off the chills when we step from the dark confines of rock and out into a sunny afternoon.
There is no path, but Bree leads as though there is one. After twenty minutes of a steep, uphill climb, I am out of breath. At the top of a crest, where the land levels out momentarily, I buckle over and heave for air. Bree waits patiently and then tosses me a canteen when I straighten up. Before I can thank her, we are moving again.
We hike silently until we come to what appears to be a dead end. The steep slopes of what must be Mount Martyr bear down on us. To climb over them would take days, and before us sits only a towering rockface.
“We’re here,” Bree announces.
I look around, thinking she’s speaking to someone, but we are alone. There is nowhere to go but back.
“We just climbed the lower base of Mount Martyr. And this”—she motions back toward the monstrous wall—“is the entrance to Crevice Valley.”
“Crevice Valley?” That name wasn’t on Frank’s Operation Ferret map.
She nods. “Headquarters.”
I stare at the massive mountain. “It sure doesn’t look like a valley.”
“That’s because you have to go through the crevice first.” She moves toward the rock towering above us, and as I follow, the passageway becomes visible to my eyes. It is a dark slit, running the length of the stone, from our feet toward the sky, so narrow it’s barely visible. No wonder the Order has been unsuccessful locating this place. The entrance is hard to see even when you are directly in front of it.
“You first,” Bree says.
“Through here?” I point doubtfully at the cramped break in the rock. “Isn’t there another entrance?”
“Yes, but that would require us to hike all the way around the mountain, and we don’t have the time. Now move.”
Shimmying through the crevice ends up being easier than I anticipate, not because it’s spacious or well lit, but because there is only one path to take. We wiggle sideways through the tiny space, our backs pressed to rock behind us, and our noses nearly scraping the opposing side of the mountain.
Eventually, the passage begins to widen. Soon I can walk normally, the space large enough to house my shoulders. Moments after that, Bree is at my side. The light from the entrance has nearly faded out completely when a new light appears ahead.
“What if you need to escape?” I ask as we continue down the ever-widening path. “What if the Order infiltrates?”
“Then we leave through the rear.”
“And what if they infiltrate both at the same time? You guys are sitting ducks in here. You’ve trapped yourself.”
“You give us so little credit.” I stare at her, confused, and she points up into the clefts in the rock walls surrounding us. High up, hidden like insects in the crannies of the crevice’s tall rock face, are armed men. “Both entrances are patrolled day and night. And there’s always the tear gas if needed.”
Her words are foreign to me, but I shudder nonetheless. How had Evan and his team expected to be even remotely successful? This is a fortress, with no way in other than by invitation.
Eventually, the place lives up to its name. The crevice’s width doubles, triples, quadruples. It grows so wide that it is immeasurable, at least to my eyes. The rock walls continue to surround us but give way to clouds and fresh air overhead. And before us lies the valley, a footpath twisting down into it. Fields and gardens are plowed out beneath the open-air ceiling. Dirt streets snake between houses and livestock pens. A market in the distance brings the scents of herbs and roasting meat to my nose. There are people, too, hundreds of them. I never would have guessed that Harvey had amassed so many followers. Or maybe it was Elijah. I think back to the records in Union Central, perplexed. I’m starting to question the accuracy of Frank’s information. Something doesn’t add up. Maybe Harvey’s not even here.
I look down at the town. From our elevated position, the people appear as tiny dolls, dressed in drab clothes. They are young and old, women and children, men and boys. The place is oddly familiar, like Claysoot, only picked up and shoved into a hollowed-out mountain. On the outskirts of the open valley, where the steep walls begin reaching for the sky, tunnels and passageways twist into the rock’s depth. If Harvey really is here, finding him will be no easy task.
“What’s to