand. “Did you hear that?”
Nash stopped immediately, his posture shifting subtly into something more alert, more protective. “What?”
“I thought I heard something … up ahead.”
They both stood motionless, listening intently. There—a faint sound from the direction of the cave. A scraping, shuffling noise.
“Someone’s up there,” Nash whispered, moving slightly in front of Amy.
Her heart hammered in her chest. Had they been followed? Were the Ferrantes already here, waiting for them?
Nash gestured for her to stay put as he crept forward, moving with surprising stealth for a man his size. He approached the cave entrance cautiously, then disappeared inside.
Minutes stretched like hours as Amy waited, every sense heightened. She was about to follow him when Nash reappeared at the entrance.
“There’s no one here,” he called. “But you will want to see this.”
Relief flooded through her.
She made her way to the cave, Nash meeting her halfway to offer support. Together, they entered the shadowy interior. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. The cave was larger than it appeared from outside, extending perhaps thirty feet into the mountain.
Nash directed his phone light toward the far corner. “There,” he said quietly, pointing to a small section of the wall near the floor.
Amy squinted, then saw it—a symbol etched into the rock. A broken arrow.
“Wow,” she breathed, moving closer despite her ankle’s protest. “It’s not obvious at all. You could walk right past it if you didn’t know what you were looking for.”
The marking was crude but unmistakable, carved perhaps an inch deep into the stone. Amy’s fingers traced the outline reverently. How long had it been here? Had Porter Rockwell himself carved it? Or someone acting on his instructions?
“Look around,” Nash suggested. “There might be more markings.”
They split up, each taking a section of the cave to examine.
Amy moved carefully along the left wall, her fingertips skimming the rough surface, searching for any irregularity or pattern.
“There’s an alcove back here,” Nash called from deeper in the cave. “It might?—”
A sound interrupted him—a rustling from somewhere in the darkness. Then another, louder this time.
Amy reached instinctively for Nash, fear tightening her throat. “What was that?”
Nash was beside her instantly, one arm wrapping protectively around her shoulders. The sounds grew louder, a flutter of movement visible in the beam of Nash’s flashlight.
Then the darkness erupted into chaos.
Bats—dozens of them—suddenly swarmed around them, wings beating frantically against the air.
Amy screamed, ducking her head as the creatures swooped and dove around them.
