Shadows (Ashes Trilogy 2)

There is. “We have to go.”

“Don’t hear me arguing.” Weller was already turning. “We can probably beat them and the cave-in on skis, but we got to be—” Another shock. Weller lurched and would have fallen if Tom’s hand hadn’t shot out to snag him. “Christ,” the old man grated. “Between this and those damn Chuckies, we’ll be lucky to—”

Suddenly, from somewhere off to their right came a thin, high, shrill note.

The sound was so unexpected Tom whirled on his heel, still in his crouch, the Uzi in his hands. He heard the others readying their weapons.

“Did you hear that?” Luke whispered. “Does a cave-in make a sound like that? Or was it like . . . a bat?”

“No,” Weller said. “It sounded like—”

The sound came again, and this time, Tom knew exactly what it was.

A whistle.

86

When the distant crackle first reached her, she didn’t get it. She had been climbing, steadily, in the grumbling dark for ten minutes. Every now and again, a bat spirited past, but she spared them no more attention. All they told her was this was the right way to go. Sweat streamed from her face, and her clothes were clinging. Her lungs were going like a bellows, and her thighs burned. Three rungs had given way, and now when they hit bottom, she heard a splash. The tunnel was filling and so was this chamber. The gush of water was building to a steady rumble, and this slope was shaking, too. She heard the grind and bounce and slide of rock pinging and catapulting for the water.

Then that crackle came again, a sound like crispy cellophane, and this time she got it.

Gunfire.

Her head jerked up, eyes scanning the darkness. Was it less dim? She couldn’t tell, and her sense of smell was no help here. The occasional bat still fluttered past, but they seemed to have all gotten out. She was alone, making her way up a shuddering, squalling ladder.

If there are guns, there’s a fight.

There might be people up there, maybe killing Changed. Or the Changed might have found whoever set off the bombs. Considering what she’d seen, she wouldn’t be surprised if the Changed were killing each other.

She froze, tried to think what to do. She could squeeze out a round from the Glock or even a couple from the Uzi . . . but that didn’t tell anyone up there anything except that she had a gun. The Changed had guns. If there were people up there, all they had to do was spray bullets into this tunnel, or wait until she popped out.

Not an option.

“Hello?” She started scrambling up the ladder again. “Hello, I’m down here! Help, hel—”

Snap. And . . . SNAP!

This time, both rungs gave at once. She screamed, felt her body lurch down, and then her feet were dangling, trying to climb against air. Her biceps shrieked, but then one flailing boot banged into the rock face, and she pressed it hard, balancing on her toes like a rock climber, which she was most definitely not. She hung there, her right leg shuddering, her arms quaking with the strain. Her left shoulder, still scabbed, fired with pain. Below, the water thrashed. The walls shivered and she heard the rock splintering and cracking. The rickety ladder vibrated in her hands. Lifting her left leg as high as she could, she felt the butt of a rung against her boot, and then she was leaning into the ladder.

Oh my God. Gulping, she rested her sweaty forehead against the moldering, swollen wood. Hurry up and kill yourself, why don’t you?

“Help!” she screamed. “Help, please!” A waste of energy and breath. Hopeless. She was too far down, and her voice was no match against the water’s ceaseless churn. No one would hear.

Wait.

She still had it, didn’t she? Reaching with one trembling hand, she felt at her neck, then gasped out a sobbing breath.

Her dad: You blow on that, honey, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.

She fitted the whistle to her lips.

Oh, Daddy, please be right.

She inhaled—and let her breath go.

87

Oh my God. The sound knifed right through his ribs. It can’t be. “Where is that coming from?” Luke said.

“Where we saw the bats,” Tom said. The ground twitched again and he staggered, and then he was bolting over the unsteady snow. His frantic eyes scoured the horizon. The bats were silhouetted against the moon; they were right there! He caught another flit, changed direction, stumbled as the earth shifted again, and then he was plowing through deep drifts, his Uzi held high.

“Tom!” Weller shouted. “Tom, wait! You don’t know where—” He paid no attention. He kept on, swimming through the shivering snow, and then he saw a bat bullet skyward just a few feet to his right. Dropping the Uzi, he fell to his knees, clicked on his light. The ground lurched again, and he swayed and then began sweeping the snow with his arms in wide arcs, looking for the opening. Come on, come on, come on, I just . . .

Another jolt, and he heard something new: the bang of rock against rock. Then he saw it. The opening was a dark slash in the skin of the snow, only two, maybe three feet wide, and as long.

He fell onto his belly. The earth was bucking, but he pushed at the snow, clearing it away so he could see. He heard Weller and Luke still shouting at him, closer now, but he didn’t look around. From below came the rumble of a distant thunder and the grind of rock. Another bat whirred past.

This had to be part of the mine, too: a forgotten shaft, a sidetunnel. Maybe, long ago, an old escape route.

The enemy was down there. But so were people.

The odds were a billion to one, but there was only one person on earth he knew with a whistle.

“Ellie?” Tom cupped his hands and bellowed. “Ellie?”

First, there had been a fine snow spilling like white sand. Not a lot, but enough that some sifted into her hair.

Then, incredibly, a scent of musk and sweet smoke and spice that tugged her heart.

And, finally, a voice. Distant. So small.

But she made out the one word.

Ellie.

“Oh God.” For a second, she just hung there. Her heart stuttered and then banged to life.

It’s him. It’s him! He’s alive. He’s the only one who knows. That’s his scent. It’s him. It has to be. It’s—

“Tom!” she shrieked. “Tom! It’s Alex, it’s—”

Alex? He went absolutely still with shock. She’s here?

Her voice came again, and although he could barely hear her, knew she was very far away and out of reach, her words—his name—exploded against and in him with the force of an atom bomb. Beneath, the earth was shuddering, and so was he, all over, and then he was screaming down to her: “Alex, Alex! It’s me, it’s Tom! Where are you, Alex? Where—”