Chapter 9 #4
Meg’s mind flooded with every complication. “His head will be hanging down. The increased intracranial pressure—”
“Will be less of a problem than drowning.” Noah’s voice was firm but not unkind. “Meg, I know this isn’t ideal. I know it goes against everything you’ve learned. But we’re out of good options.”
She wanted to argue, to find another way.
But the sound of water splashing into the growing pool was getting louder.
She looked at the dark surface creeping toward them.
“Okay.” The word tasted like surrender. “Okay. But we do this my way. We immobilize him as much as humanly possible first.”
They worked quickly, their movements coordinated. Meg moved on autopilot even as her mind catalogued every risk—bleeding, swelling, paralysis.
She fashioned the makeshift cervical collar from the cardboard, measured it against Alex’s neck, and secured it with medical tape. Then she used their spare clothing to create padding—Noah’s jacket wrapped around Alex’s head and shoulders.
Noah pulled his shirt back on and began fitting the rope that ran through the sleeves so the weight would distribute across his shoulders and chest.
“Talk me through it. What do I need to watch for?”
“Any change in his breathing—rate, depth, anything.” Meg grabbed her stethoscope and listened to Alex’s chest. “His lungs are clear now, but if he vomits—and people with head injuries often do—he could aspirate. We’d need to turn him immediately to clear his airway.”
“Got it.” Noah tested the harness again, shifting his weight like a pack mule finding balance. “What else?”
“Try to keep his head as stable as possible, like he’s made of glass. No sudden movements. If you need to duck or climb, do it smoothly.” Meg heard the tremor creeping back into her voice and swallowed it down. “And if he wakes up and starts fighting—”
“Then at least we’ll know he’s alive enough to fight.” Noah’s attempt at dark humor fell flat.
The water had spread farther. Now just inches from where Alex lay. Meg could see it advancing, the surface rippling with each new drop from the ceiling.
Her stomach clenched.
“We need to move him now.” She positioned herself at Alex’s shoulders. “On three we roll him toward you. Keep his head and neck aligned with his spine. Ready?”
“Ready.”
“One, two, three—”
They moved together. Meg’s hands supported Alex’s head as they carefully rolled him onto his side, then maneuvered him up and over Noah’s shoulder in one smooth motion.
Alex remained limp. A dead weight that made Noah stagger before he found his balance.
Meg quickly adjusted the harness, her fingers working fast. She threaded it under Alex’s arms and around his torso, pulled it snug, then tied it to the rope across Noah’s chest with a square knot.
“How does it feel?” She watched Noah’s face.
“Heavy. But manageable.” He took a few experimental steps and found his center of gravity. “I’ll need to rest periodically, but I can do this.”
Meg picked up her medical bag and Noah’s small pack with their essential supplies, then slung both over her shoulders.
Water. First aid. The headlamp batteries. A granola bar she’d forgotten about.
Everything else would have to stay.
She cast one last look around the chamber. At Jeremy’s photographs slowly being consumed by the rising water. At the place where they’d found Alex unconscious, now ankle deep.
This had been a crime scene.
Now it was becoming a tomb.
“Stay close to me.” Noah started toward the dark opening on the far side of the chamber, each step careful. “If something happens—if the passage gets unstable—you tell me immediately.”
“I will.” Meg followed, her boots splashing through shallow water now. It was cold. Shockingly so. And she felt it seeping through the leather.
Behind them, the steady splash-splash-splash of the stream continued.
They reached the mouth of the passage and stopped at the threshold.
Noah shone his headlamp into the darkness.
The tunnel was narrow. Maybe four feet wide at best. And the ceiling dropped to around six feet within the first several yards.
Noah would have to crouch, bend nearly double. And with Alex’s weight on his shoulders, every step would be a challenge.
“Last chance to tell me this is a terrible idea,” Noah said without turning around.
Meg looked back at the chamber and swept her light beam across it. Over the water spreading across the floor like spilled ink.
She glanced over to where they had seen the chest of gold.
Underwater now.
Maybe they could come back in when the chaos was over.
Assuming they made it out.
Noah ducked into the passage, his body folding.
Meg followed with shallow breaths. Her hand trailed along the wall for balance. Her other hand clutched the medical bag.
The sound of dripping water followed them—a reminder of what they were running from.
But ahead, somewhere in the maze of tunnels and shafts, was the surface. Freedom.
Daylight. The gray sky would look like heaven.
Air. Fresh and clean.
Life.
They just had to find it before the water found them first.
Lord, help us.
If ever she needed a prayer answered, it was today.
She kept walking.
One step.
Then another.
Into the darkness.