Yes—there. Thank God. Scrambling over in the direction of the light, Jory almost fell into the tunnel—the mouth of it wasn’t as he remembered, the gash in the earth stretching farther than it had all the time he’d known it. “Be careful,” he yelled back to Tasha. “The tunnel’s collapsed.”
God, what he wouldn’t give for a moonlit night. Or at least for the bloody rain to stop. Jory got down on hands and knees and felt his way over the unsafe ground.
“Can you see him?” Tasha yelled. “Mal?”
“Over here.” Mal’s voice was more distinct this time. Closer.
Frustrated with his slow progress, Jory got back to his feet and set off in a running crouch. It was a mistake. The ground seemed to fall away suddenly, taking Jory’s feet with it, and he landed on something soft that said, “Fuck,” and grabbed hold of him with both hands. “Jory?” was gasped out, and his name had never sounded so sweet.
It was Mal.
“Thank God.” It came out embarrassingly heartfelt, but Jory couldn’t bring himself to care too much. In any case he was busy running his hands over all of Mal he could reach. Damn it, if only he could see . . . Oh. Feeling like an idiot, he turned his headlamp back on. That first glimpse of Mal’s face, dripping wet and mud streaked, made him dizzy with relief. “Are you hurt? I mean, your leg—how bad is it?”
Tasha stumbled down beside them, half-landing on Jory’s shoulder. “Shitfuck. Babe, you okay?” Her voice was high and thin.
“Yeah, I’m good. Chill, Tash.”
Chill?
Mal was lying in a depression caused by the collapse of the tunnel, his legs buried. God, how long had this weak spot been waiting for someone to tread on it at the wrong moment? Mal could have been buried alive down there. Why the hell hadn’t Jory been more responsible? He should have reported it, had it roped off—
“’M okay,” Mal said. “Just, there’s this rock or something? Couldn’t shift it.”
Jory dug down around him with numb fingers. There wasn’t so much this rock as there were a number of large rocks jamming Mal in place. “Tasha, hold on to him,” he ordered, just in case he managed to dislodge the one thing keeping Mal from total inhumation.
“Got him.”
Her words were confirmed a moment later by Mal’s “Ow, fuck, not so tight.”
Jory carried on digging, vaguely registering a good deal of swearing along the lines of You wanker, you do this again Imma cut your balls off with a spoon.
Tasha was definitely growing on him.
Then he found what Mal had been talking about. A larger fragment of what had once been the tunnel roof was jammed against Mal’s thigh. It had to be bloody painful. Jory stared, blinking rainwater out of his eyes. Was that blood on his jeans? Or just dirt?
Either way, he needed to get Mal out of here. “Tasha?” he yelled. “When I tell you, can you try and pull him out—not yet,” he added as Mal cursed. “When I tell you.” He dug frantically, but it was no use. The fragment was stuck firm, damn it. Jory couldn’t shift it—and was scared to try in case he hurt Mal more. He sat back on his heels for a moment, thinking.
“Now?” Tasha yelled.
“No,” Jory and Mal shouted back simultaneously.
“I’m going to try digging the other side of you,” Jory decided. “Take off the pressure.”
It was easier going, digging this side. Relatively speaking. “Have you got him?” he yelled to Tasha as he felt Mal shift.
“Yeah. Want me to pull?”
“Wait . . .” Jory dug further and felt another give. “Okay, now,” he ordered, slinging his arms around Mal’s body and doing his best to heave him upwards, hoping desperately Mal would have the sense to stop them if they were injuring him.
Mal moved—and then Tasha yelped as Mal landed on top of her, and Jory barely managed to keep from adding his own not inconsiderable weight to the pile.
They all lay there for a moment in the pouring rain, breathing hard—and then Jory realised Mal was laughing.
Thank God. Jory fumbled over to take him in his arms, while Tasha scrabbled away from them with a muttered “You arse.” Jory kissed Mal’s rain-slick face, tasting dirt and not caring. Mal’s mouth found his and locked on tight, even when Jory’s headlamp bashed him on the forehead. Jory managed to let go of him long enough to tear it off clumsily and let it fall where it might.
He’d probably regret that later, but right now he didn’t give a damn. He was too busy reassuring himself Mal was alive, was okay.
God knew how long they were kissing. Long enough for Tasha to yell a disgruntled “Oi, are we ever getting out of this pissing rain?”
Good point. Jory drew back from Mal, reluctantly. “Can you walk?”
“Dunno. Give it a go, yeah?”
Jory helped him up with hands that, now the urgency had gone, were beginning to feel rather the worse for wear—and almost dropped him when Mal stumbled. Tasha caught him from the other side.
Jory adjusted his hold. “Can you put weight on your leg?”
“Uh. Bit?”
“We just need to get you to the car.” Jory hoped to God Mal wouldn’t have another panic attack, but making him walk further than he needed to and maybe exacerbating his injuries wasn’t an option.
“Come on, you tosser, stop being a baby.” Tasha’s tone was more sympathetic than her words. “Fuck. Which way are we going?”
Jory took a moment to orient himself. The tunnel was there and the ground sloped in that direction, so . . . “This way.” He didn’t need his headlamp, so long as he kept the hedge beside them, and he certainly didn’t want to keep Mal out in the rain while he tried to find it.
He took
