63
I’m a wreck of a human being.
Deke is in even worse shape.
But we don’t have far to go. I can see a path to escape. All I need to do is clear a path out of this narrow, stinking crawlspace.
Dragging the AK-74 by the barrel, I scoot across clumpy clay and jagged pebbles until I get to the cabin’s front wall.
The night vision goggles had revealed a cooler rectangle up here. My questing fingers found what I’d hoped for—an air vent. The crawlspace is noxious, but crawlspaces without ventilation can actually be toxic.
Flimsy aluminum clips hold the vent in place.
I scoot the rifle up next to me, lie on my left side to spare my ribs, and wait. Lying there, I can’t help deliberately tensing and relaxing my back, trying to keep a little blood flow over that bruise. I can’t take the time
