Leo planted a hand on the rock wall and shifted, then slowly made her way to standing.Whoa.Okay. Okay, she had this. It just might take a little longer than she was used to. Between the stomach bug last night, the lack of sleep, and the crash, she was running on fumes.
She looked at the two exits, each only a few feet from where she stood. Althoughstoodwas a kind word for the way her body depended on the rocks. Drunk leaned was more like it.
So far, the man seemed like an ally, but Leo hadn’t survived this far by counting on the kindness of strangers.
Go!her inner voice screamed.Grab whatever supplies you can and get out of here.It was the voice that had saved her time and again on deployment. The voice that told her when to head in for her guys and when it was too hot to try. She listened.
Not trusting herself to walk, she sank back to the ground and crawled to his pack, tore at the zipper, and dug inside. Military-grade rations, energy bars, a plastic bag of stuff that looked like worn orange leather. She opened it, sniffed, and came close to barfing at the fish stink.
I’ll go with the rations.
And that was saying something.
As fast as she could, she rifled through the contents. Clothes, batteries, flashlights, tools, water. Socks. Everything—literally every item—double wrapped in airtight bags. A tarp—or maybe a poncho?—and a couple Mylar blankets. There. A metal box, also bagged. With hands so weak they shook, she opened it, only to have her hopes dashed. A fire-starting kit. She shut it, slipped it into her coat pocket, and continued looking. A bag contained first aid supplies. She kept ahold of that, too. Socks, socks, socks. Farther down, a sleeping bag and more damned socks. Wet wipes, hand sanitizer, biodegradable soap. The man was clean, she’d give him that. Another sleeping bag, more socks. The outer pockets and straps weren’t any better. Camp stove, sleeping pad. Snowshoes. Ski poles. More wipes. More socks.
“Okay, Sock Man,” she muttered, shoving it all back in. “What else we got?”
Her own pack contained even less. Water, a couple of blankets, her extra set of clothes. One measly pair of socks. Her own wipes. She clearly hadn’t packed for the occasion.
Her attempt to heft his pack was futile. The thing probably weighed a hundred pounds, and she was currently weak as a kitten.
What about her Glock? Had he taken it or left it behind? Had she dropped it in the plane? She turned.Whoa.Shutting her eyes hard on the spinning room, she waited out the dizzy spell.
Okay. He had to have a phone, right? Something to communicate with the outside world.
Must have taken it with him. His rifle too. He’d brought that, right? How had she not noted that kind of detail?
And who on earthwashe?
Nothing made sense. She’d come here in search of Campbell Turner, a five-foot-eleven man in his fifties. This giant was maybe thirty, maybe forty. Hell, who could tell with the beard and hair and coat? The deep voice and long silences. Could he truly be just a wilderness freak in the wrong place at the wrong time?
That sure seemed fishy. She’d buy the random-hermit thing, but here?Right here, where Amka had sent her? No way. Besides, what Arctic wilderness guy had an emergency exit like his? None was the answer. He’d set fire to his own cabin, for God’s sake. Blasted the thing to kingdom come and then dragged her through miles and miles of tunnels. No, the guy was definitely part of this whole mess somehow, but she didn’t have time to play his games.
She needed to get ahold of her team, locate Campbell Turner, and get to the virus or more people would die. And that meant ditching the yeti.
Heavy as lead, she forced herself onto her knees and finally to standing. Determined, she stood, circled the cave, running her hands along the wall in search of any place he could have hidden a weapon or a phone.
I’ve got to warn Eric and Ford and the others. Get Von and Ans back to Schink’s Station. Figure out what’s going on.
The walls were surprisingly smooth, no cracks or fissures where he could have squirreled things away. She stretched, reaching as high as her five-foot-six frame would allow. Nothing.
There was only one place left to look—the hole he’d gone through on his way out.
She made her way over, ducked, and squinted down a short, narrow passage. It was cooler here and it smelled like…something. Like the outdoors, though she couldn’t say just what that meant.
She went still. Were those footsteps approaching?
Impossible to tell down here, where noises echoed dully off stone walls and ceilings and floors. She cocked her head to the side. There was no sound but the steady drip of water.
Time to get out. No more waiting to see what the big mountain man had in store. No more hoping he was one of the good guys. She needed to locate Turner, who hopefully would have some means of reaching out to her team. Whoever this guy was, she’d figure it out later. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d forever remain the nameless, paranoid yeti guy whose bug-out bag she stole after he pulled her from her one and only crash.
Ignoring a pang of guilt, she staggered back into the cave, dug a few items from his pack, and threw them on the floor. She couldn’t leave him with nothing after all. Then, using every ounce of effort she could drum up, she heaved his pack up, braced it and herself against the wall, and slid both arms through the straps. With a deep inhale, she pushed off, staggering under the load. The effort sent the pressure in her head skyrocketing.
Working hard, she shuffled forward, hunched, one hand skidding along the rock wall. The lamplight’s yellow gave way so gradually to blue that she didn’t notice the change until the ceiling went from claustrophobia-inducing to cathedral. Slowly, her gaze slid up, up, up. The space was tinged with a light, ethereal hue, as though someone had left a television on in a far corner. Except there weren’t corners in this place—only curves, rippling in the lamplight. Layers upon layers, glowing as if from within. Some spots were dark as black holes, others bright, all of it frozen in time. In places, what looked like water bulged down into half-finished drips.
It was the most unearthly thing she’d ever seen. No, not seen— experienced. It felt like she’d stepped from the dark cave into another planet, like being submerged in the ocean, deep-sea diving without a mask or oxygen. Never in her life had a place made her feel this way: cold and lost and caught up in the wonder. She spun, shrinking back instinctively at the movement within the walls. Swelling, billowing, whitecaps rushing, like being caught beneath a wave about to crest, the tide sucking up, bright and shiny. Like galaxies in the sky, swirling, shifting, unending. Yet utterly still.
She released a lungful of metallic air, unaware of having held it in, and took a step.
