Suddenly, the image of that airplane full of Burke-Ruhe’s population changed into something entirely different. What if the supply arch was filled with corpses instead of food, rows and rows of—
No. He had to stop thinking like that if he wanted to be in any state to search for possible survivors.
Angel Smith filled his thoughts again, and he gently pushed her aside. He needed his wits right now, had to treat every move with as much seriousness as a military recon.
Filled with a sick dread and armed with a baseball bat, he headed into the supply arch.
Chapter 10
As Coop stalked silently down the long ice ramp toward the arch’s entrance, a deep, disturbing sense of déjà vu washed over him.
He’d been here just last night, looking for the missing Cortez. He couldn’t help but wonder: What if he’d found him then? What if he’d insisted on seeing his friend’s face, rather than accepting that scratchy whisper through the door?
He stood to the side of the open entrance and paused.
The long, metal-arched structure, which had been built on top of the ice years ago, was now so deep underground that the entrance had to be plowed out on a pretty continuous basis. Especially in winter.
A perfect place to hide something. Like bodies.
Or it could be empty.
He needed to get a grip. He’d be useless if he letwhat-ifsrule him. After a silent, calming count of three, Coop slid inside, stepped to the right, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the complete dark. Nothing. Not a sound, not a ticking clock or a scuffle. Not a sign of life.
Dead. They could all be dead. Jameson, Doc, Angel Smith.
He couldn’t push the thought from his head, couldn’t stop the way images long buried mingled with scenes of gore freshly painted by his mind. A mind that was all too aware of how barbaric death could be.
He couldn’t stand the idea of Angel Smith—so alive this morning—snuffed out like a too-bright, too-hot flame.
Taking a crushed-ice breath, he set off, sticking to the wall, where the shadows immediately engulfed him. The crisp fall of each cautious step was the only sound, aside from the loud pounding in his ears.
Once the last glimmer of light was swallowed by the pure black of the arch, he had no choice but to switch on the flashlight, though it would make him a target. He hefted the baseball bat and hungered for the weight of one of those ultraheavy law-enforcement flashlights or, even better, his rifle.
Memories assailed him, as brutal as a Condition 1 storm: dust and diesel oil, sweat and fear. The polar opposite of this place, until today. He shut off the light, paused, breath suspended, and waited out the feeling of being watched.
Stress. This is stress.He knew it, recognized it, did his best to push it back, and finally moved ahead, his feet as stealthy as they’d been on dozens of raids, his body primed for attack.
He didn’t question this need to be quiet—instinct drove it, not well-thought-out strategy.
Given that instinct had saved his ass more than once, he listened.
One step, foot down, leg bent, no scuffing, barely a sound. Which was hard in boots that turned feet into blocky hunks of ice.
He sniffed the air. What was that? A spice, maybe. He knew it but couldn’t put his finger on it.
His foot kicked something that skittered across the concrete floor to land with a high, brassy bell sound, and it hit him—that odor was gunpowder. It was here in the still air. Not heavy, but… He inhaled through his nose. He’d never forget the smell.
It had no place here.
He switched the light back on and shone it on the ground, picked up the gleam of a shell casing, and stepped toward it when—
Something moved to the right. He snapped off the light, canted his head, quiet as the grave while alarm bells tore up his insides.
There. Again. A metallic rattle. Like a machine trying to work and failing. The vibrations lasted for a few seconds and stopped, started…stopped. Spurred on by the possibility of company, he headed toward the entrance to the ice tunnel.
As he watched, the wooden door shook, rattled like it’d fall off its hinges, and then stopped. Behind the sound was a low humming that raised every hair on his already chilled body.
He leaned in, startled to see a heavy-duty slide lock where he didn’t remember there being one before. The fresh-looking drill holes confirmed it.
