The metal turned slippery.
It fell.
I tried to catch it.
The bright mosaic design on the bottle glittered in goodbye as it fell, fell, fell down the drop-off and tumbled over, bounced off, and clattered against the rocks before dropping out of sight into the valley below.
Damn!
Leave it. Don’t be any more stupid than you’ve already been, Gem.
My left foot backed up from the edge, but my right foot slid forward, tugging me into danger.
I’ll just have a quick peek.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I placed my backpack on the ground before edging carefully to the drop-off. Trees provided branches to hold onto, and I traversed my way down a few feet, searching for a lookout where the canopy of leaves wouldn’t obstruct my view.
Fresh sweat broke out over my brow as I descended farther, glancing back to see the distance I’d already traveled.
Okay, far enough.
Forcing myself to stick to a sensible plan, I clambered down one final decline before latching onto another branch and peering through the portal of leaves.
Scanning the valley below, I already knew finding my water bottle would be impossible. It’d been adopted by the forest, never to be drank from again. But honestly, hadn’t that just been an excuse to look closer? To calm my suspicious nature that if I turned back now, I’d be walking away from something unique and magical? The boulder could be right below me, and I didn’t want to leave until I was certain.
And besides, even if nothing was remotely climbable down there, the view was outstanding. The sun dappled on greenery of all shades. Emerald glossiness by the cliff sides, sage velvet from pretty flower-sprouting shrubs, and lime brightness from new growth bordering a meandering river cutting through the center of the valley.
Blue water glistened as if fed by a glacial runoff, bubbling over shallow areas before turning calm and glassy with depth. I followed the snaking beauty, watching it vanish into a cave formation ahead.
A cave!
Mammoth Cave National Park had been named for its limestone labyrinth of caves. The publicly accessible ones had been featured in every tour book and top recommendations of things to do in Kentucky. And thanks to the podcast I’d listened to on the way here, I knew over four hundred miles of cave passageways had been explored with the potential of another six hundred miles still to be found.
Had I found a cave that hadn’t been discovered yet?
Was this one of the disconnected caverns—a cave that wasn’t part of the known network and full of archaeological surprises?
The itch of adventure returned.
Screw finding the boulder.
If the cave had tunnels and chambers, that would make an insane YouTube video in its own right. Grasping the branch tighter, I twisted to look back the way I’d climbed.
I’d have to go back up to grab my backpack, and I should definitely return for more rations before I—
Wait, what’s that?
I froze, narrowing my eyes at the flash of sunlight on something below. Something that was so camouflaged it blended into the valley landscape.
Surely, that isn’t a—
I looked harder, tracing the hard-to-see outline of a roof and chimney. A house. No, not a house. A mansion.
A mansion covered in vines, leaves, and the undeniable trick of nature to blur its existence. Wildflowers grew out of the roof, breaking up the large expanse of camo-painted metal. Exposed rock and chiseled stone hinted at how the building was made while greenery did its best to consume it.
The gardens around it were just as wild, giant trees casting shade over long grass waving like water in the gentle breeze. Even looking directly at it, I struggled to comprehend it was manmade and not some wonderful natural enigma.
I’d never seen anything so covered in plants yet so obviously created by hands instead of soil. It was utterly foreign and creatively hidden.
Is it a ruin?
Some sort of fort from the Civil War?
A hideout for some bureaucrat?
I climbed without thinking.
I descended instead of ascended. I left my backpack and recording gear; I turned my back on sensible decisions. I focused only on reaching the valley floor.
I have to know.
It didn’t take long.
The methodicalness of climbing took over my mind and motor skills. Grab a branch, drop down, slide down an embankment, pause. Track left for a better path, then crisscross to the right before trusting my body and a tree growing at a steep angle to catch me as I jumped a small distance.
By the time I leaped the final way from the cliff to the valley floor, sweat trickled down my temples, and beneath my windbreaker, workout hoodie, and exercise t-shirt, my skin was wet.
The babble of the river made my mouth water to drink and swim, but the house was even larger from down here.
A two-story sprawling monster with arched windows, carved keystones, heavy wooden doors with iron hinges, and a footprint larger than any suburban home available today.