“You will not run.”
He let go of my arm and went back to cradling the gun one-handed.
I rubbed the bruises he left and nodded.
Leandro shifted the light toward the cave floor. It had sloped upward, but near the end of the space, another narrow opening was visible in his flashlight’s beam. Once there, the path led to a staircase that must be ancient. The rock treads were worn into treacherously furrowed ruts sloping downward. I worried I’d slip each time I placed my foot.
Then it got worse.
The climb ended abruptly with a small opening I practically had to crawl through, and the cave opened up to my right. I went to my knees to catch my balance at the sudden sensation of space and the threat of falling onto stalagmites likely over hundreds of millennia old. Overhead, the ceiling was very low. The path twisted along the edge, carved into the wall, and around the stalactites that flowed from ceiling to their counterparts rising from the cave floor.
Leandro quickly caught up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
I don’t know what he intended, but I suddenly had a mortal fear of being garroted from behind, like Loppa and Firenze had illustrated so vividly. I spun, leaning into the pivot, just like they’d taught me. I came at him, swinging my fists into his crotch and working myself up to punching him in the face.
He doubled over, guarding his groin. His flashlight fell and rolled off the edge of the path, plunging everything into shadows.
I kicked out, holding onto the stalactite column next to me for balance.
Leandro wobbled, one foot slipping on the edge of the path. His silhouette was outlined by the faint illumination of the flashlight that had fallen somewhere below.
I kicked again. He caught my leg, but the momentum I’d used tipped him over the edge.
My hands slid down the damp column, wedging at the base where I’d wrapped both arms around the narrowest width. My skin stung and my shoulders ached.
Leandro had a death grip on my leg.
My body hung over the edge and my breathing was tight because I fell hard on my side.
He called me a female dog in Italian.
“You obviously don’t… know… I… like… dogs!” I kicked around with my free foot and found his skull with the last five words. I was thankful I wore Ellie’s heavy boots.
My grip was loosening, and I kicked harder, cussing each time, knowing that either I’d get free or be dragged down with Leandro.
One of Leandro’s hands slipped from my ankle.
I wiggled my whole torso to shake him loose.
“I will kill you, you American whore!”
I slid my free foot right down my leg to strafe his clinging hand with the tread of Ellie’s boot. A horse did that to me once. I was bruised for weeks.
Surprisingly, Leandro had the same reaction I did.
With a cry and a loud noise, his hand slipped free and the strain on my arms lessened so quickly I thought I’d lose my grip just because I felt lighter than a feather without his weight. But I clung more fiercely to the rock column and waited almost a minute to risk looking down.
Leandro’s flashlight was a small puddle of light at the bottom. It landed in a pool of water, and the diffused beam made the stalagmites encircling it like sentinels glow like iridescent moonstones. In any other situation, it might be beautiful.
But I couldn’t see Leandro. And not seeing his mangled body wasn’t a good thing.
If he’d somehow survived the fall, he might find his gun and shoot me as I dangled over the drop. I had to get back onto the ledge.
The wall was uneven, giving me some footholds, but it was also slippery. With extreme care, I planned my next moves while factoring in how to maintain a tight grip on the column as I worked my body higher.
I tested each footing before I shifted my embrace on my rocky lifeline.
Eventually, I was able to wrap a knee over the edge to take the majority of my body weight, and I clung there for much longer this time as I rested my arms.
