Solid darkness. She could do that. There wasn’t anywhere to go but through the tunnel ….
Marina crabbed herself backward, craning half-around on her side, curling back to spear the light through the tunnel behind her, just to see where she was going to be navigating in the pitch dark ….and suddenly she saw it.
She’d forgotten!
The one part of Close Knocks that could save them!
Marina gauged the distance, feeling her breath slow. She could do it. She would do it.
And she had to; for that steaming sound of water pouring through the area was filling her ears. Getting louder. Soon it would fill this small tunnel, smashing them against the walls, slamming them into the low ceiling, carrying their bodies.
Clipping the waterproof flashlight, still lit, to her belt, she grasped Dennis’s other hand and reaching for her extra line, wrapped it around the only part of his body she could reach, his wrists; then tied it to her belt. At least she wouldn’t lose him in the rush of water. Then, with renewed strength and purpose, she began to move backward quickly and painfully. She had to get them a little further before the water came blasting in.
Six inches. Twelve. A yard.
And then the wash of water spewed around a curve in the tunnel, smashing suddenly onto the inert body in front of her, slamming into her face. She let it come. It picked her up, and she allowed it to, holding onto Dennis’s bound hands with one hand, and reaching out, grasping above her head, and — yes!
She caught it!
A heavy ledge, the only part of Close Knocks that actually branched off onto a second level. She caught it, grabbed the arm-like formation she’d targeted with her light only moments before, and pulled up above the rush of water.
Her weight was dragged by Dennis Strand, but Marina was able to use her feet on the bottom of the low tunnel to push herself half upright. As she came up, she wrapped an arm around Dennis’s waist and shoved him onto the ledge, only shoulder height from the ground.
But high enough, she thought — she hoped — to be safe from the swell of water in the narrow tunnel.
It was the only chance, and they’d only find out after waiting.
The water bubbled and swirled against her as she scrambled up after him, again using the force of her legs to launch up from the bottom of the tunnel. She barely made it onto the ledge; another few inches, and she would have missed it. At last, she collapsed on the narrow space at Strand’s feet, and gasped for breath as the water rose and fell and whorled below. Marina didn’t watch it; instead, she tried to see what condition Dennis was in.
The ceiling bumping against her helmet, she struggled closer to him. The ledge was long but narrow, and the ceiling low, and she had move alongside his limp body. It took some effort to tip him to the side, and then she lay next to him, pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth. Only two breaths, and he jerked, coughing. She tipped him to the side to let the water pour out.
In the narrow space, she counted his faint pulse, and the labored breathing after his coughing told her he was holding on ….but for how much longer? The rescue operation had been going on for hours, it was well past midnight … and he’d been in the bottom of that winze for at least five before.
Marina shined her light to the right, into the area that branched off from her ledge. Did she dare try to follow that course if the water continued to rise?
It was brushing the top of her ledge, spilling water over her feet, lapping at them like a tease.
She watched it, watched it, terror numbing her more than the chill … staring in the pool of golden light as the cold black liquid splashed over, surging over her shoes, ebbing back, and surging again.
And then, suddenly, it wasn’t pooling over the top any more.
Marina looked again. It did look lower.
And it seemed to be moving slower.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then opened them again. Yes. It was lower.
It was lower. She’d done it.
As she watched, the water slowly receded. Minute by minute, centimeter by centimeter, it ebbed back, slowed, sank.
Now it was just a matter of time until someone came in after them.
It was later, three hours after the water in the tunnel began to recede, that Marina helped ease Dennis Strand through the last narrow passage into the main cavern of the old mine to cheers and applause.
She was freezing, exhausted, filthy, and screamingly sore.
But she’d never been more exhilarated.
Darin McCarty, an EMT who had remained in the main cavern waiting for the injured man, helped to lower Strand’s body onto a full litter. The lines of concern in McCarty’s face etched deep, and Marina quashed a pang of regret. She’d done what she had to do to get Strand out. At least he was alive.
Bruce pushed his way through the crowd and slung an arm around her shoulder, crushing her against him. Their helmets clunked like two dull marbles. “Thank God,” he muttered near her ear. “Thank God.”
At that moment, flush with adrenaline, exhausted beyond measure, Marina wanted nothing more than to sink fully into his embrace, to sag against him and let it all go. She wanted to respond to the bald need in his eyes, to see what he would taste like. She wanted comfort. She wanted someone.
Drawing a deep breath, she pulled back, because if she didn’t….. “God, I need a shower — no, a hot bath,” she said with a laugh, looking away from Bruce and smiling at McCarty and the others. “With a glass of wine. And something to eat.”
And then, bed. Alone.
Unfortunately.
“Marina Alexander?”
An unfamiliar voice dragged her attention from the rescue team and she turned to see two men standing near the mouth of the cave.
They weren’t rescue workers, or EMTs, or even journalists. The pair looked cold and out of place in their dark suits and thin leather shoes, standing close to a heater running on a generator, and holding matching BlackBerrys.
“They’ve been here for hours,” Bruce murmured. “Wouldn’t tell us who they were or what they wanted. Just waited for you. Darin said they looked like Men In Black.”
“No sunglasses.” Feeling curiosity, apprehension, and some kind of dread, she kept her expression cool as she turned toward them.
One of the men looked about sixty. He wore glasses and his top-thinning hair brushed neatly over his scalp. Even from a distance, she noticed the sharpness in his eyes, and the air of authority emanating from him. He was handsome for his age, but his belly puckered out beneath the open buttons of his suit coat, giving him a gentle pear shape.
He was above average height, but his shoulders slumped in toward his chest, making him appear less imposing than the average man of over six feet. Shorter, and slighter than the tall, sturdy man next to him, he gave her the impression of an easy-going, fatherly persona. Except for those penetrating eyes.
The other man, younger by perhaps half his age, and closer to Marina’s own thirty-two, had short-cropped dark hair going prematurely grey. His body was tall and rangy, like a soccer player. His good-looking face was just as serious as his colleague’s, but unrelieved by even the slightest hint of good humor. In fact, he looked outright annoyed.
Flipping open her chin strap, Marina sighed with relief as her jaw released. It was like taking out a tight ponytail, or removing a well-anchored hairpin: you didn’t notice how painful it was until you removed it.
“Tammy,” she called over her shoulder as she walked toward the two men, who’d simultaneously shoved their cell phones into matching belt-cases. “I’ll need you and Ken to manage the de-rigging — tomorrow, when the water has subsided all the way; I’m sure we’ve lost some of the equipment, but a good portion of it should still be at the top of the winze.”