Page 43 of Death Valley

The air tastes metallic, tinged with diesel fumes and something older, mustier. The scent of decades of darkness and neglect.

I’m pretty good with tight, dark spaces, but here the claustrophobia is starting to build.

“How long is this tunnel?” I ask, my voice sounding unnaturally loud in the confined space.

“I dunno, maybe eight hundred feet,” Eli replies. “First one’s the shortest.”

“First one?” I echo, my stomach dropping. “How many are there?”

“Seven,” he says, and my heart drops. “Some connected, some separated by short stretches of open track. Hopefully weather will be better in those parts.”

The knowledge that we’ll be spending awhile in these oppressive passageways settles like a weight on my chest. I focus on the steady rhythm of Duke’s movements beneath me, the reassuring solidity of his presence, the comfort that we’re backed by Jensen at the rear.

We’re perhaps halfway through the first tunnel when Eli’s flashlight catches something reflective ahead, two points of light that gleam momentarily before vanishing.

“Hold,” he calls, raising his hand. Our procession grinds to a halt, the sudden silence more unnerving than the echoing hoofbeats had been.

“What is it now?” Cole asks, his annoyed voice barely above a whisper.

Eli doesn’t respond, his flashlight beam sweeping methodically across the tunnel ahead. For several tense seconds,nothing moves. Then the light catches it again—a brief flash of reflection, like eyes catching the beam.

“Someone’s there,” Eli says, his voice steady despite the tension evident in his posture.

Behind me, I hear the distinctive sound of Jensen’s rifle being readied.

“Hello?” Eli calls into the darkness, echoing. “Identify yourself. Please.”

Silence answers him, thick and oppressive.

My pulse quickens, the throbbing in my temples intensifying. I strain to see beyond Eli’s light into the impenetrable darkness that seems to swallow our beams rather than be pierced by them.

Then there’s movement ahead, a shadow detaching from the greater darkness. Then a voice, echoing in the tunnel.

“Who’s there?” the voice says.

A figure emerges into the edge of our lights and I’m about to cry out until I see that it’s a man in his thirties, dressed in hiking gear, a headlamp strapped to his forehead. He shields his eyes against our lights, his expression confused and slightly wary at our posse.

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” the hiker says, lowering his hand. “Didn’t expect to meet anyone in here, let alone a bunch of trail riders.”

“We’re just passing through,” Eli says. His tone is neutral but carries a clear warning to the stranger: don’t ask questions.

The hiker seems to pick up on the undercurrent of tension. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. There’s a storm coming in fast.” He steps to the side of the tunnel, pressing against the wall to let us pass. “These old tunnels can flood pretty quick when it rains. Wouldn’t want to get caught in here when that happens.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Eli says, nudging his horse forward.

As I pass the hiker, our eyes meet briefly. There’s nothing threatening in his gaze, just ordinary human curiosity, perhaps a hint of concern at our obvious agitation. Yet part of me wants to go with him. For the first time since I hired Jensen, I’m starting to second guess my decision. Hanging out at a campground and roasting hot dogs sounds much more preferable than what this journey has become.

Jensen is the last to pass him, and I hear him murmur something I can’t quite catch. The hiker’s response is equally low, but his tone suggests surprise, perhaps alarm.

Then we’re moving deeper into the tunnel, leaving the hiker behind. The darkness swallows him within seconds.

The next section of tunnel is longer, the darkness more complete somehow. The walls press closer, the ancient stonework slick with moisture. Patches of ice glisten in our flashlight beams, forcing the horses to pick their way carefully.

“Not natural, this cold,” Hank mutters behind me. “Not for October.”

No one contradicts him. The temperature has indeed dropped far below what it should be, even accounting for the elevation and approaching storm. My breath clouds in front of me, the moisture crystallizing in the beam of my flashlight, and I shiver slightly.

“Almost through,” Eli calls back, his voice oddly muffled in the dense air.

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