CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
A large depression, the bottom like a mirror, smooth and black, barred the way. Beyond it, Reece could make out a c***k of light. The rear entrance. They’d slept fitfully, Destry waking every few hours to scream, as Reece, racked with fatigue, bundled himself into a tight ball and prayed for the morning. Their torches spluttered, giving off a feeble glow until, finally, they gave out, plunging everything into inky blackness. Now, the tunnel stretched out before him but Destry no longer remained. At some time in the night, he’d slipped away to leave Reece to find his way out.
To do so he would first need to cross the depression.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, using the distant light, he managed to pick out the features in and around the dip. Bones, dazzling
