by Jen Blood
It wasn’t the slush or the rocks that nearly brought me to my knees.
At the bottom, a dozen or more bodies lay half-buried in the snow. Men; women; a little girl, maybe seven years old, holding tight to an infant whose face was blue with the cold, eyes shut as though in sleep.
I fought to stay calm, searching the faces. The bodies were huddled together, as though seeking warmth or comfort in the moments before death. I thought of the Payson Church, suddenly: whole families burned to death, trapped within the walls of a place that was supposed to be their sanctuary. Jonestown. Jesup Barnel’s manic eyes as he stood at the podium just over two weeks ago, addressing an auditorium filled with people prepared to die.
Revolutionary suicide.
Ultimately, the Payson deaths hadn’t had anything to do with suicide.
And the Melquists? Did these people really, willingly head out in a snowstorm, crawl into a pit, and sit there waiting to freeze to death? And if so, why? Jim Jones claimed suicide was the only option for his congregation—that if he and his followers didn’t kill themselves, the U.S. government would come for them. Take their children.
Why would this family choose to die?
Solomon stood beside me. She started the treacherous descent into the pit alone, ignoring Jamie’s order to stop.
“I can’t tell who’s in there,” she said, looking back over her shoulder. The dead were bundled in parkas and hats, bodies slumped together. The cold had staved off the most obvious signs of decay, so it was hard to tell how long they had been there. Based on the amount of undisturbed snow covering the scene, however, it had been at least a day.
There would be no survivors.
I forced myself to look at the dead again, still searching. I paused at sight of a slight figure almost swallowed by a deep red parka. In the glove-clad hand was a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. The woman wore stylish black boots and blue jeans that were drenched and frozen stiff. Her face was hidden by the parka hood, but that didn’t matter.
I knew exactly who it was.
“Solomon,” I said, my voice hoarse. She hadn’t seen yet. She looked back at me, a question in her eyes. “Stop,” I said quietly. “Please.”
“I just need to check them—just to make sure she’s not here.”
“Let them do that. Come back up with me.”
She read the look in my eyes. I watched fear, then sorrow, cross her face. When she went back to looking, it was with a desperation that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t try to stop her again. It wasn’t like she could make things worse.
It wasn’t like she could do anything at all.
I stood by and watched as she plowed headfirst into the sea of corpses, useless as she checked the pulses of the bodies surrounding her mother. Otherwise, she was careful not to disturb the dead—we knew protocol well enough. Crime scenes had become a part of daily life for both of us by then.
She paused for a second before she reached Kat, suddenly calm. The sight of blood makes me weak, but Solomon always seems to take it in stride. She just sets out to fix what’s broken. And then, to record what can’t be fixed.
And she stays so eerily calm, in the face of it all.
“Erin!” Jamie called down to her.
Solomon held up her hand, signaling the other woman to wait. She stepped over an old man, slumped on the ground with his legs stretched out and his mouth slack, his face half-submerged in slush. There was a little boy in his arms, maybe three years old. The boy had been crying when he died.
My stomach lurched, bile rising in my throat.
When Solomon reached the woman in the red parka, she crouched.
Pushed the hood back.
Dark black hair tinged with gray; green eyes closed. Despite everything else she may have been, Solomon’s mother was always a beautiful woman. Death hadn’t changed that. I took a step forward, ready to brave the worst if it meant pulling Solomon out of this now. I waited for a look of despair, any dawning realization of what we’d found. Instead, Solomon looked over her shoulder at me with a wild light in her eyes.
“She’s alive.”
“What?”
“Help me get her out of here,” she shouted, coming to life herself. “She’s breathing!”
She’d snapped—clearly. There was no way in hell anyone was alive here.
“Solomon, this place… They’re all dead—”
“She hasn’t been here as long as the others,” she insisted. She knelt, checking for a pulse. “She couldn’t have been. And there’s staining around some of the victims’ mouths, but I’m not seeing any here. I’d guess poisoning… but I don’t think she was. Pulse is weak, but steady.” Solomon ran her hands over her mother’s body, checking for injuries. “Hypothermia is the biggest concern right now. We need to get her out of here.”
She continued an ongoing, one-sided dialogue while Jamie unpacked a portable stretcher from her bag of tricks, and she and Juarez headed into the pit. Kat’s skin was ice cold. There was a deep gash on the left side of her forehead, the blood clotted. We loaded her as carefully as possible onto the stretcher. Solomon took a thermometer from Jamie’s kit and crouched beside her mother, sticking the instrument in Kat’s ear. Her face flashed clear relief when she read the result.
“Ninety-six,” she said to Jamie. “We just have to make sure it doesn’t drop any farther, but she’s not hypothermic.”
With that tiny bit of good news, we coordinated our efforts and maneuvered the stretcher through and over the fallen bodies around us until we were back on even ground.
Monty and Carl were still staring into the abyss when we came out, both men silent. Monty’s usual light expression had gone dark. “What do we do about the others?” he asked, looking at Juarez. The Fed ran a hand over his face, looking as exhausted as I’d ever seen him.
“The police can process the scene tomorrow. Right now, we need to get inside. We can ride out the rest of the storm at the station. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Carl remained silent. Monty scratched his head. “It doesn’t seem right, leaving them out here. The kids…” His voice broke.
“I know,” Juarez said. “But right now we need to focus on keeping the rest of us alive. It’s the best we can do.”
Despite his words, I noticed that Juarez lingered when the rest of the group walked away, carrying Kat on the stretcher between us. I looked back over my shoulder. The agent knelt at the edge of the pit, head bowed. He crossed himself, wiped his eyes, and stood before anyone else had even noticed he was gone.
The trek back to the research station was quiet. Kat remained unconscious, bundled in a warming blanket while Solomon fussed over her the whole trip back. Despite the fact that we’d found her mother alive, the memory of the bodies we’d left behind kept the mood dark. It was all too raw, too horrifying, to do anything but move on in silence.
When we got back to the station, Jamie and Cheyenne took Casper in to tend to icy paws and hungry mutt bellies while Juarez and I hauled Kat down the hall to the community bunk room, Solomon on our heels directing traffic.
We transferred Kat to one of the bunks. Twice during the trek, she’d started to come around—babbling nonsense, thrashing on the stretcher. Now, I watched as her eyelids fluttered and her hands clenched into fists. The others left Solomon alone while she concentrated on warming her mother, but I stayed behind. It still made no sense to me how the woman had ended up in a pit of corpses without being one of those corpses herself. Something wasn’t right here.
Sol pulled up a chair next to her mother’s bed. I took one of the neighboring bunks. I watched as she silently cleaned her mother’s head wound, her head bowed like she was doing penance. Maybe she was.
“Can I do anything?” I asked.
She shook her head without looking up. “I’ve got it. You can go if you want. Get yourself something to eat.”
“I’m all right. How long do you think she’ll be out?”
“I don’t know fo
r sure. Her temp’s rising at a good rate, and she’s responsive to light and sound—I don’t think it will be long. For all I know, she’s only under now because of the booze. She smells like a distillery.”
“The thing about whiskey warming core body temperature isn’t true, right?” I asked. “Otherwise, we could say Jack Daniels actually saved her.”
“No. Jack Daniels definitely didn’t save her,” she said shortly. She put ointment on the gash and carefully bandaged it, brushing Kat’s hair away from her face. It made me think of the girl Solomon had been when we’d first met almost two decades ago: all blazing eyes and unbreakable spirit, her chin perpetually held high.
“You want me to get you something from the kitchen?” I asked.
“I’ll get something later.” She leaned back in her chair on a slow exhale, running her hand through her hair. “Did they lock all the doors? I wonder if there’s a way we can barricade the windows.”
“You’re afraid Jenny will come for her?”
She looked at me for the first time, her eyes shadowed. “I’m afraid she’ll come for all of us.”
So was I.
“Do you have any idea what Kat would have been doing in that pit?” I asked. “They were obviously already been dead when she went in.”
“Yeah, definitely. It doesn’t look like she went down there to try and help anyone.”
I scratched my chin. “I have a theory.”
“That she was hiding among the dead?” Solomon guessed. My surprise must have shown, because she shrugged. “It doesn’t make much sense otherwise, does it? A pit full of dead bodies, apparently poisoned at least a day ago… And still no sign of those two students who were manning the research station. I think someone was out here looking for Kat. Maybe the pit was the only place she could think to hide, where the bad guys wouldn’t come looking.”
What the hell had happened out here in the past twenty-four hours?
Solomon got up and retrieved a piece of paper with two columns of numbers printed on it, then sat down beside me.
“It’s the contents of the memory card—there’s a printer in the lab. I took a couple of minutes and got everything printed out,” she explained. She took out a pen and scrawled ‘Raven’s Ledge’ beside the entry with the island’s coordinates. The numbers following those coordinates remained a mystery, though.
“What do you think they are?” she asked.
I had no more idea now than I had before. “No clue,” I admitted.
The room was chilly, the light just fading outside. It was five o’clock. My stomach rumbled. I wasn’t sure I had enough energy to propel myself into the kitchen for food before I passed out.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
The only time Solomon is reluctant to say what’s on her mind is when she knows I won’t like it. A few seconds of silence passed before she gave in.
“When the cops get here tomorrow, there’s no way they’re letting us near the Melquist place again.”
I didn’t disagree—partly because she was right; partly because it wouldn’t have done any good if I had.
“So, maybe if we can get Jack to come with us, we could go back? There are a couple of things I’d like to check out before we leave here, and I have no idea when I’ll have the chance again.”
“We should go before dark, if we’re going,” I said. She raised her eyebrows. I managed a half-hearted grin. “You were expecting a fight?”
“Hell, yeah, I was expecting a fight. This is us we’re talking about. I’m not sure what to do if you’re just going to start agreeing with me all the time.”
“I don’t think you have to worry your pretty little head about that anytime soon, ace. Juarez and I already talked about this, though. It makes sense to go back now, before cops are crawling all over the scene. We’ll go with you. The others can stay here to keep an eye on Kat.”
She tipped her head at me, eyebrows raised in bemusement. “You know, somehow I thought the fact that Jack and I dated, broke up, and you and I started… whatever we’re doing, less than twenty-four hours later, might have strained your bromance.”
“Nope. The love affair lives on.” I hesitated, not sure whether we were still on even ground. When her focus returned to Kat, I figured we were all right. “But I’m serious about the nightfall thing—if we’re doing this, we should do it now.”
“Yeah, okay.” She waved her hand at me in the same gesture she’d use to shoo a pesky housefly. “I’ve got it, Diggs. Just give me a second.”
I’d no more than crossed the room, just a foot or so from the door, when Kat groaned. I turned as her eyes opened.
“Kat,” Solomon said. “You’re all right. Just relax.”
“Why am I here?” Kat asked, her voice pure gravel. Usually the quintessential ice queen, right now it was impossible to miss her panic. She struggled to sit up.
“It’s okay,” Sol said. She scooted her chair closer to the bed, but made no move to touch her mother. “You’re fine, Kat. We found you in time.”
The other woman’s eyes rounded. She sat up, moving farther from Solomon. “Why the hell are you here? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. We found you in—with…” Sol trailed off, flustered. “We found you in time, Kat. You’re safe now.”
“No.” Kat shook her head, the fear replaced with fury in the blink of an eye. “Damn it, Erin. You weren’t supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here.”
She started to get out of bed. Solomon pushed her back, hands at her shoulders, but Kat slapped her away. I stepped in before a fist fight broke out.
“Easy, Kat—you need to stay put, just for now.” I was even more reluctant to touch her than Solomon. Thankfully, it seemed my voice was enough. She eased back, her cheeks flushed. “We have everything under control,” I said.
“The hell you do. You’re idiots—both of you. How long have you been here?”
“We came over on a boat this morning,” Solomon said. “We were looking for you.”
“Well, you found me.” She fingered the cut on her head gingerly. “What’s my temp?”
“Ninety-six point nine, last I checked,” Solomon said.
Kat nodded her approval. “So, no hypothermia. Frostbite?”
“No.”
“Have you heard anything from Maya?” Kat asked. For the first time, I saw a flicker of vulnerability.
“I talked to her on the phone,” Solomon said. “She’s okay. Worried about you, but safe.”
“Good,” Kat said absently, obviously still disoriented. She searched the room, scanning every corner. Being a recovering addict myself, I recognized the look in her eye before she said anything. “Where did you put my bag?”
“It’s—” I started.
“I threw it out,” Solomon cut me off, her jaw suddenly rigid. Unaware she was even doing it, she mirrored her mother’s pose: arms crossed over her chest, chin up. I got a chilling glimpse into my future.
“Well, bravo,” Kat muttered. “You tossing half a dozen little bottles of whiskey will definitely get me to hop back on the wagon.”
Despite her bravado, it was impossible to miss the tremor in Kat’s hands or the light sheen of sweat on her forehead—neither of which had much to do with her injuries, I was willing to bet.
I didn’t say anything, but Erin caught the look on my face. Her eyes hardened. “She’s fine,” she bit out. “Will you give us a minute?”
It wasn’t a request, I knew. Kat glared at me like this was all somehow my fault. As if I had any control whatsoever over her daughter.
“Do you want Jack and me to go out to the house without you?” I asked.
“No—I won’t be long. Just give me a minute.”
Against my better judgment, I left.
In the other room, Carl and Monty played cards at the table while Juarez stirred a mammoth pot of pasta boiling on the stovetop.
“Where’s Jamie?” I asked.
“Checking o
ver the dogs with Cheyenne. Did Kat wake up?”
“Yeah. I think we were better off when she was unconscious.”
Monty looked up from his hand. “Maybe she’ll liven things up. We’ve got another twelve, thirteen hours before the Coast Guard gets out here. I could use a little excitement.”
“I’m all right with a quiet night,” Carl said. “Too many dead bodies today… It would be nice to survive until morning. That’s all I hope for, right now.”
“I’m with you,” I agreed.
I leaned over Juarez’s pot of boiling water and lowered my voice, waiting until the guys had resumed their game before I spoke.
“You still up for a walk?”
“We better make it soon,” Juarez said. “I don’t want to be running around out here in the dead of night. And I don’t know how safe it is leaving everyone else unattended.”
“Agreed. Solomon’s on the same page—she won’t be much longer.”
“Is Kat all right?”
“She’s not happy.”
His lips quirked up slightly. “Is she ever?” He had a point there. He nodded toward the table. “Have a seat, dinner’s up. Nothing too fancy—”
Before he could finish, there was a crash down the hallway, followed by a string of very colorful profanity. Juarez started toward the bedroom, but I held up my hand.
“Hang back—I’ve got it.”
Another crash followed, then the sound of breaking glass. I hurried down the hall and pushed the door open without knocking.
Kat was on her feet, her face flaming red. A side table had been overturned. Her bag was now open on the bed.
Solomon stood on the other side of the room, chest heaving. She held tight to one of the travel-sized liquor bottles. Blood dripped down the fingers of her right hand. Three jagged scratches were carved into her cheek. Two other bottles were shattered on the floor between her and her mother.
“I’ve got this,” Solomon said tightly. She didn’t even look at me. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”