Page 25 of Silent Past

"This is it," she said quietly.

They swept their lights across the clearing. Five years had erased most signs of Kane's camp, but there were still traces—a rusted tent stake, a piece of frayed rope around a tree trunk.

"Over here," Finn called from the clearing's edge. He stood before a narrow fissure in the rock face, partially hidden by brush. "Looks like it goes deep."

Sheila joined him, examining the opening. It was tight—they'd have to go single file—but definitely passable. Cool air flowed from its depths, carrying the mineral smell of limestone.

"Another entrance to the cave system," she said. "One the FBI might not know about."

Finn checked his watch. "Sun's almost down. If we're going in—"

"We have to go now," Sheila finished. She keyed her radio. "Dispatch, this is Stone. We've located a possible second entrance to the ice cave system. Finn and I are going to check it out."

The radio crackled. "Copy that, Sheriff. Want me to send backup?"

Sheila hesitated, remembering Walsh's warning. If they called for backup, word would get back to the FBI. This might be their only chance to find what Kane and Mitchell had discovered.

"Negative," she said. "But log our position. If you don't hear from us in two hours, send a team."

"Copy that. Be careful, Sheriff."

Sheila switched on her headlamp and checked her harness. Beside her, Finn did the same, his movements efficient from years of training.

"Ready?" she asked.

He gave her a slight smile. "After you, boss."

The fissure was a tight fit, but it opened into a larger passage after about twenty feet. Their lights revealed worked stone—old tool marks in the rock, deliberate widening of natural formations.

"Someone improved this entrance," Finn said, running his hand along the wall. "A long time ago, from the look of it."

Sheila examined the floor, finding only the natural accumulation of limestone dust and small rocks. No scuff marks, no signs of recent passage. The air grew colder as they moved deeper, and their lights caught ice formations starting to form along the walls.

"We must be connecting to the main system," Finn said. His voice echoed strangely in the enclosed space.

The passage split, offering three choices. Sheila studied each opening, looking for any sign of disturbance. The right-hand tunnel sloped steeply downward, while the middle passage remained relatively level. The left-hand opening was partly blocked by fallen rock.

"Which way?" Finn asked.

Sheila considered. Kane had been an experienced caver—he would have taken the safest route while exploring. "Middle passage," she said. "Less chance of getting trapped by water or rockfall."

They moved carefully, aware that any sound could travel far in these tunnels. Ice made the footing treacherous, forcing them to test each step. Their lights revealed a progression of formations—delicate stalactites, crystalline flowstone that sparkled like diamond dust.

The passage gradually widened, opening into a small chamber. Unlike the large cavern where they'd found Mitchell, this space felt intimate, almost like a side chapel in an ancient church. Their lights revealed elaborate ice formations along the walls, like frozen waterfalls caught in mid-flow.

Finn's light beam settled on something against the far wall. At first it looked like another ice formation, but as they moved closer, details emerged from the darkness.

A figure sat cross-legged against the rock, dressed in elaborately decorated ceremonial robes. The garments were similar to Mitchell's—richly woven fabric adorned with intricate beadwork and symbols. Ice crystals had formed on the cloth, making it glitter in their lights.

"Kane," Sheila breathed. She approached slowly, her training warring with an instinct to retreat. The scene felt sacred somehow, untouched by time.

The body was remarkably preserved by the cold. Kane's face was peaceful, his eyes closed as if in meditation. His hands rested palm-up on his knees, an attitude of acceptance or offering.

"Just like Mitchell," Finn said quietly. "The ceremonial clothing, the careful positioning..."

Sheila circled the body, noting details. The robes were different from Mitchell's—the patterns suggested a different tradition, perhaps a different tribe. Even the beadwork seemed to tell a story she couldn't quite read.

"Check his neck," Finn suggested.

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