38

The Gloup
Orkney Islands, Scotland

She woke to wet puppy kisses lapping at her face.

When she tried to push the dog away, she realized she couldn’t move. A lurch of panic ripped her completely back to consciousness.

She lay on her stomach. It was the sea, not a dog, trying to wake her.

The solid smack of a ledge had caught her. The rock was unforgiving, but if she’d missed it, she would have drowned. She did not know how long she’d blacked out.

The sharp tang of metal flooded her mouth.

Blood.

She tried to sit up again, but with no more luck. Fear rolled in like storm clouds. She was a child again, paralyzed by a nightmare, unable to even call for her father.

But wait.

Her fingers wiggled under her belly. She’d landed on them, pinned them under herself. Leaning to the left, she freed one arm. The same happened when she tipped her weight to the right. Both elbows felt tight, skinned, but they worked. She pushed her upper body off the ground and rolled over onto her butt.

She moved both feet, causing a blinding sear of pain in her left leg. Her pants were ripped, a dark liquid staining the edges of the tear.

Her flashlight had disappeared. The strap must have torn off in the fall.

Thoughts buzzed like bees. She swatted at them. Likely, she was concussed. The rope was still looped through her harness, except rather than running taut to the surface, it hung limp down to the sea. She drew it toward her, making a loop with each section. Fourteen loops later, she held the other end.

It had been sliced cleanly.

“Bode? Charlie?”

She’d whispered their names, knowing it was pointless. If they hadn’t heard her before, they wouldn’t hear her now. She rubbed her hand over a goose egg the size of a peach at her temple. How long had she been out? The water appeared the same height as it had been before she’d fallen, but that could be a trick of the angle she’d looked at it from. Was it possible her blackout lasted only seconds?

She stood, gently putting weight on her wounded leg. The pain burned, but she could stand. Thank god for the first-aid kit Bode had packed in her bandolier.

And her phone!

She unzipped the pocket and tugged it out. No signal. Not surprising given that she was deep inside the earth, but at least the clock worked—she was relieved to see she’d been unconscious for no more than a few minutes, maybe less—and she could use its flashlight function. Propping her cell on a rock, she removed the first-aid kit and located gauze squares and a roll of medical tape.

She pulled aside the torn cloth of her pants, revealing a deep three-inch gash. It made her feel woozy looking at it, so she tamped the bandages over the top of the cut. The white turned red instantly. She wrapped the tape around her pants leg as many times as she could, hoping to slow down the blood flow.

“Charlie!” she yelled, strength returning as she took control of her body. “Bode!”

No answer.

She glanced out to sea, a slice of sky and brightness two hundred feet beyond the cave. Bode had warned her of open water currents. Even if she could swim through the cold water of the cave, she’d have to hug the sheer cliffs of the Orkney shore for another half mile before she could climb ashore.

The only way out was up.

The wall opposite her appeared massive, the circle of light at the top a world away. She tried to recall every bit of Bode’s rock climbing advice. She’d listened with half an ear, never intending to need it, sure that she’d have a rope and would be doing more swinging than climbing. Bode had instructed her to establish a solid foothold before moving an arm, hug the wall like a lover, and always plan a step out. It was good life advice. She was sure he’d told her more, but she couldn’t recall it.

Salem couldn’t hold her phone and climb at the same time. She turned off its flashlight function and tucked it away. She must rely on the dim light and her instincts to find the hand and toeholds.

She tackled the wall, refusing to think of what awaited her on top.

Once she compartmentalized her leg pain, climbing the first few feet was methodical. Foot in crevice, reach for handhold. Foot in new crevice, reach for new handhold. Periodically glance down and then up to get bearings. It was slow, agonizing work. Despite the cold temperature, sweat poured down her spine and into the waistband of her pants.

Twenty feet above the ledge that saved her life, the bruises and bumps that had gotten in line behind the sharp pain of the slash in her leg began to scream for attention. Her back was on fire. She suspected that the hot slipperiness in her shoe was accumulating blood. She looked up, estimating by the angle of the sun that she’d been climbing for half an hour.

At this rate, she had another hour to go.

The next handhold was an inch beyond her grasp. Her shoulders were quivering with the effort. She’d need to place her foot higher to reach it. She pushed off from the wall, gently, so she could look down at her feet in search of a new spot.

Her eyes snagged on a shape, something unusual carved into the rock. She squinted. It was a V, at thigh level, crosshatching carved inside of it.

The identical design as found on the Flower Rock.

Her heart pumped a jolt of energy to her extremities.

“I found something!” she yelled.

The wall was damp under her hand, jagged. Straining, she felt for the shape of the V, tracing it with her fingertip. She needed to move down so it was at eye level. It hurt, mentally and physically, to give up ground. She slipped the first time she tried to lower herself, barely catching her weight. With grit and determination, her foot found a new toehold and she eased herself two feet lower.

She found herself face to face with thirteen Vs.

They were weathered, but they were there, carved into the stone.

Because there was no way to hold her phone and cling to the wall, she would have to explore the Vs with her hands, searching for an irregularity or a trip switch. Starting with the etching the farthest from her, she ran her finger along its interior. Each of its legs was four inches tall and as smooth as soapstone.

She felt inside the crosshatching. No irregularities there either. She repeated the search with the next two Vs, which were connected at their wide ends to form a diamond. Same with the fourth and the fifth Vs. The exploration was oddly soothing, like rubbing a giant worry stone. Her dad had given her one when she was five and scared of the monsters under her bed, telling her to rub her thumb across the surface of it, so smooth that it felt wet.

Remembering her dad gave her courage.

She reached for the sixth V, this one a complete triangle.

All three of its arms were smooth. She touched the whorls inside. The first and second were sleek.

The third was not.

Its center hid a marble-sized indent. She pushed it.

The bottom half of the V popped out of the wall like a drive-up bank drawer. The rock that had concealed it clattered to the ledge below.

Her angle prevented her from seeing inside the metal trough.

Salem forced herself to be patient, inching slowly to the left, closer to the drawer, attaching herself to the wall with two solid footholds and a handhold. She was rewarded. Her new position allowed her to peek in the drawer.

It held a jewel-encrusted box the size of a harmonica.

On top of that lay a sheet of white paper folded in half.

Salem reached for it.

It was thicker than printer stock, the texture and weight of kindergarten construction paper.

She dipped her thumb into the fold so she could look inside.

The light was shadowy, intermittent, but bright enough that Salem could see what was drawn on the paper. She began trembling so violently that she feared she would not be able to cling to the wall. A wail began to build deep in her belly, threatening to explode up her throat.

The paper featured a crayon drawing of two people holding hands, one a curly-haired brunette woman, one a yellow-haired little girl, both with dramatically five-toed feet and five-fingered hands. Round blue tears fell on the child’s cheeks. HELP was scratched underneath her in uneven block letters.

Salem struggled to breathe. Mercy had drawn this picture, Salem would have known that even if Bel hadn’t shown her a similar drawing on the Minneapolis fridge. The message was clear: Time is running out.

She fought to calm herself. The Order had been one step ahead of her and Charlie the entire way. They’d known this code was down here, and that she’d find it. Why were they playing with her?

Breathe in through your mouth to the count of four. Hold to the count of seven. Breathe out to the count of eight. You can still save Mercy. They still want something from you, or you’d be dead. Don’t give into fear. Don’t give up.

When she had her breathing under control, she slid the drawing into the back pocket of her jeans. She then reached for the metal box in the drawer, grasping it, the cold gems sharp against her palm. She unzipped a bandolier pocket with the same fingers that held the box, slipped it inside, and zipped it closed.

She jammed the metal drawer shut. A spelunker with lights would be able to discern the imperfection in the wall, but they’d have to be looking for it.

Eyes back on the surface, she started her climb to the top.

Her fear for Mercy began to morph into anger. It was terrible what the Order was doing. This was not a game. A sweet little girl’s life was at stake, and they were toying with her. If Salem made it out of here, she would solve this train and feed it to them.

If she made it out of here.

Her leg was growing numb. On one level, the pain cessation was a relief, but it meant there was more blood loss than she thought. A muffled, off-kilter feeling crept up her spine. She must not lose consciousness. She needed to reach the top. If she perished down here, this clue was lost forever.

And Mercy would die.

Salem jammed her foot in a toehold. She reached for a new handhold. She’d climb out of the sea cave one inch at a time. It didn’t matter how long it took.

Her concentration was so absolute that a whisking sound overhead startled her.

A rope had dropped down.

Her heart hammered at her chest. If she wasn’t clinging to a wall, she’d have jumped away from the rope like it was a snake. She studied it, wary. She reached out and tugged. It held. She glanced up at an unbroken sliver of sky. Bode had shown her how to string her harness. She could do it, but she didn’t know who had thrown the rope down, if they were friend or enemy.

She’d have to confront the person sooner or later. Might as well conserve her remaining strength and reach the top the easiest way. She threaded the rope through her harness. She felt around until she found a sharp wedge of stone she could palm.

And then she hoisted herself toward the opening, not knowing who or what awaited.