Dark Escape (DARC Ops Book 10)

by Jamie Garrett

  “It’s okay,” he said, watching her cry and feeling his heart break for her. “It’s okay to be human once in a while.”

  “Yeah, I’m doing slightly less than that.”

  “No, I think you’re doing amazing, for survival. Your will to survive . . .”

  “Has gotten me here.”

  “Here is alive,” Declan said.

  She sniffled. “Here is in some kind of mine or cave with no chance of escape, with no hope, with no—”

  “I’m your hope,” Declan said, interrupting her.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m your hope, here, in this mine. As long as you’re with me, you’re okay.”

  “Well, I don’t feel too okay.”

  “You will,” Declan said, “Once you get out of here.”

  She took a breath. “I know one of the captors.”

  He’d guessed at it, but her words still took his breath away, like a punch to the gut. Had they been watching her, stalking her, for longer than anyone had known? “Who?”

  “His name is Sajad, he’s the one doing all the talking. He’s the son of the rich industrialist, Abbas, the guy whose dinner I disappeared from.”

  “Well,” Declan said, “at least now I know the name of the person I’m going to kill.”

  “No,” she said, “No, don’t kill Sajad. He’s trying to help us, and he can’t do that if he’s dead.”

  “How can he help us? He kidnapped you!”

  “I don’t know what he’s really doing,” Sophia said. “He’s the son of someone I know, who wants to help us. He . . . he pretended to rape me back there, but he didn’t. He put on a show for them, at least an audible one.” She looked toward him. “I think he’s trying to help us. He did what he did to keep the others away from me. What does that mean to you?”

  Declan shrugged. “It means we’re screwed.” He had no weapon, no way to fight these men besides his fists, and that hadn’t gotten him or Sophia anywhere. Not yet.

  “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” Sophia said, her face twitching slightly in pain when she shifted her position. Her voice sounded more impatient, frustrated. He could relate. The urge to fight back but the inability to do so had Declan nearly crawling out of his skin. He was there to save her, to give her the chance . . . that was what he did.

  “So,” he said, “I guess I’ll have to hope you’re right, about Sajad, and go with the plan.”

  “I’m not even sure what the plan is exactly,” she said, “But it doesn’t include harming Sajad.”

  “What does it include, then? Who can we harm?”

  “I know, you’re a hammer looking for a nail.”

  “I’m a soldier with a score to settle. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “The right direction is patience, for now,” she said. “And getting the hell out of here and back to civilization. Of surviving this. Then you can hammer your nails.”

  He watched her go quiet and still as the guard re-entered, him walking over and not saying anything, until Declan broke the silence in Arabic. “How much longer?”

  “For what?” the man replied.

  “For everything.”

  The guard looked at him, dumb-faced. It was proper Arabic, and he’d said it well, but the man had no reaction. He stood there, thinking, frozen in place. It was a good distraction, much better than he anticipated. It was just what he’d needed to start the process of taking his fate into his own hands.

  It would begin here.

  With her, and him, and this.

  He leapt up, surprising the man. In the next instant, he had one arm wrapped around the man’s neck. The other hand grasped the base of his skull. He held his breath and twisted. Hard. He heard a hard pop, and the man went limp in his arms.

  A gasp sounded behind him. Declan turned and saw Sophia, staring wide eyed at him, mouth open in a silent scream. She suddenly turned and threw up into the dirt, her stomach heaving. It took him a moment to remember that she was a civilian and that she was a normal person, an art curator living a comfortable American life, perhaps never engaging in any type of violence. He just hoped that it would be the last time she would have to see something so terrible, the last time he’d have to end someone’s life in order to save theirs.

  “Turn off for a minute,” he told her. “Turn off your brain, your feelings, your everything. If you want to live.”

  She was weeping now.

  “Do you want to live?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then why not come with me now and get out of here?” He moved to the opening of the tunnel, one careful step at a time. He heard nothing outside. He glanced behind him over his shoulder, saw her close behind. “Ready?” he whispered.

  She said, “No,” as she already started moving, her body already in agreement with the command before her eyes could harden into it. Before she could finally look him straight in the face and nod and say, “I’m still not ready, but let’s do this.”

  And they did, Declan quickly slipping past the opening, turning toward the structures and not seeing anyone else moving about outside. Foolish. They had left only one guard standing at the tunnel entrance while the others went about their prayers. Probably thinking both of them were too battered and wounded to escape. Their mistake. With the light of the moon, he could see the traces, the outlines of the various mine faces. Small dark openings along the mountainside. More good places to hide.

  “Up there?” she said, pointing to one of them. Declan was glad that she was finally thinking ahead, going past not being ready and now finally taking some initiative in their escape.

  Jogging now, side by side as they scrambled across the loose stones of the mountain. No words. Just breathing.

  A good pace, until she approached another mine entrance, mere feet away, slowing down until he had to nudge her and ask, “What the hell’s the problem?”

  She was standing still, looking into the mine entrance.

  “Sophia . . .”

  “I’m so fucking scared,” she said.

  “What?” he hissed. “All the explosions and the guns and the lunatics trying to kill you, and you’re scared of a fucking mine?”

  “I have, um . . . I have like a phobia.”

  “Of mines?”

  She shrugged. “The dark.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. Declan said, “How about of AK-47s? Are you scared of those, too?”

  She was still standing motionless, until he pushed her forward. “Come on,” he said, “don’t make us find out.”

  It was good enough for a few steps forward, Sophia wandering and maybe wondering. But Declan needed a lot more than wondering. He needed action.

  13

  Sophia

  The night was dark, but somehow the tunnels were even worse. Sophia bumped along behind Declan, holding his hand. Sometimes she closed her eyes and saw the same level of light. Exactly none. How did he find his way in such darkness? How could he see? The same figure guided her. Sophia could feel him more than his touch. She could know him this way, in the dark, scrambling away to safety. She could trust him.

  Declan guided her down another shaft and then they were running deeper into the mountainside. Sophia had no idea where or why, but the vague idea that they were headed deeper and further beneath the surface gave her at least a momentary hope for survival. An animal instinct drove her deeper into the ground. She kept up with his pace and his logic. She believed in his will to survive and his way of doing it. She ran right by his side until he stopped.

  Surprisingly, her eyes had become slightly adjusted to the darkness. And then she realized why. He held a small yellow glowstick in his hand, barely enough to change the shadows from black to gray. Where . . . how the hell had he gotten that?

  “Where—”

  “Grabbed it from the pocket of one of those cretins.” He shrugged.

&nbs
p; While they were beating the shit out of him?

  He stopped suddenly, and Sophia’s heart thudded in panic.

  “What?” she said. “What is it?”

  Declan stopped in his tracks, holding a piece of her shirt, and then tearing it.

  She flinched back. “What the fuck?”

  “We’re using this as evidence,” he said, “for them, something to follow up on.”

  “What do you mean, follow up?”

  “I mean when they come looking after us. We’ll throw them off track and lead them into a cave-in.”

  “What cave-in? How?”

  “Like this,” Declan said, kicking at a support beam. There were little frames built in the mine every few feet, and this one looked splintered enough to kick in and weaken. Get the piece of her shirt and lure someone down there.

  “It’s a false trail,” he said. “You follow me yet?”

  “I follow. But how about the rest of them?”

  “Well, that’s the idea.”

  “So they follow you. And then what?” She was breathing heavily in the darkened cavern. He looked at her as if he had something else on his mind entirely. Like he wanted to grab her, to breathe with her, one mouth, one kiss.

  “Declan?”

  His face scrunched up as if trying to decipher what she meant by the question. There could have been a lot of talking points. Perhaps the easiest was that they were working together.

  “I’ve weakened this support, because I want a cave-in when they come looking for us.” He said this as if weakening supports had been an old day-job of his. Then he planted the fabric deep in between the rocks and said, “And I want it to look like you’ve been here.”

  “I have been here.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “How about that?”

  “So now where?”

  “The only way is through the darkness, so let’s keep going.”

  Sophia grabbed ahold of him while they started walking again. Up close with him, again, almost hugging onto him, she felt a wave of relief. And she felt his leadership. He smelled good and he felt good, his muscles tense under her touch. His hands large and grasping her hips, guiding her. She wanted to believe everything he said. She wanted to be a team player. But underneath everything, fear still simmered away. She felt every step, every move renewing the pounding in her head, reminding her of her sore and aching muscles.

  The fear was the worst. Causing her to doubt. To allow questions for which she had no answers to swim around her mind.

  How would he feel about fear?

  Of course, there would be fear. Declan was a soldier. She was merely an art girl. But what could she do? Just listen to him? Or find her own voice?

  He said, “Ever hear of a FOB?”

  “A what?”

  “Alright,” he said, “the plan is to reach an American forward operations base. The nearest is in Kandahar.”

  “Kandahar?”

  “Are you wounded anywhere?” Declan asked. “And you really need to tell me.”

  Sophia ignored the question. “How the hell can we make it all the way to Kandahar?”

  “Are you?” he said.

  “Am I what?”

  “Wounded anywhere? I need to—”

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  But she didn’t feel fine. She hurt like hell, as she was sure he did as well. But if he could move, so could she, until she couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. Until she dropped from exhaustion. Because that’s what it would take. They didn’t have much time, much of a lead on their kidnappers, their captors, and she knew it. And if they caught up to them next time, she had little hope of getting away. Little hope of Sajad somehow helping her—or Declan—ever again.

  Sophia felt dead to the rest of the world, at least the world she used to know. This new world here with Declan required a suspension of disbelief, that things could be this bad. She would not let herself imagine how much worse things could get.

  He tugged on her hand. “Alright, time to keep moving. Ignore the pain, ignore the fear, and keep going.”

  What, now he was a mind reader? How did he know what she was thinking? But of course, her thoughts were instinctive, questions that any sane person would ask in a situation like this.

  She gave her head a shake, regretting it instantly as pain slammed through her. What had she been thinking? It was a question she’d asked herself at least a dozen times since she’d been kidnapped. A question she was likely to ask again and again. A question for which there was no answer. For now, it was only important to know one thing. She was with Declan. She had no doubt that he would do what he could do save her and himself. For his sake, she hoped he could. She couldn’t live with herself if she were to blame for his death.

  Sophia could only see the mine shaft ahead and behind, but she couldn’t resist one more question. “Where the hell do we go now?”

  14

  Declan

  They fumbled around in the dark until they finally came to an opportunity, a chance to imagine that they might be safe. The darkness grew less dense . . . less dark. From ahead, Declan saw a dim shaft of light—not like a lamp or a flashlight . . . moonlight. Faint and dim, but better than absolute blackness. He was dammed lucky the two of them hadn’t gotten separated or fallen into an air shaft. Then again, he doubted if mining standards in Afghanistan matched even the worst in the U.S. Probably not too many air shafts, but that one ahead, well, it was a godsend.

  For now.

  “Up ahead,” he said softly, his chest heaving with exertion and controlled fear. Declan wouldn’t deny that he was afraid. He wouldn’t deny that he was in pain. Likely as much as Sophia. To not be afraid was to be foolish, to increase the chance of making a deadly mistake. “I see a ladder!”

  Behind him, Sophia said nothing, but she did make a sound in her throat. Relief? Thinking that their way home was clear now? He reached the base of the ladder: wood and nails. Rusty. Old. He tested the stability of the ladder by reaching up and tugging on a rung. It held. Would it hold his weight all the way up? He wanted to send Sophia up first, just in case, but wouldn’t. He had to scope out the exit . . . for all he knew, their meandering way through the shaft had taken them right back to the structures they’d escaped from.

  “I’ll go up, make sure it will hold the weight,” he said. “Check it out, see what’s out there.”

  “No, don’t leave me—”

  He pried away the fingers gripping his forearm as gently as he could. “I’m not going to leave you here, Sophia. I promise. I’m just going to check it out up there.” Declan took her hand and wrapped it around a ladder rung. “I’ll be right back.”

  He took the first couple of steps slowly and carefully, prepared to come crashing down. He didn’t. Four more, and he could already tell the moonlight grew stronger. Five more, and he poked his head from the shaft, just enough so he could see. He saw nothing but darkness, the darker ground around him, the downward slope of the mountain, and above, a dazzling carpet of twinkling lights from millions of stars. He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps—

  “Declan!”

  He descended and spoke quietly and calmly to Sophia. “It’s dark out there . . . we’re not near the structures—”

  Her arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him closely. He winced at the pain in his ribs but held it back. Again, he pried at her grip and spoke. “Let’s not waste any time, alright?” He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but getting away, as far away as they could before the sun came up was imperative.

  So up the air shaft they climbed, Sophia first. Before she reached the top, he warned her to stay low. As soon as her feet disappeared, he quickly followed. She rolled over onto her back, staring up at the night sky. The half moon gave a profile of her face. Even with a swollen eye and a puffy jaw, she looked gorgeous to him. She heaved for breath. Her frail voice asked, “Are we done?”

  The words almost prompted a laugh. Almost. He didn’t want to tell her the truth yet,
to tell her that they had a long way to go, and every one of those minutes would be a race against time. A race against discovery. A race against death. He heard her breaths, still erupting in harsh gasps. She was hyperventilating. Stress reaction. Delayed stress, whatever the hell you wanted to name it, she had it.

  “Just keep breathing,” Declan said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He whispered soothing words. That last thing he needed now was for her to panic. “Slowly in and out,” he said. Sophia needed the instruction. He knew what would happen with a hyperventilating partner. And she’d done so well up to this point.

  Finally, her breathing slowed, but every second waiting felt agonizing. They had to move. They had to keep going. Patience. Just a couple more minutes.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “No, you’re about to go blue and start seizing up on me. Just breathe, in and out.”

  So she breathed in and out, calmly, slowly, with him. They breathed together.

  Aside from the horrendous context, it would likely shape up to be a wonderful morning. The sun would rise soon, the east displaying a hint of a glow that presaged predawn. They had to get moving. Now. “Ready?”

  She looked up at him and nodded, then slowly rolled on to her hands and knees. He knew what a struggle it was to get up. He felt it, too. “It’ll get easier as we work the kinks out of our muscles,” he promised. Liar, he swore to himself. But he had to give her hope. She needed some kind of hope, some kind of anything that wasn’t her being tied up and slammed with the butt end of an AK-47. The way she kept slipping over the rocks, falling, tired, and weak-kneed. Sophia had given up.

  He grabbed for her hand, and they took off at a quick walk, sometimes a slow jog, heading west. They stuck to the low ground, avoiding ridges. The only problem was that by doing so, he couldn’t tell if they were being followed. He paused occasionally to listen. He heard nothing but her harsh breathing. On the move. Always on the move.