was no longer an option.
The tunnel was tight at first.
Her shoulders brushed damp stone.
The flashlight beam trembled only once before she steadied her wrist.
Ten feet down, the rungs ended on a concrete floor.
Concrete.
Not a natural cave.
Lily turned slowly.
A passage stretched ahead, cut into the mountain and reinforced with rusted steel ribs.
Electrical cables ran along the ceiling.
Old bulbs hung dead in wire cages.
A yellow sign bolted to the wall read:
U.S. DEPARTMENT OF INTERIOR
BLUE HAWK GEOLOGICAL ACCESS
AUTHORIZED
