Chapter 6
Sarah couldn't stop shaking.
It wasn't the pain radiating from her ankle with every step, or the cold mountain air cutting through her torn sweatshirt. It was the sound burned into her mind—gunshots.
They were going to kill her. Actually kill her. Not arrest her, not interrogate her. End her life and walk away.
Her teeth chattered as Griff half-carried her across the rocky terrain, his arm solid around her waist, taking most of her weight. She wanted to tell him she could walk on her own, maintain some dignity, but the lie wouldn't form. Without him, she'd collapse.
"Almost there," he murmured, scanning the landscape ahead.
Sarah followed his gaze and her stomach dropped. The mountainside was riddled with dark holes—mine shafts, dozens of them.
"No." The word came out as a whimper. "Please, no."
"We need cover." His voice was steady, matter-of-fact, like they were discussing weather options instead of hiding from killers.
"I can't." Her voice cracked. "I don't do enclosed spaces. I had an MRI once and had a panic attack. They had to sedate me. This is so much worse than an MRI."
The distant thrum of helicopter rotors cut through the air.
Her knees buckled. Only Griff's grip kept her upright.
"Hey." He shifted to face her, his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me."
She forced herself to meet his eyes. In the fading light, they were steady, calm. How could he be calm?
"You're stronger than you think," he said. "You got out of that cabin. You ran through gunfire. You can do this."
"Those were different. Those were—" She struggled for words. "Outside. With exits. With air."
"This has exits too. And air—you're the one who noticed the airflow patterns, remember?"
The helicopter was getting closer. They were coming. They were coming and there was nowhere to go except—
"I'll be right there with you," Griff said quietly. "Every step. I won't let anything happen to you."
It was a promise he couldn't possibly keep, but something in his voice made her want to believe him.
"Okay," she whispered.
He guided her toward a shaft partially hidden behind a pile of tailings but stopped at two other entrances first. Sarah watched, confused and fascinated despite her terror, as he pulled items from his pack—road flares, some kind of timer device, even hand warmers.
"What are you doing?"
"Insurance." He rigged the flares to the timer at one shaft entrance, then moved to another, setting up the hand warmers on a delayed heating element. "Heat signatures and movement. They'll think we went this way."
Even through her panic, she admired him. He was thinking three steps ahead while she could barely think past her next breath.
At their actual entrance, he quickly examined the old mining equipment scattered around. Rusted cables, pulleys, a mining cart on narrow tracks that disappeared into the darkness.
"Put this on." He'd fashioned some kind of harness from the old cables.
"That's like a thousand years old. It's probably rusted through—"
"It'll hold." He helped her into it, his hands steady and impersonal as he adjusted the fit. "Turn around."
She obeyed numbly as he secured her laptop bag to her back, distributing the weight. Even through her terror, gratitude flickered. He'd thought to protect her data.
"Ready?"
She wasn't. She'd never be ready. But the voices were closer now.
"Okay," she lied.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the darkness swallowed them whole.
Sarah had thought she understood darkness.
Late nights in her apartment with the lights off.
The basement storage room at the Bureau.
But this—this was different. This was darkness so complete it felt solid, pressing against her eyes, filling her lungs.
She couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed.
Her phone's flashlight beam seemed pathetic against it, illuminating maybe three feet ahead before being absorbed by the black.
The walls were rough-hewn rock, sweating moisture that made everything slick.
The ceiling was so low Griff had to duck, and even at her height, Sarah could feel it pressing down, tons of mountain above them waiting to collapse.
"I can't breathe." Her voice came out high, panicked.
"You're breathing fine. Keep moving."
She wasn't breathing fine. The stale air was thick with dust and decay. Her throat tightened. The tunnel branched ahead into three passages, each one leading deeper into the mountain's belly.
Griff froze. “Give me a sec.”
Sarah forced herself to focus through the panic. There—the faintest movement of air against her face. "Left. There's airflow from the left."
“Nice work, Desk.”
They moved deeper, following the ghost of a breeze.
Their footsteps echoed strangely, sometimes close, sometimes seeming to come from far away.
Water dripped somewhere in the darkness—constant, maddening.
Sarah kept her hand on Griff's back, terrified that if she lost contact, the darkness would swallow her forever.
Time lost meaning. Had they been walking for minutes? Hours? The tunnel opened into a larger cavern, and Griff's light revealed multiple shafts branching off in different directions. He set down their bags and checked his watch.
"Should be any second now," he murmured.
"What should—"
An explosion echoed from somewhere above them, the sound massive in the confined space. Sarah screamed, dropping to her knees, hands over her ears. Rock dust rained down. The mountain groaned around them.
Then, distant but unmistakable gunfire. Lots of it.
"It's okay." Griff's hand was on her shoulder. "They're shooting at the decoys I set up. The flares create movement and heat signatures. They think we went that way."
She looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "You planned that? Before we even came in here?"
"Had to give them something to chase." He helped her to her feet. "Come on. While they're distracted."
They followed the rail tracks deeper into the mountain. Sarah's phone battery was dying, the light flickering. The darkness pressed closer with each flicker, threatening to consume them.
When they finally—finally—emerged into the night air, Sarah collapsed immediately. Her legs simply stopped working. She sat in the dirt, gulping in the clean mountain air, her whole body shaking with exhaustion and residual terror.
The stars had never looked so beautiful. The moon had never seemed so bright. She wanted to cry with relief at the simple fact of being able to see more than three feet ahead.
"We need to keep moving," Griff said gently.
"I know." But she couldn't make herself stand. "Just... give me a second."
He crouched beside her, and for the first time since this nightmare started, his expression softened. "You did good in there."
"I had a complete panic attack."
"But you kept moving. That's what matters."
Sarah looked at him—really looked at him. His face was streaked with dirt, his clothes torn from the rocks. He'd risked his life for her, a complete stranger.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked.
Something flickered in his eyes—pain, maybe, or loss. "Because someone should have helped Tank. And you’re the key to finally bringing him justice."
Before she could ask who Tank was, he was pulling her to her feet. "Twenty minutes, maybe less before they check every shaft. We need shelter."
"Where?" Sarah's voice was hollow. "They'll check the town, the roads, everything."
"Then we find somewhere they won't think to look."
As he helped her walk, Sarah tried to push down the fear still clawing at her throat. But one thought kept circling: if trained killers were after her, and her only protection was one man—no matter how capable—how long could they really survive?