Where She Fell Read online

  Swamp plants and algae squish wetly beneath my feet as I carefully traverse the terrain, edging closer to the deepest part of the swamp, the water, where deadly snakes are probably waiting in hoards. Cold water seeps through my sneakers, shocking my toes. I glance behind me, at my friends.

  Sherri doesn’t look like she’s trying too hard to free her foot, and I’m starting to get the unpleasant feeling that I sometimes get, that they’re secretly laughing at me.

  “Go on!” Sherri shouts.

  The knot in my stomach burns. I press a hand to my waist, like that’ll help.

  This is much worse than Sherri’s usual ideas. I could be killed, and for what? I’ll deal with whatever mocking ensues; Elijah’s fifty dollars is not worth my life. I turn carefully, back toward them, trying not to ruin my shoes.

  Three steps later, the ground collapses. The space beneath my feet is suddenly empty. My body lurches and I grab for anything my fists can grip. My fingers snag around a broken root and I cling to it with all the strength I possess, holding my upper body above the surface.

  My eyes lock with Meg’s. Hers are wide with horror. Sherri’s foot isn’t stuck anymore.

  I reach for the root with my other hand, but it’s slick with mud and my grasp slips. The world goes silent except for the sound of blood pounding in my ears. My muscles tremble with the effort of holding on. The walls of this gaping hole are too slippery for me to get a foothold. My hands slide farther down the root, and there’s nothing else to grab.

  Time stops. My stomach flips inside out. This root is all that stands between me and death. And I’m nearly at its end.

  Then the silence breaks—Meg screams and starts toward me, a couple of running steps before Sherri grabs her and pulls her back.

  “You’ll fall, too!” Sherri shouts. “We have to go get someone.”

  It’s true; it isn’t safe. But they’re my only hope.

  “Please!” I shout, my voice cracking.

  The root snaps. Just after I speak. It rips free of the earth with a shower of dirt, and then I’m free-falling into nothing. My hands claw, my feet kick. A long scream escapes my lips. I bounce and tumble and then slam back-first onto solid ground, the contents of my bag stabbing my spine. The wind goes out of me, abruptly cutting off the scream; I cough and gasp.

  Then dirt trickles onto my face. Faster and faster.

  I pull myself to sit, back into one of the dirt walls in the space around me, and look up, a hand shielding my eyes.

  I’m in a hole. A deep hole, judging by the pinprick of light above me. A sinkhole.

  A glob of mud slops onto the ground beside me. Another lands on my knee. Dirt and debris join it, all raining down, gathering speed.

  “Help,” I whimper. Then, much louder, “Meg, Sherri, help!”

  A desperate shout comes from somewhere above. I don’t know which of my friends the horrified sound belongs to. It’s no use, though. The dirt’s going to bury me alive before anyone can save me.

  I take quick stock of my surroundings. The hole is almost perfectly cylindrical, and I think if I stretched out on my back, I could touch one end with my toes and the other with my fingertips. Its walls aren’t solid enough for me to grab on to and climb—I try, but fail, and mud slops down, huge globs narrowing the walls as they fall. Maybe, if it fills slowly enough, I can stay on top of the mud. Ride it back to the surface. Maybe my friends will run really fast and find someone before I suffocate.

  But I know in my heart that isn’t going to happen.

  Too easily, I picture myself covered, the muck pressing into my mouth, onto my body. Dying, knowing all the while exactly what’s happening to me. The mud is not closing in slowly anymore.

  I crawl, desperately, around the edges of the hole. The side opposite me slopes downward a bit, like it feeds into something.

  It does.

  An even smaller hole, edges dripping with clay. This hole wouldn’t exist if it didn’t lead somewhere, I feel sure of it.

  I don’t hesitate because I don’t have a choice. I throw myself into the opening. I fit, but barely. My arms scrape the sides, and I have to writhe forward almost snakelike. The hole narrows more as the slope steepens. I dig my toes into the clay and push. I have to stretch my arms up in front of me and wriggle, and still my shoulders only fit because the soil is so loose. This will either end up the best or worst decision I could have made.

  Dirt and clay push behind me; if this tunnel doesn’t open to somewhere big, I’m going to end up just as dead as if I’d stayed in the sinkhole where I fell. I can’t think about that.

  I keep shoving, jerking my body forward like the world’s most uncoordinated fish. It gets more and more difficult and I realize that I may actually have to come to terms with not making it through. With the slow, horrifying death of suffocation. I consider how to end things quicker, but I can’t move well enough to reach the pocketknife in my backpack. Not that a pocketknife would necessarily give me a better death, anyway.

  With an explosion of dirt and clay, I finally burst free—free-falling again, that is. My limbs flail and then, with sharp echoes of pain in my hip and skull, I hit the ground. I flex and twist carefully, making sure nothing’s broken before I back away from the thinning waterfall of dirt that followed me into this larger, pitch-black space.

  Everything seems okay, other than a gentle throbbing at the back of my head, some general soreness, and a deep ache in my ears. I roll my jaw, and my ears pop, lessening the ache.

  The all-consuming blackness makes me uneasy, though. It presses like weights on my eyes. I dig around in my clay-slicked backpack for my cell phone. My trembling fingers can barely close around the device, and my heart sinks when I turn it on to no service. I dig deeper into the backpack for my flashlight and my headlamp, using both of those along with my phone’s flashlight to send beams around me in multiple directions, trying to figure out what kind of place this is. Whether I’m safe—at least for now.

  I’m in a cavern. Medium-sized, with high walls and three different tunnels branching off it. The walls seem to be mostly made of rock, and in a few places they drip with condensation. Something to remember for later, if I run out of water. I take a deep breath, running all these facts through my mind to keep calm.

  Once I know the place doesn’t present me with any immediate dangers, I take a second lap around the cave, slower. I stop at the entrances to each tunnel and investigate. One blows back the red strands of my hair with a gentle breeze, which feels great since it’s humid and sticky down here. Warmer than normal, unless I’m much deeper in the earth than I’d expect.

  It’s actually a beautiful cavern. Clusters of flowstone that look like jellyfish with long, dangling tentacles. Soda straws spiking jaggedly from the ceiling. Helictite bush formations in the shape of dendritic trees. And so much more. I’ve explored as many caves as my parents have allowed me to, and this one ranks near the top.

  But I’m trapped. Which really sucks the joy out of the situation.

  I sit with my back against a thick, twisted stalagmite, and … do nothing. I shiver despite the warmth, uncomfortable in my damp, clay-coated clothing. Probably I should be panicking, but I’m calm. Staring around like a queen on her throne, threading my fingers absently through the strap on my backpack. I’m glad I have my few supplies, at least. I didn’t prepare for a cave like this, but I did prepare for a cave.

  On a whim, I dig through, pull out the notebook, and start scribbling. Maybe it’s deeply morbid, but I think I should record what happened to me. In case I don’t make it. In case someone finds my body, and then maybe they’ll know.

  I’ll make my way back to the surface. That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway, and I’ve never wanted to believe anything so badly. But still. Having a record of how I perished, just in case, seems practical.

  So I sit, hunched over my notebook, and tell myself everything is going to be fine, even if writing these words might be the last thing I do.

  Aft
er my brief rest, I explore the cave a bit more, admiring its features and taking notes in my new journal. I even manage to clean myself up a bit, stripping naked and using the water that trickles down one wall to wash my clothes and skin as best I can. They don’t dry well in the humidity and darkness, but at least I brought something to change into.

  I feel better. And honestly I felt pretty wild getting totally undressed in the middle of a wide-open cave, even if there’s a zero percent chance anyone will walk in on me. Nudity is nudity, and I’m the kind of girl who changes in a bathroom stall rather than face the mind-numbing terror of doing it in front of others and pretending I don’t care what they think about the shape of my body.

  First, I check out the two least promising tunnels branching off the cavern. They’re both total dead air. One curves upward, but ends in a pile of rocks almost immediately. The other slopes steeply downward. I don’t go too far. The air is thick with moisture, the floor slippery with condensation. I picture myself tumbling till I smash my head open on a rock wall somewhere even farther below.

  The tunnel with the breeze feels like my only hope. I’m banking pretty hard on it. And I’ve procrastinated going in because I’m utterly terrified at the thought that it might not lead me out.

  I’m not usually claustrophobic, but right now I’m not feeling so good about how narrow this tunnel is. I have to turn sideways in spots, and it makes the breath hitch in my lungs. The anxiety is familiar, but it’s usually people who make me feel like this.

  The only thing that eases my fear is the upward tilt of the tunnel’s rough floor. I mean, the tilt is slight. But it’s there.

  I’m using only the headlamp for now; it’s easier to move if I’m not carrying something in my hands. But I can’t see very well, even in the sharp white of its LED bulbs, and keep banging my elbows when the path twists sharply in a new direction. I think I’m bleeding, but I don’t want to stop and look. I’m not a fan of blood.

  When the tunnel’s slope changes to what can only be described as downward, I try not to think about it. It’s only temporary, I tell myself. I don’t want it to lead upward too fast, anyway, do I? Drowning in a swamp isn’t really how I want this to end.

  And not to make light of the situation, but I cannot be betrayed like this by caves. I’ve been obsessed with caves since I can remember. Caves and rocks and the earth.

  It’s weird, Meg always tells me—at least, she has recently. No one wants to listen to you go on about rocks, Eliza.

  So I don’t go on about them. Not out loud, anyway. But I read endlessly and I’ve made my parents take me to basically every cave in the state of New York that you’re allowed to visit, and I can’t imagine anything else I would rather do with my life than study how the earth works.

  I trip over what feels like a brittle stick. It snaps beneath my foot, and I manage to stay upright. Bracing myself against the wall, I angle my headlamp downward.

  It’s a skeleton.

  A human skeleton.

  I scream.

  It echoes off the walls, pierces the blackness in front of me, ringing far into the distance.

  I’m immediately embarrassed by my reaction, even though no one’s around. It’s only a skeleton. Nothing alive. Still, however irrational, my heart clutches my throat in a stranglehold. My limbs have turned to dust.

  The skeleton has been here a long, long while. I scattered a few bones—the thing that crunched under my foot was a piece of leg—but whoever these remains once belonged to stopped here, sat with their back against one wall and their feet against the other, and just … gave up. The skull grins wickedly at me, like it knows I’m next. I can’t get over how empty it is. Not a shred of clothing remaining, not a wisp of hair or a hint of flesh.

  I glance down at the stark white fingers, folded primly into the lap, and I imagine that this skeleton is me. That I’ve lost all hope of escape, and I’ve sat down someplace to die. I shudder. It has not been long enough to let my brain start wandering dark paths. I’ll be fine. I will find an exit.

  With a great force of will, I tear my gaze from the skeleton and hurry on my way. I have to get out of here. I won’t be the girl who stops moving and gives up. I’m not confident about a lot of things, but I am confident about the earth and caves and geology. I can do this.

  I drag a hand along the surface of the wall. The cool stone beneath my fingers doesn’t bring me any relief. Despite my attempts to give myself a pep talk, this is when it hits me, finally, how trapped I am. Rock is so solid, so unyielding. I’m starting to get that panic tingle in my limbs. The only thing that keeps me from breaking down is walking. The slope steepens, and the tunnel narrows, but I pretend that neither of those things are true. I’ve been in tons of caves where you have to slip sideways between jagged walls, or crawl on hands and knees to get under a low ceiling. I always thought it was fun.

  But now as I shuffle sideways, my stomach sucked into my ribs, it doesn’t feel so fun. Which frustrates me, because this is an incredibly neat cave system. That cavern back there with all its beautiful formations, and this tunnel with all its twists … it’s everything I love.

  If only I hadn’t stumbled on some major evidence that it might not have an exit.

  But I tell myself there’s no way to know what happened to the person whose skeleton that was. It looks like they probably just gave up too soon.

  I lose track of time, squeezing, crawling, climbing. The tunnel opens up, and suddenly, I’m in another cavern.

  It’s taller than the last one; I can’t see the ceiling, even when I add my cell phone’s light to my headlamp’s. I was hoping for service here, but still nothing.

  This cavern is a maze of formations. Stalagmites and stalactites interlocking like the teeth of a predator. There are chandeliers and columns and draperies. Frostwork and moonmilk and cave popcorn.

  I weave through, claws of anxiety kneading my stomach as I go deeper into the room without finding any tunnels. Is this a dead end? It can’t be. Can’t.

  I reach water, and this is what breaks me. An underground lake. Water completely unmoving. No visible tunnels.

  Totally trapped.

  I curl into a ball at the water’s edge and let my tears free. It’s been a few hours now. My feet are sore, my whole body is sore. I’m hungry and tired and I want to go home.

  What are Sherri and Meg doing right now? Did they tell my sisters where we went? Does everyone know that I’m missing? Has anyone called my parents? My friends must think I’m dead. There’s no other conclusion, and I bet they’re freaking out. Sherri gets pretty mad when I mess up her plans. I try not to, but I wasn’t born with whatever it is that makes people reckless. I fake it the best I can, but she knows I’m not really brave. Everyone knows.

  I’m so much happier sitting in my room, poring over books about rocks. Not sneaking out to parties on weekends after my parents are asleep. Not stealing candy from the local convenience store. Not wandering around dangerous swamps.

  But I say yes to all of it, because without Sherri and Meg, I don’t know how to have the experiences I’m supposed to be having, and I don’t want to be a weirdo loner no one will talk to. Which is what Sherri says I’m turning into.

  I’m terrified she’s right.

  My hand slips into the water when I move to push myself upright, and it surprises me. It’s … hot. I sit up quickly, dipping my fingers back into the liquid. It feels like a sauna. Interesting.

  I shine my phone’s flashlight over the surface of the water. It’s incredibly clear, but I can’t see a bottom. Steam rises lazily from the still pool. I bite my lip, thinking.

  If the cave is as closed off as it seems, there could conceivably be prehistoric life in this lake. Most likely microbes, because I don’t see any fish, but who knows how deep this thing goes. Could be anything.

  I read about these microscopic creatures once, tardigrades. They can live in extreme environments—temperature, pressure, radiation, all of that. Some even survived
an experiment where they were exposed to outer freaking space. They can dehydrate themselves and basically put their lives on pause for decades with no food or water. That’s the kind of thing I figure resides in this place. Maybe some cavefish, and if I’m not confused, there aren’t any species of cavefish that would attack a human. Nothing scarier than that should be in this water.

  I hope I’m not wrong about that.

  Because what I’m about to do is completely counter to my not-reckless nature.

  I’m going to swim across this lake.

  Swimming across this lake is not as easy as I was anticipating. It’s fortunate that I thought to bring a headlamp, but the darkness in a cavern is so indescribably complete that my bobbing stripe of light doesn’t help as much as I’d like.

  I strip down to my underwear again after a long debate with myself—ultimately concluding that if someone finds me dead, it won’t matter what I’m wearing. I leave the clothes next to my backpack on the shore.

  Fingers crossed nothing takes a bite out of me.

  I slide in carefully. The water is deep right away; I can’t touch bottom. The warmth soothes some of my aches. Eases the soreness in my back and hip from my earlier fall. Loosens the tension in my muscles.

  The beam of my flashlight bounces off the surface. It doesn’t show me much, but at least I’ll know before I run into a wall.

  Something brushes against my foot. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.

  “Please do not eat me,” I say to whatever it is, holding as utterly still as I can while keeping afloat.

  It doesn’t. I let out a long, slow breath and keep swimming.

  I swim beneath a low ceiling. The air is foggy under here, and has that musty scent of a place long untouched. I breathe deep, hold it in my lungs. I love that smell.

  On the other side of the low ceiling, I emerge into another room.

  “Thank God,” I say aloud, breathlessly. Not sure it’s a good sign that I’ve started talking to myself.