“We’re not going to keep going?” My body wants to comply with his demand, but my mind is racing.
“This is the lowest point of the tunnel,” he says. “It’s the best place to be right now.”
“How are we going to get out?”
“I’ll worry about that after I check you out.” He looks me over. “Are you hurt anywhere besides your leg?”
He shines the light at me, and I look over my arms. There are only a few scrapes there.
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me look.” Eckhart crouches beside me and holds my ankle gently in his hand. I tense at the touch, and he looks into my eyes and speaks softly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
I swallow and nod, allowing him to examine my leg. There’s a long, bloody gash over half of my calf. The skin is split wide open and dried blood surrounds the opening, but fresh blood seeps out of it slowly, too.
The sight nauseates me.
“I don’t have anything with me to treat this,” he says after a moment, “but it’s not too deep. Your leg is going to tighten up on you, though.”
He sits back on his heels and pulls the end of his shirt out of his suit pants. He undoes a couple of the buttons at the bottom and then pulls the shirt up to his mouth, tearing the fabric with his teeth. He rips off a strand of fabric and quickly wraps it around my leg.
“Just to keep it from bleeding more,” he says. “We’ll need to get it properly bandaged when we get back to the surface.”
He releases me and stands as I rub the skin near the wound.
“How long will we stay here?” I ask.
“Until the explosions have definitely stopped,” he says, “or until I hear from one of the other guys.”
“The radio still isn’t working?”
“No, but it really should be.”
“Phone?”
“No signal down here even on a good day,” he says. “We’re going to have to wait it out.”
“What if a train comes?”
He raises his eyebrows at me, and I realize how ridiculous my question is. Without bothering to answer, he sits beside me and leans against the cold wall. I glance over and see the light reflecting off the sweat on his temple.
“What do you think is happening up there?”
“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I can only speculate.”
“Guess, then.”
“Invasion,” he says. “I don’t know who, but that was definitely an attack. A big one.”
“But who?” I press. “Terrorists?”
“I don’t know who has that kind of power. I never saw any planes, and I didn’t hear any tanks. I don’t know how anyone would get that far into the middle of the country without some kind of warning.”
“What else could it be?”
He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are dark and solemn.
“I don’t even want to guess.”