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Daughter of Rebels
(11) On Hands and Knees

(11) On Hands and Knees

Each minute that ticked by while Mara waited for Eli to return added a layer to the icy ball of dread forming at the base of her sternum.

She could only assume that it would take them at least twice as long to traverse the tunnel together than it would for him to do so alone and unburdened. Which meant however long he was gone–since he had to travel there and also back–that was how long she could expect to be trapped in that narrow chasm of certain death.

She glanced at the watch. Fifteen minutes.

If Eli’s bag got stuck and they had to climb back out, she would be the barrier to their exit. If she couldn’t kick her own bag back down the tunnel, they would die in there. Nick would die in there.

Seventeen minutes.

Her death wish had abandoned her at the least opportune moment. She wanted to be with Davy, yes, but she didn’t want to leave Nick an orphan and she would never wish that he would die. Which he would, if they didn’t survive this.

Twenty minutes.

Nick slept soundly with his head in her lap, his breathing deep and slow. She tried to breathe with him, mimicking the way he exhaled, like a sigh. Lingering at the bottom of the breath with him, lungs empty, heart slowing.

Twenty five minutes.

The fear ebbed away from her saturated psyche as she combed her fingers through Nick’s hair. She was frightened, she was distraught, she was lost, and she missed Davy. But she was, above all, a mother. She would do whatever it took to get Nick through this.

Twenty eight minutes.

A shuffling, scraping sound from down the tunnel drew her attention, and she turned hopeful eyes toward the opening, where gray gave way to black. A few seconds later, the top of Eli’s emerged into the light, then his shoulders. As she watched, he dragged himself up onto all fours and crawled forward into the glow of the light. His face gleamed with sweat, offset by dark streaks of grime, but his expression was triumphant.

“The tunnel’s intact,” he breathed as he shifted to sit against the wall. She handed him a water flask and he took it with a grunt of gratitude.

“Is it wide enough?” she asked, glancing at his pack.

“Should be.” He took several deep swallows of water and leaned his head back against the rough-hewn stone.

“That’s good.”

He cracked one eye, the corner of his mouth turning up in a knowing smile. “That’s the outcome you were hoping for?”

“Well, no,” she admitted. “But my opinion on the matter is irrelevant. My guide insists this is the best way.”

His eye slipped shut but the smile stayed. “Sounds like you should find yourself a new guide.”

She snorted. “Believe me, I’m searching.” She paused, watching his face, but his expression didn’t change. “That’s a joke, by the way.”

“I know,” he sighed, taking one more swig of water before capping the flask. “You ready to go?”

“Are you?”

He sat up straighter, shoving the flask back in his bag and cracking his neck. “I’d rather get it done with.”

Leaving Nick to sleep until the last minute, they tightened down the straps of their packs to make them as small as possible, and Eli walked Mara through the best knot with which to tie her own pack to her waist–one she could undo easily if the pack became wedged.

As Eli was reaching for Nick to wake him up, Mara stopped him with a hand on his arm. His gaze snapped to hers and she dropped her hand away.

“Sorry.”

His brow furrowed with concern. “What is it?”

Mara swallowed hard. Swallowed again. The words clung to the inside of her throat like leeches.

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“I–” She broke off and swallowed again.

“Mara.” He’d lowered his voice. He did that often, treating her like a frightened, wounded animal. “What is it?”

Sucking in a deep breath, she forced the words out on a single breath. “If I panic, you can spell me.”

He physically shifted back, albeit not very far in the cramped space. “What?”

Now that the initial offer was out in the air, the rest came more easily. “I really, really don’t like small spaces. It’s illogical. I don’t even know why.” She did know why, but there wasn’t time for sad, silly stories right at this moment. “I might panic. I don’t want to put Nick in danger, and I don’t want you to have to leave me behind. I don’t want Nick to be an orphan.”

“I won’t leave you behind.” His eyes held hers, not persuasion but reassurance. “And I won’t need to spell you. You’ll be fine.”

“But if I’m not,” she said desperately. She needed to know that Nick would reach the other side, and that she would be there with him. Whatever it took, she needed to know. She stared into his eyes, let him see the depth of rabid, animal fear that roiled within her. “You have my permission. Just this once.”

He nodded, eyes fixed to hers. “Alright. But I won’t need to, Mara.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am.” He glanced pointedly down at Nick. “You ready?”

No. Please, please no.

Mara straightened her back and nodded. “Let’s go.”

~~~

Crawling should be easy. Babies did it, after all. It was one of the first things they accomplished, after all the pooping and crying. Nick seemed to be faring alright, though perhaps that was Eli’s magic more than her son’s innate endurance.

Mara, on the other hand, was faring quite poorly.

She refused to say anything, refused to slow down, but she was not having any fun at all. In fact, if not for her very recent resolution to be less of a sniveling deadweight, she likely would have started weeping several minutes ago from sheer exhaustion. Even her fear had been burned away by the relentless fire of exertion.

Her hands hurt. Her wrists hurt. Her knees hurt. Her feet, somehow, despite not having a job except to drag along behind her, hurt. Her waist hurt, where the rope connecting her to her pack was secured. Her neck hurt, apparently not up to the task of keeping her giant head aloft in this slightly-different-from-the-normal anatomical configuration. Her back hurt.

Her shoulder didn’t hurt, at least.

Ahead of her, Nick was crawling along steadily, stopping every so often when he caught up to Eli, who seemed to be struggling about as much as she was. Maybe more.

That gave her some comfort, although it was a qualified solace. He was bigger, after all. And pushing his pack rather than pulling it, which looked like an awkward and labor-intensive effort. When she’d asked, back when they started and his struggle became immediately apparent, why he didn’t just pull it behind him like she was, his answer threatened had to crack her newfound emotional equilibrium.

“The passage gets narrow,” he’d explained in short, clipped sentences, already breathless from the effort. “We’ll have to crawl on our bellies. The pack’s bigger than me. Might get wedged. I want to be behind it. Push it through.”

The passage did, indeed, become extremely narrow. She was forced to lay on her belly and drag herself forward on her elbows, which added “elbows” to the litany of body parts that hurt.

The only thing that saved her from quitting entirely and simply laying down to die, was that Eli had slowed down too. His method, from what she could make out, was to drag himself right up to his pack, shove it forward with one arm, and then shuffle up again, shove it forward. His halting movements meant she was a little faster, and when she and Nick got too close to his feet, she allowed herself a brief respite, head cradled on her folded arms, while he gained some more ground.

As they inched forward, she wished for some of that earlier sense of drifting from the earth. She’d have liked very much to leave her body for a while. But she remained stubbornly tethered, acutely aware of each cramping muscle, of the burn in her lungs, the chafing of the rope, the heat of exertion that seemed to gather in the small pocket of air around her and radiate back into her flushed skin. As time went on, she lost her connection not to her body but to her mind. She became a thing of foggy pain and feeble effort. Cramping back, shuffle forward, rest. Smarting waist, shuffle forward, rest. Burning lungs, shuffle forward, rest-but-just-not-long-enough.

She was so absorbed in her miserable little world, she almost didn’t notice when the air grew cooler, brushing soothing fingers across the back of her sweaty neck. She blinked open her eyes and lifted her face from her arms, where she’d been resting. Without her noticing, the walls had expanded outward, the ceiling rising up. There was room enough to walk again, albeit a little stooped.

Ahead of her, Eli continued to inch forward—shuffle shuffle, press; shuffle shuffle press—and she supposed she couldn’t hold it against him that he hadn’t noticed either.

“Eli,” she tried to call out, her voice coming out a croak. His rhythm didn’t falter, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Eli.”

He stopped, dropping his head down to rest on his forearm. “Hm?” His voice was muffled.

“We—” She broke off and cleared her throat again. “We’re through. We can walk.”

She watched his back rise and fall on a bracing breath, and then he lifted his head, looked from side to side, then over his shoulder at her. It was hard to tell with the light between them, strung on a small length of twine around Nicky’s neck and swinging beneath him, but she thought she saw the flash of a smile in his eyes.

“Good catch.”

She looked back over her own shoulder.

“Not that good. It’s been this way for a while.”

He dropped his face back to his forearm with an exhausted laugh, and she took the opportunity to do the same. And for the next few moments she wasn’t a grieving widow or even a deluded one. She was just alive, basking in the cooler air and the relief of having survived, listening to her companions breathe and marking time by the sweat as it dried off her skin.