Well In Time Part 9

Ordering up his long-range snipers, he commanded, "Kill as many as you can around that howitzer. Keep up a steady barrage. Don't let them get a shot off."

It was too late, however. With a deep whoosh, the howitzer launched a sh.e.l.l, just as the snipers got off a volley that dropped several men around the artillery piece. Javier watched the sh.e.l.l arc up into the sky, as if in slow motion. He could hear his snipers firing again and again, but the sound was distant and m.u.f.fled. With all his being he watched the sh.e.l.l descend, calculating where it would hit. It seemed to hang suspended for a lifetime before it plummeted down, right through the tiled roof of his home.

The Cave

Almost immediately the pa.s.sage grew much more difficult. "Be careful near this siphon," Calypso yelled.

From the waterfall's basin, water poured down a stone chute and cascaded into a whirling pool, with a sucking vortex at the center. The way past was slippery and the roar of the descending water terrifying. Hill shouted something but Calypso couldn't hear it and shook her head, concentrating on crossing the slick stone. When they were sufficiently past the monster, she turned back to him, asking, "What did you say?"

"I said," Hill called over the diminis.h.i.+ng din, "it's like a big bathtub drain. I wonder what would happen if I fell in there?"

"You'd probably end up in a chamber like the one we just left-only with no way out!"

Soon they came to another cavern, this time from up near its ceiling. Calypso waited for Hill to catch up.

"Javier thinks we've been following the original water course," she explained. "Where we're standing would have been another waterfall. But for whatever reason, the water got diverted. Maybe the rock wore thin and the water just dropped through as a siphon, into a tunnel below. It probably has an outfall in the river somewhere. Anyway, that's the last we'll see of it. Our challenge from here on is to be like water ourselves."

"What do you mean?" Hill stood on the lip of the drop-off, running his headlamp beam along the vertical wall beneath them. The light was lost in the abyss of the cavern below.

"Water, of necessity, flows on. That's our challenge now too."

"Going over this drop looks more like a big splat than a flow."

"It's not as bad as it looks. This is one of the places where we've set up ropes. Over this way." Calypso led along the lip of the drop off. Back in a shadowed nook, her light caught another iron ring set into the stone, with a rope already attached and coiled on the stone floor. "This won't be nearly as scary as that first rappel. It's only about fifty feet to the floor of the cavern."

"Great!" Hill couldn't muster sufficient confidence to sound sincere.

"Relax, Walter. We're almost halfway there," she said as she busied herself, setting up the rappel.

"And just where, pray tell, is 'there'?"

"Our stopping place for the night." She fiddled with the equipment. "Okay," she said at last. "It's ready. Do you want to go first or last?"

"I don't want to go at all." Hill sounded as petulant as he felt.

"Fine. Then you can stay here, if that's what you choose." Calypso slipped the climbing harness around her and buckled it tightly. "If you change your mind, just let me know, before I pull the rope free." And with that she pushed off, disappearing into the chasm of darkness.

Hill rushed to the edge and followed her looping trajectory to the cavern floor. He watched as she unbuckled the harness. When she turned her face up to him, it was set and grim and she refused to speak. Her hand on the rope said it all.

"Okay. All right. Send the harness up," he sighed resignedly. "And if I ever agree to go adventuring with you again," he muttered under his breath, "just shoot me."

"I heard that." The harness came whipping over the edge. "The acoustics in here are like a cathedral."

"Speaking of cathedrals, I could be in Paris right now"-Hill growled as he buckled the harness-"sitting in a cafe, admiring Our Lady's flying b.u.t.tresses and eating something delightful. Actually, a stiff drink of fifteen-year-old scotch also comes to mind."

He backed toward the edge, clinging to the rope, trying to remember where he should hold his hands so as not to have his fingers devoured by the figure eight. "But no! Instead I'm immured inside a mountain of stone, performing trapeze acts in pitch blackness." He sat back and let the rope slide a few inches.

"Just quit your resistance and get it over with, quickly and simply. Like water."

"Okay. Here comes the big flush." And he pushed off into s.p.a.ce.

Calypso caught his arm and steadied him as his feet hit the cavern floor. "Careful! It's really uneven here." She could sense the quivering of Hill's limbs, more than feel it. "You did well, Walter," she conceded.

"Right! Consider that last act an evocation of my undying love for you." He pulled at the buckles of the harness with trembling fingers.

"It's your pure heart that got you through that, for sure. Because it certainly wasn't your technique."

"I could experience self-pity about now," Hill sniffed, "but I won't. I will be n.o.ble and stalwart and steadfast, despite the h.e.l.lishness."

"Walter, you and I both know that you'll write a report about all this that will probably win you the Pulitzer."

Leaving the rope and harness hanging in place, they shone their lights ahead and chose a path through the rock-strewn chaos of the cavern floor, grousing and sniping companionably as they went.

"The pa.s.sage is over this way," Calypso said, waving her light across the far wall. Then she turned to Hill and said with deep sincerity, "You had great courage up there, Walter. Don't think I don't know it." She turned and trudged on, before he could master his astonishment and think of a suitably cavalier response.

Calypso stopped before a low, black opening in the cavern wall and turned toward Hill, who still was navigating a series of rough, rounded boulders with difficulty.

"It's like climbing around where old Volkswagens go to die," he huffed. As he approached, she held him in a solemn stare that alarmed him. "What?" he asked defensively. "Am I slowing you down?"

"No, Walter. It's just that...I have to tell you about the next part. But first, we need to put fresh batteries in our headlamps."

She knelt and dug into the open top of her pack.

"Here. Put these in and give me your old ones. They must be just about used up." She busied herself with her own light and the cave suddenly went dark. "Oops!" Her laugh came out of utter blackness. "Let's do it sequentially, shall we?" Her light flicked back on and Hill felt himself take a deep breath.

"I think I stopped breathing for a second there." He slid the batteries out of his lamp and she handed fresh batteries back, with a stare that was so intense that Hill became nervous. "What?" he asked again, a little shrilly.

"I have to tell you about the next part."

"You already said that. What do I have to do now? Swing hand over hand across a bottomless chasm filled with sightless albino snakes?"

Calypso took her time answering, choosing her words carefully.

"The next part is...well, honestly, the hardest." She held up her hand to stop the response that was already forming on Hill's lips. "Once we're through it, everything else is a piece of cake. But this next part is..." She let out a little sigh. "Is hard."

"Well, that was enlightening."

"I'm sorry. It's not easy to describe it. It's going to be harder for you because you're bigger. And it's hard enough for me. But!" she held up her hand again, to stop his exasperation. "Javier can make it through, so I know you can, too."

"Through what?" Hill's voice was laden with his growing suspicion.

"The next part is very...very small."

Calypso's eyes held a particular kind of pleading that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"At first, you can crawl. But then, very quickly, you have to...well, I would call it slither. The tube gets very...close. I like to do it face down, because I can't stand to see the ceiling so close to me. And I do it in the dark, by feel, for the same reason. But Javier likes to go face up, because in the narrowest part he says there are handholds in the ceiling that he uses to pull himself along."

She stopped and stood staring at her feet. "So that's it. Any questions?"

"What about my pack?"

"We take our packs off and drag them behind us on leads. You have to maneuver them with your feet so they don't get caught crosswise in the tunnel."

"This sounds like swell fun! And how long does this pa.s.sage go on?"

"I'm not sure. It seems like forever but I'm thinking it's probably no more than a couple of hundred yards."

"A couple of hundred yards. I see."

"It's not wonderful, Walter. I've done it many times and I never really get used to it. The first time is the hardest though. So you've got to believe me when I say that it is possible to get through. When you think you can't, that's when you're closest to it getting better. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect. And I suppose it's not an option to just sit and wait for a demolition team to come and blast me out of here?"

Her smile was meager and it told Hill everything he needed to know. If even Calypso's courage was daunted, then the party was about to get rough.

Calypso showed him how to tether his pack so that he could drag it behind him. Then, ducking to the low opening, she said, "Let's get this over. We don't have helmets, so watch your head."

She inserted her head into the hole, then withdrew it and sat down, looking up at Hill.

"Two things, Walter. Be like water: flow, don't fight. And remember that there really is enough room for you to get through. It's not your body that will have the most trouble. It will be your mind."

Calypso crawled into the tunnel, determined that this time she could do it calmly. No matter that she had done this pa.s.sage more than a dozen times. It still made her heart race just to think about it.

"Best not to think about what's ahead," she called back to Hill. "Just take it one second at a time. It's easier that way."

Hill squatted and looked into the tunnel as far as he could see by the headlamp. At its furthest arc, he could just make out Calypso's retreating form scuttling along on all fours, her pack trailing behind her, before she disappeared around a turn. He sat back and put his head on his knees. He hadn't had the heart to tell Calypso the truth-he was a claustrophobe.

Already the day's exertions in the dark and close confines of the cave had challenged him. His nerves were shot. He couldn't imagine how he would accomplish what lay before him, but the thought of being left alone in the center of the mountain was even worse. With a ragged sigh, he inserted his head into the opening and began to crawl.

He made it round the first turn with no trouble, even though his pack hung up. He had to kick it loose because the tunnel already was too narrow to reach back for it. Ahead, his lamp showed that the ceiling sloped down to under two feet high. He caught a glimpse of Calypso's retreating rear, as she wriggled out of sight.

Realizing that this was the juncture where he would have to decide on going face up or face down, he decided on face down, despite Javier's preference for the former. Somehow, the thought of looking up at solid stone, right in his face, was more than he could bear.

He lowered himself onto the floor and squirmed forward on his forearms. The floor of the pa.s.sage was fine sand and not abrasive. Raising his head to look forward, he cracked his skull on the ceiling.

"Ow!" His voice was m.u.f.fled and he heard no response from Calypso. All he could do was crawl ahead, following the rut left by her pack in the sand.

The tunnel ran fairly straight, with occasional high and wide spots where he could draw his knees under him and crawl for a bit. All too soon, however, the ceiling would lower and he would find himself face down again. Resting in one of the wide spots, spread eagle in the sand, he tried to estimate how far he had come. He thought it might be about two hundred feet. A third of the way! Heartened, he dragged himself to his knees and crawled on.

When he estimated that he must be well over halfway, the tunnel began to constrict. He could lift his head a scant six inches and his elbows were hitting the sides. He could feel his heart rate rising and not just from exertion. Remembering Calypso's promise that in coming to the worst spot he was almost through, he wriggled on.

The pa.s.sage, however, became smaller still. This must be the place where Javier preferred to be on his back, pulling along with ceiling handholds. Hill tried to turn over but the s.p.a.ce was too tight. The ceiling was now too low for him to lift his head.

Suddenly, panic swept over him. He tried to push outward with his arms, but they were pinioned to his sides. He had the sensation that all the air was being sucked from around him and he began to gasp. Cold sweat broke out all over his body. He could not control his mind. Panic galloped through him and every fear of a terrible death that he had ever imagined overtook him and then was superseded by his present predicament. He felt he was dying and it was terrible beyond comprehension.

He lay rigid, fighting for composure. Just kick with your feet, he reasoned with himself. Push forward a few more inches. He tried to do it, but his size fifteens caught on the ceiling. He leaned his feet sideways, and was able to push forward with his toes. He made a few more inches and realized that, unbelievably, the s.p.a.ce was becoming smaller still. He thought his heart was about to burst and he lay gasping on the sand.

The weight of the stone above him was immense. The ceiling, a couple of inches above him, seemed to press down with living animosity. He could not control his breath. It sobbed through his lungs like hot wind. He knew that he had to get control of himself or he would pa.s.s out. Control, however, eluded him.

Scenes from his life began to flash through his mind. There was the time in Vietnam, when he was just new to the journalistic profession, when he went into the field with a Marine recon unit and they were hit with enemy fire. Flashes of gunfire erupted in his brain and he saw the jungle floor again as he dove toward it, heard the shouts of the men, and smelled, just as vividly as if it were flowing from his own body in present time, the metallic smell of blood.

Just as quickly, he was in Ethiopia with his Land Rover's axle broken in a ditch and the ground temperature soaring past a hundred and twenty degrees. He was swigging the last drop of water from his canteen, when a ragtag group of local militia hove into view, Kalashnikov rifles bristling from the beds of a couple of battered Toyota pickups. He could feel, again, the steely, simian grip of those hands that pulled him into the truck, smell the reek of unwashed flesh, and hear the excited jabber of his captors.

Again, his mind skittered and he was in the c.o.c.kpit of a bomber as it swooped low over a thatched village in the jungle. Mozambique! The CIA's covert operation against the rebels there. The plane dove, strafed, took fire. Bullets ripped through the floor right next to his boot. The pilot's feet both spouted blood, as he slumped on the stick and the plane slid crazily sideways.

Hill could not stop the progression of wild memories, nor quell the intensity of the visceral sensations they brought. His mind was fevered and he felt as if his skull might break open like a melon, spilling his brains into the sand. He lost all sense of where he was in time and s.p.a.ce and felt himself spinning into oblivion.

Calypso slithered desperately forward, keeping her head tilted sideways beneath the crus.h.i.+ng ceiling. Her elbows barked against the rough stone of the tube. She was in the lowest place, the one that always made her feel, no matter how many times she pa.s.sed through it, as if her death were imminent. Only the thought of the freedom of movement that awaited her kept her from panic. Just a few more yards to go, she told herself. You can do it! You can do it!

Turning her head sideways, she slipped her skull under what she knew was the very tightest place of all. She dug her hands into the sand and swiveled her hips, worming her way through the obstructed pa.s.sage. Just a couple of yards now. Then a few feet. Finally, her head broke through to open s.p.a.ce, then her arms, and she was able to pull herself forward into the next cavern.

Just as she was pulling her legs from the tube, she heard it. The sound was m.u.f.fled, but that did nothing to stifle the horror of it. It was so anguished, so tormented, that it turned her stomach.

Hill! The sheer abandon of the shriek was telling. He was losing it. Tears leapt to her eyes. "My G.o.d!" she gasped. "That poor man!"

She experienced an instant of pure revulsion at the thought of going back into the tube, then she unsnapped her pack from its tether and kicked it to the side. Diving onto the cavern floor, she lunged forward and, denying herself the right of protest, wriggled back into the tube.

When Hill came back to himself, his first sensation was of a cool breeze blowing onto his fevered face. He lay with his eyes closed and savored the freshness of the air, the sweetness of the scent of pine. He rolled his head to the side and glanced upward. A rend in the stone ceiling revealed a silvery night sky luminous with stars. Directly above him, the thin sickle of a new moon rode the river of the Milky Way like a slender boat.

"Just push with your feet, Walter," he heard Calypso's voice say calmly. It echoed slightly, like a voice from another dimension. "Be like water. Wiggle your hips like a fish. Paddle with your feet. Keep your head turned to the side so it will slip through. You're almost there. Just let yourself swim through."

Her voice calmed him. He smiled up at the moon as he pushed his feet into the sand. The sensation of floating was marvelous. He wiggled his hips and moved forward. He felt the stone above him brush his cheek, then sc.r.a.pe across his shoulders and back, but he was oblivious, rea.s.sured by the sight of Calypso, standing free against the night sky. She bent her kind face toward him and smiled. Her hair wreathed on the night wind and her skirt arced and ruffled about her. "Just swim, Walter," she said again. Gently, he wafted forward like a fish in dark water, drifting in the moonlight.

Hill lay on the rough floor of the cavern in fetal posture, his breathing coming in ragged gulps. The strange sensation of floating still bore him on illusory waters.

"It's over, Walter. You made it. It's all over now," Calypso's voice crooned.