Page 74 of Scorched Earth
As she progressed, the light from behind faded until Lydia could see nothing, and she allowed her gift to take over her sight, the brilliant glow of Killian’s life appearing before her.
With fear flowing heavy in her veins, she almost instantaneously felt the urge totake.To crawl up behind him and find some bare stretch of skin to press her fingers against so that sweet life would flow into her veins, making her strong. Making her a force to be reckoned with.
No!she silently snarled, withdrawing from her power so that all she could see was blackness.I won’t.
But it was so hard to resist. Like trying not to breathe, and Lydia forced herself to focus on the feel of the ground beneath her. The sound of Agrippa behind her, the ex-legionnaire bitterly complaining about his dislike for tunnels becausenothing good came from them. Malahi would be next, then Baird.
“Are we close?” she asked, needing to break her own silence.
“No,” Killian answered. “But I can see the light of the opening. Keep going.”
Bits of dirt rained down on her hair, and Lydia cringed, praying to Yara that the tunnel would hold. That they wouldn’t all meet their end buried alive in a grave of their own making. Praying that this would work because crawling backward would be next to impossible.
Then she found she could make out the soles of Killian’s boots, a faint glow visible around his outline.
“Be quiet,” he said under his breath. “We don’t want them to hear us.”
The only sound was the moan of the wind, the thousands of blighters utterly silent.
Killian rolled onto his back. In one smooth motion, he pulled himself out the opening and then disappeared from sight.
Panic ripped through her veins, and Lydia scrambled forward. She poked her head out of the opening, a wave of vertigo washing over her as she looked down.
Anddown.
Five hundred feet seemed more like a thousand, the rocks at the base terrifyingly far away.
“Stay there,” Killian whispered, and she looked to her left to find him clinging to the rock face. With practiced ease, he worked his way up to where a large wooden structure dangled just below the edge. Her heart surged into her throat as he leapt from his perch on the cliff to grab the edge of the bucket, hanging for a moment before he quietly crawled inside. Then it slowly began to move.
Each creak and groan of the pulley made her cringe, but the focus of the blighters was on the plateau, not the scarp face below. Lower and lower, the bucket descended, Killian stopping it when it was level with the opening.
But most definitely not within reach.
“You’re going to have to climb out,” he instructed, securing the ropes so that his hands were free. “Then climb closer so that I can reach you.”
Oh gods.
“Right.” She eased outwards, every bit of her consumed by terror. She didn’t know how to climb, didn’t know where to put her hands or feet. Everything she touched seemed insecure and liable to collapse beneath her weight, but Lydia managed to edge out so that she was clinging to the rock face.
“Just work your way to the right,” Killian said. “Then you’ll need to twist around and jump. I’ll catch you.”
Simple instructions.
Seemingly impossible feat.
Lydia swallowed hard, sweat running down her back as she cautiously moved to the right. Testing each handhold. Each toehold. Wondering if her mark would allow her to survive such a long fall.
A glance downward told her that was unlikely.
A hot wind buffeted her clothing, the grit it carried sticking against her skin, and Lydia looked over her shoulder. In the distance, a dark wall filled the horizon.
Sandstorm.
“Keep going,” Killian whispered. “You’re almost there.”
To her left, Lydia heard Agrippa reach the end of the tunnel, his soft curses telling her exactly what he thought about the situation. She ignored him and edged farther right.
“There,” Killian instructed. “Get a good hold with your toes and left hand, then twist and jump toward me.”
