Abandon

FIFTY-THREE

J

une whimpered, “I should’ve stayed with Emmett. He’s all alone in that place.”

Abigail walked with her arm around June, supporting her, and within earshot of the two professors. “I know,” she said, “but we can’t split up, and with the snow coming down like this, the roof of Emerald House could collapse.”

They made a careful descent out of Emerald Basin, down the steep switchbacks to the canyon floor, Lawrence and Quinn talking shop while they fought their way through the snow.

Even though her tailbone was in agony, Abigail felt revived by a second wind as they passed their buried tents, the llamas standing together in a mass of fur and breath clouds. It was almost four in the morning when they entered the ghost town of Abandon, a pride of headlamps moving between the dark and snow-fraught buildings—some swaying in the wind, on the brink of collapse.

She caught a fragment of what Lawrence was saying: “. . . tempting, but my first priority is getting June and my daughter out of here.”

As they approached the north end of Abandon, Abigail improved her pace, came up between the professors, said, “So where are you taking us, Lawrence?”

He glanced back. “Not much farther now. All will be revealed.”

At the end of town, Lawrence turned and led them up the east side of the canyon. After a hundred yards, Abigail’s headlamp shone on something through the heavy snow—that ruined church in the spruce, its iron bell capped with snow, its cross powder-blown and listing in the wind.

They hiked on, the snow rising almost to her knees. Soon they were climbing again, Abigail using her hands and feet now, the slope so steep that

she had to kick her boots in to avoid slipping. At the moment she didn’t think she could climb anymore, Lawrence reached back and pulled her and June up onto a wide ledge.

They’d arrived at the base of the rimrock. From here, the canyon wall rose vertically into darkness, and Abigail was on the verge of asking where they could possibly go from here when she saw it—behind Quinn, an opening to a mine shaft, seven feet high and wide enough for several to walk abreast into the mountain.

“How have I never seen this?” Quinn said.

Lawrence pointed to the rock around the opening. “Because of the way the rock overhangs, you can’t see the shadow of the tunnel from the canyon floor. You’d have to stumble upon it by sheer dumb luck, like I did last year.”

He turned and walked into the mine.

“Warmer in here,” Quinn said.

“Most of the mines around Abandon stay a balmy thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit year round. Refreshing in the summer.”

Abigail and June followed them in.

The wind died away.

“How’s your ankle holding up, Lawrence?” Abigail asked.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m on pure adrenaline now.”

Water dripped from the ceiling onto the hood of Abigail’s jacket.

The air smelled dank, of water and minerals.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“They used to call it a ‘shoofly,’ ” Lawrence said, his voice echoing off the rock and trailing away deep into the mountain. “It’s just an entryway into the mine.”

She shined her headlamp into the distance, where the tunnel seemed to narrow, and thirty feet ahead, Abigail saw their headlamp beams converge upon a small iron door.