Trinity: Military War Dog (56 page)

He burst back up. “There’s a passage. Let me check it out.”

Quiet amplified the cold.

“… okay.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving you.” Heath willed her to trust him.

“R–remember—you owe me a k–kiss.”

“Very funny, Daniels.”

Her voice sounded lonely but hopeful. He could live with that. For now. He smoothed a hand over Trinity’s head. “Ok–k–kay, g–g–girl. Sh–sh–sh–show m–m–me.”

Heath again submerged. Swam for the hole. Hauled himself through the opening. A steep rise made it hard to wiggle up. Panic clenched him in the narrow space. This was their only way out. A blast of cold air stung his face. He slumped to his knees, still partially submerged.

“Hooah!” The shout pervaded the tunnel.

It took a few seconds for Heath to see in the semidarkness. Backlit by pure, beautiful daylight, two silhouetted forms hunkered close by. Watterboy and Candyman.

Hands hauled him up the slope and onto the passage floor.

“We thought we’d lost you.”

Teeth chattering, Heath chuckled. “If I d–d–d–don’t”—the clatter of teeth on teeth hurt—“g–get warm quick, you w–w–w–will.” He hated the way his lip wobbled.

“Where’s the girl?”

Heath bobbed his head back. “The t–t–tunnel”—he bit down to stymie the shivering—“leads to a well … w–w–water.” Violently, he shook. “Twenty- or thirty-foot shaft in the cave we were in. Sh–sh–she’s at the t–t–t–top.”

Someone cursed. “How are we supposed to get her out?”

“F–fast,” Heath said, teeth banging. He bit his tongue and tensed. His arms felt heavy, stiff. Legs, too.

A dark shadow sucked out the light. “Chopper!”

Heath smiled. “This just … gets better.” Why wasn’t he shivering? He slumped against the wall. Felt like an MRAP sat on his chest.

“Hey, get out there.” Watterboy shoved Heath’s shoulder.

“Get off, man,” Heath growled.

Watterboy stilled. “Scrip—get him out of here. He’s hypothermic. Do we have extra clothes?”

“Negative.” Scrip bent closer.

Heath swatted him off. “Not leaving till …” Till what? Where’d that thought go? What was he saying? “Darci.” Why couldn’t he breathe?

“Scrip, get a litter.” Watters angled himself closer to the water, nudging Heath away from the mouth of the shaft, from Darci. “Candyman!” Watters pointed to Heath. “Now!”

He dragged himself past Heath, keying his mic. “Command, this is Candyman. Need warming blankets and prep the medical bay for hypothermia.”

“Heath?” Her voice bounced back, empty of promise and void of response. This must be what it was like for the first man on the moon—to look out across the pitch black and know he was utterly alone, save the few on the ship. Heath was … somewhere. Down the shaft. He’d said he wasn’t leaving.

Then he did.

Water had stirred, then nothing.

Darci lay back and drew her legs from the ledge. Hand over her forehead and another resting lightly over her side injury, she closed her eyes. A moot point since the pitch black closed in around her, bringing with its totality and desperate isolation suffocating panic.

She swallowed.
Relax. Don’t think about it
.

As she had during interrogations, she looked for something recent and pleasant.

Heath and Trinity filled her mind.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best place to put her thoughts. She had no idea what had happened to him down there. What if he didn’t find an out? What if—water … he’d mentioned water. In this winter storm? It’d be freezing. What if … what if he froze to death first?

The thought punched through her tough exterior, fisted its thorny tendrils around her heart, and squeezed. Hard.

Her eyes burned.

She gritted her teeth. She’d never been a baby. Never been a crybaby. She had to get it together, keep it together, until …

Until what? If Heath was dead, she had no way out. Already she felt the sharp teeth of frostbite gnawing at the top of her nose, her ears, her fingers, and her toes.

I’m alone
. Completely alone. Wounded. Freezing. Dying …

Darci felt the odd warmth of her tears against her chapped cheeks. She closed her eyes.
God, I gave my life to You … extended my faith
… my
faith, not Mom’s. I believe You can get me out of here, but even if You don’t …

Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

She recalled her earlier thoughts about the three, but now the story felt personal. They were thrown into the fire. She was thrown into the earth’s freezer.

Whatever Your will … I want it
.

But if she survived this, then … where would things go with Heath? Could they work something out, so…?

So, what?

Was she seriously thinking of making a life with him?

A giggle leapt from her chest.
Yeah, I am
.

Idiotic. They didn’t even know each other. Although, at the same time, she knew a lot about him, knew the mettle in him, knew the goodness that made him a man of character, knew the tender and funny side …

Jianyu had never been funny. She hadn’t seen his demons until it was too late. Jianyu’s patience had hidden his poison. DIA wanted more information, so she had to buy time by selling her soul. She’d sacrificed everything trying to distract him. Thanks to a CIA operative, she escaped—barely. And spent the next six months in counseling and begging God to forgive her.

And trying to forgive herself.

Splash!

Darci stilled, stifling the tears, ears trained on the shaft below. Heath … he’d gone … told her he wanted her to live, to make good on that request for a kiss.

Did she really ask him for one? The cold must be getting to her brain. She’d never done something like that. And after they got back, after she recovered, Heath would be on to his next speaking gig with Trinity.

And Burnett … sent her … away … to focus.

Her hands hurt. Her legs. The cold dug into her shoulders, down her spine.

I am focused. For the first … home, want … home. I want to see my father. I want … a life
.

Where was her thirst for vengeance? The determination to see justice done?

It’s quenched
.

Sleep … cold … it hurt … alone … so dark …

Swooshing dragged her out of the sluggish thoughts.

“Heath?” she barely breathed his name.

No, she was alone. With God. She closed her eyes.

Darci Kintz
.

Yeah. Me. Tired … pain … cold
.

“Darci Kintz!”

She opened her eyes. Darkness. Cold. But … my
name …

“U. S. Special Forces. Are you alive?”

Yes.

“Can you hear me?”

She realized she didn’t put voice behind her answer. “Yes.” It came out a mere breath. She coughed—pain! Her ribs. Curled onto her side, she shifted around, dragged herself to the edge of the shaft. Peered down.

Bright light vanquished the darkness.

She grunted and withdrew. “Here.” That was louder. But not enough. She pushed herself to shout. “I’m here!”

“Hooah!” Came his response. “Ma’am. Move away from the ledge.”

Darci wiggled back, unable to push back.

A strange thwipping sailed through the air … louder … closer.

Thunk! Clank!

Pebbles rained down, and a snake coiled down from the ceiling. Darci shrunk away—at least, she thought she did. But she squinted. Not a snake. A rope dangling from a grappling hook.

“Thank God,” she whispered, her thoughts clinging to her Maker.

In minutes, light and the powerful form of the special-ops soldier loomed over her. Darci relaxed, knowing she was going to make it.

“We’re going to get you out of here. Just relax.” He shrugged out of a pack and dropped it beside her. He lifted her arm, a small pinch …

“Hea …”

He said nothing as he wrapped another thermal blanket around her, and then slid her into some type of cocoon. Another soldier appeared beside him. Together they assembled a litter, then lifted her into it.

“We’re going to strap you onto me. We’ll go down, then into the water, and into the tunnel,” the first man said as he drew her toward him. The other secured harnesses around them.

Darci grimaced against the pain roaring through her side. But she’d endure it. To get out of here. To get home.

But the first shift over the ledge jarred. Hard.

Darci tensed and held her breath. Each length he dropped felt as if someone rammed a hammer into her back and side. She dropped her head against his shoulder, unable to withstand the fire eating her up from the inside out.

“Easy,” he muttered.

Water trickled and gurgled. Darci felt it encircle the insulated cocoon they’d placed her in. Then her knees. Her waist.

She endured the suffocating feeling as the oxygen mask tightened.

“Hold on and hold your breath.”

She nodded.

They went under, her back arching. She reminded herself to breathe, not to scream against the knife being driven through her spine. Within seconds, thrashing water and hands pawed at her. Drawn up out of the water, she heard Trinity’s bark … somewhere.

“Let’s move,” Watterboy shouted.

They carried her out of the lower cave, and Darci strained to see into the brilliance of the day. Black and dirty against the pristine white, the UH-60 Black Hawk thrummed with life. Rotors whipped the powder-fine dusting of snow. The rescue team huddled around the helo. Two men in flight suits stood at the foot of a gurney, easing into the chopper.

Heath …

“Make a hole,” Candyman called as they hurried toward the bird.

They slipped her through the opening the team made—and her gaze struck Heath. He gave his “Ghost” moniker new meaning with his deathly pale skin and lips. The medics worked to wrangle his hands. He was punching. Thrashing—but in a slow-motion way. Like he was drunk. He almost flopped off the litter.

Darci’s heart backed into her throat. Such a strong man. Seeing him combative, confused, clumsy …

Others crowded into the chopper around her just seconds before it dipped, then rose into the pale blue sky. She grabbed Watterboy’s sleeve. “How long to the base?”

His gaze hit Heath for a fraction of a second, then her. “Twenty.”

Twenty
minutes?
Heath didn’t have twenty. If he was combative, he’d already entered the severe stage. But at least he was fighting. And not in a coma.

Heath’s arm slid down. His other swung wildly, then flopped.

His eyes rolled back into his head.

            Forty-Two