Adrift (Book 3): Rising

  Copyright © 2016 by K.R. Griffiths

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover design by K.R. Griffiths & Chantelle Marie Edwards

  Table of contents

  Also by K.R. Griffiths

  Adrift series

  Adrift

  Adrift 2: Sundown

  Wildfire Chronicles series:

  Panic

  Shock

  Psychosis

  Mutation

  Trauma

  Reaction

  Other novels:

  Survivor: A horror thriller

  Last Resort

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  Prologue

  Northwest Wyoming, USA, 1992

  The mouth of the cave was unassuming, little more than a stifled yawn in the earth, and, for a while, the space beyond it appeared equally underwhelming. Only when they stumbled across the fissure did Steve Kendrick begin to suspect that the journey to Yellowstone could turn out to be something truly special.

  The cave system was new; undiscovered country. The mouth had been revealed by a flash flood the previous year, and the Wyoming rancher who owned the land had done no more than point a flashlight inside before fencing it off to protect his cattle. One of Steve’s old university buddies had worked the rancher’s fields through the summer, and had casually mentioned the discovery of the new cave system over some reunion beers. Nobody had been inside, he’d said, and he’d had Steve’s full attention immediately. There were a lot of good spots for spelunking around Yellowstone: taking a week off work and getting away from the hustle of New York for a camping trip was a good idea, even if this new cave turned out to be a dud.

  And at first, dud was exactly how the newly-revealed cave had appeared. It was deep, but for a while—before the fissure appeared—it was just that one cavern. Large, sure, and impressive for anyone who hadn't spent several years burrowing into the ground across America at every opportunity, but it was nothing for someone as experienced as Steve to write home about.

  Before the fissure appeared.

  If Steve had known what the fissure would lead to, and just how unique the system truly was, he would have dropped his equipment on the spot and fled. He would have found the rancher on whose land he had trespassed and begged him to seal the cave entrance up with something far sturdier than two-by-fours and chicken wire. He would have got himself as far away from Wyoming as possible, and he would never have returned.

  But he didn’t know.

  “Steve, you cool, bro?” Dusty’s voice floated down the shaft. He was about thirty yards above, rappelling down slowly on his own line. Steve craned his neck. He could just about make out Dusty’s silhouette, framed against the swivelling light from his headlamp.

  “Frosty, you?”

  “Ice, ice, baby.”

  Steve snorted a laugh, and returned his focus to his own drop, easing up the tension on his descender and sliding down another few feet smoothly.

  His little brother could be a primo dork, but he had always shared Steve’s appetite for adventure. Dusty generally preferred his thrills to be more immediate: bungees; parachutes, fast-moving vehicles. Short, sharp shocks were his thing, but when Steve had suggested mapping a cave system that was apparently uncharted, Dusty’s response had been typical. Where do I sign, bro?

  Remembering Dusty’s unchecked excitement, Steve smiled into the darkness beyond his headlamp’s cone of light. The two brothers hadn’t found much time to spend together since Dusty took a job in San Diego, and the trip to Yellowstone would have been fun no matter what they found, but discovering the fissure made it potentially great. To think, they had nearly missed it, nestling in the shadows, almost entirely obscured by a rocky outcrop. Hidden, almost as if the land didn’t want it to be found.

  The fissure turned out to be the entrance to a narrow corridor which had led them west for a little over fifty yards and which was tight enough that even Steve, who was rope-thin, had to suck in his gut a couple of times. Just when he thought they might have to turn back, the fissure had suddenly opened, spitting the brothers out into a low, wide chamber.

  And in the centre of that chamber, Steve saw the hole.

  The true entrance.

  As his light had first revealed it, the sight of the hole had made Steve’s knees weaken. This wasn't some shallow pit; it was a fucking abyss. When he leaned over and dropped a small rock into it, he counted to five before he heard the sharp rap of it hitting the bottom. Three hundred feet, at least.

  They began to descend.

  One shaft led to another.

  This time, when Steve dropped a rock, he counted to seven. The farther they went, the bigger the network of caverns seemed to get. Steve and Dusty hadn't stumbled onto just any old cave system: this was the mother lode.

  About halfway down the second shaft, it started to dawn on Steve that they didn't have the equipment or the supplies for an extended dive like this one. They would need to go back up to ground level before long; stock up and return to map the entire system before some other bastards beat them to it. The place would be named for them, and it was gigantic: they had already been travelling down into the earth for almost four hours all told, and it still felt like they had barely scratched the surface. One of the most impressive systems in Yellowstone, and its discovery belonged to the Kendrick brothers. Lewis and Clark, eat your damn hearts out.

  “How much farther, you figure?” Dusty’s voice floated down.

  Steve locked his descender and dropped his chin, pointing the light from his headlamp downward. They were in the heart of the abyss now, dropping straight down. Steve had reluctantly passed by several openings that he was certain led out into other, branching caverns, maybe even other shafts. There would be time to explore those later. Right now, he wanted to see how deep their current course would take them.

  “I think I see the bottom!”

  “Good, this harness is starting to fuse to my nutsack!”

  Steve laughed and opened up the descender, dropping a little too fast and too far, almost cackling as adrenaline flooded through him. His boots crunched into the ground at the bottom of the shaft, the jarring impact rolling up through his body deliciously. He let out an explosive gasp. Stars danced across his vision.

  Damn, he thought. I love this shit.

  Rubbing his knees, he stood upright, unclipped his harness from the line, and peered around. A fresh burst of energy exploded in his gut. At the bottom, the main shaft gave birth to a cavern that looked big enough to house a goddamn 747. When he swept his light around it, the darkness ate the beam hungrily.

  He couldn’t see the wall in any direction.

  Jesus, this place is huge.

  “You gotta see this, Dust! Holy shit, man. This place is gonna make us famous!”

  Somewhere above Steve, Dusty whooped.

  Smiling, Steve pulled out a flask from a holster on his hip and tilted it to his lips, chugging back a long swallow of warm water, grimacing as the flask ran dry. Down in the shadows it was getting hot; oppressively so. The air down here hadn't moved much in years. Decades. The thought both thrilled and disappointed him: they hadn’t brought enough water with them, not nearly. Steve had a couple more bottles of water in his backpack, but he’d need that just to get back up to the surface. They’d have to turn ba
ck pretty soon.

  He sat heavily, taking the weight off his aching legs, and waited for Dusty to complete his descent.

  Just as Steve had, Dusty dropped from a little too high, but landed far more gracefully, spreading his arms wide and clicking his heels together like some preening Olympic gymnast.

  “Five-point-seven for the landing,” Steve said with a laugh.

  Dusty pouted.

  “Harsh, bro.”

  “You lost points for having that goofy look on your face.”

  Dusty opened his mouth to protest, but Steve raised a hand to silence him.

  “Judge’s decision is final.”

  Dusty guffawed sarcastically, and twisted his neck left and right, sweeping the cavern with his own light. He let out a long, low whistle. “Whoa. You believe the size of this place?”

  Steve held up his flask, tilting it up and watching a single drop of water spill out.

  “Too big,” he said, shaking his head ruefully and twisting the cap back onto the flask. “We need to get more supplies. Maybe, come back with sleeping bags, spend the night here. I have a feeling this cavern isn’t the end of it. Not even close.”

  Dusty looked crestfallen.

  “Turn back already?”

  He stuck out his bottom lip. Steve couldn’t help but laugh, but he shook his head nonetheless.

  “Gotta be sensible about this, Dust. This place is plenty big enough to get lost in. If we run out of water and we can’t get back…” he shrugged. “I’d prefer that they name this place after us because we discovered it, not because we’re the idiots who died down here.”

  “Kendrick’s Rest,” Dusty said. “I dunno, I kinda think it has a ring to it.”

  Steve arched a dubious eyebrow.

  Smiling, Dusty pulled out his own flask, took a drink, and nodded. He was an adrenaline junkie, but they had both been raised by a father who knew a thing or two about exploring. Failure to prepare is preparing to fail. Both brothers had that old cliché drilled into them from the moment they had been taken on their first hike. It had kept them safe ever since, and it would again: they had prepared for a small cave or two, not a sprawling metropolis of shadows. They could fetch what they needed, get some rest, come back tomorrow armed for an extensive trip. The cave would still be there, waiting.

  Dusty opened his mouth to say something more, but cocked his head for a moment, his brow creasing.

  “You hear that?”

  Steve listened intently. He was still breathing heavily from the descent, his heart still thumping with excitement, but once he focused, he heard it.

  Somewhere nearby.

  The sound of running water.

  Dusty whooped again.

  “Might not have to turn back just yet, bro.”

  Steve grinned. Dusty’s enthusiasm was infectious as smallpox, but he was also right. With a supply of fresh water, they could maybe eke out another hour or two in the caves. The climb back to the surface would be punishing, but as long as they had hydration, they could afford to rest their muscles a while in the dark before beginning the arduous ascent. He nodded to himself, satisfied. An underground river could be a godsend. If the system was as big as he suspected, it would be the perfect place to set up camp when they returned for a longer expedition tomorrow.

  “Can you tell where it’s coming from?” he said.

  Dusty took a few steps left and right, his expression puzzled.

  “Hard to say. It’s close, though.”

  He began to walk away, a little too quickly.

  “Careful, Dust. Eyes on your feet.”

  Dusty slowed a little, nodding. Perhaps he had just conjured the same mental image as Steve: walking off an unseen cliff, tumbling down an underground waterfall. Snapping bones and perforated flesh. It paid to be cautious.

  “Here,” Dusty said. “This way.”

  Steve hauled himself to his feet and shrugged off his backpack. Reaching inside, he pulled out a glow stick and snapped it, dropping it on the ground beneath the entrance to the shaft that would lead them back to the surface. It cast a pale green glow over a five-yard radius: nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the massive cavern, but an adequate beacon to guide them back to the shaft.

  He followed in Dusty’s footsteps, and it quickly became apparent that his little brother was moving in the right direction. With each yard gained, the sound of trickling water grew a little louder. After about forty yards, he saw that Dusty had come to a stop, and was staring down toward his feet. Steve moved to stand alongside him, adding the light from his headlamp to Dusty’s.

  Illuminating the river.

  It was wide, and strangely slow-moving. If it hadn’t been for the giveaway sound of running water, Steve might even have thought it was a lake. Even when his headlamp connected with the surface, the water looked so dark, so thick somehow, that it appeared to be stagnant.

  Yet it was moving. Oozing, almost.

  A shudder ran through Steve.

  Looking at the water made him feel unbalanced in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on; out of kilter somehow. Like listening to an off-key melody being played a beat too fast. Yet he couldn't take his eyes off it. The water didn't just look black in the gloom, it was black. Like oil.

  Holy shit, did we find a river of oil?

  The strange motion of the river was hypnotic. Mesmerising.

  Dropping to his haunches, Steve reached out to touch it.

  “Steve, wait. There's something wrong with it.”

  “What do you mean?” Steve shook his head. Dusty was crazy. The black river was the most oddly beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “I don't know, bro. It just...feels wrong.”

  Steve shot a curious glance at his little brother. Beneath the layer of grime and sweat on his face, Dusty was frowning. He looked like he was searching for a memory that had slipped just beyond his reach.

  “It's...I don't know,” Dusty said again, his tone frustrated. He scanned the rocky bank of the river, as though the answer to the questions in his head might be scrawled upon it.

  After a moment he, too, squatted low, and pulled something from his pocket. Steve’s headlamp caught it, reflecting a shard of light around the cavern.

  A coin.

  Dusty set it on its edge on a flat slab of rock, and watched as it rolled a few inches before falling on its side. He picked the coin up and repeated the procedure. Same result. He stood up quickly, falling backward a pace, looking first at the river, and then at Steve, his eyes widening.

  “It's flowing uphill.”

  Steve’s hand was still hovering a few inches above the water.

  “Steve, don’t touch it. Seriously, bro. I’m telling you: there’s something wrong with it.”

  A note of distant panic underpinned Dusty’s words, and Steve stood, staring down at the inky water. It felt oddly like it was swallowing him up, just by the act of looking at it. Like it wanted him.

  He shook his head thickly, and suddenly felt like he had been drinking. Intoxicated.

  The air is bad down here, he thought. The river, whatever it was made of, had to be pumping some sort of gas into the cavern, making him feel giddy. He began to walk along the bank, nodding vaguely when Dusty again said something about being careful. All of a sudden, the only thing that mattered in Steve’s mind was finding the source of the river. Trying to understand what it was.

  After walking for a minute or two, he found it: the river emerged from a thin crack in the wall, but it didn’t pour from the rock like water. It seeped.

  Like blood.

  And when it met the ground, it began its unnatural journey across the huge cavern, moving uphill.

  Steve shook his head again. He felt queasy, now, like he might vomit. Dusty was right. This was all wrong.

  He opened his mouth to tell Dusty that they needed to go, but no words came out. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of the crack in the wall, without ever being aware of moving his feet. Somewhere behind hi
m, yards and a million miles away, Dusty was saying something, but his words were lost. The trickling of the oily water had become a bewildering roar, like listening to Niagara Falls. It filled Steve’s mind, pushing everything else aside. There was only the river. The river and…

  Steve’s jaw dropped.

  Right in front of his nose, the crack in the wall seemed to be widening, opening like a hungry mouth. He blinked, trying to slur out a question, dimly aware that his lips couldn’t form the words; that his tongue no longer felt like his own.

  There was something there, in the crack. Moving through the water toward him, growing larger by the second, getting closer.

  No, Steve’s mind tried to say, that’s not possible. It was some visual trick, like an Escher painting, or one of those irritating Magic Eye posters. Like a disconnect between his eyes and his mind.

  He tried to stumble backward, but his feet felt like they had been planted in concrete.

  And still the thing in the black river loomed.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  And Steve’s mind finally understood.

  It wasn’t coming through the water toward him. It was the water, taking on an impossibly solid form. Becoming something right in front of his eyes; right inside his mind. A hulking mass that seemed to absorb the light from his headlamp, swallowing it up.

  Becoming.

  The river became a twisted abomination, a shifting, shimmering monstrosity that bleached Steve’s thoughts, dipping them in acid. Making them burn.

  It reached out for him with liquid arms.

  With fingers that ended in talons as long as kitchen knives and—

  *

  Crash!

  Dusty staggered backward in surprise at the sound of glass breaking. He had been trying to tear his eyes away from the river, trying to persuade himself that it didn’t actually want him to move closer; to lean down and run his fingers through it, when the noise broke the strange stupefaction that had gripped his mind. When he looked toward the spot where his brother had been standing, his eyes found only darkness.

  The broken glass had to have belonged to Steve’s headlamp. He must have fallen.