33

Jack Sullivan stared at the bright light at the end of the tunnel. He looked straight into the damn light, walked toward it, and was so glad to be rid of the pain, he couldn’t have cared less that he was dying.

Time stood like seawater trapped in a tidal pool, disconnected and unmoving.

But after a while, he realized he wasn’t alone in the void.

Shannon?

No, not his sister. But someone definitely there. And the fact that he wasn’t alone brought him some peace.

Until he was yanked back—by the cold and the pain and his unfinished business—and realized that he wasn’t dead yet after all, but close to it. He couldn’t lift his hands. He tried to blink and got an eyeful of dirt.

Something heavy sat on his chest, on his whole body. Seconds passed before he understood that he’d been packed into some cold, tight space—then another second before he realized he was buried.

If there’d been anything in his clenched stomach, he might have thrown up and choked himself to death. As it was, he only hea