"Let's do this sensibly," Cynthia said, taking a deep breath, as nervous as her husband at the prospect of entering the cavern. "We'll mark every corner, just as Martha did-not just stones but chalk, too. We'll take it nice and slow and hold hands." Dean nodded in agreement, his stomach roiling and his heart racing as he hoisted his knapsack to his shoulders and they slowly entered.

The darkness immediately engulfed them and they paused a dozen baby steps into the tunnel to allow their eyes to become accustomed to the blackness. Dean examined the ground for tracks but the water, which while shallow, in most places covered the width of the narrow passageway and obliterated any footprints. A few feet further, in a dry grotto scooped out from the main walkway, something glinted in Dean's flashlight. It was an empty vodka bottle. Two used condoms were nearby.

"I can't think of a less romantic place to have sex," Cynthia said with a shudder.

"I'd sure need more than one bottle of vodka myself," Dean agreed. "But this stuff was left here recently. Maybe even this summer."

"The roads up here haven't been free of snow all that long."

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"Only two or three weeks. The stuff may have been left since Martha was here. She didn't mention seeing it." The winter had been exceptionally clear of late snow and the high mountain passes that in many years remained closed until July had been cleared weeks earlier this spring.

They crept forward, still holding hands although it was cumbersome to do so in the closeness of the passageway. Even with Cynthia's tiny height she was required to stoop to avoid the low ceiling. To Dean, the tunnel was even more claustrophobic as he hunched forward, taking baby steps like a second grade schoolyard game.

They reached the first turn. Following Martha's directions, they moved to their right. Marking the damp wall with chalk proved difficult, but they were satisfied the arrows were legible. Stones laid carefully on the ground gave additional indications of the correct egress.

As they moved forward Dean stumbled when his back pack caught on a particularly low place. He fell to his knees, tearing his jeans.

"Don't break a leg in here," his wife cautioned. "I don't know how I'd drag you out!"

The excavation was wider here and Dean could see signs of some earlier passage in the mud at the edge. There were at least three different footprints but they were marred and nearly indistinguishable. He knew at least Martha, Caleb, and Fitzgerald had come this far.

Two more turns were negotiated and marked and in spite of their slow progress, according to the map they were nearing their goal. It was then they heard the first noise. The sound was nearly inaudible but both stopped and listened attentively. It seemed to come from behind them but it could have been anything-a dislodged rock, an echo of their own movements. They stood there, hearts even more accelerated, pounding in unison. The sound was not repeated. Neither wanted to retrace their steps to investigate. While they had made no effort to be quiet, they now moved forward with caution, pausing every few steps to listen.




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