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The man jerks, curses, and tumbles to the ground.
Even as he’s falling, I’m spinning, ramming my lowered head into Guard Number Two. I drive him the way a football player drives a tackle dummy, but with greater success because this guy isn’t expecting it.
I shove him as far as I dare before breaking away and rolling to the side. He stumbles back and his body slams into a wall of spikes, impaling him with a wild, horrified cry that quickly cuts off.
Damn.There’s so much blood but he’s still alive. He fell at an angle, with his body mostly on the ground, but his upper torso, shoulder, and neck are stabbed through with spikes. Blood runs in a crooked line down his chin. His lips are moving. Maybe in prayer. I look away.
According to Dmitri, Walid won’t appear until the guards secure the prisoner, strip off his pants with a sharp knife, and make the call.
He’ll be expecting that call. I’m running out of time.
Back on my feet, I cross to the first guard, who rolls onto his side and raises his Taser.
I dodge, but one spike lands in my leg. The other misses me, rendering the Taser useless.
Reacting quickly, I land my knee and all my weight on his neck.
His eyes bulge, but he struggles to flip me off him by putting pressure on the ankle I broke. He can’t even cry out at the pain, but it is there in his tearing eyes. Gurgling, he goes slack. Not dead, but out of the way.
I rip the Taser prong from my leg, fish the keys from his pocket, then undo my handcuffs. Sweating and breathing heavily, I cross the room—a well-used torture chamber with a dentist’s chair, chains from the ceiling, spikes coming out of the wall, and several blowtorches.
Bending at the stone bath, I gag. The water smells foul. It’d probably been bathed in by miners a hundred years ago. I’m so damn thirsty, but I don’t dare drink. Instead, I dip my head in and wash the blood from my eyes. Standing, I shake off the water and nearly fall over. So dizzy.
Black dots line my vision as I stumble over to the guard I left alive. He’s passed out, so he can’t follow. I drag him to a pipe and handcuff his sorry ass.
Sweating, heart pounding from the effort, I ready myself for the next leg of my journey. According to Dmitri, I’m at the bottom of a coal mine on a large compound. I need to get up and out of here, find Walid, and end this.
* * *
The stone corridoris lit with caged lights spaced haphazardly along the ceiling, but their glow barely seems to stretch beyond their bars. It’s dim and cold and the floor is uneven. To get through these tunnels is a struggle of will, but I have company—Dmitri, who I half-drag with me—and entertainment from the chatter on the two-way I boosted from the guard after hand-cuffing him to a wall.
An American with a Southern accent has spoken on it a couple of times. Alternating between English and Spanish, he seems more interested in sharing stories. Clown.
At least he’s keeping me in the loop, and I have to admit, it helps to have that voice to focus on, as if somewhere, for someone, this is just another day at the office.
God, I’m nauseous. Hadn’t realized how damn sick I am until I expended the little energy I had in that fight. Now my body is feverish and my steps sluggish and unbalanced with Dmitri’s weight. To top it off, I’ve gotten lost in this medieval stone-and-shit tunnel twice.
I’ve only found my way this far thanks to Dmitri, who I had to backtrack to get. You think he’d be grateful that I stole keys from the guard and taken him out of the oubliette… but he’s not.
“I can’t walk,” Dmitri says. “Leave me.”
“Yeah, I know.” Which is why, as weak as I am, I’m dragging this guy, naked and riddled with injuries, down the ice-cold stone corridor. Together, we sound like shuffling zombies. Good thing the guy weighs next to nothing and that no one else is down here. The two guards I took out seemed to be it.
“I’m dying. Let me die.”
Not likely. If I could’ve gotten out of here on my own, I would’ve left the guy to die in peace. “Which way?”
Dmitri moans. He breaks into a fit of coughing, wheezes. “Down to get up.”
Yeah. That’s the crazy-ass directions that hadn’t helped in the first place, along with all the talk of uneven stones.
I hoist him up as he almost trips. My arm muscles shake. “A little more specific.”
Dmitri raises a trembling hand, as pale and bony as a corpse. “There.”
Where? I search through the dimly lit corridor. It takes a second before I correctly judge where he pointed. A brick a little larger than the rest with a white streak down the center.
Dragging Dmitri forward, I use my shoulder to prop him against the wall, hitting the brick with my elbow.
