“No,” Lena replied, strapping on her ascenders. “Forty means we don’t come back alone.”
The cave was called the Antenna—a 200-meter vertical shaft that narrowed into a “chimney” at the bottom, so named because old surveyors used to drop radio antennas down it to map the void. The victim, a freelance geologist named Dr. Aris Thorne, had been documenting a rare quartz formation when a 4.3 magnitude tremor turned his chimney into a shotgun barrel.
Kai came down with the jacks. They worked in silence for 47 minutes, chipping divots into the wet walls for the jack feet. Every few minutes, a pebble skittered past Lena’s ear. The secondary seismic was coming. She could feel it in her molars.
“Kai, I need you to count to three. On three, you pump the jacks. Not a millimeter more.”