Silent Creed by Alex Kava Read Free Book Online Page A

unfamiliar command.
    Precious seconds were lost as Creed’s feet slid. He stopped himself, not wanting his movement to contribute to destabilizing the surroundings. At least not until his dog was out of there. It didn’t matter. Dirt began to rain down. He yanked the rope toy out of his pocket. He’d have to depend on Bolo’s other instinct.
    Toy crazy! Thank God!
    Now he had the dog’s attention. Creed tossed the twisted rope, the heavy knots at both ends sending it flying. He flung it as hard and as far as he could, a lateral throw, making the dog run diagonally and not in front of where the slide would likely go.
    Even that simple toss threatened to upend him. Creed caught his balance and tried to make his feet gain traction as he heard the rumble grow. He felt the vibration. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the slab behind him start to fracture. Chunks fell away, crumbling all around him. A full-out sprint was impossible. Now that he wanted to move—needed to move—his boots became skates, sliding one second, the next jamming toes against rocks and almost sending him sprawling.
    He felt pressure against his back. Debris smacked his helmet. There was nothing to grab on to. The impact knocked him off his feet and onto his back. Creed was used to swimming in the Gulf. An excellent swimmer, he knew to take in air with the breaking of the waves and he knew when to hold his breath. But there was no break. A gush of rapids swept him under. Only this wasn’t water. The thick sludge overtook him, wrapped around him, sending him careening so fast it was an effort to control his arms and legs.
    He ducked his head and pulled his body into a tight ball. Chin to his chest. Knees curled up. Arms crisscrossed with hands fisted, holding on to the front of his jacket. Nose buried in the crook of his arm.
    Rolling, tumbling, speeding too fast. The pull of gravity turned him into just another piece of debris, battering him against the rest. Splintered branches poked him in the sides. Rocks slammed into his helmet. Sharp objects shredded his clothes and scraped his skin.
    The force yanked at him, attempting to peel his limbs away even as it continued to send him spiraling downhill. Yet he stayed curled and tucked as best he could, holding on. He no longer knew which way was up. There was no sky, only a heavy, thick blur of speckled gray that swallowed all light. He waited for the slide to slow down. Waited for it to stop. Waited to hit the bottom.
    Then suddenly it stopped. He stopped.

11.
    T here was no sound. The world had come to a screeching halt and so had he. Everything quieted, unplugged and muffled. Everything except for the throbbing of his heartbeat.
    Creed opened his eyes to blackness with patches of gray. He strained to loosen his fingers and dig away grime from his face, from his eyes. He blinked. Tried to focus. Still saw only blackness with patches of gray. Maybe like walking into an unlit room, he needed to wait for his eyes to adjust. He told himself to be patient.
    The smell of musty earth already filled his lungs. A sharp stabbing pain kept his breaths shallow and careful when he wanted to gulp air. What little air there was was dense and thick with moisture, making it difficult to breathe. He could taste wet dirt, gravel, and grit on his tongue and between his teeth and cheek. He wanted to spit but stopped himself. Instead, he dug his finger into his mouth, sweeping then pinching and pulling out what didn’t belong. With effort he tried to free his arm. He wrenched it and twisted his wrist to loosen the stranglehold around him.
    His legs were pinned. His arms were trapped against his chest. He tried to dig in his elbows and push himself up. His backpack remained in place and he heard crunching. All he was doing was smashing the contents of his backpack against the mud, squeezing out what little air existed around him. Weight pressed against him in all directions.
    Was the mud already hardening? How many