Page 66 of High Frequency

Right off the bat, I spot a skull and what looks like a spine with a few rib bones still attached. Another rib cage is visible about six feet away from the first one.

This smaller gorge is so narrow it barely sees any sunlight and a wet, earthy scent hangs in the air. Patches of colorful lichen cling to some of the rocks, and the damp ground is covered in ferns.

There’s no noise, other than the sound of my heart beating in my ears. The eerie stillness is only emphasized by the pale bones poking out of the lush green.

It’s a cemetery, the dead marking their own graves.

Behind me, Emo begins to whine.

“She’s confused,” Jillian volunteers. “Usually after she finds remains, she gets a treat and a rest.”

“Well, her workisdone. Why don’t you take her back? I’ll be a while, I have to take some preliminary pictures, put together a record of all this, before I call in a team to process the scene.”

“Are you sure?”

I smile at her. “Yeah. Like Emo, I work best alone.”

It doesn’t really matter to me, but I have a feeling Jillian would feel guilty about leaving me here if I didn’t give her a reason to go.

“Need me to pass on any messages?”

“Actually…” I turn to look up at the one stretch of the ledge that looked to be bare rock from the top. “See that section of the ledge where nothing is growing?” I point out. “I called the office for some backup before I came down. When they get here, can you ask whoever shows up to see if there is access up there from the actual hiking trail?”

My guess is, there will be, simply because I don’t think these bodies were dragged here. I think they were dropped here.

“Communication will be easier,” she points out. “I’ll pass it on. Good luck.”

With that, Jillian and Emo start walking back to the main gorge, and soon disappear out of sight. Then I ease my backpack from my shoulders and retrieve my camera. Time to go to work.

I start from where I’m standing, taking a few wide-angle shots first, to show the location of the bones in the general lay of the land. Then I start focusing in on more detail, and make my way around in a big circle.

Time passes, I’m sure, but I’m so focused on recording what so far look to be three or maybe four sets of remains, I barely notice. I find scraps of clothing, a ball cap, and even a few shoes and a stray boot. If those are any indication, I think we’re dealing with at least one male, and two or more females.

As tempting as it is to get in real close and start moving some of those ferns out of the way to see what else they might be covering, I know we need a real forensic team in here to handle a dumping ground of this size properly. I don’t want to mess up the scene.

I grab a quick break and fish a water bottle out of my pack, taking a seat on a boulder. I’m now on the opposite side of the remains, where the rock walls narrow. My guess is in the spring, the winter runoff makes its way down the mountain and through this branch of the gorge to stream into the main creek. I imagine the water would run pretty deep during runoff, and the creek would be more like a river. I’m thinking it’s entirely possible some remains may have washed away downstream.

Taking a few deep swigs from my water bottle, I screw the cap on and tuck it back in my pack. The sound of falling stones has me scanning the far rock wall, where it appeared to be coming from. My eyes are immediately drawn to the section of exposed rock, wondering if perhaps backup has arrived.

I’m just getting up when I hear some kind of snap, and the next thing I know, shards of stone fly off the boulder I was sitting on.

My feet are already moving before my mind registers someone is firing at me. My camera is bouncing on my chest, so I grab on to it and tuck it inside my shirt. Then I duck down as low as I can, and run in a zigzag pattern, heading toward the narrowing section. I should have better coverage there.

If I can get there.

Another snap, and this time I can hear the bullet ping when it hits something. Not me, thank God, but that can change, I still have about a hundred and fifty yards to go. I grind my teeth and keep my legs pumping.

I think the shots are coming from that clearing up above, but I can’t be sure, otherwise I maybe could’ve dropped behind a boulder to find cover. Whoever is up there shooting, clearly doesn’t like me roaming around down here.

Still, I make it into the narrow passage, only about four feet wide. I immediately slow down and take stock. I don’t think I’m hit, even though the massive rush of adrenaline could make it hard to tell. I don’t seem to be bleeding from any holes. Once I’ve established that, I take a good look at my surroundings. The walls don’t seem quite as high here and look to be narrowing even farther at the top. With my back pressed against the rock face, I’m pretty well covered.

But cowering is not my style.

Unfortunately, my pack is still back there, but my walkie-talkie is in my pocket. When I pull it out and try to call in, nothing but heavy static greets me. I’m not getting a proper signal here. Not even the radio’s high frequency waves can make it out of this gorge.

Afraid I’ll make too much noise if I try again, I tuck it back in my pocket. I’m going to have to find my own way out of here.

When I look to my right, I notice there’s a bend in the narrow gorge I can’t quite look beyond. Curious to see what potentially lies beyond, I slip my sidearm from its holster and, sticking close to the rock wall, start moving deeper.

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