Shadowmark (The Shadowmark Trilogy Book 1) (23 page)

Nash prevented any coup by ordering all the civilians to pack up and climb into the working vehicles before nightfall the previous evening. A few refugees shouted and threw rocks as the soldiers helped them onto the trucks, and their cursing and hollering kept Lincoln awake all night. Soldiers guarded the trucks until morning. At first light, they pulled out, heading for the small service road that had brought them in. Nelson muttered expletives as Jeeps and trucks rumbled past. They were using the remaining fuel to transport the refugees out.
 

Lincoln and the others headed back to the mountain. Baker insisted Nelson go, too. Lincoln didn’t exactly know what Nash expected them to do. Lincoln didn’t know what he expected, other than searching for more symbols and hoping the doors opened again. At least one led to the silo. The others led somewhere else. If only he’d had a light with him the night he’d stumbled on the second tunnel—he’d have been able to see if the other doors were open, too.

The sounds below faded as the team passed by the mine entrance and climbed the mountain. Baker and Schmidt followed close behind. Just before the tunnel entrance, Lincoln stopped and held up his hand.

“What is it?” Baker joined him.

“I thought I saw something move in the trees.”

“Bear?”

“No.”

Baker had not allowed Lincoln or Carter to have weapons since she took charge. She moved out ahead with Schmidt, cautiously, her rifle ready. Lincoln, Carter, Nelson, and Alvarez followed slowly. Schmidt led them to the tunnel hidden in the trees, where they turned and looked back.

“There!” Alvarez pointed to their right, down the mountain. Below them, a man moved swiftly through the trees. He wore Army fatigues.

“How did someone from camp get up here before us unless they knew where to go?”

“They didn’t,” said Baker. “It’s Halston.”

Nelson, who hadn’t spoken to Baker all day, turned to her in surprise. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Lincoln tried to recall Halston’s face and squinted at the quickly disappearing man below. “Aren’t you going after him?”

Baker frowned. “He’s already too far away, and I can’t leave you,” she said coolly.

“But how do you know it’s him? Did you know him well?” asked Alvarez. “He tried to kill Lincoln! Shouldn’t that be more important than babysitting us?”

“I’m following my orders. The deserter might come back.” She nodded at the ground around the cave. Fresh, combat-boot imprints went in and out of the tunnel.

Shaking his head, Lincoln said, “Do you know something we don’t? What’s he doing down there? Has he been back long?”

“You know as much as I do,” said Baker, looking into the tunnel. “I haven’t seen him since before he attacked you. Corporal,”—she turned to Schmidt—“you stay here. And be careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They had one torch left, so they waited to light it until they’d reached the bottom of the metal stairway. As soon as Lincoln’s feet touched stone, he moved to the side to let the others descend. Confident in his surroundings, even in the dark, he groped for the wall ahead and the symbols. But his hand couldn’t find them after all. Thinking he’d turned himself around, he called to Carter who was already lighting the torch. In a few seconds, firelight blazed.
 

Carter held the torch aloft while the group paused to let their eyes adjust. When Lincoln turned away, he realized why he hadn’t found the wall—he was standing in it. The silo opened up before him. Lincoln grabbed the torch from Carter and looked at either side. The other doors remained closed. Lincoln examined the open doorway in the flickering light. The symbols here had disappeared, and the door with them. Putting two and two together, Lincoln rounded on Baker. The others must have had the same thought, because they all took a step back and watched her. Baker narrowed her eyes.

Lincoln spoke quickly, “Tell us what you know about Halston.”

“Why?”

“Because he knows how to read the alien symbols.”

“How could he do that?” asked Baker. She stared at the hieroglyphs with wide eyes. Lincoln remembered she had never been down here before.
 

“You tell us,” said Nelson.

Baker tore her eyes from the symbols to look at the team. “I have no idea. What are these?”

Lincoln shook his head. “We’re not sure. What does Halston know about them?”

“Why do you think he has something to do with them?”

“Because he was obviously here a few minutes ago, and now the door to the silo is open. It was closed two days ago. And last time we know he was here, he disappeared into the silo. Logic says he knows how to open this door.”

“Yes,” added Alvarez, “and if you’d gone after him, we might already know how.”

Baker scowled at the four of them. “Don’t make this about me.”

“Right,” said Lincoln, “because you’re just following orders?”

“I’m trying to keep the camp together. If you leave, half the personnel will desert tomorrow. With you gone, what else are we here for?”

“How should we know?” asked Nelson, his sour mood returning. “Let them desert. We don’t have any answers.”

“Are you sure about that?” Baker nodded at the hieroglyphs.

Lincoln looked at them again, his eyes tracing the familiar circular writings. “We don’t know. Now that Halston has been here again, there’s got to be something else going on. Something we’re missing. None of this adds up.”

They searched around the entrance for a while, looking for some clue to tell them why the door was open. They even checked Corridor A, but it was closed. Everything looked the same as before, except for the hole in the silo wall. After an hour of fruitless searching, they stamped back up the stairs and met Schmidt, who reported that everything was quiet.

Later that evening, around the campfire, Lincoln took advantage of a brief moment without Baker, who had gone to report to Nash. Schmidt sat apart from them, sharpening his knife.

“We aren’t going to get any help from them,” said Lincoln in a low voice.

The other three leaned in. Carter spoke first. “Look, I know you want to know what’s going on here—we all do—but we’re getting nowhere. And don’t you get the feeling Nash and Baker think we’re holding out on them? Like we know something and are refusing to help?”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” said Alvarez. Lincoln nodded, too. “What’s going to happen if we don’t figure it out? Will they just keep us here indefinitely?”

“If we left, would they come after us, do you think?” asked Nelson.

“Probably, yes,” replied Lincoln. “You heard the colonel. He thinks we have the answers.” He tossed a twig into the fire.

“Then what should we do?” asked Alvarez.

“Fake it?” asked Nelson. He wore a slight grin, his first smile in weeks. “We could tell them we’re making progress. Give them what they want.”

“Then what?” asked Lincoln. “What happens when they find out we’re bluffing?”

“We don’t wait that long. We start stowing food away. Take it up the mountain with us.” Nelson glanced at Schmidt, who had moved on to cleaning his gun, and lowered his voice even further. “A little every day, until we have enough of the symbols to find the patterns.”

Lincoln gaped at Nelson, trying to understand this turn of phrase, until he realized Nelson had changed his words mid-sentence. He looked up as Baker approached the fire, her eyes on the group. Lincoln nodded and tried to sound casual. “Sounds good. Maybe we should have been looking for larger patterns, rather than at individual circles. Maybe the answer is the bigger picture. We’ll go first thing in the morning.” Lincoln stood up and stretched, ignoring Baker, and walked toward his tent.

“Surrey,” called Baker.

Lincoln stopped, worried she’d seen through their little charade already.

“You left your dirty plate out. There are still bears in the area.”

Lincoln sighed and trudged over, relieved that was all Baker had to say. He returned his plate to the mess tent and said goodnight before crawling into his tent.

DAY 47

D
OYLE
AND
M
INA
DID
NOT
discuss their argument, nor the man buried at the base of the mountain. The weight in Mina’s chest was always present now, and even sleep provided no relief. She relived the memory over and over in her dreams—the click of the gun, the man’s body as it fell backward onto the ground, Doyle’s grim face. She no longer pestered Doyle with questions, in part because she did not want another confrontation, in part because it all seemed pointless. Doyle had returned to his normal briskness, but a few times, she caught him glancing back at her.
 

She justified her decision to stick with Doyle by reminding herself he had never threatened or scared her even after he pulled the trigger. But Mina was half horrified by herself for not reacting more strongly to Doyle’s actions. Would the future would be full of callous decisions? The question haunted her more than the shooting.

Two weeks passed of Mina silently following Doyle through the mountains, hiking through increasingly dense foliage as spring rains turned the world bright green and muddy. One morning, Mina woke to the sound of thunder. Before she could find better shelter, rain was pouring down, drenching her in seconds. Doyle had disappeared, so she grabbed her bag and looked for a dryer spot beneath the trees. As she settled in under a thickly needed fir tree with her hood over her head, Doyle appeared from somewhere behind her, water dripping off the short, dark beard he had grown.

“Hey,” he said. “Up here.” As he led her up and around a protruding slope of the mountain, a small rustic cabin, nestled in among the trees, came into view. Its front porch jutted out over the mountainside, and steep stairs hugged the side of the house. A muddy driveway led away from it. Doyle climbed the stairs two at a time, but Mina grabbed his jacket sleeve before he got far.

“Wait! What if someone’s in there?” she shouted over the roaring rain.

Doyle shook his head. “I checked.”

Mina followed, though hesitantly. The wide porch spanned the cabin’s length. Firewood was stacked to the left of the unlocked center door. Doyle opened it, and they stepped inside. Mina looked around the small living area—a worn couch faced the porch windows and two sets of bunk beds were lined up against the dark-paneled wall to the left. A breakfast bar separated the living area from a small open kitchen on the right. A fireplace faced the windows too, separating the kitchen from a closet and bathroom. The air reeked of stale chimney and tobacco smoke.

Doyle checked the cabinets for food and found them full of nonperishables—cans of tuna, soup, boxes of crackers, and noodles. But Mina stopped him from looking in the refrigerator, pointing at the dirty dishes piled in the sink and several articles of clothing tossed haphazardly across the back of the couch.
 

“Someone lives here,” she said.

Doyle shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What if he comes back?”

“We’ll be long gone.” He continued to stuff useful items into his backpack.

“We can’t take their stuff!”

“Why not?”

“It’s wrong . . . and illegal.” Mina regretted the words as soon as they came out.

Doyle snorted. “What are they going to do? Call the police?”

“Just . . . don’t.”
 

The rain poured harder, pummeling the tin roof.

“Why did you come in here then?” he asked. “Go and wait outside if you want. Or be useful, see what you can find.”

After weeks of living outside, Mina didn’t care to rush back out into the rain. She walked around the cabin, opening closets and drawers without removing anything. In the small bathroom, she looked longingly at the corner shower, fantasizing for a moment about hot water and shampoo. She turned the tap, but no water came out of the faucet.

“The pump’s not on,” said Doyle, standing in the doorway. “Wrong kind of generator. It must have fried with everything else.”

“Still,” said Mina, “at least we’re out of the rain for a bit. Although this place is small for a vacation spot.”
 

“It’s just a hunting cabin,” he said as he walked away.

In a drawer beneath the sink, Mina found a new toothbrush still in its packaging. She pulled it out and put it on the counter, then looked around for a tube of toothpaste. Nothing.
 

Purposely avoiding the mirror, she looked out the tiny bathroom window, throwing it open so she could enjoy the sound of the rain on the leaves outside. As she turned away, something moved at the corner of her vision, drawing her back to the sill. The dense undergrowth behind the cabin rustled, and a large brown dog emerged, sniffing around the back bushes. Mina whistled. The dog, some kind of hound, jerked its head around at the cabin, listening. Mina whistled again, this time standing squarely in the window. When the dog saw her, it bounded away into the bushes. Mina sighed and closed the window.

“What the heck are you doing?” asked Doyle who was back in the bathroom doorway.

“I saw a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Outside the window, but it ran off.”

“I would too if you whistled at me like that.”

“Very funny.” The cross mood that had overshadowed their interactions the last few days momentarily lifted. Mina left the bathroom to walk out onto the porch with Doyle and look for the dog.
 

“We could stay and wait for whoever lives here,” he said as they scanned the dripping foliage.

Mina secretly hoped the person who lived in the cabin was gone for good, but she didn’t speak the thought aloud. Instead she said, “I never thought I’d pass up a soft bed and roof over our heads, but no. What if he starts shooting at us when he comes back?”

Doyle nodded slightly. “You’re becoming more cautious, at least. About time.”
 

The rain slowed to a drizzle, so they left the cabin and spent the rest of the day looking for food. Eventually they split up, Mina wandering off to forage on her own. She plodded through a dense patch in search of berries when she noticed the dog again, bounding through the wet foliage, nose to the ground. Did it belong to the hunter? Mina followed it, easing through the wet underbrush below the cabin. The dog led her down a steep embankment, and Mina was forced to slide down in the mud, grabbing trees and rocks for support. At the bottom, a natural spring bubbled out of the hillside and filled a small depression between two large boulders. The dog went around to the other side and began to scratch at something on the ground. Mina slid around the boulder to get a closer look.