Scarred and stitched up by my father’s own hands.
The box holds four more files identical to Cole’s. In a snap decision, I grab them all and shove them into my backpack, then scramble up the trail and back into the mines. When I emerge from the passageways, Cole stands hunched in the main room. I can barely bring myself to look at him.
‘I’ve double-checked all the rooms except the little alcove,’ he says. ‘I can’t get through that crack.’
‘There are no files in there.’
‘Can you make sure?’
I nod, dropping the backpack, happy for any excuse to avoid talking to him face-to-face until I can pull myself together. I duck into the foot-wide crack in the rock face, angling my hips into a channel I have to stand on tiptoe to reach. My chin grazes against the stone, and the rough sides bruise my ribs every time I inhale, shuffling sideways an inch at a time.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Cole calls out. ‘I don’t like this. Come back, please.’
‘It’s fine, I’m almost there.’ I reach for the edge of the gap and drag myself the last few inches, stumbling into the alcove. My headlamp dances across the walls, lighting up a stack of nutriBars and my crumpled sleeping bag. I brought supplies in here a few times, setting myself up with an emergency shelter to hide in if a fire came through the hills.
I lift the sleeping bag with the toe of my boot. A bundle of underwear spills out, revealing a couple of yellowed books and the dull sheen of an antique revolver.
Mother-of-pearl handle, ivy-leaf moulding. I’d forgotten all about this gun. Agnes gave it to me, but I always preferred the rifle. Longer range, better accuracy, easier to snipe from cover. The revolver’s cylinder still holds two bullets. I lift it slowly and turn it in my hand, wondering whether to keep it.
Cole won’t give me a gun, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bring my own. I briefly consider hiding it in my waistband, but I know that’s a stupid idea. He’ll notice it in a heartbeat, and two bullets won’t get me far, anyway. I set it back down on the floor again, still trying to make up my mind.
‘There’s nothing here,’ I call out. ‘No notes, at least.’
A beat of silence hangs in the air, but Cole doesn’t reply.
‘Cole?’ I call, looking back through the crack. The main room is empty, and all I can hear are the bats’ shrieks, louder than they should be. Louder than they were when we came in. My audio implants tick up, searching for Cole through the roar of the bats.
The sound of muffled laughter echoes off the walls.
I flick off my headlamp and dive into cover. A man’s footsteps pound into the main room, then turn and retreat again. I catch the barest glimpse in the yellow light of the glow sticks, but it’s all I need to know that we’re in serious trouble.
Dirt-crusted skin. Blackened nails. Tattered, blood-smeared clothing. The Lurkers must have hidden when they saw the jeep.
Now they’ve come for us.
‘Catarina?’ Cole’s voice is a whisper through the roar of the bats. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ I breathe, pressed flat against the wall.
‘There are four of them. They might not know you’re here, and they might not be able to get to you through that crack. I need you to stay in there, whatever happens.’
‘OK.’
‘Keep quiet.’ Cole runs out of the main room, his footsteps echoing through the shafts. The sound bounces off the walls, merging with the hurricane of leather wings until I can’t track him any more.
A sudden shout of surprise from one of the Lurkers echoes wildly, followed by a burst of gunfire that saturates my audio tech. I wince, the blare of static fading just in time for me to hear the thuds of three bodies slumping to the floor.
Cole said there were four of them. Three down, one to go. I close my eyes, focusing on the sounds, trying to hear what’s happening.
Footsteps echo in the main shaft, and the last Lurker lets out a roar. He’s running fast, spraying the walls with bullets. Cole’s rifle is almost silent, but I can hear him firing regular, careful shots. Both are getting closer, moving into the main room. A burst of gunfire bites into the walls, and I catch a glimpse of Cole racing into one of the side tunnels.
The gunshots cease. I can hear two sets of lungs, both panting, both in cover on the edges of the room. I don’t think the Lurker can see me from where he is, but my eyes dart to the mother-of-pearl revolver on the floor.
It’s lying in the middle of the crack, in plain sight of the main cavern. The silver is dull, but it still catches the gleam of the glow sticks. I must have kicked it into the crack when I scrambled over to the wall, and now it could lead the Lurker straight to me. I drop to my knees and reach forward to grab it just as another burst of gunfire erupts.
A wild spray of bullets slams into the cave walls. One hits the back of the alcove, and I throw myself backwards, the gun clutched in my hands. Chips of rock spray out from the impact, slicing a gash across my wrist. A puff of sawdust floats through the crack as something hits the floor outside.
Without looking, without listening, I already know what’s happened. I can feel it like a kick to the stomach.
Cole’s been hit.
In a moment of panic, I jerk my head to the crack, catching a glimpse of the Lurker. He’s in a tattered leather jacket, his hair in matted clumps. He picks up Cole’s rifle in one filthy hand. Cole is lying on his back in front of the alcove, but I can’t see where he was shot.
I slide back out of sight, pressing myself against the wall. Cole is hurt. He needs my help. I look down at the revolver in my hands.
‘Tried to hurt me,’ the Lurker growls, pacing around the room. He’s limping, breathing heavily. ‘Shouldn’t have come here.’ His words have a strange inflection, his cadence off-kilter. All the Lurkers I’ve come across sound like that – the ones who can still speak, that is. Some talk only in snarls, abandoning language as they descend into pure savagery.
Cole doesn’t reply.
I risk another glance through the crack. In the dim light of the glow sticks, I can see his hand pressed to his stomach. He’s alive, but he’s badly wounded. His shirt is soaked with blood. The Lurker ambles past, and I dart back into cover.
‘Going to kill you now,’ the Lurker says. I can hear the sneer in his voice.
‘G-go on, then,’ Cole stutters. ‘Take your best shot.’
‘Reckon I will.’
‘I reckon …’ Cole starts, then groans with pain. He sucks in a breath. ‘I reckon you’re batshit.’
The Lurker chuckles, a deep sound that echoes off the walls. He stops pacing, coming to a stop on the other side of Cole. A metallic click rings out as he cocks Cole’s rifle.
There is no conscious thought in my mind as I stand and swing round.