"Nikki, you told me Kathy was convinced men were following her, trying to kill her. Well, I think they might have been. I believe Grimes tracked down every single patient from the original vaccine test group. The three in here may be the last of them with the syndrome."
"We have to stop the supervaccine," Ellen said.
"Ellen," Nikki replied gently, "Grimes somehow arranged for your friend Sutcher to sign on as our bodyguard. I'm almost certain he was the one who threw the switch that blew up the entrances to this place. It's a miracle the ceiling hasn't collapsed. Clearly it was supposed to. But we're sealed in here, way inside the mountain. There's no way out."
"There is, because there has to be," Ellen countered with grim conviction.
"I hope you're right," Nikki said. "We've been around this cavern some and nothing's apparent to us. I think you can try letting up on the pressure now."
Ellen did as she was asked. Save for a small amount of oozing, the gaping wound below Carabetta's groin remained dry. In silence, Nikki packed it with sterile gauze and partially closed it with adhesive tape. The OSHA investigator reacted to the painful procedure with nothing more than a muted groan.
"Ellen's right," Matt exclaimed, his fist clenched. "There's a way out because there has to be. There's too much at stake for us just to sit here waiting for a rescue we know isn't going to happen."
"You want us to dig out? Matt, some of those chunks of rock weigh hundreds or even thousands of pounds. I can't even walk without help."
"Well, then, Ellen and I will do it. Maybe the girl when she comes to, and even Tarzana if we can get her to calm down. What choice do we have?"
"Maybe there is one," Nikki said. "The stream back there. It's coming from someplace and going someplace."
Matt latched on to the notion immediately.
"I think it enters right by the cleft where we came in," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice, "but that's a hell of a long way underground, and most of it steeply uphill from here. I doubt anyone could make it."
"Maybe the way out is in the other direction, then."
Matt looked from one of the women to the other as he tried to imagine what such a journey might be like — and how it might end. He recalled the gut-tightening panic he experienced crawling through the low tunnels. What would it be like being carried along through a narrow, pitch-black, water-filled tube? What if he got stuck? What if the passage became too small and he couldn't back up? Could there possibly be a worse way to die than to drown, pinned between rock walls in an underground river? How long would it take before he finally lost consciousness?
"Let's go take a look," he heard himself say.
Without asking permission, he bent down and lifted Nikki in his arms. Then, with Ellen carrying a lantern, and another one left illuminated to comfort and orient the others, they made their way through the rubble, around the barrels, to the river. Nikki wrapped her arms around Matt's neck and pressed her cheek tightly against his.
"Thanks for the lift, stranger," she said as he set her down on her good leg and she braced herself against the railing of the bridge.
' 'Tweren't nothin', ma'am."
He tipped an imaginary Stetson, then knelt and peered down at the inky, churning water. To their left, the river entered the cavern through a narrow opening — a foot and a half at the most between the surface and the rock. Ten feet toward them were the remains of the other bridge. On the downstream side, to their right, the opening was even smaller, maybe a foot. He reached his hand down and confirmed what he already knew — the water was damn cold.
He cast about for some way to measure the depth and settled on one of the railings from the shattered bridge. The piece, between three and four feet long, struck bottom just before the end would have vanished — a good sign.
"I can do this," he said, aware of the ball of fear that was materializing in his chest.
"I should go," Ellen said. "I'm smaller than you are and I swim at the Y four times a week."
Even after just a short time together, Matt had little doubt that Ellen Kroft had the tenacity to give the escape attempt a hell of a go. But he was younger and stronger and no less motivated.
"These woods and mountain people can be pretty inhospitable," he said, "especially in the middle of the night. You may still get your chance. If there's no sign of me in three or four hours, you might want to try going the other way. That'll be up to you. But I'll have you know there is little to worry about. I was a junior lifeguard at the Y."
"In that case, I'll wait," Ellen said. "You're going to make it."
I am.
Matt put his arms around Nikki and held her close.
"You want me to carry you back to your patients?" he asked.
"Ellen and I will get back to them okay," she said, sniffing back some tears. "Matt, I'm frightened. I… I don't want you to go."
Matt kissed her — at first gently, then with intensity.
"I can think of a few things I'd rather be doing myself," he whispered. "But like Ellen said, I'm going to make it because I have to."
He sensed there wasn't as much conviction in his voice as he had intended. The knot of fear beneath his breastbone was nearing the size of a bowling ball. He stared down again at the river, then over at the slim opening above the surface where it reentered the mountain. In college, a mind game he and his roommates had played from time to time centered around what they would do, what they would feel, if somehow they learned precisely when they were going to die. Now it felt as if he might actually be in a position to know.
Again the questions rattled through his mind.
Was there any other way — any other reasonable possibility of escape for them? If he became wedged, how much time would it take before he lost consciousness? How long could he hold his breath? What did it feel like to drown?
The revolver he had taken from Grimes's massive associate was nestled in the pocket of his sweat pants. The weapon might prove helpful if he ever made it out and then got into trouble. He knew enough about handguns to feel confident it would fire after being submerged for a short time, provided he remembered to empty the water out of the stubby, two-inch barrel before pulling the trigger. If he got trapped, it was doubtful he'd get the chance to use it on himself.
More questions…
Was there anything else that might be useful to take? Better to remove his shoes or leave them on? Hyperventilate or just go for it?
Matt knew that he was stalling. He galvanized himself by imagining the terrible loss of life down the road should their suspicions about Lasaject and spongiform disease be true. Holding that thought, he slipped over the rocky edge and into the chilly water. Nikki leaned down and touched her fingertips to his.
"I'll see you soon," she said.
He walked chest-deep toward the opening in the rock. Once there, he took several deep breaths and looked back over his shoulder.
"You bet you will," he said.
With that he took a final, lung-filling draught, ducked below the surface of the ebony river, and pushed off downstream.
CHAPTER 33
The burning in Matt's chest — the first sensation of air hunger — began after just fifteen or twenty seconds of swimming beneath the surface of the chilly, pitch-black water. His awkward swimming became even more uncoordinated. Fearing that if he tried to break the surface he would encounter only the ceiling of his tomb, he pulled himself ahead for another twenty seconds. The fire in his lungs was becoming unbearable. Terrified, he reached overhead. His hands broke water, but then, almost immediately, with his elbows still bent and his feet scraping along the bottom, his fingers touched rock. There was some air space above him, though it was difficult to be certain how much.