Page 33 of Wired Ghost

Relief was sudden as Nine joined in, pulling with him, and the pilot, too. Only a few minutes later, Sophie’s short-cropped hair, gray with ash and dirt, appeared in the opening.

They tugged her up onto the lip of the hole. She was as filthy as Jake, but her color was better, and she was breathing regularly from the O2 tank Connor had sent up with her. Nine untied the rope from under her arms as Raveaux checked her pulse.

“She’s breathing much more strongly than Jake. Pulse is good, too.” He pulled up an eyelid. Her warm brown iris swiveled to look at him, the pupil shrinking rapidly. “She’s conscious.” He leaned down close to her ear. “Sophie. It’s Pierre. Just relax. We’re getting you and Jake out of here, and you’re on oxygen. Breathe deep and clear your lungs.” Her eyelids seemed to flutter in answer; she gave a tiny nod.

“Connor?” Nine pronounced his master’s name in an odd way as he knelt at the crumbling slit, calling down into it. “Connor!” The man turned to Raveaux, his eyes white-ringed with panic. He spoke rapidly and gestured—he wanted to go down after his master.

“Okay. Let’s move Sophie into the chopper and get her settled. That way we can take off as fast as we can after we bring him up,” Raveaux gestured to Sophie, then pointing to the helicopter.

Nine looked frustrated, shook his head, indicated the hole.

Raveaux frowned. He felt an urgency about getting their two victims to the hospital as soon as possible. Connor would be all right for a few more minutes.

“Let’s move her,” he told Agno. “We’ll lower Nine back in when she’s settled.” He gently set the green O2 canister on Sophie’s chest, then picked her up under the arms. The pilot picked up her feet, and they carried her toward the chopper.

Nine glared after them, then tied the rope around his waist. He looped it around a large stone, turned and lowered himself out of sight into the hole.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Raveaux

Raveaux and Agnopulled on the rope moments later when Nine signaled them, but Connor wasn’t coming up—they simply didn’t have the strength. “There’s a winch on the bird,” the pilot panted. “Let me move the chopper closer and we’ll use it to haul him up.”

“Wish we’d used that from the beginning.” Raveaux’s lungs were burning, his hands bloody, and his back, legs, and arms trembled. “Let me tie him off on this rock protrusion while you move the helicopter closer to us.”

“Gotcha.”

Raveaux used his bodyweight and the rope looped around his back to get some leverage, dropping the rope around a knurl of lava and sagging to his knees in relief as the weight came off. The pilot let go of his end of the rope, scrambled to his feet, and ran back to the helicopter. Moments later, he had bunny-hopped the craft to within a few feet of Raveaux. By then, Raveaux had his breath back enough to feed the rope to Agno through the open door and into the floor-mounted winch.

The pilot cranked Connor up within minutes.

The blond man had passed out, but was breathing. His color was good, though his O2 canister appeared to be empty. The pilot brought out another canister and put it on him as Raveaux quickly untied the rope and tossed it back down into the pit. “Nine! Tie this around yourself. We have a winch and we’ll get you out in no time!” he hollered into the foul-smelling darkness.

No answer from the enigmatic Thai man.

Sophie, sitting up in the chopper, emitted a hoarse croak at the sight of Connor’s body, sprawled on the lip of the pit. Raveaux frowned at her fiercely. “Lie down, before you collapse!” he barked.

Sophie lay back down beside Jake. She took her partner’s hand and turned toward him.

Raveaux wrenched his attention back to the current crisis.

Nine had not reappeared.

“Nine!” he bellowed, feeling his heart thunder. “Merde!”

There was no help for it—he’d have to go get the man. He spoke to Agno. “I’m going in after Nine. You’re going to have to use the winch to lower me, and pull both of us back up at the same time.”

“Do it,” The pilot said. “Signal me by pulling on the rope when you’re ready.” Agno glanced at Raveaux’s bleeding hands. “Here, take my gloves.” He stripped them off and handed them to Raveaux.

“Merci.” There were no more O2 cans; they’d have to make do with what Raveaux and Nine were currently using.

Raveaux lashed the rope around his waist and stepped toward the narrow opening. It had been many years since his early training in the French army, but necessity would bring back his skill. His hands were in terrible shape, but at least they were covered now, and they would also do what they needed to.

He took a deep breath of supportive oxygen, and rappelled carefully down into the murk.

Raveaux’s eyes stung from the foul gases, but the plastic mask over his nose and mouth kept providing what he needed most to breathe. He braced his feet on the crumbling stone and dirt wall until suddenly it fell away, and he spun downward into a darkness lit by a terrifyingly hot red glow at one edge of the cave—magma!

The cavern was filling with lava, bubbling in from a side tunnel in fierce red glowing streams. Raveaux spun gently down as the winch lowered him, and finally spotted Nine.

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