by a partially crushed piece of plaster. “I found my pack,” he said, holding it up triumphantly. “I noticed it before the ladder let me down, so to speak.”
She licked her dry lips and it made his heart hitch up a notch. Sighing, she looked up into the darkness. “I wonder what’s going on up there, outside on the streets, I mean.”
“It’s not pretty, I’m sure.” He thought about his brother, who was due to return to San Francisco that morning. Dallas was tough and resourceful, but he had some physical damage to work around. Trey pushed away that thought and the guilt that went along with it. He led the way back to the door they’d forced open. Cool air bathed his skin as he peered in.
“Let’s go,” Sage said, trying to edge around him.
“Hold up. I’m trying to think.”
“What’s to think about? It’s our only way out, isn’t it?”
“That’s the problem. I’m not sure it is a way out. We could find ourselves at a dead end.”
“Or we could find an exit, or Antonia. I say we get moving.”
She had a point, though to his way of thinking, run in first and ask questions later was a great way to get killed. He endured a flare of anger at the realization that he found himself once again responsible for the safety and survival of Sage Harrington and her friend.
Not funny, God. I already failed that mission the first go-around. Isn’t it somebody else’s turn? Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anyone else for him to hand over the task to.
“Take this,” he said, opening a foil package from his pack and snapping a light stick to life. The green glow revealed her surprise.
“I thought you only carried around a hammer and screwdriver in there.”
He took the flashlight from her and positioned himself in the front. “You’d be surprised what I squirrel away in this bag.” He followed it up with a water bottle. “Drink sparingly, I’ve only got two.”
Sage took the bottle and swigged some, her eyes closing in pleasure. He watched the fine muscles of her slender throat, pale and delicate, as she swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him. He took a quick gulp and recapped it before they went inside.
The walls of the tunnel were brick, relatively intact except where the mortar had begun to crumble. Here and there the floor was littered with chunks that had fallen away, and they had to move slower than he would have liked. He figured they were trekking south toward the rear of the theater, but as the tunnel turned and turned again, he could not keep his bearings.
Their combined light did not make substantial inroads into the darkness. He felt the familiar prickle, the tension about enemies lying in wait, and he was carried back to the day his team had done a routine sweep of a small village and walked right into a well-planned Taliban ambush. His memory reverberated with the rumble of tracer rounds, punishing machine-gun fire, the wail of a woman when she’d learned of her son’s courageous death, their platoon medic who’d shown valor well beyond his years. So much death, so much fear. How unfair that it had followed him home. And her, too.
Sage must have been in the grip of her own anxiety because he noticed she pressed close to him, her hand brushing the small of his back at first, and then clutching a handful of his shirt. Trey stopped and beamed his light down at the floor. At the juncture where the floor met the wall was a small rectangular grate, no bigger than a shoebox, covered by an iron grille. A strange noise emanated from the spot, a thin whine. He dropped to his knees and peered in.
Sage knelt next to him. “What’s in there?”
Trey flattened his body to the floor and pushed close until his face was practically touching the rusted metal. Now a mournful howl filled the tunnel and a tiny black nose pushed through the gap.
“It’s Wally,” Trey said. He curled his fingers around the grate and pulled.
Sage took the flashlight from Trey so he could use both hands. “How did he get there? I thought Fred was taking him.”
“Don’t think he got the chance. Wally’s not too obedient. There must be a parallel tunnel or something,” he grunted, yanking so hard on the metalwork that his teeth ground together. The bars did not give the tiniest bit. Wally continued to whine, louder. “I’ll get you out, boy. I promise.”
Trey returned to the outer room and retrieved the iron rod he’d used to pry his way through the tunnel doors. He sat down and began to heave at the bars.
Sage shook her head. “It won’t work. We have to go on, Trey.”
“I’m not leaving the dog,” he said, gasping with the effort.
“He can find his way out.”
He didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed the hammer from his pack and a small chisel and tried to work at the corner hinges. When that proved unproductive he determined to use the last resort tool, brute force.
“Trey, this is ridiculous.”
He ignored her and began to smash away at the edges of the grate with a hammer, sending bits of brick flying in all directions, hoping he didn’t give the poor dog a heart attack.
“You need to stop.” Sage gripped his shoulder midswing and he stood to face her.
“I’ll be through in a few minutes if you’d quit interrupting.”
Her mouth tightened. “We cannot waste time like this. Antonia is somewhere in there, and if there’s someone after us, you’re leading them right to our location.”
He kept his voice level over his rising anger. “I told you, this will only take a minute. I’m not leaving this dog here.”
“Trey,” she snapped. “Big picture. We’re trapped. Antonia may be hurt.” She stabbed a finger at the grate. “That’s a dog who can probably take better care of itself than we can.”
The tide of anger burst through his reserve. “Listen up, Sage. I know it’s a dog. And guess what? It’s still a life and a precious one and I spent enough time with dogs in Afghanistan who risked their own safety to get us guys out of the pits we dug for ourselves.”
“But...”
“And,” he finished, his voice dangerously tense, “dogs are more loyal and selfless that some people I’ve met.” He didn’t wait to see her reaction but threw himself on the floor and took up the hammer again, drowning out any response she might have made with the ringing of steel on rock.
* * *
Sage leaned her back against the rough brick behind her, feeling like a child who has been taken to task. More selfless than some people... He would never understand that her mission in Afghanistan wasn’t for her own personal comfort and enjoyment. And wasn’t she paying the price for her time there? Emotionally crippled, caged by fear. He had no right to go ballistic on her for putting Antonia’s life over the dog’s.
She would go on without him, find her own way through the corridors. Six steps into the blackness and her skin began to prickle, her nerves jumping uncontrollably. Come on, Sage. You’re not afraid of the dark.
