Where She Fell Page 3

The lake ends here on what I’m going to call a “beach,” using the term super loosely. But there’s actually a bank; my feet touch rough, rocky bottom. This place is like a steam room, much smaller than the cavern on the other side and swirling with mist. Condensation drips from the ceiling.

  I direct myself toward a spot that feels almost chilly, and find a narrow opening in the wall. Another tunnel.

  My heart soars. An exit.

  But a descending one.

  It’s starting to worry me, much as I try to tell myself otherwise. Something about this cavern feels very … off. I’m standing here, dripping, in my underwear, and I’m not cold. My body feels strange in an indefinable way, and so does my mind, really. Why am I anxious about things I’m not usually anxious about, like confined spaces? And simultaneously calm about this whole thing?

  It’s probably nothing. But now that I’m mulling it over, questions jostle each other, racing through my brain.

  I turn away from the tunnel and swim back to where I left my things. I need to move on before I start to panic. Because panic feels imminent.

  But then, as I’m stuffing my clothes into my backpack, I pause to think for a minute. The thing is, I’m exhausted. My body’s running on adrenaline alone, and it’s taken a serious beating today. That tunnel isn’t going anywhere, and the thought of staying here for a little bit is pretty inviting.

  My stomach hurts, thinking about what must be going on above the surface. Guilt at making everyone wait while I rest weighs heavy on my shoulders. Getting back to the surface should be my first priority. I get dressed and sit at the water’s edge, legs dangling into the warm, buoyant liquid. I never imagined myself in a situation like this. My parents have always been a bit wary about my cave stuff, but I’m a cautious person, and they trust me. We had protocols in place. I never wavered.

  Until today. However accidental.

  My parents must know by now. No matter how freaked out Sherri and Meg were, even if they thought they’d be blamed for what happened, they would have gone for help right away. My parents are probably home, believing I’m dead. Claire’s probably told them how she warned me to be careful because even though it’s a totally inappropriate thing to say at this moment in time, she never can stop herself. When I get home, I’ll let her scream it in my face.

  Sherri and Meg pressured me into this, but they didn’t physically force me. I did this to my family, all on my own. How would I feel if something happened to Claire or Mara? I’m so ashamed of myself.

  My mom’s a worrier. She’s the one who stood, wringing her hands, while my dad put us on bikes without training wheels for the first time. Who wouldn’t let us go too high on the swings. Who put the fear of God into me about pregnancy the moment I started my period.

  I don’t want to think about what this will do to her. After all her warnings, all her attempts to turn me into a girl who thinks before she acts, who uses caution and not impulsivity, I ended up like this anyway.

  We’re a close-knit family, always have been. Mom’s a farm manager and Dad’s a contractor. They both work long, weird hours, but they’re around when we need them. Meg’s always telling me my life’s charmed, my family’s perfect. That I can never understand what it means to have something bad happen in my life because I’m shielded from it all.

  Guess I proved her wrong.

  What if I don’t make it home is the thought that keeps cycling through my head. I’m trying to suppress it, because it’s so awful. It’ll be so easy for them to go on without me is another awful thought. I’m just sort of there, in the middle. Mara and Claire can close in, fill the space I used to occupy.

  They’ll all be sad at first, sure. But they’ll get used to life without me.

  I don’t know. Maybe that’s comforting.

  I stand abruptly, because sitting here wallowing isn’t helping me at all. Rest seemed like a good idea, but now I think it’s just increasing my panic. I adjust my headlamp and shoulder my backpack. A thorough sweep of the room’s perimeter seems like a good idea, before I take the downward-sloping tunnel. A gentle breeze blows through here, which makes me wonder if I missed another tunnel hidden behind cave formations somewhere.

  I get out my flashlight because as much as I appreciate my headlamp, I can’t swing it abruptly to look at something off to the side without a sharp turn of my neck, and it’s feeling pretty jarred and achy from my fall. I like the way the flashlight cuts a line through the darkness. The dark has never particularly frightened me. In caves, especially, I like how everything is kept in shadow except whatever you’re aiming a light at. You’re focused on the path ahead, or truly appreciating the beauty of whatever formation you’re investigating, not distracted by other sights in your periphery. I know there could be bad things hiding in the shadows, but I guess maybe my brain is too busy feeling anxious about people to understand when it should be anxious about something else.

  It seems like I’m not going to find anything. Until I sweep my flashlight to the left, toward the middle part of the cavern, and I catch a flash of white. I stop dead.

  It’s another skeleton.

  This one sits with its back against a stalagmite, hands folded primly in its lap, just like the last one I saw. It still has a bit of flesh clinging to the bone in some places, a few remaining wisps of long hair glued to its skull, but once again, not a single scrap of clothing.

  My heart accelerates. It struck me as odd last time, but this time it strikes me as ominous. Flesh should decompose much faster than clothing. Or shoes, especially shoes. And why do people keep dying in this position? Sitting casually, happily, like they’re totally at peace with their last breath. How often does that happen? Maybe once, but definitely not twice.

  I back away from the skeleton, bumping into a thick pillar hard enough that it nearly knocks the wind from me. Something is not right in this place, and suddenly, I’m struck with a terrible, terrible thought.

  Maybe I’m not alone down here.

  There actually is a passageway that I missed, I discover, after I’ve semi-calmed from the skeleton incident. A thin fissure in the wall, so narrow I have to remove my backpack and hold it dangling from my fingertips, yet still barely manage to squeeze through. I exhale and suck in my stomach, which makes me feel panicked and out of breath. But my brain whispers over and over, You can go back if it gets smaller you can go back you can go back, and, thankfully, the tunnel widens.

  Widens, and slopes up.

  My relief is so potent that my limbs get heavy while my head gets dizzy. I press my flashlight-free hand to the ever-surprisingly warm, clammy wall to steady myself, and keep going. Ahead, I see what must be light. It has a bit of a bluish, neonish quality, but sunlight always looks a little strange to me when I’ve been in the dark for a while. I pause to stow my flashlight because the headlamp is enough as the light ahead grows stronger.

  My parents are going to be so angry with me but also so thankful and so relieved. I will take whatever punishment they offer up, even if I’m grounded from now until the end of high school. I just want to be out of here; I’ve never wanted out of a cave so badly in my life. Maybe I’ll come back someday, on purpose, through an entrance that is not a sinkhole in the swamp. And not alone, either.

  Something moves up ahead. The light moves. The light—it isn’t the sun, I realize, heart sinking all the way to my feet. It’s … a solid form, a humanlike form. A glowing human? I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing, but what I can make sense of is that it looks like it’s holding a weapon and it seems to be heading toward me.

  Run, my instincts tell me.

  So I run.

  All I can think about is getting back to the water, getting across and through to the tunnel on the other side. When I reach the lake’s edge, I glance back. The tunnel I just fled emits a faint glow, which sets my heart racing. I grab my backpack and slip into the water as silently as I can, holding my backpack aloft in one hand while I swim.

  Everything’s quiet except
my harsh breathing and the gentle ripple of water with each stroke of my arm. Everything’s dark except the thin beam of light cut by my headlamp. The darkness doesn’t feel soothing anymore, or the quiet. It was one thing when I figured nothing else was here. Now the dark and quiet seem sinister. Dangerous.

  Of course, apparently, so is the light.

  On the other side of the low-hanging wall, I slip through the crack to another passageway, wishing I had time to change my sopping wet clothes. The tunnel’s narrow and downward sloping and the floor is slippery. Not ideal. Its sharp turns disorient me. I don’t like this at all, don’t want to be heading deeper into this already too-warm cave. My lungs and my head still feel a little wrong, and I think it must be changes in the air pressure, which is something I’ve never experienced. Caves I’ve visited don’t get deep enough for these kinds of side effects. I didn’t even know you could get deep enough for effects like that, to be honest.

  I glance behind me, half expecting to see a glow shimmering in the air. But there’s nothing. My pace slows, and I start to doubt what I saw. If I saw anything. When people are lost in the desert, they see mirages, right? I’ve never wanted to see daylight so badly, maybe my brain manufactured it, except my brain can never just be kind to me, so it turned the sunlight into something more sinister.

  The breeze in this passageway comforts me, if only slightly. If there’s a breeze, there’s airflow. And airflow can only be a good thing. Even if the descending slope of the tunnel causes anxiety to claw at my gut. I think longingly of the other tunnel, the one that was actually an incline, and wonder if I should go back.

  The memory of the glowing human form frightens me enough to keep me from trying it, though. Especially when combined with the memory of the neatly seated skeletons, stripped of their clothes.

  Around a bend, the tunnel branches into two forks. They’re basically identical, and I freeze with indecision.

  Until I hear what can only be described as a growl emanating from the left fork.

  I don’t know what made the growl, what could possibly live down here that makes a sound like that, but I don’t want to be anywhere near it.

  Right fork it is, then. I can’t rush, because the floor is still slippery and damp, and the downward tilt has become tiltier. But I don’t want the growling thing to catch up to me, either.

  My heartbeat thrums in my fingertips as I move along, feeling like Red Riding Hood pursued by the wolf. I glance over my shoulder and see nothing, but my headlamp aims mostly at the wall when I do that, so it’s all just oppressive darkness anyway.

  An uneven spot catches my toe and I stumble. My nails scrape the walls and one tears with a burst of pain.

  I’m not proud of the word that slips from my mouth when it happens.

  Or the one I say when the headlamp flies off, clatters to the ground, and flickers out. My phone and my flashlight are still in my backpack, but this headlamp is so much easier; I need it.

  I edge carefully forward on my knees, sweeping one arm in front of me to feel for the light. My breathing is so loud, the only noise in this narrow space. It echoes behind me as I—

  That’s not an echo.

  I’m not the only thing breathing in this space.

  I give up on the headlamp, reach into my bag, and find my cell phone. It’s off, and my heart hammers while a numb-fingered hand presses the power button, aiming the screen behind me. The glow as it turns itself on reflects off something.

  Eyes.

  The eyes of a predator.

  I scream, and run. My toe collides with the headlamp and I hear it bounce ahead of me. I’m sightless, grazing myself on the walls, praying there’s not a sudden turn ahead that I smack headlong into. The creature snarls at my back, chasing me now, obviously, because I’m an idiot who fled.

  I didn’t get a good look at it, so I don’t know how big it is or how dangerous, but if it can see and I can’t, the answer to the latter is probably very.

  My foot slips on the ever-steepening, condensation-heavy floor and I tumble forward. Keep tumbling, completely out of control.

  And then I’m soaring, and the air around me glows orange. For a moment, I wonder if this is the end, if I’m going to heaven.

  Then I slam into solid ground with a burst of indescribable pain, and the orange glow seems more like fire.

  If I’m going anywhere now, it’s hell.

  The creature comes shooting out after me, snarling and spitting. It lands a few feet away with a yelp, then leaps immediately to its feet. It’s worse, now that I can see the doglike thing in this orange light. It has colorless fur and pink eyes. About the size of a large fox, but it’s much more solid, with thicker legs and a broader chest. Its ears slick back against its head and drool oozes from its sneering mouth.

  I curl into myself, because I can’t get up. Something’s broken and it hurts so much. The animal knows it’s got me beat. It saunters toward me, all casual, while I whimper and try to edge away—and fail, because I can barely breathe.

  With a whistle of air, something lodges in the throat of the creature. It falters and gasps, blood pouring from its neck, drooling from its mouth in ribbons. It lets out a few choking gurgles and slumps to the ground.

  I look in the direction the arrow came from. The direction where the orange glow is strongest, and I see … people.

  A boy my age, bow still raised, is silhouetted by flickering firelight behind him. His brow is furrowed, he’s almost scowling, but he looks pleased with himself, too.

  Behind him, others have gathered, and I start to freak out. How did they get here? Who are they?

  Maybe the dog-creature wasn’t the worst thing I had to worry about.

  I curl even further into myself and start crying.

  A woman crouches at my side, gently touching my arm. “It’s all right,” she says, her voice soft and soothing. Her gray-tinged hair and hazel eyes remind me of my mom.

  “Is it?” I ask faintly. The pain makes it hard to breathe. I don’t want to consider that I might be dying, but this seems like a bad sign.

  “Did you hit your head?” she asks.

  “I don’t think so. Maybe a little, I mean, I hit everything. But it doesn’t hurt. I can’t … I can’t breathe very well, though.”

  “Maybe you’ve broken a rib.” She smooths the hair away from my face and I wonder if she has a teenage daughter of her own, or if she’s just nurturing with everyone. “But don’t worry. You’re safe here, and we’ll get you all healed up.”

  I want to believe her, but I can’t make my heart stop racing. “Where am I?”

  She bites her lip and stops touching my hair. “We call this the colony. A home for those of us who’ve been lost to this cave over the years.”

  A pit opens up in my stomach. “How did … how did you end up here?” A tiny cough escapes my lips. Breathing hurts, talking hurts. Coughing hurts the most.

  “We can talk about this later,” she says. “I should check out your injuries before you get yourself too worked up.”

  “No,” I insist, even though the strength of my voice stabs into my bones. “I want to know.”

  “I fell into a vertical shaft on a walk in the woods. Wandered around for a while, eventually ended up here. Everyone’s got a similar story.”

  “Did anyone get dropped underground by a sinkhole?”

  “That one isn’t common, but believe it or not, yes.”

  I thought that’d make me feel better. It doesn’t.

  “This is a lot to absorb,” she says. “I don’t think now is the time.”

  “How long have you been here?” I press.

  She pauses. Then, “Six years.”

  The pit in my stomach envelops my entire body. “Okay,” I whisper. “I guess I’m done asking questions for now.”

  She smiles understandingly and I wonder how many times she’s had this exact same conversation.

  And whether anyone who’s come into this place—this colony—has ever left.
<
br />   The woman’s name is Colleen, and she’s the unofficial doctor for the group. She was a nurse before ending up here, and the only one with any medical training whatsoever.

  “I don’t know everything a doctor does,” she said with a wry smile, “but I know enough. And some things they don’t.”

  Thank God for it, too. Because it turns out that I definitely have at least one bruised or possibly broken rib, in addition to my other, more minor aches and pains.

  I wish I could say that I’m taking this all in stride. That I’ve overcome my injured ribs and integrated with the group immediately.

  But I have not. Not even a little.

  The pain is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It’s a thousand shards of hot metal poking into my lung every time I inhale. Colleen says I have to keep trying to breathe normally, though, for the benefit of my lungs. She sets me up in a big tent made of a stiff, semi-foul-smelling material that I think is the hide of some animal, and lit only by the faint glow of firelight coming from outside it, which means barely lit at all. I lie flat on my back atop a cot that looks like something you might use while camping. It’s definitely not handmade.

  Colleen stays in the tent for a while, fussing over me, smoothing my hair. I try not to cry because she’s a stranger and I want to be brave. And more important, because crying hurts. I ask a lot of questions to distract myself, but she seems to think talking is bad for me and she spends more time shushing me than actually answering.

  What I do learn is this: There are twelve people living in the colony. Thirteen, counting me. Mostly adults, a few teens, one baby who was born here. That part terrifies me to consider. Other than the baby, they were all trapped here one way or another, just like me. They’ve constructed a life, a community, down here from things they’ve salvaged and things they’ve made. The firelight is all that pierces the darkness. They hunt for food, and they hunt for survivors. They do not hunt for a way out.

  “Not anymore,” says Colleen grimly, when I ask. “It’s not worth expending the effort to find something that doesn’t exist. You’d do well to accept that, and accept it quickly.”