“I brought a large tent.”
Russo cocked a leery eye at him. “You may need something stronger than canvas. I know of a couple caves, where we can light a fire. Both are closer. Maybe we should overnight in one of them and continue in the morning.”
Sharyn stepped forward. “Does that mean we can’t make it before the storm hits?”
“I could answer that if you’d be more forthcoming aboutexactlywhere you’re going.”
Sharyn turned to Laurent. “You’d better show her.”
He nodded, needing no further convincing. He pulled out the topo map, one he had not shared with their guide, and spread it on the rock. The location’s coordinates had been marked with a series of concentric blue circles, radiating out from the most likely location. But they could not rule out that their goal might be anywhere within the scope of those rings.
Russo stared for a long moment, then let out a slow breath. “That’s where you want to go?”
“We do.”
She shook her head. “If you had been forthright, I could’ve saved you a long trek.”
“Why?” Sharyn asked.
“I know that spot. There’s no major cavern system in the area. Only an old bunker, a fortification from World War II. Locals call it the Castello. It’s a dead end, too. Teenagers camped and partied there for decades, until it was eventually gated and chained.”
Duncan overhead this. “Maybe there’s a cave opening you don’t know about?”
Russo glared at them. “There’s nothing there. You’re all wasting your time.”
Sharyn turned to Laurent. “We still have to look, right?”
He nodded. “We go on.” He then repeated Sharyn’s earlier concern. “Can we reach there before the storm hits?”
“It’ll be close. I’ll have to set a hard pace. And the last stretch is exposed and treacherous. We don’t want to be caught in the open when the storm hits.”
To lessen the chance of that happening, Russo shortened their break to five minutes, then set off again. After another hour, they cleared a shoulder of the mountain, and the lights of San Vito appeared far below, looking small and buried in the surrounding dark forest.
Sharyn had not imagined they had climbed so high. As she stared below, a light snow sifted out of the sky, likely blowing off the front edge of the incoming blizzard.
“We’d better move faster,” Russo urged, holding a palm up to the icy flakes.
Before Sharyn could turn away, movement below caught her eye. A trio of large helicopters, illuminated by bright lights, swept over the black pines. They circled and descended toward the village.
She shared a look with Duncan, the worry on her face matching his own.
“We’d better move faster,” he said, parroting their guide.
She glanced back as they set off. Maybe the helicopter only carried skiers—those hoping for an early season and fresh powder—but she feared the worst. Her gaze lingered on the lights of the village, knowing who they had left behind.
Be careful, you two.
42
3:18 p.m.
Naomi cringed as Tag coughed harshly on the room’s sofa. Her friend lay curled on his side, wracked in a tight spasm. Sweat pebbled his brow. His inhaler was empty, but he still clutched it like a lifeline.
Naomi paced the room, looking past the chalet’s balcony to the mountains beyond. She wished the others were still here. Tag had taken a turn for the worse an hour ago, complaining of a crippling headache that left him sprawled across the sofa. He had warned her that abruptly stopping his Zanaflex and its sudden withdrawal would hit him hard.
But I never expected it to be this bad.
She weighed the risk of attempting to refill his meds, knowing it might expose them if his real name popped up on a database. But seeing him suffer now, she questioned if such caution was necessary.
