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Damien heard the distinctive clanging of an approaching officer, the tools of the trade bouncing against their belt with each step.

Ted appeared over the small rise in the path.

“I thought I saw you head this way,” he said.

“She’s near here,” Damien said. “She has to be.”

“I’ll have to ask you how you know that later. Lead the way.”

Damien looked into the woods past the tree line. Ten years ago, those trees would have been saplings. The area would have been nothing but open space, the grass and trees only beginning to reclaim the land.

He twisted and faced the mining plant. It had been abandoned decades before Taylor went missing. Sanders’ notes mentioned a search of the area, including the damaged facility, but she was never found. Taylor had run away from home a few times before and the police quickly assumed she packed up and left Hayeston for good.

If Taylor were already dead by the time the police searched the land around Devil’s Bluff, having run out of oxygen, then Charity was long gone.

Damien shook off the idea. Like the victims’ parents, Damien believed the missing girl was alive until the police could show him their body.

Such hope may have been foolish, but, as each second passed, he understood its allure.

He stepped off the trail and down toward the sloping ground near the crumbling plant and the edge to Devil’s Bluff.

“Be careful,” Ted said. “You fall over the edge, one of those jagged beams could impale you on the way down.”

“Thanks for the visual.”

“I’m here to help.”

“Well, stop it.”

The sand suddenly shifted under Damien, propelling him faster down the slope. He grabbed onto one of the twisted steel beams as the ground beneath his feet collapsed, taking with it a section of the bluff’s ledge into the cool water fifty feet below.

Damien clung to the beam, his feet dangling in the air, as the bent and rusted metal structure groaned. Above him, four stories of unstable floors and twisted slurry shoots inched closer to cascading over the edge.

Damien traveled down the beam back toward Ted, who reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back onto the ground.

“I don’t think he went that way,” Ted said.

“Your observation skills are astounding.”

“I think the words you are looking for are thank you for saving my life.”

“Not even close,” Damien said. “They were more like, holy shit, I’m going to die. But, you’re right. Even if Mark could have headed into the structure near the edge ten years ago, Tobin couldn’t. She has to be somewhere else.”

Damien scanned the area one more time and stopped on the two water tanks that resembled twin tic-tac candies standing on their ends. They stood next to each other, thirty feet tall. The one closest to the path had rusted through at the top, but the one next to it, the one leaning toward the water, appeared fully intact.

He and Ted rushed up the slope toward the tanks. Each one had a seamless edge, except for a maintenance access door at their base, secured with a circular handle like on a hatch of a submarine door.

The door on the first tank was broken and propped open. The second tank’s door was closed and it appeared someone had affixed a new rubber gasket around its edge.

Air tight.

“Charity,” Damien said, calling out. “Can you hear me?”

He heard a light tapping coming from the tank. “Charity!”

The tapping repeated. “We’re coming!”

Damien started down, but Ted grabbed him and yanked him back.

“What are you doing?” Ted asked. “It’s too close to the edge.”

“Tobin made it there. So can I.”

“He’s fifty pounds lighter than you. Let me call it in, get the fire rescue team over here and secure a way down there.”

“There’s no time.”

“She’s still alive. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

“Fine,” Damien said. “Hurry.”

As Ted pulled out his cellphone, Damien rushed down the embankment toward the second tank.

“Damien!”

Damien fought the slick sandy soil, trying to control his way down the slope. He snagged a support beam welded to the base of the second tank and lodged his feet against the metal frame. He reached for the circular handle the width of a steering wheel and turned it counter clockwise.

The rusted wheel moved smoother then Damien expected. Tobin must have greased the bearings.

The door lock clicked open, echoing inside the metal chamber.

He pulled.

The door opened with a pop of a suction cup and Charity lay inside, her face next to the door. The cool evening air rushed into the tank and the young girl inhaled as if she had been holding her breath under water.

She coughed, gasped and took one deep inhale after another.

Behind her, leaning against the rounded bottom of the tank, was the mummified remains of Taylor Lawson. Her blonde hair hung over her shoulders. She was wearing a blood stained white t-shirt with the logo of a metal band that disbanded eight years ago, jogging shorts, and Puma jogging sneakers. The wrinkled, dry skin on her face was discolored from dried blood that appeared to have originated from the back of her head.

Her nail’s were polished red, their ends broken and torn.

“Charity, can you hear me?” Damien asked. The girl nodded.

“Can you move?”

She shook her head no.

“Okay. Then I’ll come and get you.”

Damien lifted his foot and placed it on the rounded edge of the door frame. He pushed off the metal brace and fell into the tank, landing next to Charity.

The support beams moaned, echoing inside the tank as if it were wounded.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “This may collapse at any minute.”

Charity raised her hand and Damien slid her arm over his shoulder. As he was about to lift her up, he noticed the paint near the door had been scraped off. Some of the white paint was tinted with flecks of red. Scratch marks as the women tried to claw their way out.

“Ted,” Damien yelled. “We’re coming out.”

Through the hatch opening he saw a yellow rope land on the ground.

“We’re ready up here,” Ted said.

As Damien pulled Charity to her feet, the metal below them vibrated and the tank shuddered with an ominous groan. Both Damien and Charity reached out with their free arms and grabbed onto the hatch frame.

Charity turned to him, her eyes red and wide. Just as she was about to speak, the sound of metal snapping punched the inside of the tank like a gunshot.
Damien lost his stomach.

Their feet were no longer touching the metal. Time seemed too slow.

They were falling, momentarily weightless.

Taylor’s mummified body lifted into the air as if she were standing on her own power.

They all hovered and waited.

Damien hit the base of the metal tank with a thud. Charity landed hard next to him. Taylor crashed and snapped apart, her bones scattering into the air and clanging against the side of the tank, eventually sliding to rest into an indistinguishable pile.

The tank fell backwards and rolled in the water, the open hatch facing the sky.

“Are you all right?” Damien asked.

“I’m still alive,” Charity said.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

The tank was over ten feet wide and, now laying side- ways, kept the hatch door out of reach.

“Shit,” he said. “Okay, we’ll do it the hard way.” He cupped his hand and placed them against his bended knee. “Give me your foot. I’ll lift you up, you grab on and jump out. The rescue team will get you out.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

“You can’t reach it on your own.”

“I’ll be fine.” He motioned to his hand against his knee. “Let’s go.”

Charity placed her hand on his shoulders, then her foot into his hand. They counted to three, then Damien hoisted her up. He steadied her feet on his shoulders as she pulled herself onto the edge of the tank.

Instead of jumping off, Charity laid on the side of the tank and held her hand out to him.

“I’m too heavy,” he said. “You’ll never be able to hold me.”

“I can try,” she said.

As Charity shifted her weight, the tank began to spin. She fell off the side with a yelp and Damien watched through the hatch door as the sky spun away, replaced by the bluff walls.

The metal container kept spinning.

A moment later, the cold water rushed into the tank.