Out of the Depths

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING, compounding the sound of blood rushing through Chance’s ears.

As if diving from a high dive platform, he’d somehow coaxed his body into a partial flip, allowing him to land on his back and side rather than his head. His left hip and torso took the brunt of the fall. He gasped to get the air back into his lungs.

Wiggling fingers and toes told him he wasn’t paralyzed. The searing pain that cut through his chest when he pushed up on an elbow was possibly a broken rib but most likely a bad bruise. He’d live.

Fear gripped him when he realized he hadn’t heard anything from Kyndal. “Kyn?” The darkness swallowed his word, making it almost inaudible even to him. He breathed deeply, holding his side, and forced his voice. “Kyndal!”

A low moan came from somewhere to his left. He eased up onto his feet. As he raised his arm to wipe his face, the hands on his watch seemed to float in midair. They put off a ghostly glow, but it gave him something to focus on as he stepped gingerly in the direction of her sound, keeping his arms out to feel his way. “Kyndal? Where are you? Talk to me, baby, so I can find you.”

“Uuungh.”

He turned his ear toward the sound and redirected his steps. “That’s it. Lead me with your voice.”

“Chance? Ooowww.”

His heartbeat went wild. He didn’t know whether to be thrilled that she’d spoken or terrified because she was in pain. “Keep making noise, Kyn. C’mon, babe.”

“Chance!” Kyndal’s voice grew to a cry of alarm. “I hit my head. Everything’s so black, I’m afraid I’m blind!”

“No, you’re not.” Spurred by her fear, he groped his way toward the voice through the enveloping blackness. “It’s just the dark, Kyndal. We’ll find a way to get some light. Just let me find you first.”

Her soft sobbing pulled him to the right this time. The thick darkness was nearly tangible, like a living creature. It wrapped around him and squeezed, made his breathing come fast, licked at the sweat on the back of his neck. He needed to touch Kyndal. If he could touch her, things would be okay. “Are you wearing a watch?”

“Ye—yeah.” The word broke on a snubbed breath. She wasn’t too far away. A few more feet.

“Look at your watch. Are the hands glowing? Can you see the hands?”

“No!” A panicked shriek this time. “Oh, my God, Chance! I can’t—I can’t see them! Ohhh.”

Something soft against his foot. He dropped to one knee and felt. A backpack. Please let it be mine. “Kyn, listen to me. Shhh. Don’t panic.” He could hear her panting—maybe going into shock. He located a zipper and jerked it open. “I’ve found one of the bags, and I’ve got it open. If it’s mine, there’ll be a light in just a second.”

He took a blind inventory of the contents. Two bottles of water. One crushed and leaking. A small first aid kit.

He plunged through the contents to the very bottom and grabbed the emergency flashlight his mom had put in his stocking last Christmas. A novelty item—a flashlight with no batteries, modeled after ones used in World War II. He’d thought it pretty useless at the time but had put it in the “cave bag.” Now, as he squeezed the hand pump on the bottom and watched the tiny bulb begin to glow, he thought it was the most wonderful item ever invented.

The beam broke through the inky blackness and landed on Kyndal about ten feet away, huddled into a tiny ball, knees pulled to her chest. Her head jerked up at the sound of his movement toward her. She squinted and then her eyes grew wide as she jumped up to meet him, flinging her arms around his neck. “Oh, Chance,” she sobbed, “I’m not blind. I was so scared.”

He pulled her against him, lifting her completely off the floor and buried his face in her hair. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re okay.” He gritted his teeth against the pain in his side, but he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. He held her, breathing deeply, stroking her hair. His stomach did a somersault when his hand came away wet.

Gently, he set her on her feet. “Kyn, I think you’re bleeding.”

She winced and eased herself down into a sitting position. “Yeah. My ankle’s hurt. I landed on one foot, I think, then fell backward and hit my head.” She sat down, removed her hiking boot and sock, and pulled up her pants leg. He stooped to examine it, noticing the shattered lantern behind her. Her ankle had already begun to bruise and was puffy.

“Could be broken. Might be a sprain. But I need to check your head first.”

Her hand groped the back of her head. When she pulled it away, it was covered in blood.

Chance steeled himself for her reaction, but she surprised him by taking a deep breath and biting her bottom lip.

“Let me have a look.” He kept his voice low and even. If she could keep from panicking, so could he.

He knelt behind her, pumping the flashlight up to its maximum. His fingertips and thumb began a gentle probe. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“Up and to the left.”

He moved his fingers as she directed and soon found a lump just behind her left ear. Roughly the diameter of a golf ball, from what he could judge. His fingers parted her hair. A nasty gash ran along the top of the swollen area, not too long, but still oozing blood.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head and wadded it into a ball, which he pushed gently against the wound. “Hold that firmly right there.” He took her hand and guided it to the makeshift compress.

“It’s chilly in here,” she protested. “You need your shirt.”

The adrenaline flooding his body had him drenched in sweat. The cool felt great for the moment, but it wouldn’t take long to get chilled. “I’ve got a flannel in my bag. It’s in a side compartment that shouldn’t be wet.” He took the flashlight and went back over to his bag.

* * *

THE IMAGE OF CHANCE WITHOUT a shirt was better than any painkiller Kyndal could have taken. Her throbbing ankle and head were momentarily forgotten as she took advantage of the blackness, covertly studying his sculpted abs and pecs, gleaming with sweat in the dim yellow glow. Shadows played along the ridges and the hollows, defining every muscle, highlighting each ripple. Mmm. Hunk calendar material. Instinctively, she reached for her camera.

Chance shrugged into the extra shirt from his pack, and the pain in her ankle and head returned full force along with a sickening lurch in the pit of her stomach. “Chance, have you seen my pack?”

She heard the pump of the flashlight and watched the light grow stronger. She held her breath as he flashed the beam around and brought it to rest on a black lump resting against a gray wall. Her pack! She dropped the wad of

T-shirt and scrambled to her feet, only to sink back down to the floor when pain stabbed through her ankle.

“Stay there.”

Her teeth gritted at the command in his voice, an unfamiliar sound that would never have come from the Chance she used to know.

He knelt and set the bag in front of her. “Want me to open it?” No gruffness this time. His voice was soft and gentle and full of sympathy. He didn’t know about her dire financial straits, but he seemed to understand what the loss of this camera would mean. She shook her head.

Her breath came in spurts as she started unzipping the middle compartment. Her hands trembled, giving the stubborn zipper a mind of its own. Chance’s hand covered hers, calming the tremor, bringing the zipper under control until it parted completely.

He focused the beam into the bag. The two tripod lamps lay on top, legs slightly bent, but not irreparable. She laid them aside. Both of the expensive bulbs were shattered.

Turning the pack and giving it a little shake, she prayed only the glass from the bulbs would fall out. Her breathing stopped as she pulled the camera out and examined it. Everything looked intact. The lens wasn’t broken.

She flipped the switch. Her heart sang to the strains of the charging battery. When the indicator light showed “ready,” she pressed the button. A flash and then an image of gray walls appeared on the screen. Not a prizewinner, but a beautiful sight to her eyes.

Chance’s breath exploded in relief, and she gave a giddy laugh. It wasn’t until he brushed a tear from her cheek that she realized she was crying. “So now we can worry about the really important stuff like where we are. And how do we get out of here?”

Chance pumped the flashlight as bright as it would go and traced the hole in the ceiling. Jagged, brittle edges surrounded a gaping hole ten, maybe twelve feet above their heads. Climbing out didn’t look promising.

“What happened exactly?” She snapped several shots of the hole. The crystal dome winked mocking eyes at them.

“The outer shell of the vug gave away. There was nothing underneath. Maybe never was.”

She recognized the tension in his voice, and her stomach tightened. It was one thing to get herself into this predicament—something else to drag someone with her into this hellhole. “People warned me not to do this, said it was dangerous. Oh, Chance, I’m so sorry.” She swiped her hand through her hair. The knot behind her ear throbbed, but the bleeding had stopped.

His arm came around her shoulder with a comforting squeeze. “Not your fault. I should’ve thought faster and stayed behind. I could’ve gone for help. It was just…when I…when I heard you scream…I…” His deep voice cracked, and he finished his statement by kissing her on top of her head.

The emotion in his voice, the touch, the kiss. It was too familiar and too much. A lump in her throat grew as large as the one on her head.

They had to get out of there.