Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Stone steps back, his gaze automatically shifting from the bars to the walls surrounding us, looking over the old cracks in the concrete and searching for anywhere that might have significantly weakened over time.
The sewer line was underground for a good portion of our walk; that much was clear by the tree roots that had grown through the tunnel’s walls over the years. But here at the end, the walls are exposed. If we could break through somewhere, we’d be free to run.
“Here,” he says a moment later, running his fingers over a portion of the wall that has signs of deterioration. “I just gotta figure out a way to get through it.”
I search around for anything we can use, but there’s nothing here but old sludge, mold, spiders, and dead rodents. But outside the tunnel . . .
I step right up to the bars, gripping them with both hands as I peer through to the overgrown bushland outside, searching the ground for anything I could grab, when my eyes widen, finding exactly what we need.
“Bingo,” I say, crouching down and slipping my arm as far through the bars as I can go, straining to reach. My fingers stretch out, landing on the edge of the old creek bed and digging at the years of overgrowth to the big rocks below.
I start pulling, trying to dislodge them from the creek bed, but after living here for so long, it’s not easy. The rocks put up a fight, and just as they start to wiggle, Stone sighs. “Anytime now.”
“I’d like to see you get your big, meaty arms through these bars,” I throw back at him. “Oh, wait. You can’t. So I suggest that because I’m the only shot you’ve got at getting out of this fucking tunnel, you shut up and let me do my thing.”
He wisely shuts up, and after a minute of wiggling the crap out of the rock, it finally loosens enough for me to pull it free from the creek bed. I roll it across the dirty ground, pulling it right up to the edge of the bars, but that’s about as much as I can help.
This rock must weigh more than a small human, and Stone has to step in to work the fucker through the gaps in the bars. It’s frustrating and takes longer than either of us cares for, but the moment he forces it through, he wastes no time, nailing the fucker right into the deteriorating concrete.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The sound of the rock slamming against the wall pounds through my head and echoes up the long tunnel, but Stone doesn’t let up, giving it all he’s got until beads of sweat dance across his skin.
The sun shifts lower, turning the sky a deep orange as we quickly begin running out of daylight, but he’s making headway, and piece by piece, bits of concrete crumble from the old tunnel wall.
His muscles swell, and even through the orange jumpsuit, I can tell just how hard they’re working. Concrete ricochets across the tunnel, and I cower behind him, my arms protecting my face as it turns into a wild rock storm. Until finally, we’re free.
Stone goes first, probably not trusting me not to make a break for it, and as he steps out into the real world for the first time in seven years, planting his feet on the overgrown bushland, he closes his eyes and breathes it in.
It feels like a personal moment, so I make a point to focus on getting one foot out of the tunnel, followed by the other, without somehow screwing it up. I take my time, but when I glance up and find Stone glaring daggers at me, I realize that perhaps taking my time is exactly what he doesn’t want me to do.
I hurry my pace, climbing the rest of the way out of the tunnel and into the fresh air when Stone steps right into me, something shifting in his eyes, warning me that he’s no longer the irritated tunnel companion with a short temper, he’s the man who was convicted of six murders, the man I watched effortlessly kill at least fifteen men without breaking a sweat, the man who tore someone’s throat out with his bare hands. And his undivided attention is on me.
My body shakes involuntarily, the terror returning tenfold, making me realize what a fool I’ve been trying to bait him, or to even suggest that he wouldn’t hurt me.
I back up a step, and he follows, tracking me like a predator until my back is up against the crumbled remains of the wall he just broke through. My eyes remain locked on his, distantly aware of the way his hand shifts into his pocket, and not knowing what he’s doing until I feel something sharp at the base of my throat, pressing into my skin just enough to cause a mild pain, but not enough to break the skin.