Immortal Flame (20 page)

Peter had to buy time for Allie to rescue Quincy. He needed to distract or disable the minion. Neither action would be easy.

As he scrambled to his feet, Anton struck back, shattering Peter's rib with a deep snap.

Peter fought a wave of nausea as the rib shifted and knitted back together within seconds. He held his breath, bracing himself against the agony. Tasting blood, he recovered enough to return a punch and kick combination that staggered Anton. The minion shook his head and ran at Peter, bellowing like an enraged bull.

He hit Peter with enough force to hurl him down into the pine trees. More bones cracked. The snowy world inverted as Peter scraped down the trunk and fell headfirst into a drift of snow. His vision blurred, leaving only a smear of white with black specks flitting across. It would take a minute to see again. Hell, he didn't have a minute.

Digging out of the snow, he squinted against his throbbing headache and willed the healing to go faster. One dark shape moved toward the opening of the mine.

Allie? Or Anton?

With the men locked in vicious battle, Allison crept around the far edge of the clearing, approaching the mine entrance from the side. A rope lay coiled at the opening of the mine; a length disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.

Staying low, she crouched just inside the entrance, probing the tunnel with her mind. As she slipped off her snowshoes, Quincy's aura pinged weakly back to her, almost like sonar. Allison pulled her backpack around and fished out a flashlight. Looping the strap over her wrist, she clicked it on but saw only a small tunnel vanishing into darkness.

At that moment, Anton shot her a bloody grin from across the clearing, despite Peter's blows. “What do we have here? Lovely, lovely intruder.”

In a whoosh of air Anton hurled Peter into the trees on the other side of the clearing. Peter landed with a sickening crunch of bone and branches that she could hear, even at this distance. He didn't move.

Oh God.

She had to get Quincy.

Anton stalked toward the mine entrance.

Terror driving her, she dove into the tunnel and hunched down, half running, half crawling into the dusty mine. Supporting timbers flashed by. She expected to see Anton right behind her. But when she looked back, he remained at the entrance. Her flashlight's beam bounced off his sadistic leer, backlit by the snowy terrain behind him.

He had the rope in his hand.

“Bye-bye, pretty pretty.” He pulled the cord as Peter collided with him, knocking Anton away from the entrance.

She heard a rumble above her as her flashlight beam caught a bare foot ahead in the tunnel. Quincy!

Rocks crashed down around them.

Crouching, she scooped up the limp girl. Swinging the flashlight around, she desperately searched for safety.

There, a tiny niche next to a supporting beam. As she squeezed herself and Quincy into the space, the tunnel collapsed. Rocks banged off her back and head as she cradled Quincy, shielding her niece as the entire world fell down around them.

Allison cried out as a rock glanced off her leg, and Quincy whimpered and shifted. She held her niece tighter as the deep, deafening rumbling continued. Minutes passed.

A dusty, ominous silence descended in the pitch-black.

• • •

Peter struggled to his feet and crossed the clearing. As he approached the mine entrance, Anton yelled into the black hole and pulled the cord. A loud rumbling and a plume of black dust erupted.

Allie.

Hell. She's in there
.

Between one blink and the next, Pater bent the minion beneath more vicious blows. Anton wheezed and stumbled backward. Peter refused to stop, even though he'd eventually wear out, despite his super strength. With every kick and punch, fear and fury mixed into an all-consuming, explosive compound inside Peter's mind. He tried to destroy the minion with his bare hands, his only goal to drive the man away from the mine entrance. He threw Anton into the boulder field, the minion's eerie screams bouncing off the snowy landscape.

Slower now and favoring one leg, Anton returned. Blood flowed from his damaged nose. One limp arm hung at his side. The minion charged, frothing and yelling.

Honing his rage, fear, and strength into a lethal point of convergence, a state of surreal calm came over Peter. This was it. He pulled the knife from his ankle holster. Anton stopped short and rocked back on his heels.

“You can't use that on me,” he said, eyes bulging.

“And why not?” Peter shook with fury.

Every minute he had to deal with Anton was a minute Allie might not have.

Bloody spittle formed at the corners of Anton's mouth. “The rules. We can't use the blades on each other.”

“Does it appear that I care about rules?”

He pointed at the black cloud of dust drifting out of the mine, then struck without warning, backing Anton down the slope with vicious slices. When he pierced Anton's side with the blade, the minion howled.

“You can't do that!” Anton stared in horror as dark blood spread over his shirt.

“Of course I can,” Peter said calmly. “And I intend to destroy you with it.”

He lunged, grazing the man's leg. Blood spurted. Anton screamed in pain as Peter's knife began to glow.

“Oh, Anton, she's hungry for you,” Peter crooned, brandishing the blade.

Blinded by desire to fill the knife with prey's blood, Peter struck with a killing blow, but Anton turned at the last moment. The luminescent knife glanced off the minion's chest wall, filleting clothing and a dinner plate-sized chunk of flesh. Dark blood pulsed out of the wound, melting the snow beneath the steaming piece of minion meat.

Shrieking with the force of a train whistle, the minion hit Peter hard enough to knock him to his knees and cloud his vision again before the minion sprinted down the hillside. Peter saw him as a bloody blur, skirting the lake and dodging onto the return trail down the mountain. Anton left a path of blood in his wake, visible even from where Peter sprawled.

Peter staggered to his feet and shook his head again, clearing it. Anton wouldn't win the day today, but the minion would heal and gather his strength. He'd be back.
May you get an infection and gangrene and rot.
Too bad that wasn't possible.

Every nerve in his body strained to finish the kill. But with the knife still glowing with unfulfilled hunger, Peter dragged his base desires back to the present priority.

Scrambling across the trampled, bloody snow to the entrance of the mine, he peered inside. Dust and rocks sealed the mine access five feet into the entrance. Peter's blood ran cold. Allie was down there. Trapped. Possibly hurt. Or dead.

“Allie!” he yelled.

Only rock-solid silence answered him.

• • •

In the heavy blackness, Allison took stock of her situation. She slowed her panicked breathing and took a slow, deep inhalation. Mistake. She choked on the dusty air.

By some miracle, the flashlight still dangled from her wrist. Praying it would work, she clicked it on, the LED glow illuminating her tomb.

Her right leg was buried under a foot of rubble. The timber she had huddled against held the worst rock fall away from them, but rock encased them. There wasn't a whisper of air movement. No sound met her ears except for her harsh breathing and Quincy's whimper.

Unwrapping her left arm from the backpack, she chafed Quincy's arms, alarmed at how cold her niece was.

“Mmmph, Mommy?” the girl mumbled.

Her heart twisted. “No sweetie, it's Auntie Al.”

“Auntie Al?” Quincy started crying and turned to wrap her arms around Allison's neck.

She patted Quincy's back and murmured reassurances, rocking her. The movement hurt her leg, but she ignored it.

“Let me see you, sweetie.” Allison turned her flashlight at a shivering Quincy. Her niece's face was caked with dust, lined with tear streaks, but there was no apparent head injury. She ran both hands over the girl's head, arms, chest, and legs. Quincy's feet were icy.

“I'm cold.”

“I know, sweetie. Let's get you warmed up.”

Allison pulled on her own leg, but it wouldn't move. She shifted rocks and, gritting her teeth against the pain, yanked her leg out from the rubble. Several chunks of rock and dirt released from the ceiling. If she moved too much, they'd be crushed for sure.

Quincy's pale face floated before her in the flashlight's yellow glow. “I'm hungry, too.”

“I bet you are.” She fished in her backpack for supplies. “First of all, we'll warm up those tootsies.”

Working in the limited space, Allison pulled out hand warmers and broke them open, shaking vigorously to activate the iron oxide and charcoal. Warmth emanated from the packets, and she placed them against Quincy's feet, putting a plastic bag and a sock on top of each one.

Quincy giggled. “That's silly, a plastic bag.”

“Yep, you're a bag lady now.”

Allison crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, trying to distract Quincy from her discomfort. She next stripped off Quincy's thin Cinderella dress and pulled on two thermal tops and bottoms, knotting the excess material at the hems. She added a woolen cap and tied the flaps under Quincy's chin.

“Better?” At her nod, Allison asked, “Want a snack?”

Quincy licked her dry lips as Allison handed her niece a water bottle.

“Drink first. It's important.”

After they both had some water, Allison capped the bottle and replaced it in the backpack. She produced a granola bar and was pleased when Quincy finished it.

“How do we get out?” Quincy asked, lower lip quivering.

“Don't worry. Mr. Peter will help us. The best thing to do is rest.”

For all she knew, he wasn't even alive. Her breaths started to come quicker, and Allison fought to maintain control. Desperation gripped her, riding the rapid heart rate pounding in her chest. Finally, she forced herself to take a calming breath as she relaxed her tense muscles. When she settled Quincy into her lap, the girl tucked her head into Allison's chest and fell fast asleep.

After taking stock of her situation, the prognosis was grim. If he was alive, she had no idea if even someone as strong as Peter could unbury them without large machinery. How much oxygen remained in the pocket of rubble?

And the mine's stability? Questionable at best. Simply moving her leg caused another small rock fall. She could only imagine what digging under the ceiling would do. They'd be buried before anyone could get to them.

She had one more bottle of water and three more granola bars. That wouldn't last long. No one knew they were at this particular lake, in this mine. No one except for Peter, and Anton may have killed him.

So no one was coming.

Oh God. She and her niece were going to slowly die here in this hole, and Allison couldn't do anything about it. Terror made her lightheaded. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen, which she admitted was becoming a very real threat now.

It took twice the effort to draw in enough air. Her chest burned and her fingertips started to tingle.

Try to relax
.

The only thing left to do was attempt to connect with Peter. Her freakish, evolving powers had to be good for something, right?

Resting her head against the cold wall, she closed her eyes and forced her numb mind to reach back through the rubble into the clearing. Again, like sonar, she sensed the pain and rage boiling in Peter's head. At least he was still alive. Maybe her gift could save them now.

Maybe.

She tried to reach out to get him to notice her.

How do I do that
?
Knock?

She pulled at the neckline of her shirt, trying to gulp a breath. She had trouble concentrating.

Pushing her thoughts as hard as she could, she tried to send him a message. Suddenly, their connection snapped into place, like two opposite magnet poles clicking into each other. He was right there in her mind. With the last of her depleted reserves, she pushed her message to him.

“Help me.”

She passed out in the frigid, pitch-black tomb.

“Allie?” he said aloud and in his mind.

Silence.

Nothing remained of her in his consciousness. His heart pounded in his chest. Time had run out.

He ran back across the clearing and grabbed the backpack he'd dropped before fighting Anton. Pulling out a flashlight, he set it at the entrance of the mineshaft. The waning late afternoon light and flashlight glow gave him enough visibility to work. He clawed at the rubble, hurling rocks out of the mine at a rate no mortal could match. Every few minutes a section of roof collapsed on him, the stones banging off his back and head, but grimly, he kept digging.

He reached out with his mind and touched … nothing. Cold sweat rolled down his face. How much rock did he have to move? How much time did he have?

Get to Allie
.

She had to be alive. Even if he couldn't be with her, at least he would know she lived. That would be enough.

He dug faster.

The knife on his leg pulsed with hungry heat, its appetite whetted but not yet slaked. Damn it, he still had to deal with Anton, but not now. Ignoring the knife's pull, Peter kept digging, his scratched hands healing almost as quickly as he injured them.

The minutes crept by. He kept going. His whole existence boiled down to getting these two people free from the hell he had caused. Rock by flung rock, he inched deeper into the mine, tunneling into the rubble.

Finally, he removed a large rock and stopped. There was nothing behind it. Grabbing the flashlight, he shone it into blackness. Turning the beam downward he saw a familiar leg and boot.

“Allie?” When there was no response, his gut clenched. “Allie?” he called louder, his voice absorbed by the small space where she lay.

Stale, lifeless air returned through the hole he'd created in the rubble.