By the late1800s, time, the relentless winters, and rot had destroyed most structures, leaving a few stone walls and cellar holes swallowed by overgrowth.

Traveling nearly a half mile, Byyle came to one small building that had endured. Concealed by trees and bramble, the large shed, with its faded, weather-beaten slats, was still standing.

He unlocked the newer padlock and loosened the chain securing the double front doors. The hinges creaked as he opened them.

The air reeked with decay.

Something unseen and furry, its claws scraping, vanished through a small hole. Dust and bits of straw rose in the columns of light piercing the narrow gaps in the walls. On one side, there was a long aluminum extension ladder; on the other side, a dust-encrusted work bench with rusted tools.

In the center of the shed was an ancient, steel-framed wooden mine cart.

Byyle took a breath, gathered his strength, and wheeled the cart across the wooden floor, the cart’s steel rollers squeaking, straining the floor’s heavy planks. Byyle looked down at the seam on the floor outlining a rectangle, about the size of a fridge door.

A rusted recessed latch was at one end.

The shed covered a shaft, part of a mine that never was completed.

He pulled on the latch, grunting and lifting the heavy door until it yawned like a jaw to an abyss. He got the ladder and extended it to its full 40-foot length, telescoping it into the darkness until it touched the bottom.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a mini stun gun that featured a powerful LED flashlight. He switched on the stun gun. It crackled with an electric blue lightning bolt between the two prongs.

Taking a breath, ensuring his grip and foothold, Byyle descended the ladder.

CHAPTER 51

Near Camel’s Hump State Park, Vermont

The report lacked details.

A Vermont State Police unit pursuing a speeding vehicle westbound on the interstate near Montpelier had spotted a truck camper traveling east that fit the description in the BOLO alert for Gangel and Spiker.

The truck camper had been signaling to exit at Duxbury.

Trooper Staci Sutton was among the units dispatched to locate it.

The report was now 15 minutes old and getting colder. Sutton knew Duxbury. It was a long shot, but she rolled through the little town’s main street. Then she checked neighborhoods, and driveways alongside wood-framed houses on large, treed lots. Other than a few truck campers that were the wrong color, nothing drew her attention.

Her radio was crackling with transmissions, reminding her that she had other calls stacking up.

Acting on a hunch, Sutton guided her Ford Explorer out of town toward Camel’s Hump State Park, along a narrow two-lane stretch where the forests closed in around her. It was pretty here, so close to the Long Trail and other trails up Camel’s Hump Mountain.

But the area was empty; no one was around.