Treasure of the World by Tara Sullivan (best romantic books to read txt) 📗

stop breathing, terrified. They’re blasting. Whoever these unknown men are, they’re using dynamite. I hold my breath, digging my fingers into the rock, trying to feel through the mountain.

Even though I have no idea how many charges were set, I find myself counting them anyway, out of habit.

One . . . two . . . Somewhere in the twisted web of tunnels, fire and explosives are ripping holes in the rock that weren’t there before, further weakening the mountain.

Three . . . Abuelita said they’ve been mining in the Cerro Rico for over four hundred and seventy years. I wonder again how much more mining this one hill can take.

Four-five-six explode together . . . Whoever those mystery miners are, they’ll be far away from the dynamite and safe.

Seven . . . My breath is coming in gasps as I panic, and I can feel tears mixing with the sweat dripping off my face onto the ground. Please, I pray to whoever might be listening. Please take these tears instead of my blood. Don’t let me die when I just found proof that Daniel might be alive. Please.

Eight . . . I shove Daniel’s tiny clay angel into a pocket, push myself to my feet, and make myself jog up the disused tunnel.

Nine . . . ten . . . Surely they’re getting close to being done. I start to hope that I might not be buried alive today. Other than the irregular shudders, my tunnel is holding up well. If only my luck holds enough for the access tunnels to also be clear.

Eleven . . . twelve . . . Yes, it’s going to be okay. I take a shaky breath.

Thirteen. I hear a clattering, caving, rending sound behind me. In a blind panic, I break into a run, as fast as my terror-weakened legs can carry me. My giant boots feel like they weigh a thousand kilograms each, the suit is choking me, and my helmet rattles around on my head, throwing its beam in wild patterns over the jagged tunnel walls as I run.

The rumbling behind me has stopped, but I can feel from the popping in my ears that something has changed. I scramble over the boulders, heading for the exit shaft, when I trip on a loose rock and go flying. Smashing to the ground, I feel both of my palms split open from the force, and my knee twists beneath me.

I cry out in pain, but what’s the use of that? There’s no one to help me down here. Sobbing, I heave into a sitting position and clutch my knee, sending shards of pain shooting up and down my leg and leaving bloody handprints on my suit. Like when I first met the devil, I think.

A cloud of rock dust billows out of the tunnel in my direction. I sit there, sobbing, and let it catch up to me.

A rolling wave of filthy, scorching air washes over me, stinging my eyes and filling my lungs. For a split second, I whisper a prayer of thanks that it’s only dust, not tons of rock, that’s hitting my face.

And then my light goes out.

11

I am plunged into darkness and a fear so complete that it’s like falling down a mine shaft to the center of the earth. My breath is wheezing in and out, rapid-fire, and I can’t get enough air, but whether that’s from poison gas or my panic, I have no way to know. I claw at the neck of my suit, though I know it’s not the problem, and force myself to scramble onto my feet. I lurch unsteadily, my twisted knee sending bolts of agony up my leg with every step. Somehow, in this complete blackness, I have to find that rope and get myself up it.

I stumble in what I hope is the correct direction, arms sweeping blindly in wide arcs in front of me. They beat at nothing but dust-filled darkness. I suck in lungfuls of silica-clogged air and cough them back out again violently. Spots dance in front of my eyes. I worry I’m going to pass out.

I slam into a hard surface and reel away. That should have been open space. If the tunnel bent that sharply, then I’m not where I thought I was. I turn around, disoriented.

I stumble forward, agony lancing through my knee at each step, until I hit something else. Boulder? Dead end? No matter what it is, it shouldn’t have been there either. I realize I have no idea where I am in relation to the way out anymore.

A distant part of my brain registers that if this area had filled with poison gas, I’d probably be dead by now, but I’m too afraid to be very happy about it. Thinking about gas does remind me of my lamp, though. I lower myself until I’m sitting with my shoulder blades pressed against the rock and reach up for my helmet.

Sobbing, my breathing raw and ragged, I turn the valve off and lean my head against the wall behind me. I pull the little lighter out of the band around the helmet. My first instinct is to instantly roll the little wheel under my thumb, but caution makes me pause. I force myself to think. Clearly the explosions, wherever they were, caused an instability here in zone seven. I have no idea whether other parts of the mine have collapsed as well, but I can’t help but remember the overheard miner’s theory that it was Daniel’s open flame, added to a suddenly exposed pocket of gas, that vaporized him.

Vaporized.

I tuck the lighter back into the band of the helmet for the moment. I push my fingers gently against my knee, trying to gauge the damage. I gasp. In this murky world the pain is a crisp, bright thing I’m very sure of. But it’s probably not broken. I sigh with relief. It will hurt, but my leg should be able to support me on my climb out.

I try to retrace my actions in my head; try to figure out which direction has