Flee the Night

by Susan May Warren

  “Not until we find Lacey. I heard screaming before.” Long before. A breath-stealing pain wrenched his chest. Please, Lord, no. Please let Lacey be okay. Bring her out of this safely. He struggled to his feet. “How did you find us?”

  Conner stood up, and by the look on his face, the old adrenaline still ran through his veins. Micah had no doubt that Conner would miss the Green Berets as years drew out.

  “I had a hunch,” Conner said. “I remembered what you said about Lacey being one step ahead of you all the time, and I guessed that she would try and outwit whoever had you. I didn’t seriously think she was going to just hand over Ex-6, so Hank and I tracked her. When she veered off the trail, Hank figured out where she was going, and we decided to loop around to the opening. We saw the big Korean guy take off inside and ran to catch up.” He gave a one-sided, sardonic grin. “Sorry we were late.”

  Micah shook his head. “Do you know who this is?”

  “No. We had Lacey wired but lost the transmission shortly before we entered the cave.”

  “You’re sitting on NSA Deputy Director Roland Berg. From the gist of their conversation, he’s been a double agent for years. At least a freelancer, working as a mole in the NSA. He set up John and framed Lacey. I knew she was innocent.” That felt good to say … way too good when the woman he loved was stumbling around in the dark. In so many ways.

  “I gotta find her.” Micah stalked toward the tunnel entrance. “Billings!”

  The sound echoed down the chamber into the folds of the cave.

  “I’m here.” Hank appeared a moment later, flushed. “I can’t find her.”

  Micah stared into the darkness. “How big is this cave?”

  “Miles. It runs under this entire section of Mark Twain National Forest.”

  Micah closed his eyes, braced a hand on the wall. “I’ll need water, rope, my helmet, extra lithium batteries, and a space blanket.”

  He opened his eyes and saw Sarah’s gaze on him, hard and dark. “No.”

  He frowned. Took a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No … I mean … you should have said we.”

  Conner hauled Berg to his feet. “I’ll get Dannette.”

  Hank stopped on his way out of the chamber. “I’m calling the sheriff’s department. This cave is known to swallow people alive.”

  Micah remained silent, feeling like it already had.

  Lacey crawled toward the sound of water, painfully aware that she was digging crustaceans and dirt into her hands. Her eyes played tricks on her—light jagged against the rock, giving illumination to her imagination. She saw stalactites and stalagmites, bearing down upon her like teeth. Felt salamanders and spiders run up her arms, squish between her hands and fingers. The chill of the yawning cavern seeped into her pores. When her hand splashed into water she nearly screamed.

  It was just a cave. And someone would find her. Soon. Right?

  She hesitated to drink the water. What amoeba could be floating in a cupful of supposed nourishment? Still, it was flowing. Survival school had taught her that flowing water washed away impurities. Especially if she could scoop water from below the surface.

  She trailed her hand along the water, came to a wall or outcropping, and leaned against it.

  Surely Micah would find her. Unless, of course, he was dead.

  She closed her eyes and let herself shake. She’d seen the look in Micah’s eyes—compassion and sheer trust when she said she’d never shoot him. As if he believed her, truly believed her.

  No, as if he loved her.

  Conner said that Micah had tried to help her in order to prove his love for her. In fact, she wondered if that wasn’t why he’d shown up in Missouri in the first place.

  He loved her despite the fact that she’d done her dead-level best to kick him out of her life. Loved her despite the suspicions, the lies, the mistakes. He loved her when she couldn’t even love herself.

  She put her arms around herself, seeing his gray green eyes searching hers. “Oh, Micah, I’m sorry.”

  Berg had destroyed the transmitter. Now it was just her words against … the NSA deputy director’s. She’d never see daylight again even if she made it out of the cave.

  Perhaps it would be better to simply sit in the darkness and let the cold close its fist around her. She already felt frozen most of the time anyway.

  She rested her head against the rock, trying to dispel the freak-night images that flashed in her mind. Insects. Animals. The thought of her skeletal remains being dragged out by dogs.

  Maybe she shouldn’t wait for help.

  She stood up, ignoring the commonsense screaming in the back of her brain, and started walking through the darkness. She tripped and caught herself on her hands, but her face hit a rock. Blood warmed her lip. She pushed her hand against the flow, turned, and leaned back against the rock.

  She had as much chance of getting out of here on her own as she had of figuring out how to escape the tangle of her life and live happily ever after with Jim Micah and Emily.

  She put her face on her knees and let despair wash over her. At least she still had Ex-6. But as soon as they found her—if they found her—Roland would have her arrested. Which would bring her full circle from three days ago. Only this time, she’d be accused of selling national secrets.

  Then again, was that so different from being accused of betraying her husband?

  “God takes your reputation and makes it new.”

  Conner’s soft voice played in her mind. She slowed her heartbeat, tried to find the conversation in the snarl of memories. “It’s not just salvation; it’s transformation. It’s God redeeming our reputation, giving us overflowing mirth in our hearts, clothing us with a countenance of rejoicing instead of grief. We are not merely set free; we’re washed and given an entire new body. You are completely new in His eyes because of His amazing love for you.”

  His amazing love. She blinked, suddenly remembering the song Sarah had been humming yesterday as they’d prepared for the first drop. It had tugged at memories, so long suppressed, but now the words rushed through her like the freshwater from an underground spring.

  Amazing love! how can it be

  That Thou, my God shouldst die for me?

  Lacey fought a sudden onslaught of grief, seeing her mother—frail, unable to stand, but gripping her hymnal as she sang.…

  Long my imprisoned spirit lay

  Fast bound in sin and nature’s night.

  Thine eye diffused a quick’ning ray;

  I woke—the dungeon flamed with light!

  My chains fell off, my heart was free.

  I rose, went forth, and followed Thee.

  They’d played it at the funeral at her mother’s request. Lacey remembered thinking of her mother, freed from her broken, cancer-ridden body, springing forth into life.

  Set free.

  Like … being carried out of a cave … into the light.

  Lacey knew all about living in darkness. She pressed her lip, feeling it throb. She’d built a dungeon for herself, closing the door behind her in self-incrimination. Except, unlike her mother, she deserved her pain.

  She put a hand to her mouth, heard her own groan. She whispered the words of Scripture Micah had given her:

  “‘Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom, miserable prisoners in chains. They rebelled against the words of God, scorning the counsel of the Most High. That is why he broke them with hard labor; they fell and no one helped them rise again. “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress—’”

  Her own voice, and it threatened to mock her. Cry out to God?

  She didn’t deserve to cry out to God. Not when she’d turned her back on Him. Not when she’d deliberately married a man who led her away from truth. Not after she’d made mistakes that cost lives. She couldn’t forgive herself. How could God forgive her?

  “Remember the widow of Nain.” Micah’s voice—soft, gentle, patient—filled the h
ard corners of her mind. Why had he said that?

  The widow of Nain? She closed her eyes and in the silence and darkness dredged up the story. A widow. Her only son dead. A funeral procession. Luke 7.

  Oh yeah, now she remembered. Micah, sitting beside her at the creek in the early days after her mother’s death. The wind playing with her hair, his eyes kind as he spoke. “‘Jesus went with his disciples to the village of Nain. … A funeral procession was coming out as he approached the village gate. The boy who had died was the only son of a widow. … When the Lord saw her, his heart overflowed with compassion. “Don’t cry!” he said. Then he walked over to the coffin and touched it. … “Young man,” he said, “get up.” Then the dead boy sat up.’”

  Lacey had been drawn in nearly as much by the passion in Micah’s face as his words.

  “You know what I love about this passage?” He had picked up a leaf and brushed it between his strong fingers. “I love the way Jesus is moved by our pain. Do you know what the word touched means? It means ‘to connect or bind.’ He bound Himself to the new life of the dead boy. But the antonym of that word really sheds light on His actions. It means self-control. So when Jesus touched that boy, He threw off His self-restraint and did what He most longs to do.”

  Lacey remembered frowning at Micah. “I don’t understand.” Still, the picture of the widow of Nain shows me that Jesus longs to heal, to reach out and touch our hurts. His nature is to show mercy to the hurting. On the grieving. On the lost.”

  “You know what I think? Jesus wanted to show mercy to every single person He met. He wanted to sweep them up and embrace them with His love. But because of His eternal plans for goodness, He can’t always do that. I don’t know why, but I believe He has a greater good than healing our temporary pain.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.” Micah had tossed the leaf into the creek, and Lacey watched it float away. “God’s very character is mercy. He yearns to show it to us. That’s what the Bible is all about—God showing us mercy in the sacrifice of His Son. It’s not about us deserving it—we never will. It’s about His giving it just because of His love. We don’t get to turn our back on God—because the suffering of Christ demands we confront this mercy. Turning away would be like a wounded person slapping away the nurse’s hands.”

  Or a prisoner refusing redemption.

  Lacey rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. White light streaked behind her eyes. What she wouldn’t do for light right about now. Showing her the way … home …

  In a flash of memory that should have been accompanied by angelic singing, she saw herself praying to the hospital ceiling three days ago, asking for help.

  Could it be that God had heard that prayer after all? That He’d sent the one man from her past who could help her find her way … not back to Ashleyville … but back to faith?

  Could it be that God had been showing her mercy all this time? Yes, she’d rebelled against Him by marrying John. But even in that, He’d given her Emily. Flesh-and-blood proof of His love. Of His mercy. And He’d kept Emily alive, despite the desperate odds. He’d given her daughter a home and love, while Lacey tried to uncover the truth.

  He’d revealed John’s killer. Even if it was only to Micah. The one person to whom her innocence mattered.

  Maybe God had been showing her traces of His mercy for years. She’d just been stumbling through darkness and too blind to see it. Afraid that if she turned to the light, He’d see her scars, her mistakes, her filth.

  “He yearns to show us His mercy.” Could it be that in turning toward Him, she’d only see God’s heart? His desire to reach out and heal her wounds?

  No, she didn’t deserve forgiveness. But maybe it wasn’t about deserving it. Like Micah, stepping in to show her he loved her even though she attempted to kick him out of her life. God giving her mercy, touching her life because … He longed to show her He loved her? Just like He longed to raise the son of the widow of Nain, release the captives, and open the prison doors. And give her beauty for ashes and joy instead of mourning.

  She’d been running from the one Savior who could offer her true, unflinching, unbridled redemption, not because He didn’t want to give it but because she felt too repulsive.

  “Lord,” she said and heard fear in her voice. She closed her eyes. “I know I don’t deserve Your forgiveness. I’ve made mistakes. And I’ve willfully sinned.” She licked her lips, realizing how parched she felt, inside and out. “I … am sorry. So … sorry. Please, please forgive me, because of Your great mercy. Please cleanse me and create a new person out of me. Give me praise instead of despair.”

  She covered her face with her hands, suddenly shaking with the feeling of warmth that emanated inside. It trickled through her, renewing, like sunshine on weary, cracked bones. She gasped, drank it in, let the feeling settle into every inch of her fear and hopelessness. “Oh, Lord, You—and only You—are my Savior. And You alone can redeem me. Not Micah. Not myself. Not Emily. You.”

  She gulped deeply the sudden wash of peace, the feeling that her life was fully known and healed. God, invading her pores, reminding her of Conner’s prayer: “We ask for Your light to shine.”

  God’s light wasn’t harsh and brutal. It was merciful and healing. Lacey wiped her face with her hands, pulled her knees up to her chest, and leaned on them, speaking to the inhabited darkness. “Lord, please save Micah. Thank You for using him to show me that I don’t have to run. And if it’s possible—” she swallowed hard, pushing against a rush of tears—“figure out a way for me to go home.”

  Chapter 22

  MICAH GRABBED A water bottle, downed its contents, then turned back toward the cave entrance. The sun threaded rose and gold through the trees, hinting at hope, but Micah’s spirit felt nothing but dark despair weighing heavier with each passing hour. Lacey could easily be dying of hypothermia.

  “You aren’t going back in, are you?” Sarah sat on a rock, her shoulders sagging, filth covering her from her face to her toes.

  Micah stared at her. “Of course.”

  They’d spent the better part of the night crawling through the labyrinth, down alleyways, up cliffs, into wormholes. Hank was right—the cave had swallowed Lacey whole. He was mustering his SAR forces at the moment, and Micah couldn’t deny he hoped the ranger hurried.

  The cavern felt like a Sub-Zero freezer the deeper they went, and they were no closer to finding Lacey than they had been when she’d gone after their assailant into the bowels of the earth. Two hours ago, Micah had crawled out and submitted to medical aid, hoping for a fresh map and a sunny update.

  He should have stayed underground. He’d gotten a few stitches in his leg and packing for his shoulder wound. In the wan hours of daylight and under Sarah’s scrutiny, the flesh wound seemed well bandaged and even healing. Sarah gave him a shot of Demerol and he felt 75 percent better. Except for the gaping hole where his heart had been.

  He filled the water bottle, snatched a handful of granola bars, a fresh lithium battery for his helmet, and a dry pair of gloves. “My radio isn’t picking you up, Conner.”

  Conner wore a grim look. “I’m going with you.”

  Micah shook his head. “No. Not until the NSA gets here. I want you on hand to testify to what I heard.”

  “You stay; I’ll go.”

  “Yeah, and then how am I going to explain how their deputy director lost all his teeth?”

  Conner quirked a smile. “Right. Okay. Dannette is packing up Sherlock. Maybe she’ll head back in with you.” Without something to identify Lacey, Sherlock had been unable to trail her. Defeat hung on Dannette’s countenance and in her body language. Micah had a feeling that behind her stoic Scandinavian demeanor, her heart of compassion was bleeding with frustration.

  “I don’t want to wait. It’s getting colder. I just hope she’s staying put, not moving around.”

  Conner raised his eyebrows. “You’re talking about Lacey?”

  “Exactly my point, Einstein.�
� Micah ignored Sarah’s and Conner’s protests as he hiked back into the black hole.

  They’d sketched a rough map of the cave while they searched, and Hank had promised to bring back a detailed map. Micah entered the dark tunnel again, trying to think like Lacey. She’d been running after the Korean. Fast. They’d found the rock lip where he’d gone over, and Micah’s light picked up a broken and unmoving body at the bottom. Micah had endured a moment of crushing pain until he deduced that it wasn’t Lacey.

  Her route from there got hazy. There were three tunnels, leading to dozens of other routes. He turned around. She would have returned, so he tried to imagine what she would do. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine her. She was smart. She would have tried to retrace her path. He brailled the rock, took ten steps, found that it wound around in a half circle, cutting off to the north and away from the cavern where he’d struggled with Berg.

  He followed, still brailling the cave. When he came to a rock formation, instead of climbing up, which felt logical, he reached out with his other hand, found the wall on the other side, and continued. The rock narrowed, and he aimed the light down to a small tunnel. He knelt before it, trying to imagine Lacey crawling through.

  No. She would have sensed folly in that. He stood and continued tunneling through the darkness, his eyes half closed. Please, Lord, give me vision beyond the obvious.

  The fact that God had heard his prayers and unveiled John’s killer—the real killer—had sprouted something hot and alive in Micah. It only grew when he followed the tunnel left as it veered away from the entrance tunnel. He heard the faint trickle of water running over rock.

  He whirled toward the sound. Lacey’s survival skills would have told her that water meant life. And possibly an outlet.

  He stopped in a cavern and scanned his light across the room. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like giant drips, and a crystal-clear lake mirrored the jagged ceiling. On the other side, aragonitic bushes, magical in their whiteness and crystalline shape, bloomed like wildflowers in the eternal night. He took a deep breath, somehow feeling that she’d been here. “Lacey?”