Rubble smothered the cave entrance.
Huge rocks occupied much of the where the opening was before. Loose dirt and smaller rocks filled in the rest of the space, along with additional debris from what must have been a controlled explosion. Dak knew that the members of his team carried a small amount of ordnance capable of such a tactical demolition job.
A sickening feeling washed over him as he stared blankly at the blockade. Part of his anxiety came from the fact that he was trapped in a cave and no one was coming to help. There was another huge part of his mind, though, that focused on what happened. The men he trusted most in the world had betrayed him.
His mind wandered, as it tended to do at times, pushing his thoughts to a faraway fantasy world where he tracked down the men who betrayed him. In that daydream, he exacts revenge on each one of them for what they’ve done.
Spending time and energy on such things was hardly productive. It didn’t get him out of here and now that he was stuck, the clock was running. He’d have two or three days to survive without water. After that, he’d be dead.
He stepped to the sloped barrier of rock and debris and pulled at some of the smaller stones. They gave way easily enough, but the second he jerked them free, more dust and rock collapsed into the passage, making things worse than they were just seconds before. He looked up to the cave ceiling and realized that part of the roof was being held up by the boulders blocking the way out. Even if he could get them to move, the rock and earth overhead might crush him.
Dak put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment. He analyzed the walls and ceiling. They were hand-cut, not naturally formed by time and pressure. Someone had spent a great amount of time carving out these passages in limestone.
If they built one way in, perhaps there was another.
Dak hurried back down the corridor, making his way to the big room in half the time it took to get to the top.
The dozens of bodies lying on the floor greeted him again, but he ignored the sight and focused on his search, the only thing that might save his life.
The light on the phone panned across the room as he turned one way and then the other, scanning the walls for any sign of a door. Unfortunately, he found nothing.
He stepped over two dead men and stopped at the wall, then slowly made his way around the perimeter of the room, tapping on the rock with the butt of the Kalashnikov on his shoulder. Every time, the same sound resonated from the dense stone.
Dak was about to give up the search and return to the original cave entrance when he noticed something unusual. His skin tickled at the sensation and he spun around to find the source. A thin stream of air washed over his arms, causing the hairs on his forearms to raise.
“A draft,” he said.
He froze again and waited until he could detect the faint sliver of air seeping into the room. Then he realized where it was coming from. He spied a huge metal supply box sitting against the wall, propped flush against it.
Cocking his head to the side, Dak tiptoed over to it, narrowly avoiding patches of drying blood.
He stopped and craned his neck, bending over at the hips until he could see behind the huge metal crate.
There, behind the backside of the box, was an opening in the wall large enough for him to crawl through. It only reached about three feet high and was probably that wide, but it was more than enough for Dak to fit.
He looked back over his shoulder. The darkroom seemed a fitting end to the terrorists, men who’d taken the lives of so many innocent.
It wouldn’t be his end.
Dak wedged one leg between the wall and the metal crate and used his weight to push the heavy container away from the cavity until he had enough room to use both legs and his rear end. Once the box was far enough away from the wall, Dak got down on his hands and knees, pointed the light into the black opening, and started crawling.
Eight
Hamrin Mountains
To Dak, it seemed like he was crawling for hours. His knees rubbed raw on the hard stone surface of the little tunnel. His hands and fingers, too, were worn to the point he could almost sense the skin peeling away layer after layer as he pressed forward into the mountain passage.
He noted that the walls in the confined corridor appeared to be similar to the ones in the paths he walked through before, cut in a seemingly hurried fashion. The sides and roof were jagged, undulating.
He found himself wondering why someone would cut through hard rock such as this, and not bother to continue carving through it in a way that would allow people to stand on their feet instead of crawling on their bellies.
Dak checked his watch as he reached a bend in the tunnel and noted he'd only been crawling for fifteen minutes. He sighed, frustrated, but didn't let those emotions deter him. He had to keep going.
His tongue felt parched. Every time he swallowed gave the sensation of sandpaper grating against the back of his throat. He knew he needed something to drink, but he was far from dehydration. Dak and the others had been deliberate about taking in plenty of fluids, both before the mission and during. Out in the desert dry air, moisture got sucked out of people faster than they realized, which meant diligence was a necessary component of staying on top of personal hydration needs.
He was thirsty, but he'd be okay. For now.
Dak pressed on, reaching another switchback
