As Rachel and I maneuver through the waterlogged tunnel, I keep my M4 rifle poised, my finger poised above the trigger, ready for any threat that may emerge. I'm wary of discharging my weapon; the sound could easily betray our location. Instead, I bide my time, waiting for Rachel to create an opening for me to glance out from our concealment. My snowy hair poses a risk in this dim environment, stark against the shadows. Removing my halo isn't an option I can entertain.
With a deep inhalation to steady my nerves, I submerge myself in the frigid water, inching forward cautiously, my rifle clutched firmly in my left hand. Visibility is poor, the water's chill gnawing at my skin, but I follow the faint glimmer ahead. Rachel's ability to hold her breath impresses me; her head remains submerged as we progress through the narrow passage.
The rough, jagged surface scrapes against my elbow as we press onward, the urge to surface nearly overwhelming. Yet, surfacing prematurely could spell disaster. So, gritting my teeth, I press forward, finally reaching a small air pocket where I gratefully draw in a lungful of precious oxygen.
Relieved to find a momentary respite, Rachel and I stand in the cramped passage, grateful for the chance to catch our breath. The passage, slightly elevated compared to the tunnel behind us, signifies progress, but we know we must continue crawling to reach the river on the opposite side. I brace myself, feeling the strain in my muscles, preparing for the next leg of our arduous journey.
"Ready, Helen?" Rachel's voice breaks through the tense air, snapping me to attention.
I nod, my stomach knotting with apprehension as Rachel disappears into the abyss of the underground passage. Fear and anxiety churn within me, fueled by the distant echoes of cannon fire and the ominous tremors above. What are the military and mercenaries plotting up there? The betrayal stings; we trusted someone, only to find ourselves surrounded by enemies.
There's no use dwelling on the past; tears won't alter our circumstances. It's fight or die now. Clutching my M4 tightly, I steel myself for the unknown. My military training may be outdated in this new reality, but it's a lifeline in this desperate struggle.
Yet, amidst my resolve, a pang of guilt tugs at my conscience for Rachel. She's an innocent amidst chaos, burdened by the sins of our parents. It's unjust that she's been dragged into this ordeal. Nevertheless, we must persevere, adapt, and survive.
With a steadying breath, I follow Rachel into the darkness, guided solely by the faint glimmer ahead. Each inch forward is a battle against the stench of mud and the sting of debris in my eyes. But pain is inconsequential; it means I'm still alive, still fighting.
Rachel's transformation from a tearful child to a resilient survivor remains a mystery to me. Nonetheless, her newfound strength serves as a comfort, easing my burden as her protector in this perilous journey toward escape.
This tunnel seems interminable, each breath a struggle against the oppressive weight of suffocating darkness. The urge to gulp for air threatens to overwhelm me, but I refuse to risk drowning in the icy depths. With grim determination, I clamp my mouth and nose shut, resisting the instinctive gasp for oxygen, even as it feels like self-inflicted torture.
As the distant light draws nearer, a sense of foreboding gnaws at me. The proximity of the light should be reassuring, but something feels amiss. Hastening my pace toward Rachel, I'm met with a disconcerting sight: bubbles escaping from her form, a telltale sign of distress.
I wait anxiously as Rachel inches forward, my own struggle to retain precious air mirroring her plight. Despite my advanced age and frail physique, I can hold my breath for three minutes, but doubts linger regarding my capabilities in this dire situation. Then, I detect the subtle signs of panic emanating from Rachel.
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As Rachel's pace quickens, bubbles emerge from her head, a stark indication that her ability to hold her breath is faltering. Cursing inwardly, I realize my misplaced trust in her endurance. Urgency propels me forward, pushing Rachel aside to prevent her from obstructing our escape and inadvertently sealing our fate.
Her movements grow increasingly frantic, but I persist, relentless in my determination to reach safety. Finally, we reach a haven where Rachel can replenish her dwindling oxygen supply. Helping her to her feet, I watch as she greedily inhales the precious air, a lifeline in our precarious situation.
Uncertainty hangs heavy in the air as I ponder the longevity of this clandestine passage, my faith paradoxically resting in the hands of a girl scarcely older than myself.
"Rachel, breathe," I urge, attempting to soothe her escalating panic.
She trembles once more, fear palpable in her voice. "Are we going to die?"
"We're not," I assert firmly, giving her shoulders a sharp tap. "Pull yourself together, Rachel. Listen, panicking will only hasten our demise. Right now, focus your mind, not your emotions. Understand?"
The cannonballs and gunshots above us become even louder. How many cannonballs did they fire at the mansion? They take it without any resistance, and yet, the explosions are still echoing like a loud continuous thud down here in the well. How far have we crawled? I doubt anyone with a sane mind will follow us to this well.
With determination in her eyes, Rachel nods. "Just follow the passage. I'll trail behind you, Helen."
Offering my pinky once more, I make a solemn request. "If you can hold your breath, promise me you'll cling to my legs as tightly as you can."
"I promise," Rachel replies, her voice resolute.
Without the guiding light orb, navigating becomes a daunting task, but it's better for me to lead than my older sister. As I reach for another narrow passage, Rachel follows closely behind. Though wider than before, the passage still submerges us, the water pressing down on our forms.
I can feel Rachel's grip tight around my small leg, her hold surprisingly strong. Guiding her across the passage is manageable thanks to the water, but it adds to my burden.
Crawling onward, Rachel's grasp nearly cuts off circulation to my left leg. Yet, I press forward, knowing it's essential for conserving her oxygen. In reality, it only compounds my discomfort.
Water threatens to infiltrate my nose, but I persevere, refusing to let it breach my lungs. The sting of water in my eyes and the abrasion of the cave ceiling against my ears serve as painful reminders, yet I forge ahead.
Rachel's grip tightens further, accompanied by more bubbles escaping from her mouth. Her panic intensifies, but I understand her fear all too well. If I don't quicken my pace, she'll succumb to the water. Pushing my body to its limit, I urge myself onward, knowing that just a little farther could mean the difference between life and death.
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I pry open the grated gate, leading us out towards the river. With all my strength, I haul Rachel's limp body from the narrow passage and onto the shallow riverbank. The water rises up to my neck, but I manage to drag Rachel to safety, my hands gripping her armpits tightly.
As I catch my breath, the weight of our ordeal sinks in. How long were we trapped in that secret passageway? I feared Rachel wouldn't survive.
Laying her on the grass, I gasp for air, water still constricting my throat as I cough and sputter. Rachel mirrors my efforts, expelling the water that had invaded her body.
Glancing back, I see the faint glow of flames in the distance—a stark reminder of our burning mansion, reduced to insignificance against the vast night sky. The realization hits hard: we're the only ones left. Everyone else must be dead or captured.
More water spills from Rachel's nose as she approaches me. "Helen, I didn't think we'd make it out of that passage alive," she says between coughs.
I touch the wound on my head, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, me neither." Now, faced with the grim reality of our situation, the question remains: what do we do next? It's just the two of us—a teenager and a 13-year-old child. We need to flee, to escape to somewhere far from here, though where exactly that is, I'm not yet sure.