Page 127 of The 9th Man

The blade missed his right eye by an inch before striking the cage wall. Luke grabbed the man’s wrist, locking the knife hand in place. “You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you? This cage is going to fall any second. Stop moving.”

The man didn’t reply, but jerked his arm, trying to free his hand. Luke cocked his head back and slammed the crown of his skull into the man’s face, shattering his nose.

Blood squirted.

He twisted the guy’s wrist and the knife fell away.

The cage dropped again and crashed into the wall, rocking from side to side. He glanced up. The cable was unraveling. As each strand gave way, atwangfilled the shaft. He tossed himself forward, grasped the man’s collar as a handhold, and started crawling toward the wall shaft and a tunnel entrance a few feet away. The man’s hand clamped onto his ankle and jerked him backward.

“No, you don’t,” his adversary wheezed.

The cable popped.

Moretwangs rang into rapid fire.

“Wanna bet?”

He slammed the heel of his boot into the guy’s face.

The man let go.

Luke scrambled, hands clawing at the tunnel floor until his fingers found a crack in the rock. He pulled, kicked off the man’s head, and slid the rest of the way up and into the tunnel.

With a gunshot-like crack the cable severed.

The cage tipped onto its side and lodged itself between the walls. Luke looked down. The man stretched his arm out for help.

Their fingers touched.

With the grinding of steel against rock the cage rolled onto its side, then slid down the shaft. He caught a final glimpse of the man’s terrified face before it was absorbed by the blackness.

64

LUKE’S CHEST HEAVED.

He rolled onto his back and grabbed hold of himself.

The tunnel was a few feet wide and half his height. He crept back to the edge of the shaft and craned his neck so he could look up into the headframe. The cable had severed near the windlass. No way to reach it. Nor did the shaft walls show any handholds.

He wasn’t escaping that way.

He’d heard no more gunfire. Did that mean Talley’s men had paused their attack—or had they already overrun Jillian’s position? No, she wouldn’t have let that happen without expending every last bullet at her disposal. Hopefully she was hiding, waiting, biding her time. He decided to return the favor she’d tossed him back in Louisiana and interrupt their search for her. He found his Beretta, angled its barrel up the shaft, and fired three rounds in quick succession.

He reloaded, then took a moment to survey his surroundings. He wondered if this shaft was merely an old equipment alcove, but a quick check with his headlamp revealed the tunnel extended ten feet into the rock before turning left. It was clearly man-made so it had to have both a purpose and a destination.

Where, though?

His first shots hadn’t gotten a reaction. He needed to try something different. With a hand braced against the ceiling he leaned into the shaft, took aim on the windlass at the top, and squeezed the trigger. His bullet struck steel with a satisfying thunk that echoed through the space.

Boots pounded down the walkway.

That’s it, come on.

Luke took aim.

A face peered over the side. Luke shot him in the head. The man pitched forward, bounced off the shaft wall, and tumbled into the darkness.

From above, a shout. “Stop. Get back. He’s down there.”