by Alice Sabo
“What?” Landers stared wide-eyed at the three of them on the ground. “What was that noise?”
A second shot rang out. Splinters flew up from where the bullet hit the railing. Asher dragged Landers down and turned off his lantern.
“Oscar, are you armed?” Asher asked hopefully.
“Why would I be armed?” Oscar snapped back.
Asher could feel the people around him breathing heavily in the pitch black. “We need to go back,” he said softly. A few more shots followed. “He’s just shooting randomly, right?”
“With the lanterns off he can’t see us,” Oscar whispered.
“But he had a good long time to site us,” Imre added. “You think someone’s cooking meth in here?”
“Why do you know what meth smells like?” George demanded.
“Remember Raoul?” Asher mumbled.
“Oh man, he was bad news.”
“There’s a meth lab in here?” Landers squeaked. “How did he get in here? The door was padlocked.”
“Must be the person coming in through the air shaft,” Oscar snarled softly.
The platform throbbed as another bullet thumped into the old wood. “Everybody okay?” Asher asked softly. A series of grunts assured him that no one had been shot. His heart was banging in his chest. They couldn’t stay put.
“We need to get back up the stairs,” Asher whispered.
Two more shots rang out. The deck shuddered as a hail of splinters rattled against Asher’s jacket.
“Where are the stairs?” Landers squeaked. “I can’t see anything.”
“Softly,” Imre warned. “He can hear us.”
“Sound can travel in a cavern,” Oscar added.
“Who’s shooting at us?” Landers hissed.
“Meth cooker.” And suddenly Asher knew who it was. “This must be where Clyde went after his lab blew up.”
“Why do you know him?” George snarled.
“I don’t.” Asher snapped back. He may have known some shady people back in the day, but prescription drugs had always been his vice of choice. Meth scared him, always had. George might not understand that, but it was something that they could sort out later. Right now, they needed to get back into the tunnel. “I think the stairs are behind me,” Asher said softly. “We should move that way.” He backed up, on hands and knees, toward where he thought the stairs were.
Shuffling noises told him people were following. The platform grumbled and swayed. Sweat broke out across his neck as his brain skated across increasingly dire scenarios. There was a pop that wasn’t a gunshot. “Grab on to something,” he yelped.
“What?” George barked. “What’s happening?”
Asher scooted along in the dark until his hands hit a step. He grabbed hold and reached back for someone. “I’m on the stairs. Grab my hand.”
There was a shudder in the wood under Asher’s knees as all three men leaned forward. Another pop sounded and the platform started to drift. Asher pulled them one by one onto the stairs, calling roll as the platform grumbled again. “George.”
“That’s me.”
“Oscar?”
“He’s on my leg,” George growled. “Get over there!”
“Imre.”
“Here. Oscar, move up a step.”
“Landers?”
“What’s happening?”
Asher pushed and poked until everyone was up on the steps. He took a deep breath of relief. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
And with a painful squeal and a thunderous crack, the staircase collapsed.
Chapter 33
When the step below him jerked downward, Asher leaped. He instinctively knew that going down with the stairs would end up with him impaled on some splintered wood and opted for broken bones instead. The instant he launched himself into the air, he wished he’d had a chance to think it through first. He fell through complete darkness with no idea how far he would fall, or what he would land on. Possibly stalagmites, impaled again. More likely, solid rock which was going to do a whole lot of damage. All he could think about was that he had wasted so much time on all that physical therapy when here he was breaking both legs.
He landed more quickly than expected. The ground wasn’t that far down, maybe twice his height. Nothing to sneeze at, but not so far that damage would be lethal. He rolled when he hit, glad for reflexes drilled into him by multiple stunt coordinators. It was a good thing that muscles could remember things because he rarely could. Breathless, he lay still, taking inventory. His heart pounded in his chest; sparks flickered in his peripheral vision. Sweat slicked his skin in the chill air of the cavern. To his amazement, nothing felt broken, or even strained. He was lying on a flat, sandy surface. Carefully, he sat up. A dim light showed, far away, but casting faint highlights across a large body of water. There was enough illumination to give him a vague sense of how enormous the cavern was, but it wasn’t enough to light his way. For a brief moment, there was total silence in the cave. A soft swooshing of water helped Asher place the lake. He thought it might be thirty feet away. In the damp, still air, Asher thought he heard footsteps.
Wood clattered, the sound booming out through the silent cavern. A groan followed the thump of shifting lumber. Asher stayed low, crawling toward the sounds. He flailed an arm across his path, waiting to crash into something. George swore, panting out his curses in a manner that said he was hurt but not fatally. Asher crawled over and put his hand over George’s mouth.
“He can hear you,” he whispered in George’s ear. “Try not to speak. Anything broken?”
George nodded. His breath panted hotly against Asher’s palm.
Asher patted down his body checking for injuries. His hands bumped into planking. Part of the staircase had fallen across George’s legs. He tried to lift it, but it was too heavy. He followed the twisted wood, to see if he could unload something and found a body. A prickle of buzz cut hair under his hand told him it was Imre lying on top of the wood that was trapping George. He could hear Imre breathing, but thought he could smell blood. Stranded in the dark, he couldn’t tell if Imre had only been knocked unconscious, or if he was more seriously injured. He needed to move Imre to get the wood off of George, but if Imre was hurt, moving him could make things worse.
A grunt and a rattle sounded to his right. “Oscar?” he whispered hopefully.
An affirmative grunt preceded a searching hand smacking him in the ribs. Asher grabbed the hand. “You okay?” He helped Oscar to sit.
“I doubt it,” Oscar grumbled. “Where’s the shooter?”
“Shh.” Asher knelt to whisper in his ear. “I think he’s coming. George is trapped.”
“If we’re quiet, he won’t find us,” Oscar whispered back.
“Unless he has night vision goggles on.”
“Why do you think of these things?” Oscar hissed.
“Shh.” Asher could hear the footsteps again, but there wasn’t any sign of a flashlight. No one could walk across a space that large without some kind of guidance. He must have night vision goggles on.
“He’s close,” Oscar whispered. “We need to hide.”
“Imre is unconscious, and George is pinned. We can’t leave them,” Asher growled. He patted his pockets for his flashlight. Luckily, he hadn’t lost it in the fall. He put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder as he whispered, “Stay put.”
Asher strained his ears toward the sound of movement. The darkness around him had nebulous shadings of slightly less dark and pitch black. He could almost make out a blob moving toward him if he didn’t look directly at it. Thomas and he had watched a special about the wonders of peripheral vision. He looked forward to telling his son how well it worked. If he managed to stay alive long enough to escape this place.
With an eye on the dark blob, he moved away from his friends toward what appeared to be an open area. As he had hoped, the blob changed course to intercept him. When he was far enough away, Asher darted toward him, bringing up the flashlight to shine rig
ht in Clyde’s goggles. The light also let Asher see the gun, pointing at him.
Asher launched into a low tackle, hearing the gun go off and praying he hadn’t been shot. He lost the flashlight when they hit the ground. Asher twisted free to throw all of his weight on the gun arm. The guy was too thin, like wrestling a bundle of sticks, but Asher had watched and listened during his years at the State Hospital, and he knew that junkies could have unbelievable strength.
Grabbing the gun arm, Asher banged it against the floor. After two shots, the gun fell, but Clyde started pummeling him with punches. Asher tried to pin him, but Clyde was quick and brutal, wrenching out of every hold to grapple in return. Even though Asher had the advantage in height and weight, he worried he was going to lose this fight. Clyde bit and kicked and punched like a madman. Asher wanted to curl up with his arms over his head, but he hit and kicked back. This close, he was too aware of Clyde’s rancid odor. A sour combination of old sweat and new meth.
When Asher had prepared himself to face down a murderer, he had culled skills learned from the various roles he’d played. He tried to do that now, recalling any of his training as a cop, FBI agent or pirate. A few fancy moves occurred to him—an elbow to the face, a wrist lock, but Clyde didn’t register the pain. Asher fumbled an Aikido throw, that might actually have been Judo, but either way, didn’t work right. Clyde whirled back at him, slamming into his bad leg. He crumpled as it refused to hold his weight. Asher had to grab at clothing and hair because the guy was like a greased eel. Nothing was stopping him, even when Asher was sure he’d heard a bone snap. That meant he was high and so much more dangerous. The slight illumination from the fallen flashlight was worse than total darkness. Now there were shades of black that might be rock or might be shadows.
Asher lunged for Clyde’s throat only to get a knee in his guts. He collapsed to the ground gasping for breath. Clyde was scary fast, going for the gun. Asher rolled to his knees scrambling to beat him there. He dove like a baseball player reaching for home base. His hand hit the gun, sending it skittering out of the light.
Grunting, winded, Asher threw all his weight against Clyde trying to restrain him, but Clyde tossed him to the side. Asher grabbed handfuls of his smelly shirt, knowing that if Clyde got loose he’d grab for the gun, or escape to get another gun. Either way, he couldn’t let him go. They rolled across the ground. Asher expected to smash into rocks at any second. Clyde straddled him and went for a chokehold. Asher boxed his ears, but Clyde didn’t even flinch.
The light from a lantern bloomed into the darkness. Asher could see his assailant. The man was young, late twenties, maybe. His mouth was open, panting, showing his broken teeth and blackened stumps. His breath against Asher’s face was foul. Long greasy hair hung across his eyes which shone with a demonic fury. Asher punched him in the face. Clyde kept choking him. Asher tried rolling, but Clyde hauled him back, both hands tightening on his throat. Asher kept hitting, trying to knock Clyde loose, but he shook off every blow despite the blood freely running from his nose and mouth. Asher’s vision was blurring. If he didn’t break Clyde’s grip soon, he’d lose consciousness. He thought he saw Oscar over Clyde’s shoulder. Then Clyde folded, limp as a day old fish.
Oscar dropped the broken two-by-four he’d used as a club, a grim smile on his blood-streaked face. “That oughta do it.”
Chapter 34
Asher sucked in a much needed breath. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Now we oughta tie him up.”
Using Oscar’s belt and Clyde’s shoelaces, Asher hog-tied the junkie. Oscar lit all the lanterns to survey the damage. Imre was still unconscious where he lay on an almost level arrangement of tumbled lumber.
“Get me the hell out of here!” George’s words were breathy with pain.
Asher and Oscar managed to carefully extricate George without moving the still-unconscious Imre. They gently pulled him free, but he yelled with pain. Asher flinched at the sound. There was a good chance George had a broken leg. He hoped extricating him hadn’t done any more damage.
Asher pulled Oscar aside. “What should we do?”
Oscar shook his head. “Not a lot we can do. We can’t move him again without at least a splint. Imre is down for the count, and I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Oscar indicated Landers who was propped against a pile of lumber, glassy-eyed and silent. He didn’t appear injured, but he didn’t respond to any of Asher’s questions.
Asher pulled out his phone but wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have service. “We have to figure out if Clyde had a back door, because we’re not getting out that way.” He waved at the dark opening high above the pile of broken stairs.
“Look at this place,” Oscar said. “It’s huge. There could be all kinds of side passages. We don’t have time to search them all.” As if to underscore his words, one of the lanterns flickered and dimmed. “Better turn off all but one.”
Asher gathered all the lanterns, doing as Oscar suggested. Darkness crept closer. He glanced back to the lake. “That must be outside,” he said pointing to the distant smudge of light. Oscar followed him to the shore. On closer examination, the light wasn’t as far away as he’d reckoned, it was simply a small aperture. “I can swim to there.”
“Are you sure?” Oscar asked.
“I’m a strong swimmer.”
“It could be farther than you think.” Oscar’s voice sounded weak.
Asher realized Oscar was shaking. He peeled off his jacket and put it around him. “Here, I think you’re going into shock. How bad are you hurt?”
“No, I’m just cold.” Oscar reached for his bloody face, but didn’t touch it. “Head wounds, they bleed like crazy.”
“There’s matches in the pocket, start a fire.” Asher walked Oscar back to where the others were. “There’s plenty of wood,” he said with a rueful grin.
Oscar peered into the darkness. “Maybe not this close to a meth lab.”
George was moaning. Imre was grumbling, which Asher was relieved to hear. Landers was still staring into space.
“I’ll get help.” Asher pulled his shirt off feeling all his aches anew.
Oscar shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, but it might be our only option. Be careful.”
“I’ll get help,” Asher repeated as goose bumps prickled down his body. The cavern was cold. Getting in the water would be even colder. He couldn’t help but think of all the B-movies he’d seen. “At least there aren’t any piranhas.”
Through chattering teeth, Oscar tried to deter him. “You don’t know what’s in that water. It could be toxic, or something.”
“Don’t think Aunt Sue would live by a toxic lake,” Asher said, only half believing it.
“Here.” Oscar waved him over. “You need to do something about your hair.”
Asher sat in front of Oscar, unsure what he wanted. Oscar grabbed handfuls, weaving it into a tight braid. “Used to do this for my daughter when she was little.” He tied it off with a shoelace.
“Thanks. This’ll be a big help.” He hadn’t remembered to bring any hair elastics when he was searching for emergency supplies. “I’ll add hair clips to my list of things to bring into mines.”
Oscar snorted a laugh. “I’m putting Bunny’s .45 on the list.”
Asher kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks. The ground felt icy cold against his bare feet. He skinned off his pants, hopping on one foot as his jeans scrunched around one ankle. Not a very distinguished move for the hero. Kicking the pants aside, he marched to the edge of the water. The black water lapped against a coarse sand bank. He had to push down the ridiculous images that tried to pop into his brain: sharks, killer squid, leeches the size of baseballs.
“Be c-c-careful,” Oscar called after him, teeth chattering with the cold.
“Start a fire,” Asher commanded.
He stepped into the lake only to find it had an immediate drop-off. His body sank like a stone into the inky depths. Being underwater in the
darkness aroused a primal fear that speared through him, making his limbs tremble. This lake could be hundreds of feet deep. He’d never touch bottom. There could be a ledge. If he drifted from his entry point, he could be trapped, blind, underwater. Muscles, frozen with terror, twitched uselessly in the freezing water. Forcing his arms to move, he thrashed toward the surface. His lungs ached. He kicked as hard as he could. Gasping, heart pounding, he surged up out the water and sucked in a lungful of air, insanely grateful to see the small circle of daylight across the lake.
Treading water, he took his bearings. The water was brutally cold. He needed to get moving but wanted his heart to slow down a little first. Panic had made him helpless for a moment. He couldn’t let that happen again. Teeth chattering, he swam toward the light with steady strokes, saving his energy in case it was farther than it seemed. His muscles started cramping from the cold, but he kept swimming. He narrowed his focus to just moving through the water. That was all he needed to do. Right, left, kick and repeat.
The opening was barely wide enough for Asher to fit through. The bright light blinded him. But all he had to do was swim. He wasn’t shivering anymore. The water didn’t feel as cold. He swam until there was nothing above him but sky. To either side were sheer rock cliffs. No landing here. He needed to swim. Just swim.
A sharp whistle sounded. He should probably pay attention. It sounded again. He lifted his head from the water. Had he stopped swimming? A woman was on the bank waving and yelling. She whistled through her teeth again, so loud it hurt his ears. She wanted something. Asher swam toward the bank.
He must have dozed off because he found himself wrapped in a blanket, sitting next to an old iron stove, hot as a furnace, in a room that smelled pleasantly of apple pie. He heard a voice.
“. . .swimming out of the Heart’s Desire. . .I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s trouble. . .”
Asher knew he needed to tell her something. His head felt very fuzzy. But there was something very important. It was on the tip of his tongue. Someone needed help because. . . “George is hurt.”
