Chapter Seven
Maxwell
I dozed off at one point and only woke up when I tipped over and slumped onto the muddy ground. The cold mud against my cheek was a jolt to my system, and I sat up, feeling disoriented. It took me a few seconds to remember what was happening, and then the familiar dread returned in full force.
The dark night was giving way to a soft wash of pink and lavender. It made me uneasy when I also noticed dark clouds hovering in the morning sky. Rain was the last thing I needed right now. That would only weaken the surrounding walls more, and they’d start disintegrating.
My prison was just as terrifying in the morning light. I could visibly see how loose and weak the walls were. Thick roots poked out from the dark dirt, and if the walls had seemed stable, maybe I could have used them to try and climb to the top. But I didn’t dare touch the walls. Even without touching them, every now and then, I’d hear stones fall, reaffirming just how precarious they were.
Since nothing about my muddy prison seemed manmade, I assumed I’d fallen into what was called a sinkhole. I’d heard of them but never encountered one before. They formed when water dissolved the minerals in the rock, leaving open spaces within the rocks and soil beneath. West Texas had somenotorious sinkholes, and while Rainy Dale was located in North Texas, they could happen anywhere there was water and the right kind of rock below the surface.
I was once more baffled by my bad luck. What were the odds of someone stumbling across a sinkhole out in the middle of nowhere? Probably infinitesimal. As if dealing with a deranged River wasn’t enough trouble, I had to fall down a fuckingsinkhole? If I hadn’t been so close to crying, I might have laughed.
But I didn’t feel like laughing.
I was thirsty and shivering from sitting in mud for hours. My feet were waterlogged, and my pant legs wet and sticking to my skin. This was a horribly unhealthy situation on so many levels. God only knew what bacteria might be breeding in the sludge. With my luck, flesh-eating microbes were down here with me. Why not? I seemed to have the worst luck of anyone in the universe.
The hours stretched with me staring up at the sky, praying it didn’t rain. Unfortunately, the sky continued to darken, and I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. When River had first taken me, I’d had high hopes that Royce might find me. But as one disaster after another kept occurring, my hope was quickly evaporating.
How in the world would anyone be able to find me in time? Logic told me I needed to make peace with the fact that I was going to die. I didn’t know how to go about that, though, because I was pissed off at the very idea. I yearned to keep living. Despite how dire my circumstances were, and they could hardly get worse, I refused to let go of one tiny thread of hope that Royce would save me. I kept imagining him suddenly poking his head over the edge of the hole, giving me one of his lopsided smiles.
Now, what in tarnation are you doing down there, Max?
I could almost hear his voice. Smell his cologne. Feel his arms around me. Life had been so disappointing up until I’d met Royce. I wanted to live so desperately. I realized that life wasn’t fair, but this just felt soridiculouslyunfair. What could I possibly have done to deserve this?
When a drop of rain hit my face, a bubble of hysterical laughter almost escaped. “Are you serious?” My voice shook as I struggled to keep the hysteria at bay. Had anyone in the history of the world ever had worse luck than me? Maybe lightning would strike me down in this hole. For anyone else, the odds of that happening would be inconceivable. But I was Maxwell Thornton: magnet for all things unimaginable.
The rain started coming down harder, and I couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer. It burst out of me in a loud bark. Once I started, it was impossible to stop. I doubled over, laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tears ran down my face as I guffawed like a donkey.
When the far wall started to crumble, my laughter rang out even louder and then slowly morphed into an agonizing sob.
****
I opened my eyes, gasping for air. Apparently, I’d passed out? I lay on my side, back pressed to the muddy wall behind me. The last thing I remembered was the far wall disintegrating in front of me. I’d been laughing like a hyena, and then mud and debris had started sliding toward me. I’d assumed the hole was collapsing in on itself, but it seemed as if the hole had grown wider.
Instead of falling on me and crushing me, the opposite wall had caved in the other direction. What had only been six feet wide was now around twelve. In front of me was a sloping pile of rock and mud. I sat up on my elbow, muddy water sloshing. It was still raining, but only lightly. I couldn’t believe I was alive. I’d thought for sure the hole was caving in on me. I felt numb. I should have been rejoicing, but I was emotionally and physically exhausted. All I could do was gape at the bigger hole in front of me.
It took every ounce of strength to push up onto my knees. I crawled forward a few inches, staring out of the bigger hole up at the sky. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I wondered if maybe I could somehow crawl up the sloping pile in front of me. I had no idea if the mud could support my weight. It was possible I might just sink down into it and suffocate. There would be no extracting myself if I began to sink. I was too weak.
Heart thumping, I weighed my options. Sitting here and doing nothing might seem safer, but was it really? Most likely, all the walls were on the verge of collapsing. I might not get lucky a second time. Odds were eventually the walls would come crashing down on top of me, and I’d be buried in the rubble. Wasn’t it wiser to be proactive? Shouldn’t I at least try to escape?
One reason I hesitated was the cold and extreme exhaustion made me feel feeble. Generally, I prided myself on being in good physical condition. But at the moment, I felt as weak as a kitten. Did I have the strength it would take to struggle through the mud and rock to climb to the top? Did I have a choice? How much longer could I sit in this mud without gettingsick? I needed to be dry. I needed hydration. I needed warmth.
I need to live.
I climbed to my feet, swaying slightly. My knee ached, but the pain was manageable. Slogging through the mud and rocks might make it worse. By putting strain on my knee, I could easily damage the cartilage and ligaments permanently. But what good was a healthy knee if I was dead?
I inched toward the muddy slope, eyeballing the distance between me and the top of the pit. The ground at the top was probably precarious. If I was lucky enough to reach the top, would the dirt crumble under my weight? I might waste a lot of energy trying to get to the top, only to be buried at the last minute. Shivering, I decided it was worth the risk. I couldn’t just sit here waiting to die. I had to fight. Even if a part of me just wanted to curl up in a ball and fall asleep, I had to fight.
Gritting my teeth, I tentatively tested the pile of mud and rock with my foot. It wasn’t firm, but it wasn’t as soft as I’d feared. Sucking in a steadying breath, I stepped further onto the pile. My left foot sank a few inches, but I stuck out my arms to balance myself. I had a newfound respect for funambulists. Surely scaling this pile of rubble would be easier than walking a tightrope.
I took another step, and my foot sank deeper that time. Uneasiness wormed through me, but I decided to keep going. I slowly took a few more painstaking steps, grunting anytime my foot sank. It was impossible not to be terrified. With every step, I second-guessed my decision. The fear of being swallowed alive buzzed through me.
It was humid, and sweat covered my face as I took yet another step. The angle was awkward for standing upright. I felt unsteady and like I would tip backward any second. I bent over and began to slowly make my way, using my hands for balance. I felt more stable in that position, although I probably looked like an idiot.
I was about a quarter of the way up the pile when the wall to the right of me began to crumble. I gasped in terror, watching it disintegrate in front of my very eyes. Unfortunately, unlike the side I was attempting to climb, that side didn’t cave backward. Instead, it tumbled forward, intersecting with the pile I was traversing. The ground shook and rumbled as a slow-moving wave of sludge melded with the mud and rocks I stood on. The force of the moving rubble knocked me to my knees.
Swearing under my breath, I tried to scramble more quickly up the slope I was already on. My left foot seemed to hit an especially soft patch, and I sank all the way up to my thigh. Panic shot through me, and I instinctively tried to pull it out. That put more weight on my right leg, which caused it to sink further down.
