Page 110 of High Water

There’s another volley of fire from my uncle, but only a few of the shots come close to hitting their target as he falls to his knees. The governor returns his fire, and I shove at his legs, trying to make him miss. His son hits me on the cheek with his gun again, and the other makes another attempt to slam the blunt end of the pickax into my side. But his hand slips in the process, and the sharp blade slices into me. I wail out in pain, folding over as I see the blood start to seep from the wound through my clothes. When I hit the ground, I see the sheriff reflected in the pool of water that stretches across the tunnel, illuminated by the light bouncing around from their headlamps as the sons drag their father to his feet. Uncle Jay is face down on the ground now, likely dead, right along with my hopes of getting out of this.

“Get the fuck up, and let’s go!” the darker-haired son demands. He grabs the rope they’ve tied around my wrists and drags me forward with so much force he nearly launches himself over the edge and down into the pit of despair.

At least, that’s what I’m calling it now. It looks even worse than it did a week ago when Bishop and I first discovered it. The icy stalagmites still rise from the floor, but this time, they’re submerged in at least two feet of water. The water that was slowly dripping from the ceiling is now pouring in through the cracks as the snowpack on the top of the mountain melts, and it’s making a roaring sound as it falls into the pool of water below, a spray swirling up from the pit. Their lamps catch the glint off the sword that’s still stuck in the ice.

“There she is. Right where you led us.” The governor’s chuckle echoes in the tight space and resonates out into the deeper chamber beyond.

“I didn’t lead you anywhere,” I argue.

“Sure you did. You’ve been sending us pictures and updates for weeks now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You thought you were the only ones who could be clever? That only you could figure out how to plant moles and hack phones? My boys and I have been watching you and your friends at the abbey for weeks. Every update you’ve sent, we’ve gotten, and it’s led us straight to you. And now you’ve led us here.”

I feel sick. I should have known better and been more careful. Kept everything close to my chest until we were sure we had the right thing. There’s a flash of his smirk in his son’s headlamp.

“Dad!” One of them sounds worried as he reaches out for the governor. “You’re bleeding. You should sit down.”

I see the blood he’s talking about. It’s not insignificant, already soaking through the clothing he’s wearing and creating a bright-red stain.

“I’m fine!” The governor tears his arm away and takes a step back. It sends him dangerously close to the precipice and nearly solves my biggest problem. Unfortunately, the other son catches him and drags him back.

“Careful,” he warns.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He whirls around, unsteady on his feet. “Now get down there. Take this headlamp and climb down the ladder,” he instructs me. “Go get me my sword.”

“The ladder won’t hold. It’s rotted. If you were following our every move, you’d know that.”

“That’s your problem. Not mine,” the governor shouts back.

“Go.” One of the sons hands me the headlamp.

“I at least need my hands untied.” I hold up my bound wrists, and the other brother slashes the rope, cutting my arm in the process. I wince, pulling it back and pressing my palm to the wound. The crimson stains my skin, dripping down onto my clothing, but then I’m a mess anyway. Every part of my body hurts at this point, and I have no idea if it’ll carry me down the ladder safely, even if it weren’t for the rotting wood.

“I said fucking go!” he yells again, and I take the headlamp, put it on, and crawl toward the ladder. “And take this!” He chucks a pickax he had holstered on his hip into the pit below. The sound of it hitting the water and splashing echoes through the chamber.

I start descending the ladder, slowly but surely, letting my feet test each rung before I put my full weight on it and stepping as close to the outer, reinforced sides of the ladder as possible. A few of the rungs make cracking sounds on the way down, but only one of them fully snaps. I’m able to catch myself before I fall, but only by tightening my grasp around the rotting wood. I can feel the half dozen splinters that slice into my palms and the pads of my fingers, and I let out a soft whimper when one of them drives further into my flesh on the next step down.

I keep telling myself that every step I take slowly, every extra second I drag out of this process, gives Bishop and my brothers a little more time to get here. But in the back of my mind, I know they’re as likely to get here in time as I am to die. As likely to fail as Jay did.

My faith in there being a rescue fades even more when I step down into the freezing cold water. The shock of it as it seeps into the fabric of my pants and wraps its icy tentacles around my legs makes me gasp. I hug my arms around my shoulders, surveying the scene in front of me as the water from the ceiling pours down around me. It sprays and splatters my face, and I start to shiver as I try to walk slowly, carefully toward the pickax. I can see it in the light’s reflection just beyond my reach. But every step in the freezing water is uneven, and layers of dirt and rock debris are piled on the floor alongside broken gold cart pieces and sharp metal. One wrong step, and I’ll pierce my foot or my leg on something I can’t see in the pitch-black water.

But I gather my pickax and make my way carefully to the sword, taking my time to avoid the sharp spears of ice on the way. The sword is wedged into them, lodged there like an icy sword in the stone. It’s going to take time and significant effort to free it. More energy than my body feels like it has left.

I’m desperate and ready to surrender to the cold. But the image of Fallon and Bishop at home calls to me. I want to see them again. Wrap my arms around Fallon and tell her everything is going to be okay. Remind her I’ve got her, and I’ll never give up on her. Have Bishop kiss me and tell me how much he loves me and always has. The only chance I have of that is getting this sword out of the ice and climbing that ladder. Then I can fight my way out of this hell.

But as I set to work on the ice around the sword, chipping away at it methodically, my fingers and legs start to go numb. I hope that the time it takes to free it buys me a rescue team, but I realize the only chance I have may be to rescue myself. Because slowly but surely the water is rising, fast enough that in an hour or so, this whole area will be underwater.

FORTY-SEVEN

Bishop

I climb the mountain until I find the hole in the ground that serves as a vent to the cave. If my math is right, this should be close to the main mine shaft that Aspen and I found climbing through here the other day. I’ll have to hope I’ve done it right the first time because she doesn’t have time for me to spare to double-check. I tie a rope off to the tree and lower it down the avalanche of snow that’s created a ramp-like entrance to the interior. I’m hoping it holds, but I don’t have time to be safe when her life is on the line.

I make my way down the line and over the snow, careful to take it one step at a time. If this is as close to the area where we found the sword as I think it is, then I don’t want to cause my own mini avalanche and announce my presence. The lower I descend, clutching close to the snow, the louder I hear the roar of water echoing in the distance. It almost sounds like a waterfall.

It must be the snowmelt we heard the other day picking up its pace as the warmth of the last week takes its toll on the snowpack at higher elevations. Even the snow on this mound has developed a slick outer layer where it appears to be melting and refreezing through the daytime and nighttime temperature fluctuations.