happened to Sean. She walked a wider circle, still picking up no signs that there was more than one rider. She followed depressions in the mulch that led back to the logging road, forty feet from Tim’s truck, then ended at the packed gravel and dirt road. She knelt. It was nearly impossible to make out tire impressions, but gouges from taking off too fast clearly came from a vehicle wider than an ATV. Several drops of fresh oil stained the gravel near where the tracks stopped.
Tim returned and said, “Nothing. No sign of foot or vehicle traffic or the other ATV.”
She rose and gestured to the oil spot and four gouges. “Someone was parked here and left quickly. We need to find Sean’s phone.” She didn’t want to say it out loud, but he could be lying injured anywhere between here and his phone. Finding the phone was a starting point to tracking him down. Then she would contemplate the idea that he’d been forced to leave with the arsonist.
Except that there was only one set of tracks leading from the ATV to the car.
Tim handed her the keys to his truck. “Continue down this road until you reach the signal. I’ll take the quad and retrace its route, and hopefully we’ll meet up at some point.”
Lucy nodded. She ran back to the truck and got in the driver’s seat. Deep pits and debris littered the path in front of the vehicle. Lucy was forced to drive slowly, and it took her nearly ten minutes before she saw the other ATV.
She stopped the truck and jumped out. She could hear Tim’s ATV in the distance, but with the echo couldn’t gauge how close he was.
On the ground was a blue helmet-the one Sean had been wearing. She smelled some sort of fuel, but it wasn’t gasoline. She looked under the vehicle and saw a large dark spot on the ground.
There were signs of a scuffle, the dirt freshly turned, branches broken, bushes trampled. She followed the destruction and saw Sean’s backpack next to a tree.
She searched it. All his emergency supplies were there, including his phone.
The ATV, the backpack, the helmet-everything but Sean. And no sign of the arsonist.
Lucy bit her lower lip. Sean was resourceful, smart, even cunning at times-there had to be a logical explanation as to why his things were here, while he wasn’t.
“Sean, where are you?”
Tim drove up, stopping close to where Sean’s helmet lay on the ground. Lucy said, “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“There was a fight over there,” she pointed to where she’d found Sean’s backpack, which she now had over her shoulder. “I found his pack and phone.”
“We need to be careful,” Tim said. “There are several ventilation shafts for the mines in the area, and it’s easy to miss the warning signs. The mines are all closed now, but they’re still dangerous.”
“We’ll start where I found the backpack and go from there.” Her pulse raced. “How deep are these mine shafts?”
“Fifteen, twenty feet, some deeper. They’re narrow, six to eight feet wide, used for ventilation and to haul supplies in and out. They’ve been boarded up for years.”
They followed the tracks which made a sharp turn to the right. They skirted a tree stump, and Tim said “Watch your step.” He gestured toward a bright orange tie around one tree. “See that ribbon? There’s a shaft around here.” He looked, then pointed. “There.”
Lucy saw a gaping black hole in the ground. Except for a few broken boards along the edge, the wood was gone.
“Sean-”
Footsteps led to the hole’s edge. Only one set ran away. The side had caved in, lower than the ground by a foot, as if someone might have pulled a chunk of earth with him when he fell.
Tim pulled her back. “Hold it.”
“He’s in there. I know it.”
“Go slow. Test the ground with each step.”
Lucy did exactly as Tim instructed, though it was killing her. She got down on all fours at the edge of the pit. “Sean? Sean! It’s Lucy! Are you there?”
She heard only the echo of her own panicked voice.
FOUR
The pain started in his chest and radiated out to his limbs.
Sean wondered if he’d been shot.
It was very cold. Moldy and damp. He remembered. He was in the basement of that bastard who’d kidnapped Lucy. Cold, snow all around …
As he took a deep breath the pain suddenly sharpened and he fully regained consciousness. He wasn’t in a basement; that real-life nightmare had occurred months ago. He pushed the memory aside and recalled that he had been chasing a kid-and the kid led him into this pit, whatever it was.
Forty years ago, Spruce Lake was a booming mining town. But the mines had long been abandoned. No one would find him.
He shifted just a fraction, and his right arm sent sharp pains through every nerve in his body. Broken? No-it wasn’t his arm, but his shoulder. And something was wrong with his leg, but he couldn’t see anything in the darkness.
He heard something-faintly, far away. His name. The volume increased, the panic in the voice forcing him to open his eyes and try to call back.
He couldn’t speak; his lungs had little air from his hitting the hard packed earth. He slowly drew in breath, practically tasting the damp, moldy dirt. The pounding in his head was painful and thick. Worse than his worst hangover.
“Sean, please!” Lucy cried from above. Her voice was clearer, and she wasn’t as far away as he’d thought.
A rock was jabbing him in the thigh, and he began to move, but a sudden, sharp pain made him cry out. He tried to mask his pain with a cough.
“Sean?”
He coughed again. That hurt, too, and he worried about a cracked or broken rib. He’d cracked a rib before, and that was certainly no picnic.
“Lucy,” he called with difficulty.
“Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Peachy.”
He was lying facedown, his mouth coated with dirt, his jammed shoulder rendering his entire right arm useless. He used his left arm to help push himself onto his back, and he cried out again. A dislocated shoulder could be easily fixed, but until he could force it back into place the pain was nearly intolerable.
“What happened? Sean?”
He couldn’t respond until the initial wave passed, fearing he’d pass out again. He’d dislocated his shoulder twice before, he knew how to pop it back in-if he could stand. He moved his leg. It wasn’t broken. That was a big fat plus. But something was wrong with it.
“Dammit, answer me, Sean Rogan!”
“I’m still here, Princess.” He tried to sound normal, but his voice was scratchy and weak. He could make out faint light from above, but his vision was cloudy. The entrance to the shaft was partly blocked by trees and shrubs, but there was enough light for him to see shadows. He judged that the shaft was about eight feet square and twenty-five feet deep, but his vision blurred again as he tried to focus on his immediate surroundings. He closed his eyes, though in the back of his throbbing head he knew he shouldn’t because he probably had a concussion. How
