“Another sign of dehydration.” Chance’s voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. “The skin loses its elasticity. I think we need to go back to the first room.”
“The room with the spiders? There’s no water there.” She shook her head, which shot a dizzying pain through her skull. She ran an arm around his waist for support.
“The spiders chose that wall for a reason.”
His voice was as hard as the arm clamped around her, and his intention finally cut through the fog in her brain. “Oh, God, no. Chance, you can’t! There are too many of them.” She took his face in her hands, forced him to look down at her. “If they’re poisonous, you could die.”
“And you could die if I don’t find water.”
And so it was out. The dreaded d-word. They’d both studiously avoided it until this second, but now it was out drawing a collective shudder through them both.
He gripped her tighter. “I’m not going to let that happen.”
How could she convince him she wasn’t near death, make him forget his plan of attacking the spider wall? He wouldn’t believe her words. She had to show him. Impulsively, she pulled his mouth to hers, willing him to find a promise of hope. It took a few seconds, but she finally felt him start to respond with a hunger of his own. She kissed him deeper.
I love you. The words flooded her brain and dropped onto her tongue where she bit them back. Saying that now would sound like a final confession, make him believe she’d lost hope, make him do something stupid—like fight ten thousand spiders for her.
She summoned the will to push every thought from her mind except survival and found it in his embrace. “No going back, Counselor. Remember?” She spoke the words precisely. “We’ve moved on.”
Now, if she could just convince her heart to follow that advice.
* * *
CHANCE SNIFFED THE AIR. Two of the last three tunnels had a slight upward slope, but this one had a different scent than the others. Cleaner. Fresher. The aroma wasn’t strong, but it reminded him of a spring rain.
That fragrance could only come from water—or his imagination playing tricks on him.
He loathed the idea of moving Kyndal again. They’d been at this for so long now, he’d lost track of time. His watch read two thirty-eight, but he didn’t know if that was Tuesday afternoon, Wednesday morning, Wednesday afternoon. He’d lost track.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep after the last long trek through what seemed like miles of passages, but Kyndal seemed so exhausted. He’d just wanted to hold her through her nap. Then he’d dozed off.
A dull pain had awakened him as it pierced his back and followed his ribs around to the front with almost rhythmic precision. Kidney most likely. Whatever, it was taking a toll on him. He didn’t want to admit his body was giving out, but he wasn’t able to cover great distances bearing so much of Kyndal’s weight as she hopped beside him.
Every time he left her now, he came back to find her asleep. That scared the hell out of him. What if she didn’t wake up next time? Her speech was becoming a bit incoherent. Even now, she was mumbling something about Hamlet and life being a waking shadow.
A surge of adrenaline sent energy into his lethargic limbs. He had to get her through that tunnel even if he dragged her.
“Kyn.” He raised her chin gently and shined the light directly into her eyes, which were clouded with confusion. Her pupils were enormous. “That tunnel slopes upward. It may lead to the surface.” Her mouth moved in inaudible speech. “We need to take it, baby, but it’s too narrow for me to carry you. Can you crawl a little farther?” He was thankful the darkness hid his lie. It might be twice as long as the last one, and that one had been agonizing.
The cloud lifted from Kyndal’s eyes and she seemed lucid again. She gave a nod.
“Hold on to my feet so your hands don’t get so cut up. I’ll move real slow, okay?”
She blinked.
With both packs on his back, seeing behind would be impossible. And the narrow tunnel would make turning around difficult. He needed to feel her to know she hadn’t collapsed.
“Okay, Kyn?” He jiggled her face until he felt a perceptible nod.
“’Kay, Couns’lr.”
Her words were soft and slurred, but, in them, he found strength. He positioned her and started the slow ascent.