Page 123 of The Other Side

“We’re going to get you out of there. Okay?”

“Yes.” His voice was croaky.

“My name’s Kit. And you’re Drum, right? If you’re not, then we have someone else to look for.”

“I’m Drum.”

The guy kept talking to him, reassuring him, telling him Osian was close by. Then Osian was there, talking to him and Drum couldn’t believe it. He thought he was hallucinating all of it, apart from being trapped in the mine.

“Mo chridhe,” Osian said. “We’re going to get you out, but you have to be patient. They’re trying to work out the safest way to open this shaft.”

“Water?” Drum rasped.

“We’re lowering some now. Don’t waste your strength talking. Just listen to me. Everything will be okay.”

A bottle swung into view on the end of a rope. Drum lunged for it, his fingers fumbling against the slick plastic. The sudden movement sent a bolt of pain through his ribs, and his knees nearly gave way.

“Easy,” Osian urged. “Tie yourself onto the rope. It’s anchored securely.”

Drum looped the rope beneath his arms with clumsy fingers before unscrewing the bottle. He meant to take small sips. Instead, he emptied it in desperate gulps, hardly pausing for breath. The bottle slipped from his numb hand and vanished into the darkness.

“Drum,” Osian said after a moment, “there’s solid rock directly above you. Even if we had the equipment to break through it, the vibration could collapse the whole shaft.”

Oh fuck.

“Do you think you can make your way back to where they pushed you in?”

No. Every muscle screamed in protest. No. He wanted to curl up exactly where he was and never move again. But there wasn’t another way.

“I’ll try.”

“We’ll keep you on the rope until you’re back at the bottom.”

“If I black out…don’t let me fall.”

“You won’t. We’ve got you, Drum. I swear it.”

Kit’s calmer voice followed. “Listen to me. Don’t try to hold yourself up with your arms. Lean back into the rope. Trust it. Let your legs do the steering—we’ll do the lifting and lowering. Nice and steady.”

Drum nodded even though they couldn’t see him. He gripped the rope. The first step backwards was the hardest. His boots searched blindly for purchase while his body resisted every movement. The instant his weight settled fully into the rope, agony exploded across his chest. The loop dug directly beneath his arms, crushing against fractured ribs. A raw scream ripped from him.

Above, everything went quiet.

“Drum!” Osian’s voice cracked.

Drum squeezed his eyes shut until sparks burst behind his eyelids. “Still…here.” His breath came in tiny, ragged gasps. “Keep…lowering.”

Every tiny bounce sent another stab of pain through his chest and sent a fresh wave of nausea through him. Sweat ran into his eyes despite the cold. His hands slipped against the wet rope. His boots scraped uselessly across the rock before finding another foothold. He kept his eyes locked on the faint, swinging circle of light from a headlamp above—his only anchor in a dark world of suffocating pain.

Just focus on Osian, he told himself. Focus on his voice.

Don’t look down.

Don’t think.

One step. Then another. Osian never stopped talking.

“You’re doing brilliantly, mo chridhe. That’s it. Keep breathing.”