Читать книгу Shock Wave - Dana Mentink - Страница 14

FIVE

The dust drifted past the gap in the ruined stage floor. He felt the urgent need to make a decision, but which one? Climb farther up, find the nearest exit and hope it was unblocked? Go back down, take the unknown tunnel and hope it led to an exit? Risk assessment didn’t work too well when both options were equally bad. A faraway crack sounded somewhere. A gunshot? Or his ears fooling him? Echoes from the past, Trey.

“Did you hear Antonia?” Sage yelled. “You’ve got to get to her.”

“I dunno what I heard,” he said, his mind momentarily bringing up the toppled boxes that had nearly flattened them earlier. He could not escape the feeling that Antonia was not the only one hiding in the shadows, though he could not for the life of him imagine why. As the ruins shifted and packed down, there was a cacophony of tiny noises and it was impossible to tell if any were caused by human activity. No more time to chew on it. Up or down?

Neither option held enough certainty until he got more intel. He ascended one more rung on the aged ladder to better see into the gap. His foot broke through the wood. Grabbing at the rickety structure started a domino effect as the wood pieces snapped one by one, and he began to slide.

He heard Sage cry out from below, but he could not stop his downward momentum. He busted through several more slats before one held and he clung there, feet dangling into the black space below.

“Hold on,” Sage yelled. “I’m moving the ladder.”

Perspiration rolled down his temples as he hung there with clawed fingers, listening to the ominous crackle and groan of the wood as it took the punishment of his bulk. He felt a bump on his foot as Sage shoved the ladder as close as she could manage. A few wild swings of his feet nearly knocked it over.

“Stop thrashing,” she commanded. “Straight down at your five o’clock. That’s as close as I can get it with all this junk in the way down here.”

He almost smiled at her commanding tone as he maneuvered into position and put both feet on the ladder. In a ridiculous, awkward fashion, he managed to transfer his weight and climb down as quickly as he could.

Wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, he pulled a sliver of wood from his palm. “Thanks.”

She stared up at the bits of tinder still clinging to the bricks. “Looks like we’re not climbing out that way.”

“Sorry,” he said. “On to plan B, but there is some good news.”

“I could use some right about now.”

He walked around her and reached into a dusty alcove formed by a partially crushed piece of plaster. “I found my pack,” he said, holding it up triumphantly. “I noticed it before the ladder let me down, so to speak.”

She licked her dry lips and it made his heart hitch up a notch. Sighing, she looked up into the darkness. “I wonder what’s going on up there, outside on the streets, I mean.”

“It’s not pretty, I’m sure.” He thought about his brother, who was due to return to San Francisco that morning. Dallas was tough and resourceful, but he had some physical damage to work around. Trey pushed away that thought and the guilt that went along with it. He led the way back to the door they’d forced open. Cool air bathed his skin as he peered in.

“Let’s go,” Sage said, trying to edge around him.

“Hold up. I’m trying to think.”

“What’s to think about? It’s our only way out, isn’t it?”

“That’s the problem. I’m not sure it is a way out. We could find ourselves at a dead end.”

“Or we could find an exit, or Antonia. I say we get moving.”

She had a point, though to his way of thinking, run in first and ask questions later was a great way to get killed. He endured a flare of anger at the realization that he found himself once again responsible for the safety and survival of Sage Harrington and her friend.

Not funny, God. I already failed that mission the first go-around. Isn’t it somebody else’s turn? Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anyone else for him to hand over the task to.

“Take this,” he said, opening a foil package from his pack and snapping a light stick to life. The green glow revealed her surprise.

“I thought you only carried around a hammer and screwdriver in there.”

He took the flashlight from her and positioned himself in the front. “You’d be surprised what I squirrel away in this bag.” He followed it up with a water bottle. “Drink sparingly, I’ve only got two.”

Sage took the bottle and swigged some, her eyes closing in pleasure. He watched the fine muscles of her slender throat, pale and delicate, as she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him. He took a quick gulp and recapped it before they went inside.

The walls of the tunnel were brick, relatively intact except where the mortar had begun to crumble. Here and there the floor was littered with chunks that had fallen away, and they had to move slower than he would have liked. He figured they were trekking south toward the rear of the theater, but as the tunnel turned and turned again, he could not keep his bearings.

Their combined light did not make substantial inroads into the darkness. He felt the familiar prickle, the tension about enemies lying in wait, and he was carried back to the day his team had done a routine sweep of a small village and walked right into a well-planned Taliban ambush. His memory reverberated with the rumble of tracer rounds, punishing machine-gun fire, the wail of a woman when she’d learned of her son’s courageous death, their platoon medic who’d shown valor well beyond his years. So much death, so much fear. How unfair that it had followed him home. And her, too.

Sage must have been in the grip of her own anxiety because he noticed she pressed close to him, her hand brushing the small of his back at first, and then clutching a handful of his shirt. Trey stopped and beamed his light down at the floor. At the juncture where the floor met the wall was a small rectangular grate, no bigger than a shoebox, covered by an iron grille. A strange noise emanated from the spot, a thin whine. He dropped to his knees and peered in.

Sage knelt next to him. “What’s in there?”

Trey flattened his body to the floor and pushed close until his face was practically touching the rusted metal. Now a mournful howl filled the tunnel and a tiny black nose pushed through the gap.

“It’s Wally,” Trey said. He curled his fingers around the grate and pulled.

Sage took the flashlight from Trey so he could use both hands. “How did he get there? I thought Fred was taking him.”

“Don’t think he got the chance. Wally’s not too obedient. There must be a parallel tunnel or something,” he grunted, yanking so hard on the metalwork that his teeth ground together. The bars did not give the tiniest bit. Wally continued to whine, louder. “I’ll get you out, boy. I promise.”

Trey returned to the outer room and retrieved the iron rod he’d used to pry his way through the tunnel doors. He sat down and began to heave at the bars.

Sage shook her head. “It won’t work. We have to go on, Trey.”

“I’m not leaving the dog,” he said, gasping with the effort.

“He can find his way out.”

He didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed the hammer from his pack and a small chisel and tried to work at the corner hinges. When that proved unproductive he determined to use the last resort tool, brute force.

“Trey, this is ridiculous.”

He ignored her and began to smash away at the edges of the grate with a hammer, sending bits of brick flying in all directions, hoping he didn’t give the poor dog a heart attack.

“You need to stop.” Sage gripped his shoulder midswing and he stood to face her.

“I’ll be through in a few minutes if you’d quit interrupting.”

Her mouth tightened. “We cannot waste time like this. Antonia is somewhere in there, and if there’s someone after us, you’re leading them right to our location.”

He kept his voice level over his rising anger. “I told you, this will only take a minute. I’m not leaving this dog here.”

“Trey,” she snapped. “Big picture. We’re trapped. Antonia may be hurt.” She stabbed a finger at the grate. “That’s a dog who can probably take better care of itself than we can.”

The tide of anger burst through his reserve. “Listen up, Sage. I know it’s a dog. And guess what? It’s still a life and a precious one and I spent enough time with dogs in Afghanistan who risked their own safety to get us guys out of the pits we dug for ourselves.”

“But...”

“And,” he finished, his voice dangerously tense, “dogs are more loyal and selfless that some people I’ve met.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction but threw himself on the floor and took up the hammer again, drowning out any response she might have made with the ringing of steel on rock.

* * *

Sage leaned her back against the rough brick behind her, feeling like a child who has been taken to task. More selfless than some people... He would never understand that her mission in Afghanistan wasn’t for her own personal comfort and enjoyment. And wasn’t she paying the price for her time there? Emotionally crippled, caged by fear. He had no right to go ballistic on her for putting Antonia’s life over the dog’s.

She would go on without him, find her own way through the corridors. Six steps into the blackness and her skin began to prickle, her nerves jumping uncontrollably. Come on, Sage. You’re not afraid of the dark. The truth rang mockingly in her head. She was, down to the depths of her soul, too scared to venture into the belly of the opera house on her own. Where was the intrepid woman she’d been? That woman had been slain right next to Luis in a split second of horror that now stretched out into a lifetime. She steeled herself against the tears that threatened.

Hating herself and the cowardice that shivered through her body, she returned just in time to see Trey slide the grate away from the wall and flatten himself in front of the hole.

“Wally,” he called softly into the void. “Sorry about the noise, buddy. Come on out. It’s okay now.”

At first there was no sign of movement and Sage wondered if his efforts had been futile. It would serve him right and prove she was smarter than he gave her credit for. But something in his optimistic tone and the gentleness with which he shoved his big hands into the darkness made her hope that she was wrong.

Long minutes ticked by. Trey got to his feet and brushed off the knees of his jeans. “I think I scared him.”

She wanted to put her arms around him, to forget the condemnation she’d heard in his tone a moment before and soothe the small grief that slumped his broad shoulders. “Dogs are clever,” she said brightly. “Didn’t you tell me that your brother wanted to be a kennel master in the marines?”

Trey nodded as he packed up his tools. “Yes, but that didn’t pan out.”

“Why?”

Trey’s expression changed suddenly. He looked at the ceiling. “He got hurt.” He cleared his throat. “Because of me. And that ended his chances to be a marine.”

When he finally met her gaze she saw a world there in his eyes that she hadn’t noticed before, maybe hadn’t allowed herself to see. She reached a hand to him, to bridge the gap that seemed to have narrowed with his admission. “I...”

A scrabbling noise drew their attention. The rubble around the grate hole began to vibrate as if some determined gopher was tunneling in from the other side.

“Rats?” she said.

Trey grunted. “Oh, man, I hope not. I hate rats.”

The rubble suddenly erupted in a shower of grit and Wally’s tiny wedge of a head popped through the opening. He shook his head, ears flapping wildly as he looked around.

“Hey, Wal,” Trey shouted, crouching to snag the little animal. The rest of Wally emerged, all long legs and whip of a tail, his sides heaving rapidly.

Trey tried to wipe the grime off the dog, but Wally would settle for nothing short of a complete tongue bath of Trey’s cheeks. “All right, all right,” he laughed, waving away the eager canine. “You can thank me later.” He retrieved the water bottle and poured some into his cupped palm.

The dog lapped it up.

Sage knelt and peered into the hole while Trey examined the dog for wounds. “Wonder what’s on the other side of this wall.”

Trey didn’t answer.

She turned to find him tense, face grave as he bent over Wally. “Can you get the towel out of my pack?” he asked.

Fueled by the gravity of his tone, she hurried to snatch it up and hand it to him. He pressed it carefully to the dog’s side and then pulled it away.

“Is he hurt?” she whispered.

He held up the towel for her to examine with her glow stick. Her breath caught as she saw the dark stain. “Blood?”

He nodded and turned back to the dog, who kept wiggling out of his grasp. “Hang on.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a tiny cellophane package. “Can you hold one of these and see if he’ll lick it while I try to stop the bleeding?”

She took the bag of saltwater taffy from him, unable to resist a grin. “You’re still the candy man, aren’t you?” She couldn’t tell exactly, but she thought he might have blushed.

“Yeah, well I guess every man has his vice.”

Even in a war zone, Trey was the one person who could be counted upon to have a stash of sweets collected from anywhere he could acquire it—packages from his mother, trades with the other soldiers and even some sugarcoated almonds he’d managed to score from a local villager. It amused her and Luis that the big, bold captain had the insatiable sweet tooth of a toddler. Her cheeks warmed when she remembered how he’d shared some partially melted toffees with her. Even in their mushy state, she’d never enjoyed a piece of candy as much as that mangled treat. Nothing had tasted as sweet since and she doubted anything ever would.

Shaking away the thought, she unwrapped a piece of yellow taffy and held it up for Wally, who held still long enough to sniff at it.

“Good stuff, Wally,” she said. “Try a taste and see.”

Wally shot out a slender pink tongue and gave a tentative lick. Then he set about sniffing the thing with his tiny jelly bean of a nose. One more halfhearted lick and then he lost interest, wiggling out of Trey’s grasp and starting off to give the walls a thorough once-over.

“Sorry,” she said, tossing the candy aside. “He doesn’t have a sweet tooth.” She’d gone for a teasing tone, a way to smooth things over between them, but he didn’t answer her.

She came closer and saw he held the towel in his hands, staring at the stains. “Is he too hurt for you to help him?” She put a hand on his hard biceps, feeling the wash of shame at her earlier actions. “Maybe I can carry him while we look for a way out. If we wrap his wounds tight...”

“It’s not that,” Trey said. “Wally is perfectly fine, no wounds at all, anywhere.”

“Fine? Then...”

He held up the blood-stained towel. “This isn’t his blood.”