Claire Summers's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

Claire walked twenty steps past the hole before she stopped. The rope creaked behind her. The jacket sat on its rock like a question she couldn't leave alone. She turned around. Whoever wore that badge was down there. And she had legs that still worked. She knelt by the rope and tested it again. Halfway down, the fibers were frayed almost through. One hard pull and it would snap. She swore under her breath. Then she pulled off her ripped shirt, shivering as the air bit her skin. She tore a long strip and bound the weak spot tight, knotting it twice. The shirt bloomed around the rope like a bright bandage. Clipped near the top knot, a small cloth tag swung in the breeze. Numbers were stamped on it in faded red. One-four-five. A tracker's tag. Proof someone real had been here, someone who counted things, who left records. She pressed her thumb against the numbers like a heartbeat. She tied off the loose end of her shirt to the wooden pole holding the canopy. Leather strips already wrapped the post from someone before her. Her blue scrap joined them, a marker for anyone who came after. If she didn't come back up, they'd know she went down. Claire gripped the rope and lowered herself over the edge. The shirt-knot held. The frayed rope held. Her boots scraped stone walls slick with damp. The light above shrank to a coin. Somewhere below, water dripped. Somewhere below, maybe, someone was breathing. Her boot touched bottom. She let go of the rope and turned in the dark. A faint shape lay against the far wall. Not moving. She stepped toward it, and the coin of light above her flickered as something passed over the hole.