Out of the Depths

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KYNDAL STARED AT…THE SUN? No warmth. No light. Yet it was the sun.

Her brain struggled to make sense of what she saw. A picture of the sun. A painting.

Still on her back, she dug her elbows into the soft flooring and scooted farther into the hole, protecting her foot as much as possible. Soft flooring? Fur. She was lying on fur.

“What is it, Kyn?”

She didn’t answer, didn’t know how—just drew her legs up out of the way to give Chance room to crawl in behind her.

When he did, she heard his sharp intake of breath. “My God!” He took the flashlight from her and pumped it to the max, scanning the wall with the light.

Red. Red all around. And black, staring eyes. Heads and eyes painted on the walls. Figures. Drawings of figures. Graffiti? Had the teenagers been here?

“I think you’ve found an ancient room.” Chance’s voice was thick with heavy breathing.

The light fell on tied bundles scattered around the base of the wall. Chance grabbed one up. “Animal pelts.” He broke the ragged gut cord and shook the bundle open. The brown fur was beautifully preserved—full and lush. “Coyote.”

Kyndal concentrated on forming the words. “Then there’s a way—”

“Shh!”

“—out from here,” she finished.

“Shhh!” Chance covered her mouth with his hand. His eyes were wide, and he cocked his head, looking like a deranged bird listening for a worm. She wanted to giggle, but her body couldn’t muster enough energy. Instead, her eyes lazily followed the light.

Suddenly, Chance lunged toward a black streak on the wall. A small indentation at the bottom of it held a clay bowl, brimming over with liquid.

“Water!” Chance ran his hand along the streak. He reached out to the bowl, then pulled his hand away, touching his fingers to his mouth. They trembled violently against his lips.

“Kyn, you need this water.” His wild-eyed gaze locked on to her. “I don’t think I can pick it up without spilling it, and you need every drop.” He laid the flashlight down and cupped the sides of her face, forcing her to look at him. His hands, which had been so warm before, were cool against her skin. “I want you to lie on your belly and sip it down a little. Can you do that?”

She nodded though whether it was under his power or her own she wasn’t sure.

He maneuvered her until she was stretched out on her stomach. The soft fur begged her to snuggle into it, but she ignored the seduction of its warmth, straining to push the ten-ton weight of her body onto her elbows. She gritted her teeth as her arms wobbled, dropping her onto her stomach again, driving the breath from her. The bowl seemed to whirl as her eyes lost their focus, and the world around her started to fade.

Someone called her name a couple of times, but the voice was far away, as though she was hearing it from underwater. She floated facedown…in a pool of something soft…water?…surrounded…engulfed…sinking down…down. She struggled to swim, trying to free her arms, which were pinned beneath her.

“Kyndal.”

The voice grew to a shout.

“Kyndal!”

She was rolled over and jerked into a sitting position. An arm supported her back. Hot lips touched hers and then her mouth flooded with liquid. She swallowed. The lips left for a second; then they were back, filling her mouth again with coolness. She didn’t swallow immediately, letting the moisture soothe the parched tissue inside her jaws and along the sides of her tongue instead, relishing the texture and clean, sweet taste.

The water felt exquisite, sliding down her dry throat, cold enough to make its presence known as it passed between her collarbones and into her chest.

The voice called her name over and over, commanding her to respond, reeling her in like a fish on a line.

It took a few moments for her heavy limbs to respond to the demands from her brain. Once they did, she fought her way to the surface and broke through with a gasp and a cough, forcing her eyes to open. Cloudy at first, they finally cleared, and she saw Chance’s contorted face.

She’d seen that look one other time. The day Hank died.

“Hold me.” Hardly more than a whisper, her voice waved the magic wand that relaxed his face. He clutched her tightly to him.

“Did you…get water?” she croaked. “Shouldn’t’ve drunk it all.”

His fingers moved softly through her hair. “I’ll get some next time. It’s a slow drip, so it’ll take a while.”

She let her gaze wander about the strange room while the water found its way into her system. “What’s this place?”

His chest heaved as he took several long, deep breaths. “I think it was for Native American ceremonies.” He focused the flashlight beam on various drawings that obviously represented male and female characters coupling. “Probably performed fertility rites here.”

The thought of other people who’d been here brought hope back into her heart. “They didn’t get in the way we did. There’s a way out from here.”

“Was,” Chance corrected. He drew another long breath and pointed to the crevice they entered through. “There’s been a cave-in out there.”

“Oh.” She swallowed her disappointment, noticing how dry her throat was already. She couldn’t give in to despair now. The chance to stay alive more than ever lay in keeping their wits about them. “Nice place…to wait…for rescue. Warm. Cozy. Running water.” She leaned back to give him a smile of reassurance.

He didn’t say anything, but the grim set of Chance’s mouth spoke volumes.

* * *

“IF ANYTHING’S HAPPENED to her, I’ll never forgive myself.” Jaci turned away from the sight of Emily and Bill Brennan’s grief-filled expressions and leaned her forehead against Bart’s chest. How could they stand there not touching at a time like this? Bart’s strong arms around her were the only thing keeping her from collapsing. “I pushed her into this. She wasn’t going to go, but I insisted. And then I let four days go by before I did anything.”

Bart’s chin rested protectively on top of her head, increasing the weight of his words. “Stop blaming yourself. I’m the one who told you to quit calling her.” She felt him swallow. “I think they’re going to take Chesney with them.”

That made sense. The dog had been running around wildly since Jaci and the Brennans showed up at Chance’s house that afternoon. When Sheriff Blaine arrived a few minutes later, Chesney led him to the depression in the ground behind the garage.

Jaci shuddered, remembering how much it looked like an old grave.

Sheriff Blaine said it was a sinkhole that collapsed a long time ago. Although the cave was a quarter mile from the house, he’d said that its caverns might run all the way to the house and beyond.

“Here comes the sheriff.” Bart gave her a kiss before she turned to face the beefy lawman. The cave entrance loomed large and dark and foreboding behind him.

“Jaci, we saw a lotta diff’rent ways they coulda gone once they got in there.” Sheriff Blaine’s grimy face dripped with perspiration. “Can ya think of anything that might give a clue as to which way to go?”

Jaci squeezed her eyes shut while she spoke, trying to remember every detail Kyndal had talked about. “There was a room with a column in the middle and a windowlike opening. The window was high—she had to jump to get to it. The room on the other side of the window was full of crystals.”

“Crystals?” The sheriff’s voice was skeptical.

Jaci opened her eyes and met his gaze directly. “Crystals. Solid crystals, top to bottom.”

He let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a vug.”

“That’s it! That’s the word Chance used.”

“Vugs aren’t very common, so that should make this easier. Thanks.” He popped his gum a couple of times, then turned back. “They’ll find them.”

The sincerity in those eyes pushed air deeper into Jaci’s lungs than it had gone since this nightmare started with her call to the Shop-a-Lot this morning. The manager informed her Kyndal hadn’t shown up for work last night or today. He was on the verge of pressing charges because Kyndal had “made off” with equipment belonging to the stores.

The next call to Chance’s office didn’t help. The secretary seemed unconcerned—at the time. Her distressed callback later confirmed Chance hadn’t been in his office apparently for a few days.

Calls to Sheriff Blaine, to the Brennans who’d just returned from New Orleans, to Kyndal’s mom who still wasn’t home. Calls, calls and more calls—and her best friend might be dead or dying because she hadn’t made any of them sooner.

A sob blocked the next breath Jaci tried to get into her lungs. She sent a silent prayer into the darkness, ahead of the rescue team and the dog.

“They’ll find them.”

Jaci turned toward the hand resting on her arm. She hadn’t heard Emily Brennan approach but was relieved to see that the willowy blonde appeared to have regained her composure. The heart-wrenching hysteria when they found Chance’s and Kyndal’s cars in the garage had been more than Jaci could bear.

Jaci firmed her chin and nodded. “I know.”

Emily’s hand tightened around Jaci’s arm. She stared, unblinking, and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “God wouldn’t dare take my other son from me.”

Without thinking, Jaci put her free arm around Emily’s shoulder and pulled her close. Emily’s arms dropped to her sides, unresponsive, as though she didn’t understand the meaning of a hug. Jaci held on. Even if Emily didn’t need the hug, she did.

This is what it meant to be a mother—constant worry. Sadness that could rupture your heart beyond repair. She couldn’t bear this…wasn’t a strong enough person to be a mother…never would be.

Emily’s posture softened, and Jaci felt the hesitant grasp of both arms around her waist. She was surprised when a third arm crossed her back. Bart hugged both of them against him. She was blessed to have such a loving husband. Did she really need more? Did she tell him that often enough?

And Kyndal. Did her best friend realize how thankful she was to have her in her life?

Over Bart’s shoulder, Jaci could see Bill Brennan watching their group hug.

When his eyes met hers, he turned coldly away.

* * *

SNAP…SNAP…SNAP. The sound of Kyndal’s camera should have been encouraging—and for the first couple of hours it had been. After Chance had gotten the water into her, she’d rallied—had even insisted he retrieve her bag so she could get some shots of the painted room. But now, she seemed to be drifting into a stupor, taking random shots as if her fingers were on automatic pilot.

He knelt to check the water gourd again. Snap. Barely a quarter-inch of water. Snap. A couple of tablespoons.

Gingerly carrying the bowl so as not to lose a drop, he crawled over to where Kyndal sat leaned against the wall, staring at him, her expression blank. “Here, baby. Drink this.”

She opened her mouth mechanically and swallowed the few drops he dripped onto her tongue.

“I…love…you.” Her rough, jagged voice sliced his heart wide-open.

“I love you, too.” Her hands…so tiny and fragile. Her fingers…so cold as he kissed them.

She pushed her fingertips against his mouth. “I’m glad…we had…this time.”

No! No! No! Her words had a finality about them that froze his blood. She had endured so much. They had come so far. He couldn’t let it end here…like this. He wanted to cry—wanted to scream—wanted to rip this damn cave apart with his bare hands.

A wild thought formed in his brain. I can do that. After replacing the bowl, he pressed a long kiss on Kyndal’s slack mouth then scrambled through the cranny. He would dig them out. He would not sit here and watch Kyndal die. If the ceiling came down on his head, maybe the painted cavern would keep her safe until somebody came.

With the flashlight through his belt loop, he bored his fingers frantically into the wall of dirt, grasping handful after handful and throwing them behind him. The dirt loosened and shifted, filling in the spaces he cleared.

Every time he twisted to throw the dirt, the pain in his back caught and wound its way to the front. He gasped in shock at the increasing severity, but he refused to stop.

Dirt poured into the holes his fists vacated, leaving no trace of his disturbance, nature’s way of obliterating his intrusion. He let out a feral scream and pounded his fist against the unforgiving earth and the futility of his efforts.

“Chance?”

He whirled around to find Kyndal pulling herself through the gap. He rushed to her. “What is it? What is it, baby?”

“You…screamed.”

He helped her turn over and lifted her onto his lap, clenching his teeth, breathing through the pain. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m okay.” He stroked her hair—her beautiful silky strands, now tangled and matted by blood and sweat and dirt. “I’m going to get us…” He paused. A noise. He listened, straining to hear even the slightest sound. There it was again! A dog’s bark. Coming from the tunnel.

“Here! We’re here!” Could it be Chesney? Had she broken through the electric fence? “This way! Chesney? Here, girl!”

A whine echoed down the tunnel. A shuffling. More whining. Some barking.

Chance’s heart beat so hard in his ears, it muffled the sounds coming their way.

But it wasn’t long before a filthy Chesney loped onto the plateau from the tunnel and launched herself at him at breakneck speed.

She went wild at the sight of him, and he feared she might collapse from overexcitement.

He praised her as he hugged her neck, trying to calm her. “Good girl, Ches. You’re such a good girl.”

Her tongue covered his face with slurpy dog kisses and her tail beat everything in its path—mostly Kyndal who barely seemed to notice.

His mind raced. Chesney’s collar was gone. Had someone removed it or had she gotten out of it by herself? Even if she’d lost the collar, maybe he could send her for help.

He leaned Kyndal against the wall. How much longer could she hang on? His heart skipped a beat when her mouth curved into a slight smile as Chesney cleaned her face.

He stretched through the crevice far enough to grab Kyndal’s backpack. Inside, he groped for the masking tape and anything that might be used as a signal. The broken water bottle? It was as good as anything. He held the bottle against Chesney’s neck and wound the tape round and round until he was satisfied it wouldn’t fall off easily.

He could hear Kyndal’s labored breathing. The sound nearly caused his own to stop.

“Now go!” He shoved Chesney toward the opening.

She wagged her tail and licked him in response. “Go, Chesney!”

She tilted her head at the sound of her name and sat down obediently.

“Find the Frisbee. Go get the Frisbee!”

She jumped toward him, ready to play, not the least interested in leaving his side.

Okay, she’s not Lassie, but maybe somebody’s with her. He fumbled through his pack until he found the whistle, and he blew repeatedly with all his might. Chesney whined, running laps around him. He blew until he thought the pain in his back would break him in two—blew until he grew dizzy and faint, and lights flashed before his eyes.

After a few blinks, all disappeared but one. A dim one, but it grew brighter and larger every few seconds.

“Here!” he yelled.

“Chance?” A deep voice rumbled up the passage.

“Yes, and Kyndal! She’s hurt!”

“They’re here! They’re alive!” The deep voice relayed its message and was answered by shouts from other voices.

It wasn’t long until a giant hulk topped by a hard hat and a lamp clambered through the opening. Chance squinted as the bright light caught him full in the face, blinding him. Thankfully, it moved from him quickly and fell on Kyndal who still leaned against the wall, not seeming to comprehend what was happening.

The shadowy bulk lunged toward her.

Chance’s senses revved to full awareness. This guy was moving too fast. He could hurt her. “Be careful. Her ankle’s broken, and she’s badly dehydrated.”

The rescuer touched her gently on the cheek. “Kyndal? Can you hear me?”

Chance watched her eyes focus and saw them soften in recognition. Something about her look identified their rescuer even before she spoke the name.

“Ranger Rick.”

She took a long, labored breath and closed her eyes.