Page 48 of Never Lost (The Unchained #3)

HER

W e made slow, steady progress. He leaned on me more than he wanted as we waded through debris and rubble, dust choking me as it gathered on my makeshift gas mask until I couldn’t brush it away anymore and stopped trying.

Somewhere ahead of us, rock grated against rock.

I knew it was killing him that he couldn’t grab me or do anything but press me against a craggy mine wall, hearts pounding, as a pile of rocks tumbled down to bury the place where we’d just been walking, sending up a cloud of dust so thick we lost each other again, for just one single, terrifying second.

And I screamed for him again, only to catch on to his bloody, dusty arm in relief a second later.

I won’t leave you, m?i léift.

He couldn’t promise that, of course, just as Max couldn’t promise what he had promised, and I’d been an utter fool to believe even for a second that either of them could.

But believing, being a fool, was the only chance left to me. Perhaps it was the only chance I’d ever had. So I took it.

And anyway, he wouldn’t allow me to do anything else.

A moment later, the dust settled, and we continued, our progress dwindling to a slow crawl.

As we reached the final bend, another cascade of rocks blocked our path.

We picked our way through the rubble, my flashlight beam flickering over piles of twisted metal, broken tools, ore, and rock.

My head pounded, and my limbs felt less like they were moving and more like they were oozing through some thick, sticky, viscous matter.

For the millionth time, I reminded myself to just keep breathing and not to worry about what I was breathing.

Because what I was breathing was killing me.

“We have to move faster,” he said from behind me, choking out the words so painfully it made me wince. “Move as fast as you can without getting out of breath. Can you do that?”

I nodded, despite the growing pit in my stomach.

Because something was wrong. I knew it was.

But since I couldn’t explain what, we quickened our pace.

I dragged him along as best I could amid my own flagging strength, half-running, half-stumbling through narrow scrims of rock.

My chest burned with every breath, and black spots danced at the edge of my vision as I tried to make out what remained of the copper ore symbols the slaves had placed to guide their way—now scattered everywhere—while the pit in my stomach spoke louder and louder, telling me that the somewhere we thought we were going—the same direction Max had been going—was about to turn out to be nowhere at all.

And when that happened, it would be too late.

I stopped.

“What’s wrong, Lou? We?—”

“We have to turn back. This was the wrong way.”

“What? But Max said?—”

“The whisper room,” I cut him off. “ Whisper. Don’t you see?”

Clearly, he did not. “But Max?—”

“Max didn’t know everything about the mine because his dad didn’t tell him everything. And one of the things he didn’t tell him was that his panic room was also a breathing room,” I said. “And, if needed?—”

“An escape room,” he finished.

“They built it with an air shaft. I felt it. That’s how the bats were getting in and out. And the slaves knew where it was. I think part of their plan was to destroy it before Max’s dad could get there. Either that, or use it to escape themselves.”

“Shit. If they’d only held out for a few more days, they would have killed him.”

“Yup. Shame, isn’t it?”

“Do you remember the way?”

“This way.” I tugged his wrist, only about 25 percent certain I was right.

But soon, things started to look familiar, and I dared to let my heart lift as the passage opened into the dug-out chamber I remembered from before, following the red arrow to the chamber with stalactites dripping from the ceiling like stone icicles.

His eyes widened. I knew it now. I was right.

But we almost stumbled into a heap of rubble.

The whisper room was gone.

“We—” The fabric clung to my mouth, gagging me, damp and useless with dirt and dust and tears and sheer terror, my voice hoarse from the gas and smoke from the blast. I was dying already. I’d breathed. I’d held on. I’d believed. I tried. I’d tried so hard for him. “We… we can’t get out…”

“Listen to me,” he cut in sharply, his eyes locked onto mine. “This isn’t the end, not yet. Stay with me, Lou,” he urged. “Yeah? Just keep breathing. Don’t stop.” His eyes darted around us. “Grab that pickaxe.”

We clung to each other, gasping and coughing as we began to claw at the debris.

I dug the ax into the rubble, ignoring the rocks falling down, slicing and tearing into my skin like blades.

He joined me, helping as best as he could, which truthfully wasn’t much.

Together, we heaved chunks of rock aside to create an opening barely wide enough.

“You first.”

“I can’t?—”

“You can. You’re stronger. Follow the air. It’ll guide you.”

My heart pounded like a death knell in my chest as I pictured the ten tons of stone overhead that could collapse and bury us alive at any moment.

But still, I forced myself to breathe, squaring my shoulders.

I dropped to my knees and clawed my way through the tunnel.

Rocks scraped my skin raw, and dust rushed into my makeshift gas mask, choking me anew.

Tempted for the hundredth time to rip the damn thing off, I resisted, knowing it would make it harder to breathe, not easier.

“Lou!” he croaked behind me, his labored breathing bouncing off every rock.

The shaft sloped upward, barely wide enough for us to slide through on our bellies.

I turned to see him dragging forward, face contorted in pain.

The rocks had reopened his wounds, and blood now dripped from his head and torso, leaving a gruesome trail behind him.

“I—I can’t breathe,” I cried. “It’s—it’s too?—”

“Yes, you can.”

“I’m tired,” I said, slumping against the stone, and all at once, I felt it. Knew it was true. I was more tired than I’d ever been in my entire life.

“Me too, but I’m not letting you give up. Not yet. I promise. Just keep breathing. We’re almost there, Lou.”

“How do you know?” I demanded between gasps.

“Because I can feel it. I can feel the air. Can’t you?”

I closed my eyes, concentrating. He was right. “You’re?—”

“Dig, Lou!” The words escaped him as pained gasps. “Stop fucking talking to me and dig!”

Tears and sweat clung to my lashes and eyelids, gluing them nearly closed. My hands clenched the handle of the pickaxe. Rocks bit into my knuckles, blood staining every stone beneath me. Every breath stung like a thousand wasps. Every movement screamed for release.

But I moved. Stone by stone, rock by rock, we inched forward. The tunnel grew smaller, more constrictive—a serpentine passage into the belly of the earth. But soon, it stopped.

His labored wheezing echoed around the rocks, merging with the mine’s distant groan.

“There’s no opening,” I coughed. “The rocks won’t move anymore. We—we went the wrong way,” I moaned desperately.

“No.” He gasped. “Oh, fuck no. Drop the pick. Use your hands.” He coughed violently, the sound muffled by the thick air and stone.

I plunged back into darkness, hands blindly scraping against the rough surface of a boulder.

The skin of my knuckles had ripped away, grime mixing with blood.

Desperate sobs hitched in my chest with every inhale of muck and dirt and worms and stone.

His own ragged breaths echoed in my ears, still doing his damnedest to help me along, though his voice was no more than a rasp.

At last, though, my fingertips brushed against a thin line of cold air leaking from above, and I could barely believe it. I dared to hope .

Until a large, cold hand closed around my ankle.

I shrieked, heart pounding wildly as I was yanked backward.

Zombies. Oh God, they were real, and they were?—

“Noam?” I stuttered, recoiling at the sight of him, which was barely him anymore, his massive body as much of a smoking, blown-open crater as the mine itself. His face was tissue and bone, one eye missing, though his gaze was still somehow, unerringly focused on me.

“What—what are you?—”

“I’m—I’m doing what I came to do.” His voice rattled. He was delirious. Closer to dead than I was.

But that wouldn’t stop him from killing me.

His grip, still iron, tightened on my ankle again, then let go. I scrambled forward, pulling away from his hand, but he wrestled me back as his lip curled into a bitter rictus, and his reanimated corpse coughed again, a violent, throttling sound.

From behind me, his breath hitched with pain as he turned his body, aiming a weak kick at Noam, who lunged wildly, throwing his arms up.

My scream was cut short as the earth made its complaint again. I could only watch in horror as three boulders, one after another, crashed down, swallowing Noam—and the path we’d been on.

Coughs racked my lungs as I struggled to draw air, waiting for the dust to settle. The silence was broken only by the faint groans of the mine as the earth shifted around us. And then even that faded, replaced by our wheezing.

I turned to him in disbelief. “What?—”

“No time.” He gasped, pushing me forward with the weight of his dirt-covered, bloodied shoulder. “Go.”

I needed no further urging. Acridity had my throat in a vise. I was asphyxiating.

My fingertips scrabbled against the rock, discovering a thin crack.

I wedged my fingers into it, digging my nails into the stone until they broke and bled, and blood ran down my arms in rivers.

Sweat trickled down my brow, flooding and stinging my eyes.

Every breath was a battle, every movement a bloody war.