Jack Rogan - The Ocean Dark

“Climb!” Voss shouted.

And they were all in motion, reaching for handholds, racing the encroaching dark.

If the shaft had been straight, a sheer ninety-degree angle, Josh wouldn’t have had a chance. He knew it, and from the look in her eyes, Tori knew it, too. The Vicodin had long since worn off. Instead of feeling as though he swam inside a fishbowl, looking out at the world, he felt like Caesar, a dozen knives stabbing him from every angle. But no matter how bad his pain might be, Josh had no intention of surrendering to it.

He climbed.

Sling tossed aside, unabashedly shouting and cursing God and Miguel Rio, he launched himself up the ragged rocky wall of the shaft as fast as he could manage. The pain blinded him for seconds at a time, during which he had to pause, take deep breaths, and then reach up again for a new handhold. A bullet had made the wound, but now it felt like someone had thrust a knife into it and begun to twist, hacking at muscle and scraping bone. Sweat poured down his face.

But he climbed, only somewhat aware of the others around him, of the siren song and the diminishing reach of the sun.

“Come on, Josh. Faster,” Tori urged. She reached down and got a grip under his right arm, trying to pull.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” he said through pain-gritted teeth.

But he did manage to find more speed, to drag himself higher, fresh rivulets of blood pouring from his shoulder down his chest, trickling down his side, soaking into his shirt. He imagined it dripping into the water far below, driving the creatures into a frenzy, like throwing chum in the water to stir up sharks.

I’m not fucking chum , he thought.

But his left hand felt numb. He held on to a rocky outcropping and could not feel his fingers for a moment. Alarmed, he pulled the hand away from the wall and then started to slip. Josh laid himself out flat, his right foot maintaining its hold even as he scrabbled for a better grip with his left and with both hands. His numb left hand couldn’t grasp properly and he knew he would fall.

Tori and Voss, just above her, called out his name.

A strong hand pressed against his back, shoving him against the stone.

“Just hang on,” a voice said. “Wait there for a second.” And as he waited, the owner of that voice moved sideways on the wall below him, breathing hard with the effort, and then came up on his left side. Another hand grabbed him under the left arm, and Josh managed to turn his face to see who had come to his aid.

Gabe Rio.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Josh said.

Gabe didn’t even blink, his face washed in the dimming daylight that streamed down from above. The former captain just grimaced, settling himself more securely against the shaft wall, and got a better grip on Josh.

“We go in tandem,” Gabe said. “First me, then you. I’ll go up a few feet, then help you after, and keep you steady, then climb up after you. Tori’ll watch you on that side. But we’ve gotta move our asses.”

Josh stared. Seconds ago he’d been cursing this man’s dead brother. Gabe had been guilty of multiple crimes, and Josh had come along and ruined his life. Now, without hesitation, the man came to his aid. He had no words to thank Gabe, or to express his doubt or surprise. He doubted anything he said would be welcome, or sufficient.

“Let’s go,” Josh said.

They climbed just as Gabe had described, but it felt excruciatingly slow. Sykes and three of the other sailors were scrambling high above them, having covered nearly twenty feet already. To Josh’s right, Alena and her grandson had their reunion on the rock wall but there were no tearful hugs. The two Boudreaus exchanged a few words and then they were climbing, breathing hard and focused entirely on where their feet and hands could find purchase. One of the sailors, a lieutenant, had a harder time than the others and kept about even with Voss, who had slowed down so as not to get too far ahead of Josh.

“What happened to Dr. Ridge?” Voss asked.

Josh swallowed hard, remembering the screams. “Wrong turn.”

He didn’t mean it as a joke, and Voss didn’t take it as one. They were past the point of humor. Long past.

For minutes that seemed an eternity, he climbed, Gabe gripping his armpit and pulling upward on muscles that burned with strain. His clothes were tacky with blood and stuck to his skin and the flesh around his wound tugged with every movement of his arm, but still he climbed, unwilling to consider the alternative.

“Jesus,” said the lieutenant, above him and to the right.

Josh risked a glance up at him, noticing how fast the light was fading, and saw that the sailor was staring back down the shaft. When next he rested, with Gabe scrabbling up a few more feet, Josh looked over his shoulder.

The ledge where they had come into the shaft had been submerged. Now that the tunnels were flooding, water pouring in from all sides, the tide had begun to rise even faster. But it was no longer the tide that made his muscles clench and his heart race.

The tide could only rise so far, but even as the tide rose, the light receded. They were on the eastern wall of the shaft, climbing in the last vestiges of sunlight that peeked in over the rim above. A clear line separated day from night in that shaft, and it moved up toward them as fast as they could climb, perhaps faster.

And just behind that demarcation, like runners at the starting line, the sirens clung to the walls of the volcanic shaft, creeping upward along with the encroaching darkness, just out of the sun’s range. If some of them were sluggish during the day, they had certainly woken now. In a single glimpse, even with his eyes not adjusted to the balance of light and dark, he could make out fifteen or more of them, and others were climbing the western wall of the shaft, where the sun had long since surrendered its hold.

“Oh, my God,” he whispered.

His numb fingers missed a hold. He scraped them raw grabbing for another, slammed his shoulder against the wall and screamed at the impact. His voice sounded a little like a shriek, and even something like the cry of the sirens that echoed all around them.

“Careful!” Voss shouted.

Tori shot her a hard look. “We’re being careful! He’s fine!”

If he could have managed it, Josh would have laughed. He was far from fine.

“Just keep going,” he rasped, breathing hard. Even his eyes hurt. His whole body felt heavier and he knew that blood loss and trauma were taking their toll. He would be lucky to hang on, never mind climb.

Yet with Gabe’s help, he kept going.

Tori didn’t know why she stayed with him. She wanted to just climb. Sykes and Mays, and another sailor she didn’t know, were moving fast, maybe twelve or fifteen feet from the top. Garbarino and another sailor had moved over to try to help speed the Boudreaus along, but they were making decent time.

She should climb. She should leave Josh behind. He had said as much himself at least half a dozen times back in the tunnel and she knew he would not blame her now. And maybe that was why she couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t love. No matter what she’d been through, or how many foolish things she had done in her life for the sake of unworthy men, she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that. But she had made a connection with him, gone to a place inside herself that she had never found before, and it had made her see herself in a new way. And the woman she now saw in herself would never abandon this man, or perhaps any man, just to save herself.

So close to death, and yet it made her feel alive.

Voss hated her. She wanted to peel Tori right off the wall and toss her down into the water like feeding time at the zoo. Over the years they had been partners, Josh had become her best friend. How was it possible that he could get tangled up with this woman, a suspect, in the middle of a case? How was it possible that he could feel something for her, could sleep with her, endangering his career and the squad and their partnership? Could Voss have misjudged him so completely, or was there just something about Tori Austin?