Chapter 11
Eleven
Not only was the pain nearly unbearable, but he’d never known darkness like this.
Noah held his hand in front of his face—close enough that his warm breath bounced back against his palm.
He could feel the warmth of his skin, the rough calluses on his fingertips from years of rope work, but couldn’t see even a hint of a shadow.
Nothing. Just absolute, suffocating blackness that seemed to have weight and texture.
At six-four and a fair amount of muscle, it had been a long time since he’d felt helpless.
But right now he was at the complete mercy of the cave—trapped in limestone that had been formed at the dawn of time and didn’t care about his schedule or his promises or the woman waiting for him in the darkness.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his head with that gravelly timber that had always carried certainty, even when quoting scripture at the dinner table while passing mashed potatoes.
Noah pushed it away.
There was no light. Not here. Just blackness so complete he felt like he was drowning in ink.
But the memory refused to let go.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Okay, fine, God. You want to help? Help.
Not the most gentle or respectful.
But Liam’s words came back—sharp and clear like they’d been spoken an hour ago instead of two days ago as they cleared the trail. God can handle your anger, your frustration, your hurt…He can handle it all. But you have to be honest with Him…It’s in that honesty and transparency that God can work.
The familiar pressure that had become Noah’s constant companion the past few years pressed in on him—tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the cave’s thin air and everything to do with three years of unsaid words.
A small sob broke free. The sound was swallowed immediately by the darkness.
I am so angry that You didn’t save Mary. I am so angry that You took everything from me. And I am so afraid You will take Meg that I can barely think. We need Your help.
Again, the prayer felt as if it only scratched the surface of all that needed to be said.
But maybe a start, a step in the right direction, was all God needed of him right now.
Noah shifted his weight and braced himself against the slick walls on either side—cold and damp beneath his palms.
His boot scraped against rock.
It moved.
Just an inch.
But it moved.
Could it be?
Noah stretched out his hands in the darkness and found the closest wall—rough limestone under his fingers, slick with moisture. He braced himself again.
The movement made his right leg, still wedged between rocks, scream with every breath—sharp, white-hot agony that radiated from ankle to hip. He forced himself to breathe slowly, to think past the blinding pain radiating up his leg, past the metallic taste on his tongue.
He’d tried pulling straight up. No good. The rocks held firm.
But maybe if he changed the angle…
He shifted his weight and pressed his back harder against one wall—the cold seeping through his shirt—while pushing his left foot against the other.
The opposing pressure gave him leverage. Physics working in his favor for once.
He twisted his trapped leg and ignored the way his knee protested, the way something in his shin felt wrong—a grinding sensation that made his stomach turn.
Noah gritted his teeth and twisted harder, his hands grabbing the slick walls.
Pain burned through his leg.
But the boot was sliding. The angle was changing. His foot was pulling free—
He came loose suddenly, his leg dropping.
He barely caught himself before sliding farther down the shaft to the bottom. His arms spread wide, his boots scrabbling for purchase on anything solid.
His right leg throbbed with each heartbeat—a deep, bone-level ache punctuated by sharp stabs of pain whenever he shifted.
Not broken, but badly bruised. Maybe a partial ligament tear. Definitely some kind of soft-tissue damage, which would make the hike out a nightmare.
He stood up. The pain shot through him like lightning. But he could push through it.
He had to.
He squatted in spite of the dull ache pulsing through his knee and felt around where he thought his headlamp had fallen. His fingers swept across cold stone.
First sweep, nothing.
But in this darkness, he was completely disoriented. He had no idea which way he was facing or which way he’d come in. The shaft could twist in any direction and he’d never know.
It was like being in the cave with Ezra all over again. Ten years old and terrified, responsible.
Meg.
Her name cut through the pain like a lifeline.
She was waiting for him, counting on him. Those blue eyes probably checking her watch again, that crease forming between her eyebrows like it did when she was worried.
He’d promised he would come back. And he refused to break that promise. Not to her. Never to her.
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. The verse didn’t bring its usual guilt and frustration. Didn’t carry the bitter taste of broken promises and unanswered prayers.
He’d always felt that the darkness after Mary’s death had overcome him and swallowed him whole.
But he’d been wrong.
He’d never completely given up hope. How could he? God had placed so many people in his life pointing toward Him. Little lights in the darkness.
Will and Becca. Liam. Meg.
God, I need Your help. Please.
It still wasn’t a fancy prayer—no eloquent words or structure. But the most vulnerable one since Mary’s death.
Noah’s hands made another swipe. His finger brushed material—rough nylon strap.
The strap.
He snatched up the light and banged on it a few times.
It flicked back to life long enough for him to locate extra batteries in a side pocket of his pack. The brief glow revealed limestone walls pressing close. Then it dropped into darkness and he changed the batteries out, his fingers clumsy with cold and pain, muscle memory taking over.
A sense of peace filled the space as the light bloomed back to life—warm and steady.
The darkness has not overcome.
He stood on his leg and winced. The joint felt unstable. It would be a painful walk back.
Noah tried to get his bearings. He was in a parallel tunnel. Deep breath. He couldn’t panic. He needed to trust God not just for the light but also for the way out of here. Okay, God. Let’s do this.
Then his light snagged on a crack. Not more than four feet high, but maybe…He knelt and explored it with his hand.
It just might be the other passage.
He shoved his pack ahead of him, then scooted through the opening. As he stood, he saw it. One of his markers. He turned around and could just make out the light from the shaft to the surface.
Thank You.
He started making his way back down the narrow passage, following the torn fabric he’d left like breadcrumbs—small strips of his shirt clinging to sharp edges.
Each movement was agony. His muscles, exhausted, now trembled with the effort of compensating for his damaged leg. His right knee threatened to buckle with every step.
Come on. Keep moving. Meg needs you.
The thought of her waiting in that chamber alone with an unconscious Alex and water rising somewhere behind her pushed him onward.
He had to get back to Meg. Had to tell her about the shaft, about the flare he’d sent up—that streak of red cutting through the darkness like a prayer.
Someone might have seen it. Help might be coming.
They just had to hold on.
A few more twists and turns of the tunnel and he was back. The chamber opened up around him.
“Meg?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Noah!” She looked up but didn’t move toward him. Her light found his face and blinded him for a moment. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought—” She stopped. Her beam dropped to his leg, the way he was favoring it. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” A lie. They both knew it. His voice lacked conviction, and his leg was already swelling. “How’s Alex?”
“He was awake, but he just passed out again.” Her light shifted down. She was kneeling beside Alex. Her medical bag was open. Supplies were scattered around her in the grit—white gauze packages, the metal instruments on a plastic sheet, an opened antiseptic wipe.
And in her hand, catching the light, was a scalpel. She was shaking badly, the blade glinting with each movement.
“I have to release the pressure in his leg.”
Noah’s heart lurched. He closed the distance between them as fast as his injured leg would allow and dropped to his knees beside her.
“Meg. Look at me.”
She didn’t. Her eyes were fixed on Alex’s leg.
The skin was mottled purple and black and stretched tight and shiny.
“Meg—”
“I know how. I know the landmarks. It’s textbook. I’ve seen it done. I’ve assisted.” She was talking faster now. Her breathing picked up speed. “I just—” Her voice cracked.
“I’ve never done it alone. Not without backup. Not in a cave with a scalpel that is little more than a pocketknife and—”
“Meg.” Noah knelt closer and caught her hands. He was very aware of the knife. “Look at me.”
She finally lifted her face—blue eyes wide in the headlamp’s glow.
He saw the terror there—pure, undiluted fear threatening to break through her professional composure. The same look he’d seen in the mirror after Mary died.
“Deep breath,” he said softly. The same words he’d said to her before. “Slow.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” He brought his face inches from hers.
In the glow of her headlamp, this close, the cave fell away. The cold. The danger. Alex’s labored breathing. There was nothing but the two of them.
“You’re the best doctor I know. You’re smart and braver than anyone I know. And you can do this.”
“Noah, if I mess up—”
“You won’t.” He said it with absolute certainty. Even though they both knew the risks. Even though his own hands were shaking. “You’re going to save his leg. And his life. Because that’s what you do.”
Her breathing was still too fast—shallow gasps that spoke of panic hovering at the edges. Her pupils were dilated.