by Ronie Kendig
“Heath.” Her voice strained. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He cursed himself for being so careless. He was so far out of his element, off his game. When Darci was depending on him.
And I’m dangling in a shaft with no light.
His studies for chaplaincy rained down verses, one after another, about Jesus being the Light of the World. A staunch reminder that Heath wasn’t a shining example of trusting God.
He peered up, no longer able to see Darci’s hope and expectation gouged into her face. No longer able to see where he’d come from. And below … unable to see where he was going.
Just like my life.
He knew God had a twisted sense of humor, and though he didn’t find it funny, the poignancy struck center mass. Hand fisted on the cord below, Heath glanced up and down again. Should he keep going? Or return? The slight tremor in his arms warned him of his weakness.
In more ways than one.
He knew, in his own strength, he could go back up. Get to the top. Be with Darci. But that would get them nowhere. But going down, exploring the unknown … hadn’t he done the same thing with his life? Familiar with combat and military life, he’d pushed and pushed till he got what he wanted.
And how’s that working for you?
Okay, God, enough with the stark parallels. Despite his playful thought, he was wide open to whatever God was doing here. He could sense the life-altering shift. He just wasn’t sure how it was connected to this shaft.
Going down was a matter of faith. Exploring the unknown, being vulnerable, was putting action behind his faith. Faith without works is dead …
Okay. That was beyond stark.
Heath released the belay and lowered himself more.
“Heath?”
Was this stupid? Going farther down, risking getting stuck or never reaching bottom? He continued down.
“Heath?”
Water gurgled below, drawing his gaze downward. A strange glow swirled …
The SureFire!
On the surface. About ten feet below.
Heath let out the tension and glided down … down … to the end of the rope.
Still hadn’t hit bottom.
“Heath!”
Her frantic call jerked him out of his focus. “Sorry.” If he let go and dropped, he could go straight into the freezing water. With the rabid temperatures, he’d have fifteen minutes—max—before his body temperatures dropped to critical.
So did he feel the way out was there, with the icy water and certainty of death?
“Hang on.” His voice bounced off the walls and thudded against his mind.
He stared down at the beam. He couldn’t be more than six or seven feet from the bottom. He’d jumped from greater heights in training. The fear that had him clinging to the rope was the question of the water. It’d swallowed the flashlight. Then spit it back up. Deep enough to go down, but not enough for it to vanish.
Noise filtered through his senses. Heath looked left. What was that? To the right? Crazy. There wasn’t anything here to make noise.
Again, he felt his toe slipping against the wall and reached out.
Hollow and distant the noise actually sounded closer.
How was that possible?
Thwat. The soft sound registered like a sonic boom. He jerked up, barely able to see the multistrand rope fraying. A strand snapped free.
Playtime over. He had to get down. Now.
Heath quickly lowered himself. The cord snapped taut. Ploink! Another snapped.
Do or die, he had to take this literal leap of faith. Heath released himself from the harness. Dropped. Straight down.
Forty-One
Heeeeaathh!”
Gravity yanked hard.
Straight down. Though it happened in seconds, the fall felt like an eternity.
Icy water clapped its painful talons on his ankles. Calves. Knees. Thighs. Waist. God, help me!
He hit bottom of the well. Jarring pain darted up his legs as he impacted. Threw him backward. His head banged against the cave wall. “Augh!” He jerked forward and steadied himself, frigid water cocooning his body.
Seconds. He had just a few minutes to get out of this water before hypothermia set in. But how did you get out of a well that’s little more than shoulder-wide with no way out?
The hollow noise he’d heard earlier reverberated again through the water. Trinity? No. Now he was imagining things. He shook his head and looked up to where he knew Darci sat. “I’m at the bottom. Chest high in water.”
“That’s …” her voice faded. Quiet. Still. “Not good.”
“Ya think?” Heath plucked his SureFire from the water and scanned the walls. The beam stroked the climbing rope … too far up to reach.
“What’re you going to do?”
Again, the hollow sound—so much like a bark. He had to be going crazy. Hypothermic symptoms included unclear thinking. But he hadn’t been submerged long enough for that … right?
“Uh …”
Water stirred to his right. What on earth would be swimming in ice-cold water?
“What’s wrong?”
“I think …” He kept his legs and upper body as still as he could, swiveling a bit to look around him.
Darkness rippled through the water.
“Something’s in the wa—”
A dark shape stirred a heavy wake.
Augh!
Heath plunged his hand into the water, aiming for his holstered weapon.
Erupting water splashed his face.
He flinched away, but in the seconds where his heart rate hit catastrophic, his mind latched on to the attacker. Who wasn’t an attacker. “Trinity!”
Her bark roared through the shaft.
Heath pulled her into his arms. She lathered him with drool, icy water, and elation. His heart chugged as he laughed and hugged her tight. Laughed again. “How did you find me, girl?”
She barked.
“Your dog? How did your dog get in there?” Darci asked, her questions filled with a nervous laugh.
“There must be a hole or something.” Heath beamed the light, his body trembling from the cold. “Hang on.” Man, to find out where she’d come from, he’d have to submerge—all the way! Better to lose a few digits than a whole life, I guess.
He stuffed the SureFire back in place and lowered himself below the surface, ignoring the stinging water. He angled in the direction Trinity had come and sure enough—a hole!
He burst back up. “There’s a passage. Let me check it out.”
Quiet amplified the cold.
“… okay.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you.” Heath willed her to trust him.
“R–remember—you owe me a k–kiss.”
“Very funny, Daniels.”
Her voice sounded lonely but hopeful. He could live with that. For now. He smoothed a hand over Trinity’s head. “Ok–k–kay, g–g–girl. Sh–sh–sh–show m–m–me.”
Heath again submerged. Swam for the hole. Hauled himself through the opening. A steep rise made it hard to wiggle up. Panic clenched him in the narrow space. This was their only way out. A blast of cold air stung his face. He slumped to his knees, still partially submerged.
“Hooah!” The shout pervaded the tunnel.
It took a few seconds for Heath to see in the semidarkness. Backlit by pure, beautiful daylight, two silhouetted forms hunkered close by. Watterboy and Candyman.
Hands hauled him up the slope and onto the passage floor.
“We thought we’d lost you.”
Teeth chattering, Heath chuckled. “If I d–d–d–don’t”—the clatter of teeth on teeth hurt—“g–get warm quick, you w–w–w–will.” He hated the way his lip wobbled.
“Where’s the girl?”
Heath bobbed his head back. “The t–t–tunnel”—he bit down to stymie the shivering—“leads to a well … w–w–water.” Violently, he shook. “Twenty- or thirty-foot shaft in the cave
we were in. Sh–sh–she’s at the t–t–t–top.”
Someone cursed. “How are we supposed to get her out?”
“F–fast,” Heath said, teeth banging. He bit his tongue and tensed. His arms felt heavy, stiff. Legs, too.
A dark shadow sucked out the light. “Chopper!”
Heath smiled. “This just … gets better.” Why wasn’t he shivering? He slumped against the wall. Felt like an MRAP sat on his chest.
“Hey, get out there.” Watterboy shoved Heath’s shoulder.
“Get off, man,” Heath growled.
Watterboy stilled. “Scrip—get him out of here. He’s hypothermic. Do we have extra clothes?”
“Negative.” Scrip bent closer.
Heath swatted him off. “Not leaving till …” Till what? Where’d that thought go? What was he saying? “Darci.” Why couldn’t he breathe?
“Scrip, get a litter.” Watters angled himself closer to the water, nudging Heath away from the mouth of the shaft, from Darci. “Candyman!” Watters pointed to Heath. “Now!”
He dragged himself past Heath, keying his mic. “Command, this is Candyman. Need warming blankets and prep the medical bay for hypothermia.”
“Heath?” Her voice bounced back, empty of promise and void of response. This must be what it was like for the first man on the moon—to look out across the pitch black and know he was utterly alone, save the few on the ship. Heath was … somewhere. Down the shaft. He’d said he wasn’t leaving.
Then he did.
Water had stirred, then nothing.
Darci lay back and drew her legs from the ledge. Hand over her forehead and another resting lightly over her side injury, she closed her eyes. A moot point since the pitch black closed in around her, bringing with its totality and desperate isolation suffocating panic.
She swallowed. Relax. Don’t think about it.
As she had during interrogations, she looked for something recent and pleasant.
Heath and Trinity filled her mind.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best place to put her thoughts. She had no idea what had happened to him down there. What if he didn’t find an out? What if—water … he’d mentioned water. In this winter storm? It’d be freezing. What if … what if he froze to death first?
The thought punched through her tough exterior, fisted its thorny tendrils around her heart, and squeezed. Hard.
Her eyes burned.
She gritted her teeth. She’d never been a baby. Never been a crybaby. She had to get it together, keep it together, until …
Until what? If Heath was dead, she had no way out. Already she felt the sharp teeth of frostbite gnawing at the top of her nose, her ears, her fingers, and her toes.
I’m alone. Completely alone. Wounded. Freezing. Dying …
Darci felt the odd warmth of her tears against her chapped cheeks. She closed her eyes. God, I gave my life to You … extended my faith … my faith, not Mom’s. I believe You can get me out of here, but even if You don’t …
Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
She recalled her earlier thoughts about the three, but now the story felt personal. They were thrown into the fire. She was thrown into the earth’s freezer.
Whatever Your will … I want it.
But if she survived this, then … where would things go with Heath? Could they work something out, so…?
So, what?
Was she seriously thinking of making a life with him?
A giggle leapt from her chest. Yeah, I am.
Idiotic. They didn’t even know each other. Although, at the same time, she knew a lot about him, knew the mettle in him, knew the goodness that made him a man of character, knew the tender and funny side …
Jianyu had never been funny. She hadn’t seen his demons until it was too late. Jianyu’s patience had hidden his poison. DIA wanted more information, so she had to buy time by selling her soul. She’d sacrificed everything trying to distract him. Thanks to a CIA operative, she escaped—barely. And spent the next six months in counseling and begging God to forgive her.
And trying to forgive herself.
Splash!
Darci stilled, stifling the tears, ears trained on the shaft below. Heath … he’d gone … told her he wanted her to live, to make good on that request for a kiss.
Did she really ask him for one? The cold must be getting to her brain. She’d never done something like that. And after they got back, after she recovered, Heath would be on to his next speaking gig with Trinity.
And Burnett … sent her … away … to focus.
Her hands hurt. Her legs. The cold dug into her shoulders, down her spine.
I am focused. For the first … home, want … home. I want to see my father. I want … a life.
Where was her thirst for vengeance? The determination to see justice done?
It’s quenched.
Sleep … cold … it hurt … alone … so dark …
Swooshing dragged her out of the sluggish thoughts.
“Heath?” she barely breathed his name.
No, she was alone. With God. She closed her eyes.
Darci Kintz.
Yeah. Me. Tired … pain … cold.
“Darci Kintz!”
She opened her eyes. Darkness. Cold. But … my name …
“U. S. Special Forces. Are you alive?”
Yes.
“Can you hear me?”
She realized she didn’t put voice behind her answer. “Yes.” It came out a mere breath. She coughed—pain! Her ribs. Curled onto her side, she shifted around, dragged herself to the edge of the shaft. Peered down.
Bright light vanquished the darkness.
She grunted and withdrew. “Here.” That was louder. But not enough. She pushed herself to shout. “I’m here!”
“Hooah!” Came his response. “Ma’am. Move away from the ledge.”
Darci wiggled back, unable to push back.
A strange thwipping sailed through the air … louder … closer.
Thunk! Clank!
Pebbles rained down, and a snake coiled down from the ceiling. Darci shrunk away—at least, she thought she did. But she squinted. Not a snake. A rope dangling from a grappling hook.
“Thank God,” she whispered, her thoughts clinging to her Maker.
In minutes, light and the powerful form of the special-ops soldier loomed over her. Darci relaxed, knowing she was going to make it.
“We’re going to get you out of here. Just relax.” He shrugged out of a pack and dropped it beside her. He lifted her arm, a small pinch …
“Hea …”
He said nothing as he wrapped another thermal blanket around her, and then slid her into some type of cocoon. Another soldier appeared beside him. Together they assembled a litter, then lifted her into it.
“We’re going to strap you onto me. We’ll go down, then into the water, and into the tunnel,” the first man said as he drew her toward him. The other secured harnesses around them.
Darci grimaced against the pain roaring through her side. But she’d endure it. To get out of here. To get home.
But the first shift over the ledge jarred. Hard.
Darci tensed and held her breath. Each length he dropped felt as if someone rammed a hammer into her back and side. She dropped her head against his shoulder, unable to withstand the fire eating her up from the inside out.
“Easy,” he muttered.
Water trickled and gurgled. Darci felt it encircle the insulated cocoon they’d placed her in. Then her knees. Her waist.
She endured the suffocating feeling as the oxygen mask tightened.
“Hold on and hold your breath.”
She nodded.
They went under, her back arching. She reminded herself to breathe, not to scream against the knife being driven through her spine. Within seconds, thrashing water and hands pawed at her. Drawn up out of the water, she heard Trinity’s bark … somewhere.
“Let’s move,” Watterboy shouted.
>
They carried her out of the lower cave, and Darci strained to see into the brilliance of the day. Black and dirty against the pristine white, the UH-60 Black Hawk thrummed with life. Rotors whipped the powder-fine dusting of snow. The rescue team huddled around the helo. Two men in flight suits stood at the foot of a gurney, easing into the chopper.
Heath …
“Make a hole,” Candyman called as they hurried toward the bird.
They slipped her through the opening the team made—and her gaze struck Heath. He gave his “Ghost” moniker new meaning with his deathly pale skin and lips. The medics worked to wrangle his hands. He was punching. Thrashing—but in a slow-motion way. Like he was drunk. He almost flopped off the litter.
Darci’s heart backed into her throat. Such a strong man. Seeing him combative, confused, clumsy …
Others crowded into the chopper around her just seconds before it dipped, then rose into the pale blue sky. She grabbed Watterboy’s sleeve. “How long to the base?”
His gaze hit Heath for a fraction of a second, then her. “Twenty.”
Twenty minutes? Heath didn’t have twenty. If he was combative, he’d already entered the severe stage. But at least he was fighting. And not in a coma.
Heath’s arm slid down. His other swung wildly, then flopped.
His eyes rolled back into his head.
Forty-Two
Aboard Helo, En Route to Bagram
Intubated, Heath lay on the precipice of death.
Darci lured a whimpering Trinity into her lap and wrapped her arms around the seventy-pound ball of fur, whose only attention lay on her handler. Her partner. Though Darci couldn’t hear it for the wind and rotor noise, she felt a whimper rumble through Trinity.
Pale. Heath was so pale. Darci covered her mouth. It pained her to see that thing sticking out of his mouth. The medics hovering, working. Death had never felt so close and violent.
How long had Heath been drenched and icy cold? He’d gone down that shaft for her, to save her. Was it going to cost him his life?
“Pupils dilated,” a medic shouted.
