“I need a doctor,” Desmond said, his voice weak. “Somebody ripped my side open dragging me in here.”

The sweat on his face supported the lie, but the soldier made no movement or response.

“You hear me? I need a doctor.”

The man’s voice was gruff, hard. “This look like a hospital to you?”

“No. Apparently it’s a home for idiot mercenaries. Incidentally, what do you think your employer will do to you when I die of sepsis shortly after delivery?” Desmond paused. “Gotta think your life expectancy plummets.”

“Show me.” Some of the bravado was gone from the man’s voice.

“Doctor.”

“You’re lying.”

Desmond turned and moved his right arm slightly, revealing part of his blood-soaked side. He made his words come out even more labored. “I figure they’ll kill me anyway. Least I’ll take you with me.”

“Walk to me.”

“Screw you,” Desmond spat.

For a moment he thought the man was going to open the cell. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out.

He returned ten minutes later, carrying a tray full of food and a small case. Hope filled Desmond until the man slid the tray through the bars. It was flimsy, Styrofoam—useless.

“Eat,” the suited man said.

“Not hungry. Too busy dying.” Desmond was incredibly hungry, but he knew what was in the food; he’d be unconscious shortly after his first bite. Then they would inspect his wound, discover his deception, and regard everything he said afterward with complete disbelief, ruining his chances of escape.

“You really want to do this the hard way?”

“I thought we already were.”

The soldier set the case on the ground, opened it, and prepped something. Desmond rose, ready to throw the rock and charge the iron bars, but the soldier was quick: he drew a pistol from the case and fired once, striking Desmond in the chest.

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Millen came to with a start. His torso ached, but it was a sensation at his leg that caught his attention: something slithering around his left calf. He lay still, waiting to see if whatever it was would move on. Instead, it closed tightly, squeezing like a vise. He thought it was no larger than an inch around, but it was strong, and with each passing second, it cut off more of his circulation.

He had fallen down a vertical shaft; he wasn’t sure how far. He was surrounded by absolute darkness, except for a single point of light in the distance, like a penlight in a train tunnel.

The thing closed more tightly around his leg. To Millen’s surprise, it pulled with incredible force, dragging him across the rock, into the wall.

The light shone brighter, raked across his body. He saw what had ensnared him: a rope, tied in a loop, lassoed around his leg.

“Stop!” he yelled.