Critical Dawn by Colin F. Barnes, Darren Wearmouth Page A

we’ve got.”
    Pippa joined Charlie. “He’s right, Charlie, let’s not do anything drastic here.”
    “I’m sorry, but I’m not waiting. I know what I’m doing.”
    With that, Charlie turned away and tied the end of his two-hundred-foot rope to the grill bars on the fire truck. He followed his usual climbing prep procedure, fit his harness, checked his knots, put on his head-mounted flashlight, and headed for the hole.
    The place smelled of fresh dirt. It reminded him of days spent in the summer working on farms picking strawberries.
    The fire crew remonstrated with the sheriff but ultimately realized like Charlie that it was quicker if he went down there.
    The chief came over to him. “Son, don’t do anything stupid, okay? Take the camera with you. Pull it up and show us what you’re seeing as you go. We’ll be right here if anything happens. We’ve got resources on the way, but with the sinkhole on the farm and one opening up in the town, we’re really pushed at the moment.”
    “Don’t worry about me, Chief. I’ve done this a thousand times. Is there audio on the camera?”
    “No, but take this radio. It’s already tuned to our frequency.” The chief handed him a small but rugged two-way, which Charlie clipped to his harness around his chest.
    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Pippa said, reaching out for him. “I mean, it’s dangerous. What if … I couldn’t …” she broke her eye contact then, looked off into the distance.
    Charlie gave her a hug and while close, whispered in her ear, “I’ll be right up, you’ll see. No worries, no stress.” He gave her a reassuring smile, but she didn’t look convinced and held onto him a few moments longer than would be considered usual for just friends.
    He had a brief thought of holding on, staying on the surface, but seeing Steph’s pale face as she stood by the fire truck gave him the motivation to carry on and break away. “I’ll be back,” he said with a wink.
    The chief and another fire officer explained the controls of the camera and discussed a few rote safety procedures, but Charlie had heard it all before. “Okay, I got it. I’m going in.”
    He had hooked a second climbing harness over his shoulders. If Luke was down there, the others would be able to lift him or use the winch on the truck.
    A tug on the pair of ropes ensured the knots were solid.
    Charlie stepped backwards until he found the edge of the sinkhole. He leaned his weight back until he reached nearly ninety degrees, dug his heels into the topsoil, and walked his way down into the darkness.
    His light shined against the dirt. As he continued to abseil down, he noticed there was little clay, and the walls were smooth. He reached out and touched the edge, feeling it with his hands. He didn’t recognize the sensation.
    It was too smooth. Unnatural.
    The further he descended, the more he recognized a degree of uniformity on the surface. There were striations, spiraled like the inside of a gun barrel. Even the various layers of rocks, halfway down, were smooth, almost to the point of polished. Charlie thought that perhaps it was more of a burnishing, done with great heat. And yet the smell was of cold, damp, earth.
    He shivered slightly, thinking of the temperature.
    The entrance hole was shrinking away, the angular morning light dissipating, unable to penetrate the gloom. His head-mounted flashlight cast a single, weak beam into the void.
    The two-way radio crackled to life.
    “Charlie, this is Pippa. Are you okay? Over.”
    He stopped his descent, ensured he was secure, bent his head to the radio, and responded, “I’m fine, Pip. Just over halfway by my reckoning. The surface of the hole is strange, smooth. It’s like I’m going down a steel tube or something. Over.”
    “We’re not getting the video, Charlie. Can you check the camera? Over.”
    “Shit, sorry, I forgot. I was distracted. Let me sort that out now, and I’ll head lower. Talk soon. Over.”
    The