Page 12 of Rusty's Command

“There it is.” Sienna pointed to a large hole in the lava field that looked like an open mouth.

Making sure his truck was far enough away not to draw attention, the tires crunched on loose gravel as he parked inthe dappled shade of an ancient plumeria. Through the thick afternoon heat, the entrance to the lava tube was barely visible.

They climbed out, and as he reached her side, he indicated to Pickle in her arms. “Hang onto him.”

“I will.”

“I mean it. We don’t want?—”

“I said I would.” She glared at him.

Biting back a remark, he instructed Soda to jump out. She leaped from the truck and sat at his side so he could clip her onto the leash.

The volcanic field was empty except for scraggly weeds and a pair of wild goats, one sporting horns bigger than Pickle. Late afternoon sun pierced the cloud bank, turning the horizon to molten silver. At the tunnel mouth, Soda’s hackles lifted, and her nose worked the ground in sharp, professional patterns as she led them in.

Rusty’s flashlight beam glided over walls polished by ancient fire, and the curved surface reflected like burnished steel. The tube was wide enough to walk two abreast, and the ceiling was high above their heads.

“Amazing to think this was once a river of fire,” Sienna said as her palm slid along the polished wall.

“This whole island’s laced with them.” He kept his attention fixed ahead, avoiding her sidelong glance. “Like a subway system nobody uses anymore.”

“You seem to know a lot about them.”

The probing note in her voice made his shoulders tighten. The last thing he needed was her connecting old dots.

“Just picked up bits of info here and there after leaving the service.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was safer than the truth.

Soda went statue-still, every muscle locked, nose working the air in sharp pulls.

“Easy, girl.”

Her tail rose like a warning flag.

“What is it?” Sienna whispered. “Does she sense something?”

“Maybe.” He pressed his hand to Soda’s back. She was as hard as steel.Not just maybe. “She’s caught something, but . . .”

He let the rest of his sentence hang, watching Sienna’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

“But what?”

“Could be an old scent. Maybe nothing.”

He signaled Soda forward with two fingers, and she trotted ahead.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to Sienna, “and hold that dog tight.”

The tunnel split like a serpent’s tongue, and Sienna nodded to the right-hand side where the walls pinched closer, but the ceiling soared beyond his light and was absorbed into the volcanic darkness. Their footsteps echoed in the vast space, multiplying like phantom followers.

“Nearly there,” Sienna breathed. “There’s an opening and a natural ramp up to the clearing.”

He noted her certainty, the same precise recall as those tattoo descriptions.

Soda prowled ahead, body language screaming alert. His thumb found the holster snap at his side, so his gun was ready to draw. Better to be paranoid than dead.

A shaft of afternoon sun speared through a narrow tunnel exit up ahead, painting a golden circle on black stone.

“That’s where—” Sienna started.

---