The scalpel gleamed in her headlamp beam—small, sharp, inadequate.But it was all she had.That and an ounce of courage.
And sometimes all you had was enough.
It had to be.
Eleven
Not only was the pain nearly unbearable, but he’d never known darkness like this.
Noah held his hand in front of his face—close enough that his warm breath bounced back against his palm.He could feel the warmth of his skin, the rough calluses on his fingertips from years of rope work, but couldn’t see even a hint of a shadow.Nothing.Just absolute, suffocating blackness that seemed to have weight and texture.
At six-four and a fair amount of muscle, it had been a long time since he’d felt helpless.
But right now he was at the complete mercy of the cave—trapped in limestone that had been formed at the dawn of time and didn’t care about his schedule or his promises or the woman waiting for him in the darkness.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head with that gravelly timber that had always carried certainty, even when quoting scripture at the dinner table while passing mashed potatoes.
Noah pushed it away.
There was no light.Not here.Just blackness so complete he felt like he was drowning in ink.
But the memory refused to let go.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Okay, fine, God.You want to help?Help.
Not the most gentle or respectful.
But Liam’s words came back—sharp and clear like they’d been spoken an hour ago instead of two days ago as they cleared the trail.God can handle your anger, your frustration, your hurt…He can handle it all.But you have to be honest with Him…It’s in that honesty and transparency that God can work.
The familiar pressure that had become Noah’s constant companion the past few years pressed in on him—tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the cave’s thin air and everything to do with three years of unsaid words.
A small sob broke free.The sound was swallowed immediately by the darkness.
I am so angry that You didn’t save Mary.I am so angry that You took everything from me.And I am so afraid You will take Meg that I can barely think.We need Your help.
Again, the prayer felt as if it only scratched the surface of all that needed to be said.
But maybe a start, a step in the right direction, was all God needed of him right now.
Noah shifted his weight and braced himself against the slick walls on either side—cold and damp beneath his palms.
His boot scraped against rock.
It moved.
Just an inch.
But it moved.
Could it be?
Noah stretched out his hands in the darkness and found the closest wall—rough limestone under his fingers, slick with moisture.He braced himself again.
The movement made his right leg, still wedged between rocks, scream with every breath—sharp, white-hot agony that radiated from ankle to hip.He forced himself to breathe slowly, to think past the blinding pain radiating up his leg, past the metallic taste on his tongue.
He’d tried pulling straight up.No good.The rocks held firm.
