Page 32 of Obscurity (Pros and Cons Mysteries #5)

D espite everything—the cramped quarters, the storm raging outside, the constant awareness of Jason’s warm presence beside her—Olive eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

Her dreams were filled with dark tunnels and watching eyes, voices calling for help from places she couldn’t reach. She dreamed of Chloe running through the ruins of Grayfall, her coral pink silk catching on rusted metal as shadowy figures pursued her deeper into the mountains.

Thunder crashed overhead, jolting Olive partially awake.

The storm had intensified, and rain hammered against their tent with the force of a waterfall. As consciousness slowly returned, she became aware of something else—a cold, wet sensation against her cheek.

Drip.

Another drop of water hit her face, then another.

She fully opened her eyes.

Their tent was leaking, she realized. Water seeped through the cheap fabric and pooled on the floor around them.

“Oh no,” she gasped, sitting up quickly.

The movement sent a splash of cold water across her sleeping bag.

Looking down, she saw that the entire floor of their tent was covered with several inches of water, and their belongings were floating like debris from a shipwreck.

“Jason!” She shook his shoulder urgently. “Jason, wake up!”

He jolted up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re flooding.” She gestured to the water surrounding them. “The whole tent is underwater.”

Jason frowned as he seemed to feel the cold water soaking through his sleeping bag. “How fast is the water rising?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up.” Olive was already trying to salvage their gear, pulling her backpack out of the water. “My phone?—”

“Is it waterproof?”

“Water resistant, but not waterproof.” She checked the device, relieved to find it still functioning despite being damp. “The photos from Elias’s office are still there.”

“The cloth swatch from the mine?”

She found it in her backpack. “I put it in a sealed bag, so it’s fine.”

“We can’t stay here, Olive. This tent could be completely underwater soon.”

The rain still pounded the tent. If anything, the storm seemed to be getting stronger.

“Where can we go?” she asked. “Every tent in the place is probably flooding.”

Her question hung in the air a moment before chaos erupted all around them.

Through the thin walls, they heard other festivalgoers dealing with the same crisis—people calling out in distress, the sound of tent zippers being frantically opened and closed, splashing footsteps as campers tried to find higher ground or better shelter.

Jason pulled on his boots in the ankle-deep water. “The buildings. Some of those old structures might still have roofs that actually work.”

“Or they might collapse on us.”

“Better than drowning in our sleep.”

Another thought hit Olive. “Do you think there’s any danger of flash flooding here? Do we need to warn others?”

Jason shook his head. “The conditions aren’t right for it—not yet, at least. But we’ll keep our eyes open. At the first sign people could be in danger because of the storm, we’ll warn them.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

Another flash of lightning illuminated their tent, followed by a crash of thunder that shook the ground beneath them.

In that brief moment of light, Olive saw the water level had risen even higher, nearly to the top of their mattresses, which were on the ground.

They were no longer camping—they were sitting in a small lake.

And Jason was right. They needed to get out of here before it was too late.