Missing Piece, page 21
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning this tunnel’s opening up.’
Cass peered around him and directed the beam of her head light into the darkness ahead, but it didn’t stretch far enough to tell her what opening up might actually mean. It sounded more encouraging than collapsing walls and missing hikers, though. Brushing aside her fears, she walked on. And in another forty yards or so, Hoss’s estimation was proved right.
‘Wow, what’s that?’ Cass asked as they drew nearer. Just ahead were arches hewn into the tunnel sides, one on either side of them, rudimentary doorways. She shone her head light into the first and answered her own question. ‘The bunkers,’ she said, entering the room while behind her she heard Hoss’s boots echo around the other. ‘Where the miners would take their breaks.’
The space couldn’t have been more than fifteen by fifteen feet, but there was a solid concrete floor beneath and a sense, albeit a trick of the mind, that in here there was more room to move and more air to breathe than out there in the tunnel. The room was bare now, but she wondered what it would have looked like back then, filled with workers, how they might have bantered to stave off the claustrophobia and thoughts of the ever-present danger that literally hung over their heads every second of every working day. She snorted a laugh to herself. Not too different from being a cop, really.
‘Cass.’
‘Yep?’ A drop of water hit her face from above. It was cold as it slid down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. Leaving the bunker, she stepped over the protruding metal rails running over the tunnel floor and into the one opposite. Hoss was standing in the center of the room. It was of the same dimensions as its counterpart, but it was only as she looked around, her head light unveiling what the darkness hid, that she saw this was where the similarities ended.
Neither of them spoke. The only movement and sound was the steady drip of condensation falling from the ceiling above to slap against the stone floor. But along with the realization of what she was seeing came the thump of her pulse in her ears loud enough to drown out even that. And at last the words escaped from her lips in a hollow whisper.
‘Oh my god.’
Chapter 37
Hoss backed out of the room before Cass did. He muttered something about needing some air. Except there was no more air out there than there was in this room. She knew what he meant, though. There was a feeling of suffocation in here. A sense of life sucked dry.
But still she couldn’t move. She was standing in the same spot as when she walked in, but now she looked more carefully, her head light lingering on every facet of what she saw. This bunker might have once rung out with the voices and forced laughter of mine workers eager to forget their worries as they took their lunch breaks, but in the years afterward it was witness to something far more sinister.
Straight ahead of Cass, from which she couldn’t tear her eyes away, the wall of rocks had been transformed into a beautifully haunting picture. Though the colors were fading on the gray stone, the meaning of each drawing was still clear. She stepped up closer and touched her fingers to the green wax crayon of the grass. Flowers of blue and white and purple in full bloom, and the butterflies hovering above them. A silver stream ran through this pretty meadow, with pearly fish just beneath its surface, and moss-covered stones half submerged in the water. Towering above the stream were tall bronze tree trunks topped with an abundance of jade summer leaves. A bird sat on a branch, while another was in mid-flight across a perfect blue sky speckled with white cotton clouds. And amidst all this, a sunflower-yellow sun, spreading its rays far and wide over the idyllic scene.
Cass moved along the wall, crouching to the floor when she saw what was there in the grass. The brown fur and floppy ears of a rabbit. Then another hopping by the stream, enjoying the freedom, playing in the sun.
‘Tall, lush grass,’ Cass muttered from the floor, looking up at the mural in the way a child might. ‘Flowers of all colors. Blue skies. Butterflies and birds.’ She ran her fingertips over the hand-drawn rabbit’s cage. ‘The bunnies in their hutches.’
Getting to her feet, she looked to her right, to where the real cages were. Two of them, side by side, each the size of a large dog kennel. And above her head, in the center of the ceiling, a single light bulb enclosed in a wire enclosure. She reached up and brushed it with her finger so that it swung loosely. It groaned a complaint with the movement.
‘The creak of the willows. The sun shining every day from first thing in the morning to last thing at night.’
These were all words Eve had used to describe her Garden of Eden. The most beautiful garden that ever existed. And here it was. Marked on this wall by the hands of a child. Or children.
Cass crouched until she was level with the open gate of one of the cages and the grimy stainless steel padlock that hung from it. The damp, stale stench that permeated the air was stronger here, the metal floor of the cage mottled with dirt and mold, the thin wire bars rusting. Bringing her hands together beneath her nose, she wondered what its purpose was when this room was enough of a prison all by itself. There could be only one purpose. To keep those within it apart.
‘Cass.’
Hoss was in the doorway. She didn’t need to look up to see what he wanted. To get away from here. To get out of this room, and out of these tunnels, and into the fresh air where they could breathe again and maybe believe this was only a figment of their imagination. Just as it surely had become for Eve.
‘One second.’
The beam from her head light bounced off something in the corner of the cage. Holding her breath against the smell, she reached in. It was caught within a ball of earth and mold and dust which pressed up under her fingernails as she dug the object free. Shaking off the loose dirt, she brought it up to the light. But she already knew from its outline what it was. She’d had plenty of them when she was a kid. She brushed the mold from its metal surface with her thumb and looked at the chipped red paint. Holding it up, she glanced at her partner.
‘Hair clip,’ she said. His eyes fell closed and he turned from the doorway.
She couldn’t blame him. This bunker, entombed in the darkness unbeknown to anyone, was the physical record of an atrocious crime. And whether or not that was thirty years ago, whether or not it was Ella’s prison, the echoes of that crime still seeped from the stone walls. It hung in the airless air, in its foul stench, and it dripped from the ceiling with every droplet of condensation that formed. This room was still alive with whatever events had taken place in it.
Zipping up the hair clip in her jacket pocket, Cass moved to get up when something else caught her attention. She crossed to where a lone candle was propped against the wall just inside the doorway. Picking it up, she examined the red wax, pressing the burnt wick between her thumb and finger, turning it over to peer underneath before looking again to the floor where it had stood.
Outside the room she found Hoss waiting, his arms folded, his face tight with grim discomfort. She held up the candle and he stared at her blankly.
‘It’s fresh,’ she said. ‘Someone’s been here recently.’
Chapter 38
‘Cass, we have to go back. Call this in now. Get a team down here. Cass—’
She was already going onward, striding down the tunnel with none of the hesitation she’d had earlier. The tunnel wouldn’t collapse, not today, not when it had stood for so long. It wouldn’t be blocked either. There was a way in and a way out; at least one person knew that. That person also knew what was here, knew that room existed and what was in it. As she marched on, her boots disturbing pools of murky water that splashed up her legs, the temperature dropping so that her cheeks grew numb with cold, and her partner’s footsteps behind her just out of step with her own, all she could think of was Ella. Not Eve. It was Eve who emerged from whatever had happened here. But Ella, nine-year-old Ella Browne – the girl who wandered from camp on an outbound weekend – never made it out of that room.
As soon as the first hint of light landed upon the tunnel walls, Cass killed the head light, taking it off and thrusting it into her jacket pocket. The elastic left a tightness around her scalp to go with the throbbing behind her eyes that was becoming a headache. She rarely got headaches. Rarely put any weight behind things she couldn’t see either, but there was something about this place that, if she thought about it hard enough, she might consider was not of this world. And it seemed she wasn’t the only one. As they drew closer to the natural light source, Cass heard the click of a magazine and turned to see Hoss slide his gun into the waistband of his cargoes.
‘Easy, tiger,’ she said, hoping to dispel some of the tension that worried his features. But he kept his eyes ahead, gave no indication he was even listening.
They came upon the opening of the tunnel sooner than expected. Wooden pallets were propped across it in a loose covering, filtering the last remaining daylight. In silence they set the pallets aside and stepped back out into the forest, the evening light stinging their eyes.
This side of the forest was as overgrown as the other, but ahead of them a narrow pathway had been forged through the ferns and brambles. Hoss brushed past her to take the lead and she followed him through.
‘Over there,’ she said, and he turned, following her gaze to their right where between the trees she had caught sight of an old rundown shack the size of a small woodshed. Peering only once at her, he continued on, and soon they came across more. This time workbenches, out in the open. They had been left unused for so long that the forest foliage crept up around the wooden legs and over the surfaces in an act of reclamation. Another fifty yards and they saw the cabin.
The one-story dwelling in a small clearing crowded with pines had seen better days. From the thin, rotting panels making up its exterior walls, and the chipped and misshapen slate roof, Cass put it at twice the age of her grandad’s cabin at least. The windows, though, at the front were all intact, and shapeless plain nets hung limply on the other side of the glass. In stark contrast to the faded gray and moldy black of the wood paneling, the front door was honey-colored, and closed, the only sign that someone might still live there. But there was no smoke coming from the chimney, no scent of old woodsmoke in the air, and everything about the place was silent. Perhaps this had recently been someone’s home until it became uninhabitable. The whole thing should have been pulled down years ago – the foundations were black and crumbling, one of the steps leading up to the porch was broken through. The old lodge was rotting from the bottom up. Too far gone to be saved.
Hoss stopped when they were only feet away and looked back at Cass, his eyes questioning.
‘I don’t think there’s anyone here,’ she whispered.
‘Then why are you whispering?’ he asked, doing the same himself. It was a rhetorical question. He knew what her intention was and didn’t like it. Or maybe it was just that he knew what they had to do. Having come this far they couldn’t turn around now. Taking the Smith & Wesson from his waistband, he eased the slide back to engage a round, and with the gun gripped in both hands he took the lead.
As he approached the porch steps, Cass turned to keep eyes behind them. The forest was quiet, but not in the way her forest was. This place didn’t feel like a sanctuary in the woods, it didn’t feel like somewhere a person could rest easy. It was an eerie quiet, unsettling, as if it was more than just the cabin that was rotting. There was no breeze to sway the trees, no bird chatter from the branches overhead or movement in the undergrowth. Not even nature felt at home here.
Hoss tapped lightly on the screen door and stood back, readjusting his hands on the grip of the gun. When no answer came, he tried again louder.
‘The place is dead, Hoss,’ she said, shivering at her own words. ‘Try the door.’
As he released one hand from the gun, she returned to keeping watch. From where she stood at the bottom of the steps, she could only just make out the outline of the tunnel they’d emerged from. If she didn’t already know it was there she wouldn’t notice it. What else might she not notice, she thought, eyes scanning the dense depths of the forest in the failing light.
‘It’s locked.’
When she turned, Hoss was stepping over to the nearest window and cupping his hand against the filthy glass to peer in.
‘Can’t see shit,’ he said, moving to another part of the glass and trying again. ‘Place is full of crap, but I don’t see anyone.’ He strode along the rickety porch to try the other window, the boards creaking under his weight.
Cass stepped away from the cabin to peer at it from a distance. The smell of decaying wood hung all around and got stuck in her throat. To the left of the cabin was a clearing, another place where the wilderness was trying to reclaim its own. But that clearing must have been a long time used, because a good part of it remained in the bare patch of hardened soil where nothing was growing. Stepping over to it for a closer look, she heard the relief in her partner’s voice behind her when he confirmed what she’d guessed earlier. There was no one home.
Her gaze followed the clearing as far as her eyesight and the overgrowth would allow. She saw it was a track that ran through a natural gap between the pines. Eight or ten feet wide, perhaps. Room enough to serve a purpose.
A crack rang out behind her and she spun around.
‘Shit!’ Hoss cursed. ‘That’s another one that’ll need fixing.’
She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out through her mouth. As her heart rate came down again, she returned to the dirt track, following it around the rear of the cabin to where it petered out and wild grass took over. The end of the road. Though not quite.
‘Hoss,’ she said; too quietly at first, so that he didn’t answer. ‘Hoss.’
The squelch of his boots over the rain-soaked earth drew closer. ‘Put my foot through the damn porch floor,’ he muttered. But as he came up beside her, he stilled.
If they hadn’t wanted to admit to something unpleasant in the air before, they certainly would now. Entangled in a mass of brambles – part swallowed up by the forest, but not enough that they couldn’t make out its rust-eaten edges, nor the long dead and flattened tires, the smashed windows – was what remained of an old pale blue and white Volkswagen camper van.
Chapter 39
It took just one nudge of Hoss’s shoulder to splinter the wooden frame and break off the lock. As the cabin door swung open he raised his gun.
In front of them was the kitchen. At least that’s what the old black stove and ceramic sink suggested.
Hoss stepped inside. ‘Stay there and watch the door,’ he instructed, before disappearing through into the rooms beyond.
Cass looked around. She could see what Hoss had meant now. The room was full, but with nothing of substance. Chipped and cracked plates and cups cluttered the tops of broken cupboards alongside metal cutlery grimy with age. Rows of shelves held plastic tubs and more medicine and pill bottles than she could count. Newspapers were stacked in a toppling pile on the dusty wooden floor beside a mound of well-worn shoes and boots. The only thing empty was the sink. From the doorway, she couldn’t see signs of recently used dishes or droplets of water clinging to its sides. No refrigerator in the place either, to check for fresh food. Whoever had lived out this way wasn’t the grocery shopping type. This was another level of off-grid. She noticed the light switch on the wall though, a socket above the counter. Electricity of some kind ran out here, supplied most probably by a generator.
‘Clear.’ Hoss reappeared in the kitchen doorway. But the grim look was back. With a flick of his chin he gestured behind him. ‘You’ll want to see this.’
She followed him into the next room, this one no less cluttered than the previous one. But it was what was on the walls that caught her attention.
What drew her eye first was the depiction of Jesus on the cross. How could it not? The large wooden cross hung front and center in the space above an empty fireplace. It was at least fifteen inches head to foot and ten inches hand to hand, big enough to make a point. Echoing the cross’s shape, the brass figure of Christ hung his head to one side, face marked more perhaps by the betrayal that had put him there than by the nails that pierced his hands and feet.
Unclipping her backpack, Cass lowered it from her aching shoulders and dragged her gaze to the photographs next. The faded images were held in thick, dust-edged frames, tilted at angles that suggested they’d been hung many years ago and not touched since. They were family portraits, years indefinable but not recent. In them, a man, a woman, and a boy. Same in all of them, the boy a little older in each picture. Even the poses were similar, as if this was an annual event. But Cass paused at one in particular.
The man was imposing. He stood tall, shoulders square, hands behind his back, chin thrust forward. The photo wasn’t in color but it was clear the man wore black, while at his throat was a white collar. The woman was beautiful. She was sitting in a chair in front of the man, and had long hair that fell down over her shoulders, soft eyes and a knowing smile. The neckline of her dress came up as high as her throat, the sleeves covered her arms down to her wrists, and the skirt ended where her ankle boots began. But for all that, her enviable hourglass figure was still apparent. She had one arm hooked around the young boy’s waist as he stood beside her. Like the man, he didn’t smile. But he looked perplexed; mouth slightly open, eyes fixed and staring. He wore shorts and a buttoned shirt, socks that came up to his knees. Cass would put him at less than ten years old.
A sound made her jump and she spun her head to the left. The soft rattle of children’s laughter. It was coming from the other room. Followed by voices. Hushed voices.
