In the Belly of the Earth Read online

  When his shivering finally subsided and his teeth relented from their chattering, he remembered his flashlight. Had it survived as he had? He lifted it to his face, allowing the water to drain. For the next several minutes he carefully removed the batteries, dried them, blew into the empty cavity to dry it as well, then reassembled everything in the dark.

  “Please God,” he whispered, then threw the switch. Nothing happened. He turned it off, then on again. It flickered feebly, and then went out. He turned it off once more, waited a moment, shook it hard to remove all residual moisture, then tried again. This time the beam returned deliciously bright. Fred shouted in joy and kissed the glass face as it glowed warm against his lips.

  14

  When Fred swept his light throughout the new room, his breath caught in his throat. It was smaller than the first, but every space was filled with cave formations of the most exquisite shape and color. Where the first room had been drab and virtually monochrome with variant shades of brown, this one was adorned from wall to wall with blues and reds and ambers, as if some hermit artist had encrusted it with gems.

  He remembered the cave book he’d read the year before and the pictures on its pages. It had listed every known cave formation in exhaustive detail. Many of them were here: Stalactites hanging from the ceiling like icicles of yellow cream. Mounds of flowstone billowing from the walls. Much of the ceiling was spiked with soda straws, the tiny siblings of stalagmites and there was cave popcorn dotting many surfaces like barnacles on the hull of a ship. Fred even spotted a bit of cave bacon here and there. No more edible than a sliver of rock, of course, but so identical in appearance to the breakfast meat that his mouth watered torturously.

  Beautiful, he thought. Utterly, stunningly beautiful.

  When the adrenalin of his underwater venture began to fade, his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. He had to sit down, at least for a while.

  How ironic this room had been here the whole time, its beauty hidden behind a simple shroud of water. True, he’d almost died getting there. How easily he could have drowned in the dark. The fact that breath still filled and refilled his lungs seemed a miracle. He’d never so much as pondered the luxury of air. Now it felt sweet and cool in his chest, a gift with every inhalation. Even more, he’d faced his fears. He’d taken the dive. And the stunning sight before him now felt like a gift. A hopeful omen.

  His eyes welled with tears, warm lines of salt flowing down his already sodden cheeks. But they fell not from fear or pain or self-pity. They were distilled from joy, a joy as small as a mustard seed, but joy all the same. The first happy tears he’d ever cried in his miserable life.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to the air, to the voice, to his father who had seemed to speak to him from a million miles away, saving his life.

  Then the moment passed, and his tears ceased.

  He had not come there to marvel over beauty, but to find a way of escape.

  It was time to get moving.

  He picked his way along the outer rim of the room and quickly found a passage that corkscrewed down into darkness. The tunnel was wider than it was tall and he would have to crawl on all fours to transverse it. At least there was no water in it, though. For that he was thankful. He sank to his knees and shined the flashlight into the opening. After a final glance over his shoulder, he turned and descended into the passage. His pace was swift, emboldened by the earlier risk he’d taken that had paid off.

  Now, the tunnel dipped sharply downward. He gripped the walls as best he could, though his broken bone gnawed and cut with every move. His hand felt numb and useless. Still, he refused to slow, progressing by inches until the angle leveled off. But now the ceiling was even lower. Just tall enough for him to squeeze through on his belly. It was not so much of a problem at first. Not until he saw the bat.

  It was gray and furry, clinging upside down to the ceiling with tiny clawed feet. Fred froze and kept his light steady on the critter. The cave book had had an entire chapter on bats. Different species, diet, social patterns, as well as the myriad of diseases they potentially carried. But only one disease sprang up in his mind as being particularly terrifying.

  Rabies.

  Bats carried the scourge as commonly as any mammal on the planet. And they didn’t even have to bite you to give it. One measly drop of their saliva was enough. Before you know it you were foaming at the mouth, and going all batty. Fred had seen the movie Old Yeller far too many times to ignore the risk. With no more than an inch or two of wiggle room on either side of the creature, Fred would find little protection if he tried to slip by. But again, what else was he supposed to do? This was the only way.

  He swallowed, muttered a prayer of protection, and moved forward as carefully as he could. Pressed as close to the wall as possible he found himself face to face with the bat. The creature took no notice of him, apparently asleep. Up close, it looked no less creepy. Its face was a cluster of leathery translucence, nose and mouth and eyes squeezed together as if crushed by some tiny invisible fist. Its chest pulsated with quick spurts of breath. He could just see the tip of a single fang protruding from under its upper lip. It was a brown bat, eptesicus fuscus, a feaster on moths and wasps and beetles. It was also endangered, though Fred felt no compassion for the creature as he inched past. He tried hard to limit unnecessary movement so as not to wake it, even slowed his breathing, though his head grew dizzy with the effort. He imagined what the bat could do if startled, flapping about wildly and biting him in a flurried rage.

  Right when it seemed he had successfully moved beyond the creature, the very tip of his right foot barely brushed against its fur. Instantly his fears were realized. The bat released its grip from the ceiling and began to fly in frantic circles. Every leathery beat of its wings brushed against him. He shielded his face with his hands and tried not to shriek, and within seconds the creature was gone. He looked up just in time to see it disappear down the tunnel. It had not been as keen on attacking him as it had been on escape.

  Escape.

  The bat knew the way out.

  That sudden epiphany drove him faster, though the tunnel grew smaller. At one point he felt the familiar dread of being trapped like in the fissure, rock pressing in from all sides with nowhere to go. But then, before the claustrophobia took over, the tunnel began to widen. Soon he was able to crawl, then crouch, then stand. By then, the tunnel was as big as any he had found before. When it began to ascend, he felt a jolt of elation. A gust of wind swept down the corridor and rustled his hair. It was fresh and humid.

  I’m almost free, his mind cried. It’s almost over.

  But a minute later, the path leveled off and began to meander right and left like a gigantic worm’s tunnel. When it dipped down and resumed its descent Fred fought an onslaught of dread. What if it kept on going down and down and down? What if it dead-ended? No, he’d felt the wind. And the bat had to have gone somewhere.

  Right as this thought crossed his brain, the tunnel opened up into another room, the floor disappearing in a sheer drop. He froze, steadied himself on the tunnel walls. For a moment, he wondered if he’d managed to unknowingly find his way back to the first tunnel, to the very spot where Craig had pushed him. But the notion was instantly dashed when he noticed how different this new room was. There were more stalactites hanging from the ceiling and no pool on the far side of the chamber. The drop-off was different as well, steeper, with an additional dozen feet or so from ledge to floor. He lowered to his knees and stared down the vertical rock face. How he would manage to get down there was beyond him.

  Another gust of air moved past, warmer than normal, smelling of trees. He had to be close.

  There came a strange sound from somewhere beyond his flashlight’s beam. It was distant, but clear. When it faded he wondered if his imagination was playing tricks. But seconds later it happened again.

  Moaning. Moaning in the dark.

  15

  Without taking time to think, Fred dropped to the f
loor of the tunnel and switched off his flashlight. In the darkness, he listened. But all was silent now. A silence so dense it seemed the very air was thickened by shadow. Some creature out there had made the sound. A sad, mournful cry. Almost human. The idea was both glorious and terrifying.

  The sound came again, soft at first, almost imperceptible, then building to a crescendo as if the creature was being tortured in some deep down chamber. Fred fought the urge to cover his ears. He started to slink backward in the tunnel, finding it nearly impossible to proceed.

  Still, when the sound faded a second time, he stopped his retreat and thought hard on this new obstacle. Whatever it was (and his imagination could conjure up a myriad of nasty possibilities) it stood between captivity and freedom. Why let a mere sound divert him? After coming so far. Enduring so long. Having braved black water and injury, he stood there not from chance, but from courage, however minute. No. He would move on and face the sound, though he was nauseous with fear.

  He switched on his flashlight and examined the space just beyond the tunnel. To the right of the its mouth, he discovered an extension of stone just six inches wide descending at a gradual angle along the wall to the floor below. If he was careful, he might be able to inch along the shelf with his back pressed against rock. At the highest point, it was easily fifty feet from floor to ledge, enough to kill him if he slipped and fell to the bottom. His nerves had betrayed him at a fraction of such a height on the bluff so many days ago. And that fall had only bruised him.

  His body trembled as he inched toward the ledge. He tried to calm his mind with simple facts: The bat had flown this way. He’d felt the gusts of air. He was still on the right track.

  Fears snapped at him like a circle of angry dogs but he forced them down and prepared to step out upon the ledge. With flashlight clutched in his right hand he took the first sideward step, mindful to keep his weight toward his back. With eyes fixed upon his feet, he moved along steadily, step by careful step. Twice he stopped to catch his balance where the ledge grew thin or the wall bulged outward. But ever onward and downward he moved until his feet touched level ground. There, he dropped to his knees in trembling relief.

  The moaning resumed as if on cue, cutting short his celebration. Though blood chilled in his veins, he jumped to his feet and raised his light in the direction of the sound. The room was longer than it was wide, and curved round in a gentle crescent, hiding from his eyes what awaited round the bend.

  “You will not stop me,” Fred said. He swallowed, took several deep breaths, and then started forward. The moaning grew louder as he drew near. He faltered. Just a few more steps would bring him in contact with its source.

  Curiosity and horror mingled in his head, spinning in tandem, driving him mad. What could be down here, so deep in the earth? He took another step, then another, then another, until the sound faded once again. When it did he paused, held the flashlight firm in both hands, pressed his cheek against the warmth of its glass face, and closed his eyes.

  All he wanted was to speak to his parents, to somehow send his thoughts through all this rock and dirt and roots of trees. To tell them he was okay, even if he wasn’t. To somehow comfort their tortured minds. How long had it been since he’d heard his mother’s voice or felt his father’s crushing embrace? He’d stopped notching days upon rock long ago. And in his dark prison, every day felt like an aeon of time.

  His head began to spin, crippling vertigo rising without warning. He wavered, then eased himself to the ground where he lay on his side, curled around the flashlight’s warm illumination. Bit by bit, the dizziness faded until he could lie there without feeling the room was spinning like a top.

  Thankfully, the phantom moaning sound had not returned even after several minutes. Perhaps whatever had made it was gone altogether. He knew either way, he must sleep for now. The flashlight’s beam shown pale red through his closed eyelids and he felt a rush of gratitude for such a simple thing. He could not have come this far without the light. The little metal cylinder had saved his life, more than once. He clutched it tighter and drifted off to sleep.

  The dreams came at once, almost as if they’d been waiting him out, waiting for him to return to their world.

  He stood in a brightly lit corridor, the ceiling covered with hundreds of various lights. Chandeliers large and small hung from golden chains. Countless lamps sat on thin tables along the wall, extending hundreds of feet before him until the corridor seemed to end in a blaze of light, as if leading directly into the sun. Everything was awash in a soothing yellow glow. Fred started forward, relishing the thick warm carpet beneath his bare feet. As he moved the air grew warmer. The sensation of warmth quickened his steps until he was all but jogging toward the open door in the distance. Then something strange began to happen. As he passed each lamp and chandelier he noticed that they went out. Not switched off, but snuffed out in an electric flash. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that all the lights behind him had vanished, swallowed in a wave of darkness advancing at his heels. He spun around and ran faster, but the darkness was faster still, bulbs flashing out and smoking, some even exploding in a rain of sparks and glass one after another down the length of the corridor. He could not outrun them, though he ran now as fast as he could. A tidal wave of oily black swept past, ceiling, walls, and floor disappearing as if never there. Fred cried out and lunged for the last circle of light up ahead. Then, in a swirling rush, the final vestige of light, what just moments ago had been almost too bright to look at, was snuffed out as if it were no stronger than a candle. He screamed, lost his balance, and began to fall and fall and fall into nothing.

  When he opened his eyes he knew at once it had been a nightmare. He breathed several deep breaths to calm himself before noticing something that was even worse than the dream.

  His flashlight was still on, but the bulb was so dim now it gave off little more than a faint amber glow.

  “No…..please no. Not now!” Fred banged it with the palm of his hand to no effect. He switched it off, then on. Off then on. But the light was in its final moments. Twenty seconds later, as he stared down helpless, the light grew fainter, and fainter, and fainter until it was no more. He squeezed the flashlight so tightly his skin ached.

  And then the moaning resumed.

  Fred lifted his head, gritted his teeth as fresh hot tears pushed out from his now-useless eyes. He was blind in the cave, and whatever moaned in the darkness was blocking his only route of escape.

  16

  Despair and utter hopelessness loomed over him, threatening to smother him.

  Still clutching the flashlight, he tried desperately to ignore the moaning. With no light to guide him, he knew now there was little chance of his survival. He’d learned all too well that one misstep in the dark could mean a fall, broken bones, death. Any movement he made would be so slow as to be almost useless. He could try to go back, trace his path all the way to the cleft, where there was light and food. But it had nearly killed him before. Now, with no guiding illumination, it felt next to impossible. He was stuck in the depths of the earth, with a creature that would not stop making that dreadful noise.

  His whole body felt ready to collapse. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out the last of the cricket pieces, now but a cluster of legs and crushed torsos. There was no taste to them, but at least he was eating, though the meal might be his last.

  The moaning grew louder, rising to a quivering tone that sent chills over his entire body.

  “What are you?” he shouted in the dark, his voice echoing off unseen walls. The moaning did not abate, did not even respond to his cry. He forced himself to stand up.

  “You will not stop me,” he said. “You will not keep me from moving on.”

  With a burst of courage that surprised him, Fred began to walk forward, not with small steps of caution, but with determined speed. Completely blind, he moved over the smooth stone floor and gave himself to whatever awaited. The moaning was so close now it b
lared in his ears.

  Without warning, the floor dropped out from under him and he fell forward with arms flailing. He braced himself for the fatal crash, hoping to go quickly, but slammed onto slanted rock instead. It knocked the breath from his lungs and sent him rolling down an incline. When he finally slid to a stop seconds later, he groaned, awash with stabs of pain. When he tried to move, his right foot hit something loose. Not rock or stone. Something else. Something foreign.

  The moaning was right before him now. He sat up and felt for the object with his hands. Immediately, he found something strange. It was smooth and slender, half an inch wide and a foot long. A tree limb? Searching further he found where it grew wide and bulbous, then split into two smaller branches. Following the object all the way down, the two smooth cylinders rejoined to another cluster of bumps then turned sharply at a right angle to several smaller branches, five in all, each ending at bony points.

  His heart pounded as he realized what he was touching. Before he gave himself over to complete revulsion, he searched in the opposite direction and ran his hand upward until he found a pelvis, a spine, ribs, and then, to his horror, a skull with mouth gaping.

  He lurched backward, kicking away from the corpse, but the incline behind him did not allow him to go far. He had fallen into a kind of stony funnel, a mere five feet wide. He rolled onto his belly and tried frantically to claw his way up but it was no use. He slid back down within seconds. He was trapped.