Sydney
The rat-tat-tat of gunfire explodes outside. My eyes lock with Declan’s. “Hold your fire,” he says, speaking into an unseen transmitter. I don’t hear a response, but he starts backing up.
I edge toward the basement steps.
My hand slides into my pocket; Declan shakes his head and holds his own palms up to me.
Let’s not involve weapons, his eyes communicate.
Declan stops moving and the doors to the garden burst open, soldiers piling in. I duck into the shadows and jog lightly to the tapestry, pulling it aside and pushing open the door, letting the embroidered artwork fall back into place behind me. I close the door.
Blue and I stand in darkness. Feeling blindly, I find the bolt and force it into place. My back to the door, I pull my phone out.
There are several more text messages from Mulberry and Robert along with a warning that I’m at five percent battery. I swipe the alerts away and turn on the flashlight.
Wooden steps fade into darkness. “Okay, Blue,” I say. “You first.” He trots forward, his tail swinging as he descends. That same chilling sensation crawls over my skin but I press on. This is the only way out.
Moments later Blue’s nails click onto stone and my flashlight illuminates a damp floor with a wall close in front of us. To our left, the room opens up.
In the far corner, a pedestal with a large glass container sitting upon it is lit by a pendant lamp. The gunfire and yelling above is muffled.
Rida said the entrance to the escape passageway was behind the relic.
My eyes snag on the jawbone as we approach. It is black with dirt, the teeth yellow and pitted. How can this rotted mandible mean so much to people?
My grandmother’s twin wedding rings, a band of emeralds and a band of diamonds, flash across my mind. I’d always hoped to inherit them. When Nana passed away, Mom said I was too young to care for them. Not because of their monetary value, but because of the emotional weight they bore. Cherished objects do carry meaning beyond their physical worth.
My hand moves to my stomach. The weight of Robert’s mother’s ring seems to increase. He might’ve just bought it, made up the story about his mother, using family history as a manipulation. Robert certainly wouldn’t be the first man to do so for his own purposes.
Blue whines, reminding me that it’s time to move. He leads the way to a wooden door set in the stone wall behind the pedestal. It is damp with condensation. I grasp the metal handle and have to brace myself to pull it open. Raising my phone, I expose dark dirt walls with plant roots hanging from the ceiling. They sway gently in the draft created by the open doorway. It’s creepy as hell.
I follow Blue inside and close the door behind us, bolting it in place before turning toward the dark hall. It’s too narrow for Blue and me to walk comfortably side by side. He pulls ahead, leading the way; my phone light illuminates the walls, but barely penetrates any distance ahead.
We begin to jog and then my phone battery dies, sinking us into utter darkness. My heart thunders in my ears. The scents of dirt and ocean strengthen. I reach out, my fingers brush against the wall, some of it crumbling away at my touch. What if it collapses? I could be buried alive.
Blue’s wet nose brushes my other fingers and his body leans against my leg. I find his collar, and he leads me forward. We move quickly through the darkness.
In the distance a thin ray of light comes from above. I pull my gun and we approach slowly. A vertical passageway equipped with a metal ladder leading upwards comes into focus.
I stop just short of the opening, crouching low with Blue by my side. A pair of legs appears, the feet finding purchase on the ladder as they descend. A figure drops to the ground then steps back and looks up, light hitting her face. Zerzan.
Another pair of legs appears. Is that Petra? What is she doing here? Zerzan climbs back up the ladder and starts to close the opening as I move forward.
I open my mouth to greet them. The tunnel shakes and a crash that sounds a lot like the door I came through breaking open is followed by the sound of thumping footsteps. “Run!” I yell, racing toward Petra and Zerzan.
Petra’s eyes widen in surprise, but that doesn’t slow her down. Turning, she flees into the darkness. Zerzan leaps off the ladder and follows.
Blue and I race under the spear of light, and barrel into darkness.
Zerzan holds up a light. It bounces wildly as her arms pump. The earthen walls seem to absorb the sound of our footsteps, yet the stone floor amplifies the noise of those chasing us.
The beam of Zerzan’s light flashes across a metal door and she skids to a halt in front of it. When she yanks it open, the narrow passageway floods with bright sunlight. She steps into the blinding light, becoming a black silhouette, and beckons us forward.
We spill into a limestone cave—the floor, walls, and ceilings rounded and pale yellow.
The wide mouth of the cave frames the sea, horizon and sky. It feels like we are suspended in air, like we are floating. The low winter sun beams into the cave, lighting every recess.
Zerzan slams the door and locks it.
I approach the lip of the cave. It is about a twenty-foot drop down to the shimmering Mediterranean. A skiff bobs in the water, several Peshmerga fighters already on board. A rappelling rope is set into the cliffside.
A rustling sound pulls my attention back into the cave. Zerzan tosses a climbing harness from a pile on the floor to Petra. She catches it, her cheeks pink from exertion and eyes bright. Zerzan picks up another harness and throws it to me, the jumble of straps landing at my feet.
“We will have to rig something for Blue,” she says, then turns and grabs a watertight bag from a hook set into the wall. She slips her backpack off of her shoulder. I crouch down and arrange the harness, glancing up to see Zerzan wrestling the green army bag into the wet sack. “That’s Rida’s bag,” I say. “Where is she?”
I step into my harness and bend again to pull it up my legs. “She’s dead,” Zerzan says quietly. “Shot in the back of the head.” My hands go numb, my fingers faltering on the harness.
“Dead,” I repeat quietly. Zerzan gives a swift and harsh nod.
I swallow my grief and focus on the buckles of my harness.
I tighten the harness around my left thigh. “You know,” I say, not realizing the words planned to leave my mouth until they echoed in the cave. “All I wanted was to make a safe place for my child. That’s all I wanted.” I’m babbling.
Zerzan, the bag now waterproofed, stands up. “Safety is a fantasy,” she says, grabbing two more harnesses. “A lie we tell ourselves—that we just need to keep ourselves, our loved ones safe.” She lays the two harnesses on the ground and kneels next to them. “It doesn’t matter if it’s your blood, or a neighbor, or a child halfway across the globe.” She is reworking the straps, combining the two harnesses together—rigging something for Blue. “Injustice affects us all. No matter if we choose to notice or not.”
She shifts position, continuing to rig the harness. “People who create cocoons and choose to ignore the suffering of others, they must work hard not to think about those other things. And for those who say…” Zerzan stands again and crosses to Petra, whose harness is on. Zerzan checks it, pulling at a few straps before jerking her chin toward the rappelling rope.
“For those who say it is not their fight, they will still fight,” Zerzan continues, clipping Petra’s harness onto the rope. “They will fight with themselves, their loved ones, driven by an unease that will be impossible to shake.”
Petra leans back, the rappelling rope taking her weight. She looks over her shoulder. “I hate heights,” she mutters in her crisp accent. Zerzan calls Blue over to the harness she made for him and he steps into it as directed.
“You don’t need to lecture me about all the injustice in the world,” I say, tightening the strap on my right thigh. “I’ve spent years fighting for justice. I just, I’m sorry. I want a break.”
Petra looks at me, her brows knitted together like she is at once surprised and disgusted. “There’s no such thing as a break,” she says. “You don’t get a break from life.” She shakes her head at me and then jumps backwards off the edge of the cliff. The rope goes slack for a moment, then pulls taunt as it catches her weight.
Blue growls, warning us that the black-clad soldiers are almost upon us.
Zerzan has rigged harnesses around each set of his legs, and she hooks the two harnesses together in the middle of his back. I step up to the rappelling rope and crouch down so that Zerzan can attach Blue’s harness to mine, adding extra straps around my shoulders to help bear his weight. She clips carabiners into place—and runs a length of rope through the stopper at my waist—which allows me to decide how much rope to release at a time. “With Blue on you, it will be heavier. So be careful,” she warns.
I’m at the very edge of the cliff. I lean back, my feet still on the stone, my body with Blue hanging off it, levered over empty space. The rope holds us both.
Zerzan grins, her teeth flashing in the bright sunlight. “Time to go,” she says, then opening her arms wide, swan dives off the edge arching toward the water below.
Something slams into the door of the cave; it shudders in the frame but does not give way. I release the rope, push off the rock, and we’re flying through the air, swinging out and away.
I stop the release and we hurtle back toward the rock face. I hit it with knees bent and kick away, releasing more rope. We sail through the air, Blue warm on my back.
There is no freedom, no peace and no justice. There is only revolution.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of book 15 in the Sydney Rye Mysteries, coming 2022.
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