Battle Storm (The Battle Series Book 2)

by Mark Romang

  “What are you doing Mad Dog? This guy doesn’t deserve mercy. He tried to kill you.”

  Thorn stood up and faced Webb. For a brief moment he smelled sulfur, but couldn’t tell from which direction it came. “The Bible says I need to love my enemies. So that is what I’m doing.”

  Webb shook his head. “You’re nuts, Mad Dog. That’s all I can say.”

  “Castellanos is a man just like you and me. He has emotions just like you and me. And he has a soul just like you and me. He simply took a wrong path at some point in his life.” Thorn said. “Besides, I feel a little guilty. I roughed him up pretty good. I broke his arm on purpose. I didn’t need to do that.”

  “You’re still crazy, Mad Dog. And there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. Castellanos is a killer, nothing more. You should’ve broken his other arm and his legs too.”

  Thorn didn’t reply. He cocked his head and listened intently. He thought he heard someone walking down the corridor. He raised the Eden sword instinctively. A man with a headlamp approached the room. Thorn’s jaw dropped.

  Another Coleton Webb entered the room.

  Chapter 35

  Emily Thorn wished the nightmare would end. She wished she could wake up and find herself back at the cottage, facing an ordinary day filled with routine and humdrum chores. She yearned for a pile of laundry to fold, or a toilet to scrub, a meal to prepare. But as much as she wanted to escape reality and blame her terrifying circumstances on a dream, she couldn’t.

  The stream had turned into monstrous whitewater. The narrow stream heaved and pitched like a tempest-tossed sea, growing angrier by the second. It raged against the inflatable canoe, battering it without letup. And yet the greatest danger didn’t reside in the foaming whitewater. The utmost peril lurked within the darkness.

  She couldn’t see anything. The stream long ago carried off the lantern, dousing all light. Like dirt piled up over a coffin, layer upon layer of blackness smothered her and Spencer. To ward off her fear, Emily kept reciting a Bible verse under her breath. The scripture came from Psalm 18:28. You Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light. Yet even though she chanted the verse repeatedly like an opium-influenced guru reciting instructions to their followers, she felt no comfort, no peace, and no hope.

  Emily only felt anger, anger at herself for bringing Spencer to the cave. A good parent will protect their child and lead them away from danger, not bring them to it.

  For the most part they were at the mercy of the stream. Despite her kayaking talent and experience on whitewater, Emily could do little to help their situation. The canoe zigzagged and spun, caroming off boulders and crashing against the stream banks. Every once in a while she could feel the channel and would paddle to keep the canoe from careening out the channel and plowing into unseen boulders. She changed strokes, using an Indian stroke, which worked fine in rapids.

  She hadn’t a clue how far they’d traveled, or when they would reach the cave exit, provided the canoe held up and they didn’t bash their heads open on rocks. As important as it was to concentrate on the stream channel, Emily found her mind wandering back into her past and thinking about her failed bids to make the U.S. Olympic Team.

  She had so wanted to represent her country against the world’s greatest athletes. And she came ever so close to making the team. But despite devoting years to training and her most supreme effort, she failed to garner a spot. And the disappointment of not being able to achieve her dreams sent her into a long bout with depression. Presently, she couldn’t help but think this unknown cave stream was her own personal Olympics.

  Instead of competing for a medal in front of a crowd of people, she competed to keep Spencer alive. Her prize wasn’t adoration, fame, or a medallion to hang from her neck; it was the chance to extend a relationship, to spend more time with Spencer…and Adam, if he was still alive.

  The canoe drifted. Its bow turned, and they hurtled down the chute sideways. Emily tried to correct the inflatable’s tack with a draw stroke. She had to keep the canoe straight. The last thing she wanted to do was move through a rapid sideways. They would be more apt to plow into the boulders forming the channel and wrap around them—carnage they likely wouldn’t recover from.

  “Spencer, are you still with me?!” Emily shouted over the noisy spray. He didn’t answer right away, sending her into a panic. At the sake of risking disaster, she took her left hand off the top of the paddle and reached forward. She had to know if he was still in the canoe. She felt around frantically for what seemed like seconds before finally touching his head. Emily imagined Spencer all hunkered down so small in the bow, a shivering little boy, drenched to the skin and still singing He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands. She started to hum the song herself, hoping the encouraging words would somehow calm her.

  But the fast-moving water wouldn’t let her relax. The chute they raced through dropped even more. The stream took them deeper and deeper into the earth. We’d have a chance if I could only see, Emily thought. She paddled harder and faster, refusing to allow the runaway stream to make her only a spectator. If they were going to die in this demented stream she intended to go down fighting until the last breath left her lungs.

  The canoe straightened out. She continued her aggressive paddling while still maintaining strict form, keeping her hips stationary and rotating her shoulders to the side she paddled on. Emily kept the paddle blade close to the canoe’s side to prevent the canoe from turning.

  The canoe traveled surprisingly well in the choppy water. But she knew that could all change in an eye blink. Spray as cold as crusted ice slashed her face. Emily closed her eyes against the biting mist. It was pointless to keep them open. The darkness canceled out her vision. She had to rely on her other senses now. Her ears and sense of touch would have to provide her stream information.

  The canoe all at once entered a diagonal wave. These types of waves are notorious for flipping rafts. The canoe wobbled and nearly capsized but somehow stabilized and continued its tumultuous journey. A small inkling of hope filtered through her thoughts. Maybe we can make it after all. But as the canoe exited the diagonal wave a vision entered Emily’s head. She was Sara Kendall again, and she found herself back in Oklahoma at the Oklahoma City Whitewater Center, competing at the Olympic team trials.

  ****

  Sara looked at the leaderboard; saw her name in first place, a good place to be going into the finals. But she couldn’t relax now. She needed another fast run to assure her a spot on the team. Finishing first gained her an automatic spot.

  Sara swallowed thickly. She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. She was her own worst enemy. The only thing that could stop her dream from coming true now was her nerves.

  A race official gave Sara the signal to start. She shoved off. Her Kevlar and carbon fiber kayak weighed only 8 kilograms, and it sliced into the turbulent water. The course consisted of twenty-five gates hanging from overhead ropes. Seven were upstream gates, the rest downstream gates. She had to make it through all of them and in the proper sequence without touching any of the poles.

  Her kayak gathered speed quickly. The first gates approached. They were painted green and white. The paint scheme meant she needed to go through them while paddling downstream. Slalom boating isn’t just about speed, but also balance, finesse and precision. She had to get the approach right, the angle right, and most importantly, the timing of her strokes right.

  Sara only had a few friends and relatives in the stands watching her: her grandmother, aunt and uncle, and a few friends from her high school days made the trip. Her small cheering section held up brightly colored signs. Both her parents were long gone. Her mom died when Sara was only twelve, and her dad died when she was seventeen. She had an older sister, but didn’t know where she was, or if she was even alive. Crack cocaine ruled Erin’s life.

  Sara was glad the contingent was small. Any larger and nerves would really get to her.

  The first gate approac
hed. She maneuvered it with ease. Sara kept her back straight and leaned only with her hips. Her paddling strokes were quick and precise. She tried to place her strokes on each wave. Occasionally she performed a short stroke to maintain her timing.

  More downstream gates approached. She breezed through them all. Downstream gates were easy. It was the upstream gates where she had to paddle upstream and perform a pivot turn to get through the gates that challenged her.

  A drop in the course loomed up and she dug her paddle in to lift the bow and keep it from dropping into the hole at the bottom. She lost no time on the drop and neared red and white gates—upstream gates. So far her run was technically perfect and very fast. If she kept this up she would easily hold on to her lead and make the team.

  Smooth and steady. Keep your balance, head over tailbone. You got this.

  Six more gates to go and then the finish line: two upstream gates and four downstream gates. She neared a red and white striped gate—an upstream gate. The poles hung so innocuously, like giant candy canes over the water. And yet the upstream gates were placed over eddies to increase the difficulty factor.

  Sara glided through one more downstream gate and then began her approach to the upstream gate. Unlike other racers who liked to point their stern upstream even as they cleared the downstream gate, she liked to continue her downstream momentum and take a wide approach to the upstream gate. This allowed her to sometimes maneuver an upstream gate on a single stroke. She could do this because she was a strong paddler.

  Sara crossed the eddy line and executed a pivot turn. She tilted the kayak into a sweep stroke and threw her weight backward. Her kayak’s stern cut underneath the water and lifted the bow off the water, turning it in the direction of the upstream gate.

  She adjusted her angle slightly but still maintained her speed. The kayak headed just to the right of the inside pole. All she had to do now to clear the gate was execute a Duffek stroke. She’d done this sort of turn a millions times, could execute it with mechanical precision. Sara didn’t hear the crowd in the stands cheering, didn’t see the brightly colored signs. She heard and saw nothing but the foaming water and the gates hanging above it. She was in the zone, a place where top athletes go when the competition is on the line.

  But then the unexplainable happened, something that had never happened to her before, not even in countless hours of practice. Her left hand slipped off her paddle shaft. Her hand was only off the shaft for a split second, but it was long enough to throw off her timing.

  The kayak drifted, its bow swung around and banged into the left gate pole. She tried to correct but it was too late and she ended up missing the gate completely. A fifty-second penalty was just added to her time, and she went from first to last.

  She finished the run on autopilot. Without the penalty the run would have been her personal best. But as it stood now she would finish near the bottom of the finalists. Her hated rival, Kara Livingston, would likely take her place on the team now.

  Sara didn’t look into the stands to where her well-wishers sat. She knew their heads were slumped into their hands; the brightly colored signs dropped onto the floor by their feet. She’d failed them. And she’d failed herself and her coach. Sara sighed. Defeat never tasted so bitter.

  Her shoulders caved and she hung her head, still astonished by the fluke incident that crushed her dream. And then disappointment settled over her. It raged in her head like a wildfire. I choked. I can’t believe it. I choked again.

  Chapter 36

  Emily snapped out of her vision and found her present situation even more disturbing. While she zoned out the stream’s turbulence increased greatly in only a few seconds. She and Spencer were caught up in a Maytag—kayakers slang for being stuck in a hole and pummeled as if caught up inside a washing machine.

  The stream rumbled and shook and tossed them about. It was as if an earthquake shook the entire cave, stream and all. Emily dug in with her paddle and fought to get out of the Maytag. It took what seemed seemed like several seconds before the canoe even budged. After endless paddling, they finally popped out of the whirlpool-like hole. The canoe instantly shot forward.

  The channel seethed against them, an angry dragon spewing whitewater instead of fire. The gushing stream rumbled like thunder. Emily didn’t like the tone of the reverberating sound augmenting in her ears. We have to get to the bank. This stream can’t be run. She tried to turn the canoe to her right and ferry across the current. But the raging current wouldn’t let them go. It continued to funnel them downstream at a rapid clip.

  The roar grew louder—a freight train in her ears. A sick feeling soured her stomach. Dear God, please don’t let it be falls, she prayed, but knowing it had to be. Nothing else sounds like a waterfall. It has an unmistakable timbre to it.

  Obeying instinct, she reached forward and found Spencer. She grabbed his collar and jerked him backwards until he sat at her feet. Emily squeezed him tight with her knees. “Take a deep breath, Spencer! We’re going over the falls!”

  She’d barely shouted the words when the bow teetered over the lip and they plummeted. Emily’s stomach rocketed up into her chest. She draped her left arm across Spencer’s torso and held the paddle in a horizontal position out by the side of the canoe with her other hand. She didn’t want the paddle to smack Spencer or her in the face upon impact.

  She counted seconds as they dropped through the cataract.

  One…two…three…four seconds passed. Water sloshed out the canoe as they nose-dived.

  Emily leaned forward, wanting to aid their vertical entry. At all costs she wanted to avoid a flat entry. With growing terror she anticipated the splash down. And it came with a vengeance. They plunged through the spray and into the frigid water with head-snapping violence. The canoe dived bow first into the water, completely submerging. The darkness became even more complete, more nightmarish under the surface—a watery tomb. There was no way to tell which way was up or down.

  Emily clung to Spencer and struggled to keep him inside the canoe, knowing the inflatable’s buoyancy would bring them back to the surface faster than if they swam. She could feel the panic erupt in Spencer’s body. Survival instinct prodded him into action. Adrenaline flooded his small body and gave him incredible strength. He flailed against her restraint, his fingers clawing at the water, lungs screaming for air.

  A horrible thought entered Emily’s mind. She’d gone over falls several times before, but always in a kayak. A kayak was enclosed with only a small hole for the paddler to sit in. Water couldn’t get in. Maybe the canoe wouldn’t rise like she first thought. Maybe they would just keep drifting until they finally bumped to a stop on the bottom.

  Emily debated whether to grab Spencer and leave the canoe, taking her chances on swimming to the surface. But then they popped to the surface a second later. She exhaled and then inhaled rapidly, panting almost. “Spencer, baby, are you okay!?” Over the roaring falls behind them she could just barely hear Spencer coughing and sputtering for breath. He’ll be fine. He just needs to catch his breath and put on some dry clothes, she thought. And then she noticed how calm the water ran. The current was gone, the stream flat and still. The falls had emptied into a pool.

  Emily closed her eyes and wept tears of joy and relief. By the grace of God they were still alive. Her body shuddered as it released pent up emotion. That was too close, she thought. We just cheated death. They could have easily capsized and hit their heads on rocks and then drowned.

  “Mom, wake up! Open your eyes!” Emily felt Spencer’s hand pat her face. “Wake up, Mom. You have to see this!”

  Startled, Emily opened her eyes. What she saw startled her even more. They were in a big room. And the overhanging ceiling and every wall surrounding the stream sparkled as if covered with gemstones. Thousands upon thousands of blue sapphires twinkled and flashed and chased away the darkness. Even the water reflected the neon blue luminescence. It was as if the waterfall transported them to another land, another cave�
��an enchanted cave.

  “Are those rubies, Mom?”

  Emily smiled. “No, those aren’t rubies, they’re sapphires.” But no, that wasn’t right either. Some of the sapphires moved around as if alive. And the ones attached to the ceiling dangled glowing strings that looked like unclasped necklaces. And then her tired brain figured it out. The sapphires were actually glowworms—arachnocampa luminosa. They were common on both the North and South Islands of New Zealand. The glowworms like to live in caves where the wind can’t tangle their sticky strands, which they use to snare their prey.

  A lump formed in Emily’s throat. She believed a miracle was taking place. They needed light to make it out the cave. And now they had it, courtesy the glowworms. Scoffers would say it was just a coincidence. After all, glowworms in New Zealand are fairly common. Tour companies make big money showing tourists the glowworms in the Waitomo caves not that far away in the King Country region of New Zealand’s North Island. Yet nobody could convince her otherwise. Miracles happen all the time. People just aren’t aware enough, too distracted by worldly things and busyness to notice a supernatural event take place. “Actually, they’re glowworms, Spencer. This type of glowworm lives in caves and emits a glow to attract their prey. Other insects wrongly think the glowing lights are stars and that they’re outside. Then they fly into the sticky strands hanging from the ceiling and are trapped.”

  “Cool,” Spencer said through chattering teeth. “Mom, I prayed God would give us a light to see. I prayed it when we were going through the rapids. Do you think God answered my prayer?”

  “I do, Spencer. He honored your faith and performed a miracle.” Emily watched a toothy grin break across Spencer’s face, a face sprinkled with freckles.

  “God really does hear our prayers, doesn’t he, Mom?”