by Dana Mentink
“I don’t know who to trust, and that’s what worries me. This reminds me of Kandahar. Hard to tell the enemies from the friendlies.”
She lingered in his grasp for a moment more. What comfort to be connected to a man she realized was much more than a friend. Her own thoughts surprised her. More than a friend?
No. She pulled away. She was here not for emotional entanglements, which would cripple her further, but to do whatever she could to help Julio’s brother.
“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I’ll send a message to Jeb about what we’re doing. He can be our local safety net and call for help in a couple of hours if he doesn’t hear from us. We’ll leave Torrey out of it for the moment. And I’ll grab a flashlight from the car.”
“Okay.”
She was grateful when he turned away to message Jeb, taking the time to try to calm her thoughts. Her palm still tingled from the kiss he’d placed there. Find Tank and go home. But what waited for her back in Coronado? Still the same crippling memories, a job she could not do, a God she could no longer reach.
“Ready?” she said brightly when he disconnected.
“Let’s go make like detectives,” he said. “You can be Watson.”
“Uh-uh,” she said. “You’re the doctor, after all.”
“Right you are, Sherlock,” he said.
Sand infiltrated her shoes as they hiked a mile up the beach, past bodyboarders who did not seem to mind the chilly January temperatures. The morning was giving way to afternoon. Except for the occasional beachcomber, they were alone as they arrived at a crescent-shaped section of cliff.
“There,” Dan said, pointing.
She’d almost missed it. A thick cement pipe jutted from the rock, some six feet wide, nearly hidden by a screen of bushes. The water did not reach the pipe, but the bottom was damp, probably from last night’s storm.
“You think Ralph is in there?” She suppressed a shudder as Dan shone his flashlight into the mouth of the pipe.
“It would make a good shelter from the elements and probably not too much trouble with people dropping by.” He ducked his head and ventured in a little farther. “Be right back.” The shadows swallowed him up, as if he were being devoured by an enormous snake.
She steeled her shoulders, steadied her trembling knees. “Come on, Angela. You used to go caving with Dad all the time. Get yourself together and move out.” After a deep breath, she ducked into the darkness right behind him.
SEVENTEEN
The pipe sloped gradually upward. Dan had to duck his head and shoulders to continue his progress, his hair grazing against the cement. When the grade steepened, he got on his hands and knees and crawled. Angela was glad she was not quite as tall. She did not need to assume a crawling position until several feet into their adventure. Then her palms and knees ached from the impact of the hard surface.
“There’s a platform up ahead,” he said, voice hushed.
“Good. My knees are killing me.”
After a few more feet, Dan climbed up onto a cement floor and offered a hand to her. They found themselves in a narrow corridor filled with rusted pipes and tanks. The ceiling was low, some eight feet, enough room for Dan to stand. Blackened metalwork splayed backward into the darkness. Dan shone the flashlight; the beam was too weak to fully pierce the darkness.
“It leads back into another room, I think.”
Angela stayed close, peering around. “I don’t see any sign of Ralph. No indication that he really does hang out down here.”
“No sign of Lila, either. Could be I got some bogus information along with my hot dogs.”
It occurred to her that Bill’s loyalties might belong elsewhere. Was he getting a payoff from Gruber or his brother? Maybe from Torrey even? Hard to tell the friendlies from the enemies. Her stomach muscles clamped into a hard ball. The air was stuffy, muggy with humidity and scented with the tang of rusting metal. Sweat prickled her brow, and she tried to shake the feeling that she and Dan were entombed in a cement labyrinth, moving in deeper with every step. Cold shocked her feet as she stepped into a puddle. Was it water driven in by the storm, or was there a leak somewhere, the ocean gradually seeping in to drown them? She forced herself forward. Come on Angela. One foot in front of the other.
Dan stopped so abruptly, she plowed into his back, cheek impacting his hard shoulder.
“What?” she whispered.
“Look at that.” He beamed the light across the ceiling pipes, and she heard his breath catch.
“Oh, man,” he groaned.
She looked closer. A gleam of red eyes peered back at her. She let out a sigh of relief. “Whew. Just a rat.”
“Just a rat?” he said, incredulous. “Do you know what kind of diseases these things carry? How about the bubonic plague?”
The disgust in his voice amused her. “I think they’ve got antibiotics for that now.”
“Salmonella, rat-bite fever.” He ticked off the diseases on his fingers. “Leptospirosis, tapeworms, typhus.”
She tried to keep her face serious. “So I guess this isn’t a good time to tell you I had a pet rat as a kid?”
His aghast expression nearly made her burst out laughing.
“Why would anyone want to keep a vermin as a pet?”
Angela shrugged. “Her name was Sparkles, and she used to climb up a rope in her cage and ring a bell when she wanted to go out.”
He closed his eyes as if pained. “You’re killing me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you had a fear of rats.”
“It’s not a fear. It’s a logical aversion to organisms that carry pestilence.”
“I stand corrected.” She giggled, enjoying his discomfiture more than she probably should have.
Ducking very low to creep under the pipes, Dan moved ahead muttering about rodent-borne diseases.
There was still no sign of any human activity in the place except theirs. After a few more steps, Dan stopped.
“I think we’re spinning our wheels. There’s not one scrap of a clue to indicate anyone is here but us.”
Angela did not need further encouragement. “Okay. Chalk it up to a dead end.”
Dan sighed. “I thought we were finally going to get some answers.”
They’d turned to go when a woman’s cry echoed through the space.
Dan whirled the flashlight. “Where’d it come from?”
“The back,” Angela whispered. “That way.”
Dan rushed forward, skirting a massive rusted pipe and stepping over stacks of piled metal. She scrambled after him, trying to keep her head low to avoid the various metal and cement formations that jutted down from the ceiling. Her heart pounded a strong tempo against her ribs, the sound of that scream ringing in her ears.
It had to be Lila. And someone else? Her memory dredged up the feel of her attacker, the knife cutting into her back. Swallowing hard, she kept going. They raced as quickly as they could to the far end of the pumping station until they encountered an unyielding wall of damp cement. Nothing but shadows and the stench of rust, stronger now. No sign of Lila or Ralph.
Their breathing rasped loudly in the darkness, the only sound except for the drip of water and the skittering of a rat overhead.
“Where is she?” Angela breathed.
Dan trailed his fingers along the cement. “There must be another door, a tunnel, something.”
Then she spotted it. “Down there.”
Dan lowered the flashlight beam to reveal a hole some four feet across, cut into the cement wall at floor level. At one time there must have been a small door to seal it off, but now it was gone, leaving its contents unguarded. The perfect hiding place.
A play of light flicked through the darkness on the other side, the beam of a flashlight. Another cry, this
time softer, a sob.
Dan pocketed his own flashlight and crawled in. “Lila,” he yelled. “It’s Dan. I’m coming in.”
Angela gritted her teeth and followed, the chill of the cement floor seeping into her body. The room they’d wriggled into was small, six feet by six feet, and dark, except for the soft glow of a battery-powered lantern and the weak beam of a flashlight. Lila held the flashlight with both hands, as if she meant to protect herself from them, her face eerie, scared.
“How did you get here?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Climbed in, same as you,” Dan said. “What’s wrong?”
She bit her lip and slowly lowered the beam of the flashlight. It revealed a figure on the floor, facedown, an old man with gray hair. He was very still. Angela’s heart sank.
“It’s Ralph,” Lila whispered. “Ralph Pickford.”
Dan dove to his knees, fingers searching Ralph’s neck for a pulse.
“He’s alive,” Dan said. “Pulse is faint.”
Angela immediately dropped down beside him and took hold of the flashlight so Dan could do an examination. He lifted the edge of Ralph’s coat and peered at his back. “There’s a bandaged area here, but no bleed through. I need to turn him over. Lila, hold the flashlight so Angela can help.”
As gently as they could, the rolled him over onto his back. Ralph’s eyes were closed, his face peaceful as though he could be taking a nap. She guessed he might be in his midsixties, but his weathered skin and the creases burrowed into his forehead indicated his life had been lived largely outside. His clothes were neat, as if they had been purchased recently. On the floor nearby was a box filled with canned food, a loaf of bread and a gallon container of water. Dan examined his torso.
Lila’s breath was shallow and panicky. “Tank called me. He’s taking Cora to Mexico. He told me he’d given you Ralph’s name. I wanted to tell Ralph to run, to get out of town before it was too late. He is a nice man. Nice...” Her voice trailed off.
“Too late for what?” Angela said.
Lila bit her lip. “Ralph should have left town after. Why did he have to stay in Cobalt Cove?”
“Lila, what are you talking about?” Angela said sternly.
“I hate this town,” she whispered. “I never should have come here. Now I’m trapped.”
“More light,” Dan snapped. Angela took the flashlight from Lila’s unresisting hand and shone both on Ralph.
“Does he have a head injury?” Angela said. “Did he trip over one of these pipes?”
Dan stopped at the neck. “Angela, hold the light here.”
She crouched, sucking in a breath as she saw what he was staring at. Ralph’s neck was bruised and swollen, the fingermarks showing livid against the pale skin of his throat.
“It wasn’t a head injury,” he said slowly, eyes riveted to hers in the darkness. “He’s been throttled.”
* * *
Dan knew Ralph wouldn’t last long on the cold cement floor. His pulse was already faint, body shocked from the choking he’d received and possibly other injuries Dan couldn’t detect.
Lila stood with her hands to her mouth. Angela held the flashlight. Her gaze went suddenly to the floor. “The water.”
It took a moment for him to realize the truth. The water was rising. The occasional puddles were now expanding, joining together as they spilled over the floor. “Someone must have opened a pipe somewhere.”
Lila gulped. “We’re going to drown in here.”
“No. The level’s rising slowly. We have time to get out,” Angela said.
“Are you sure?” Lila whispered.
Angela nodded. “But what about Ralph?”
Dan got to his feet. “I’ll carry him.”
Angela stood. “Lila, you’re going to climb out of here first,” she commanded. “I need to help Dan with Ralph.”
Lila didn’t answer, so Angela thrust both flashlights into her hands and pointed her to the small opening.
Still she didn’t move, staring at the water pouring over the tops of her shoes.
Angela took her by the shoulders. “We need to help Ralph. One foot in front of the other, okay?”
Slowly Lila seemed to find her senses. She nodded.
Angela came back to Dan. “What’s the best way to do this, Doctor?”
Doctor. The darkness and the sheer lunacy of the situation took him back to Kandahar. For a moment, he could not speak. Ralph’s life, the divine gift, was in his hands, and he found he did not want it there. Somebody else should save him. Somebody who did not already have a notebook filled with the names of those he had not been able to rescue, the names he’d memorized, poring over them until they’d lodged inside his soul.
Mark Javier.
Dino Smith.
Lenny Kesselman.
The names scrolled through his mind.
Julio Guzman.
He was not a doctor anymore; he did not want to be. Then Angela reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder. Slowly he brought her into focus. She caught his eyes with hers, a look that seemed to reach into the core of him. Slowly she held her other hand out and cupped his cheek. “Just tell me what to do,” she said.
He did not want to resume the role of doctor, but there was a patient who would die if he didn’t. Angela’s touch grounded him.
Just get him out. Get them out. God’s got this, even if you don’t.
He took a breath. “I’ll carry him under the shoulders and try to keep his neck as steady as I can. You take his feet and tell me if I’m about to run into anything. We’ll stop in a few minutes and I’ll check his breathing. The hard part’s going to be getting him through this hole.”
Lila went ahead and shone the light so they could see. Somehow, slithering, grasping and pushing, they got Ralph through the narrow opening. Dan hoisted his shoulders, and Angela struggled with his booted feet. The water was pooling now above their ankles.
A thundering sound filled the space. The source soon became clear. One of the massive vertical pipes was vomiting water at an alarming rate.
“How did that happen?” she yelled over the noise. “Did the pipe fail?”
Dan shook his head. “I think it had help from someone.”
Lila was trembling now as they splashed on. She cried out, falling to one knee, one of the flashlights whirling out of her hand. The flow yanked it away. “Sorry,” she said as she got to her feet again.
With only the single flashlight beam, the going was treacherous.
“Stop,” he heard Angela yell a moment before he was about to run into a low pipe. He adjusted, crouching over Ralph’s body, and made it by. They were almost at the outer platform when the other flashlight began to fade.
“Only a little farther,” Dan called. “Keep going.”
Dan thought he heard something. He strained to make it out over the sound of the rush and the rasping of his own breath. After signaling, he sank down on his knees, holding Ralph above the water level and taking his pulse. His own fingertips were so cold he had to chafe the feeling back into them. He pressed them there, seeking that reassuring flutter of the divine. Hang on, Ralph.
He was rising, heaving his end of the load, when a look of horror dawned on Angela’s face as she stared past him. He craned his neck to see what she was looking at. It was just a head at first, oddly illuminated by a swinging lantern. Then a set of narrow shoulders came into view as someone climbed up onto the platform.
EIGHTEEN
Lila gasped.
Peter Gruber stepped onto the platform and looked from her to Dan and Angela with their patient in tow. He didn’t say a word but went to Lila and crushed her in an embrace, expression stricken.
“Are you okay?” he said. He held her at arm’s length after a moment, put his lanter
n down and framed her face with his hands. “My poor girl. You shouldn’t have come here. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
She shook her head.
He gave her a relieved smile. “Then I arrived just in time. I’ve got to get you out before you drown.”
Lila looked utterly bewildered. “What... How did you know I was here?”
“No time now,” Peter said, guiding her by the shoulders. He looked at Dan and Angela. “I’ll get her out, call for an ambulance and then come back to help you. Take my lantern,” he said, putting it on a flat chunk of cement.
Dan did not trust Peter Gruber one bit. He could tell from Angela’s expression that she shared his feelings. They pulled Ralph up onto the platform as Peter led Lila away. Once they made it up onto the cement landing, they laid Ralph down. On hands and knees, they gasped for breath.
“You go on ahead,” Dan said. “I’ll carry him the rest of the way.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’m here until we get him out.”
Her hair was dripping, shoulders quaking with the cold. The only spots of color on her face were those two green eyes, blazing with determination. He wished he had time to just stare at her, to drink in that incredible courage wrapped in a breathtakingly beautiful package. Instead he checked Ralph’s pulse. He felt nothing, only the beginnings of panic in his own gut. After chafing and blowing on his fingertips, he tried again. No throb of heartbeat. Perhaps it was too faint for him to feel.
Kneeling, he put his cheek next to Ralph’s.
“His heart’s stopped, and he’s not breathing.” Dan immediately started compressions. “You have to go and make sure Peter called for an ambulance.”
“No.”
“Angela, please,” he said, never ceasing the CPR. “We’re safe from the water for a while, but time is running out.”
“I...I don’t want to leave you.”
His gut, his heart, his body and mind all answered together. And I don’t want you to leave me, either. But he was faced again with the dilemma that had haunted him since Kandahar. Why did God give me the power to save, and the pain of watching when I can’t? Was he going to witness Ralph die in spite of his efforts?