The Cursed Extra-Chapter 148: [3.21] Three Hundred Pounds of Bad News

"When the gods want to test your problem-solving skills, they drop a boulder on your friend’s leg."

***

Another moan answered Petra’s question. Deeper. Edged with pain that made Rhys’s stomach clench.

He followed the sound deeper into their pocket of survival. Past a scatter of goblin weapons. Past the remains of Petra’s mana-light orb, now nothing more than cracked crystal and dead magic.

The torch picked out details as he moved.

A handprint in blood on the wall.

A chunk of Jorik’s hammer-crater, recognizable by the distinctive pattern of fractures.

Finn’s pack, torn open and spilling supplies across the floor.

Jorik lay on his side twenty feet from where Rhys had found Petra. His massive frame was twisted at an angle that immediately told the story. No examination was needed to see what had happened.

A slab of stone the size of a door had pinned his left leg from the knee down. The limb bent at angles that legs weren’t meant to achieve. Blood had pooled beneath the rock. Dark and thick in the torchlight. Spreading slowly across the tunnel floor.

"Rhys?" Jorik’s voice was tight with controlled agony. Each word pushed out through clenched teeth. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air, and his usually ruddy complexion had gone gray. His hands were pressed flat against the ground on either side of him. Fingers dug into stone as if he could push himself free through sheer stubbornness. "Tell me you’ve got good news about getting out of here."

Rhys crouched beside his teammate. Set the torch in a crack in the tunnel wall where it would stay upright. The flame cast harsh shadows across Jorik’s face. Highlighted the lines of pain around his eyes. The way his jaw muscles kept bunching and relaxing as he fought to stay in control.

He was handling it better than Rhys would have expected. Better than most.

"Working on it." Rhys kept his voice steady. No point adding fear to the situation. "How bad is the leg?"

"Can’t feel anything below the knee." Jorik attempted a grin that came out more like a grimace. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a way that suggested the expression cost him more effort than it was worth. "That’s either very good or very bad." He took a breath that shuddered in his chest. "I’m hoping for very good."

Rhys examined the stone slab.

The rock was dense limestone. Darker than the surrounding tunnel stone. Probably from a deeper layer that the collapse had brought down. He traced its edges with his eyes, gauging its mass.

Easily three hundred pounds. Maybe more.

The kind of weight that would take all four of them working together to shift. If they’d had proper leverage. And tools. And solid footing.

With Jorik trapped beneath it and Finn still missing, the math didn’t work.

"Where’s Finn?" Petra had managed to stand, though she swayed slightly as she approached. One hand trailed along the wall for balance. Her footsteps were uncertain. Dust and debris clung to her clothes, and the cut on her forehead had started bleeding again. Fresh red mixed with dried brown.

She looked like hell.

They all probably did.

Rhys played the torchlight across their small pocket of space. Searched for any sign of their fourth teammate.

The collapse had created a rough triangle of survival. Perhaps thirty feet at its longest point. One side was bounded by the wall of rubble that blocked their retreat. Another was formed by more fallen stone that had created a barrier across part of the tunnel’s width. The third opened into darkness where the original passage continued into the unknown depths of the mine.

No sign of Finn’s slight frame. No pack. No gear. No body.

"He dove for the side passage when it started coming down." Rhys remembered that last moment of chaos. The strobing light. The roar of falling stone. Finn’s desperate attempt to reach what might have been safety. A gamble that had taken him away from the rest of them. "Could be buried. Could be trapped in another section."

"Could be free and getting help." Jorik’s voice carried a hope that none of them really believed.

His eyes were too knowing. His jaw too tight.

If Finn had escaped, rescue would have arrived by now. The professors monitored these assessments with magical means that were supposed to detect exactly this kind of disaster. Someone would have noticed Team Seven’s distress. Would have come running.

Unless the collapse had been too complete.

Unless the tons of stone above them had blocked whatever signals the monitoring magic relied upon.

Unless whatever systems were supposed to protect students from this exact fate had failed in the moment they were needed most.

Unless they were truly, completely on their own.

Great. Fantastic. This just keeps getting better.

Rhys pressed his hands against the stone pinning Jorik’s leg. Tested its weight and position with careful pressure. The slab had fallen at an angle. It rested on a smaller piece of debris, creating a narrow gap beneath one edge.

Not enough to pull Jorik free. Not even close.

But perhaps enough to work with. If they were clever. If they were desperate.

They were definitely desperate.

"We need leverage." Rhys looked around their prison. Started cataloging potential tools the same way he’d inventory his pack. Goblin weapons scattered by the collapse. Crude but sturdy. The axe Petra had kicked was half-buried now, but the handle was visible. Chunks of rubble that might serve as fulcrums if positioned correctly.

His father’s spear, if he was willing to risk breaking the family heirloom on stone that might not give way regardless.

Dad would understand. He’d tell me a weapon that couldn’t save a friend wasn’t worth keeping.

Or he’d kick my ass in the afterlife for breaking it. Could go either way.

"Petra." He turned to look at her. She was standing straighter now. Some of the confusion had cleared from her eyes. "Can you make fire hot enough to crack stone?"