I scan the landscape, looking for anything that might match that description. “There,” I say finally, pointing to a tall, narrow rock formation that rises above the surrounding trees. From certain angles, it does look vaguely like a hooded figure.
We park the UTV and make our way toward the formation, Scout bounding ahead through the snow. The metal detector slung over my shoulder bounces against my back with each step.
“How’s your leg?” Lana asks, noticing my slight limp.
Chapter 17
Lana
“It’s fine,” Caleb says, though I notice he’s favoring it slightly. “Better than yesterday.”
I’m not entirely convinced, but I don’t press the issue. Men and their pride—some things are universal, even with someone as unusual as Caleb.
We reach the stone formation after a ten-minute hike. Up close, it’s even more impressive—at least fifteen feet tall with a distinctive shape that does resemble a hooded figure standing sentinel over the forest. The morning sun catches on flecks of mica embedded in the stone, making it sparkle like it’s dusted with diamonds.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, running my gloved hand over the cold surface.
“You certainly… Ah, would you look at this,” he says, brushing snow away from the base of the formation. “There are markings here.”
It was a slick recovery if I ever did hear one. Without calling attention to the fact that he was about to say I was beautiful, I kneel beside him, our shoulders touching as we both lean in to examine what appears to be crude carvings in the stone. They’reweathered by time and the elements, but still discernible—a series of arrows and what might be numbers.
“Could be a directional marker,” I suggest, excitement building in my chest. “Wolf might have used this as a reference point.”
Caleb nods, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. “Let’s try the metal detector around the base first, then follow these arrows if we don’t find anything.”
I step back as he sweeps the detector in slow arcs around the stone. Scout watches with interest, his head tilted as if he understands what we’re searching for. Not one sound can be heard as Caleb completes a full circle around the formation.
“Nothing,” he says, frowning. “Let’s try following those arrows.”
I look at the markings again, trying to make sense of them. “They seem to be pointing... that way,” I say, indicating a path that leads deeper into the woods. “And these numbers might be paces or yards.”
Caleb squints at the carvings. “Twenty-seven, maybe? Hard to tell with the weathering.”
“Only one way to find out.” I stand, brushing snow from my knees. “Want me to count?”
He hands me the metal detector. “You lead, I’ll follow.”
I set off in the direction indicated by the arrows, counting my steps aloud. Scout trots alongside me, occasionally darting off to investigate interesting scents before returning to my side. Caleb follows a few paces behind, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the vigilance of someone who’s spent years watching for danger.
“Twenty-five... twenty-six... twenty-seven,” I stop, looking around. We’re standing in a small clearing surrounded by pine trees. Nothing immediately jumps out as a potential hiding place.
“Let’s sweep the area,” Caleb suggests, taking the metal detector back. “Start from the center and work outward in a spiral.”
I watch as he begins the sweep, moving in a slow, expanding circle. Scout suddenly perks up, nose twitching, and bounds toward a fallen log at the edge of the clearing.
“Scout found something,” I call, following the dog. He’s pawing excitedly at the rotted wood, whining softly.
“Good boy,” Caleb says, joining us. He runs the detector over the log, and it emits a high-pitched beep immediately. “Bingo.”
My heart races as we move the log aside. Beneath it lies a flat stone that doesn’t match the surrounding soil—too smooth, too deliberately placed.
“Help me move this,” Caleb says, already working his fingers around the edge of it.
Together, we lift it away, revealing a small cavity beneath. Inside sits a metal box, similar to the one we found in the barn, but smaller. Unlike the first box, this one is sealed with an old combination lock.
“Damn,” I mutter. “Any ideas on the combination?”
Caleb examines the lock carefully. “Three digits. Could be anything.”
