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When it does, I turn and find Logan smiling down at me.
He gives me a strong, squeezing hug and kisses the side of my head. “If we get out of here alive, I swear I’m never going to complain about you taking my picture ever again.”
I mock scold him with a deep frown, and we both get up.
For an hour or more, we go on feeling about the chamber, looking not for secret buttons this time, but for a crack where the air might be getting in. We start standing, then end up on our hands and knees to cover the lower section of the walls. Logan scrutinizes every square inch of space while I hold the camera screen at eye level.
I’m beginning to despair when Logan suddenly says, “Feel here.”
I lower my reflex to the floor. “Where?”
“Put your hand over mine. Do you feel anything?”
A tendril of electricity shoots up my arm from where our skin is touching, but I bet “a current shock” is not what Logan means me to feel.
“I think there’s air coming up,” he continues. “Listen.”
Logan rises and stamps his foot down, and a flame of hope shoots up in my heart when it rings hollow. We’re in the far corner of the chamber, which explains why we hadn’t noticed the echoing sound during our former exhaustive examination.
“Can you make the screen any brighter?” Logan asks.
I comply with his request; I was keeping it on low to save power, but if there’s a way out that’s no longer necessary. Even at maximum brightness, though, the screen’s light is not the best as we scrutinize the spot like two angry hawks. There’s nothing here.
I’m losing hope again when I see it: a crease in the solid rock floor. And… yes! It’s covered in so much dust, it’s barely recognizable, but I still spot it: a stone ring! Could it be the handle to a secret escape door?
Logan must spot it at the same time as me, because he gasps.
We look at each other, saying no words. We’re too excited; or, at least, I am. My heart is beating too wildly with hope to allow me to speak.
“I need Smith’s knife,” Logan says, and scrambles back to where our little mound of provisions is lying abandoned.
He comes back with the knife and scratches around the ring with it. Finally, he manages to work it under and lifts the stone hoop away—gently, for fear of breaking the hook. Being made of stone, it hasn’t rusted in all the centuries it has lain there, as would have been the case had it been made of iron. Logan pushes the ring up until it’s standing upright. Then he thrusts his hands into it and tugs with all his force… but nothing budges.
“Let me try,” I say impatiently.
Logan shakes his head but lets me have a go. Maybe if I come at it from a different angle… I pull on the damn thing for dear life, but nothing, it doesn’t give.
The blasted thing is wedged right in the corner, so the walls make it impossible for both of us to pull at once.
Logan tries and fails again. He swipes his forehead with his shirt sleeve and sinks back into a crouch, thinking. He grabs the knife again and begins scratching all around the crack where we felt the air coming up.
Next, he takes his shirt off and runs it through the ring, tying it in place with a tight knot.
And I know this is a life and death situation, but damn! The professor is ripped. Not that I didn’t know that, of course, but now, staring at his strong back and chest, both covered in a light sheen of perspiration, I can’t help my mouth watering a little.
Logan sets his feet firmly on the floor, one in front of the other in a wide stance, then ropes the shirt around his forearm and pulls, offering me an even more detailed view of all the muscles ripping his torso.
“I need your help,” he says in a strained voice. “Get in front of me and pull with all you’ve got.”
Oh, right, that might be more useful than standing here ogling!
I do as he says, molding my body to his. We’re back to chest, and all this proximity is making me hot, and… I need to focus! Let’s get out of the grave first, and then I can reflect on why Logan is suddenly pushing all my lust buttons. I grab the shirt with both hands and pull, pull, pull until my hands hurt and the fabric of the shirt starts to rip in my grip.
“Keep going,” Logan encourages me. “It’s giving!” he gasps.
Suddenly, there’s a grating sound, then a rush of air, and then we’re on the floor. I land on top of Logan as the heavy flagstone slides away to reveal a dark opening.
“We did it!” I yell, and turn to smile at Logan.
