Robyn Hogan

The dawn was clear and hard, the sky silver and green as we set off. Our backpacks were rammed full with sandwiches (vegemite, peanut butter and quince jam), a chocolate cake, caramel fudge, date loaf, apple juice packs, water bottles, a cold chop each, all in containers, and plums, picked fresh from our trees, dropped in to fill the spaces. Cooking four chops had been a bit of a hassle. Mum had been roving around and I had to keep myself between her and the griller and use a little cunning and speed.
          I was still worried about letting them know, leaving a hint, of where we were. Just in case. Eventually I decided to leave a partly written essay on my desk. Mum knew I was into fantasy so I began writing about a cave and put a monster in it. I repeated the word ‘cave’ so often I knew it would annoy her – if she read it. I only learn later that Fox, who always covers his tracks, had, on this occasion, left the better clue.
          The heat of the day was already belting down, the wild animals holed up, their feeding finished, and the birds carolling into silence as we arrived. Only the crows cawed.
          ‘Going to be a scorcher of a day,’ Fox commented as we met up with Jacques.
          ‘Yes. It would seem so. But it could be quite cold underground.’
          I stopped in the middle of removing my backpack. ‘Could it?’ A niggling fear stirred in my stomach. ‘How cold?’ I demanded.
          ‘Cold enough for a sweater or two,’ he answered casually, handing our gear to us.
          ‘Well that’s fine, that is!’ I was close to shouting. ‘Now he tells us!’ and I looked to Fox for support.
          ‘I put a jumper in,’ City Boy chimed.
          It took a big effort on my part not to wipe the smug look off his face with my bag. Instead, I just sneered, ‘Yeah? Well, we’re tough, acclimatized, we’ll be right.’ But I was as nervous as a grasshopper; Jacques was clad in two pullovers.
          ‘At least you’re all wearing boots,’ he said, as if that made up for less clothing elsewhere.
          What else had he forgotten to tell us?
          By this stage Fox was all loaded up, looking cheeky. He checked his lamp and patted the coil of rope fastened round his upper torso and grinned at me. My anger melted as I joined in his excitement. The helmet felt just right, not heavy but reassuring, on my head, the lamp was to focus. The rope, sashed across right shoulder to left waist, added real swagger. Alex struggled a bit getting his in place and neither of us offered to help him.
          ‘We’ll go straight to the bottom then lift up into the flattener I showed you.’ Jacques, who was tying the string round a jutting rock as he spoke, sounded assured, professional, our leader. ‘You, Alex, will come directly after me. And you, Fox come up the rear. That will be our order of progression throughout the expedition. I will guide you, particularly you, Alex, until you have the right idea. Whatever you do, don’t panic. Take everything quietly, smoothly.’
          We had described our previous experience in minute detail to Alex and, with caution, he descended reasonably easily. Before we slipped through the doline we pushed the packs in and, once inside, knotted them up and dropped them on a rope down the chimney. Our climb down was easy and much more fun with lights. And the crunchy stones at the base winked in a delightful mixture of colours and sizes as we landed on them.
          The ball of string sat at an angle on Jacques’ waist from where it could feed out easily. He bent and looped it round a stone embedded low against the rock wall.
          ‘I could squeeze through and tie it outside this bottom entrance if you like,’ Fox offered.
          Jacques shook his head. ‘They could be waiting out there for us.’
          I groaned inwardly. If Jacques was going to talk about being spied on again today I might be tempted to biff him one. His next words, though, were quite rational.
          ‘I’ve had a bit of a look in that flattener and it goes a considerable way at a slight incline and angling to the right. At least as far as I’ve been. I didn’t go to the end.’
          ‘How do you know there’s anything to see then?’ Although it was Alex who spoke the same thought had also occurred to me.
          ‘That’s the adventure, the true thrill of exploration.’
          Jacques had a point. If we wanted to know where we were going we could join a local club and go crawling and dangling in the mapped caves of Bungonia Gorge. Which was, of course, what we should have done rather than risk our lives in this manner.
          ‘I’ll go first, then Alex, same as before. You’ll have to push your packs in front of you. The passage starts out at about 20 centimetres in height but only for a metre then improves to 30 to 40.’
          He twisted his body a little, righting the equipment, then, pack straps between his teeth jumped up the wall. Spiderman-like, he groped his way to the slit. There he paused to take the pack from his mouth and push it in before sliding in himself. Smoothly, effortlessly, expertly. City Boy was a lot more awkward. Fox and I laughed as, half-in, half-out, his feet slipped off the wall and his legs dangled uselessly. Like trousers from a clothesline. Then he was in and I allowed him several minutes to leave room for me.
          The passage floor was dusty and soft and I kept my distance behind the boots labouring ahead of me. Actually, it was pretty easy going, particularly once we were in the larger part, and I quite enjoyed the earthy smell. Once it became wide and high enough for us to crawl instead of wriggle I could turn my head and talk to Fox. Mainly, we just grinned at each other. It seemed ages, though, before I noticed the boot soles in front become heels and legs and walk aside, out of my vision.
          ‘We can stand up in a minute,’ I passed back to Fox and spurt crawled the last metres.
          We were standing on the floor of a wide chamber. Musty, cool, earthy – and wondrous. Roots clung and wound along the ceiling, some fibres hanging free, lost and still, above us. Nothing stirred. It felt like being at the beginning of time and we were part of the spell.
          Jacques, of course, recovered first and, taking out his notebook and pencil, sat down, back against a wall. He started drawing, adding to some lines already on the page. Fox walked over for a closer squiz. Jacques immediately clasped the book against his chest and crouched over it, glaring, his headlamp picking up the puzzled expression on Fox’s face.
          ‘Seems we can explore with him but not see his records,’ Fox muttered as he returned to my side.
          ‘I’m thirsty. I need a drink.’ City Boy had opened his bag and was pulling out a fruit juice.
          ‘Good idea,’ Jacques agreed, amiable again. ‘Then we’ll check out this cave.’
          The liquid washed the dust down and we took special care not to drop any cardboard tags or the straws. We had formally resolved we would leave no rubbish, accidentally or deliberately.
          We began to look round the cave. Moving independently. Although I noticed Jacques peered closer at the floor and Alex wandered rather aimlessly. We two examined the walls. We were all looking for signs of a further passage, an internal doline, that would lead us on.
          And Fox found it.
          Beneath a root stripe and beyond a triad of loose, hunched boulders, lay a further root, thick, half-buried in soft, red soil. His lamp picked out the shape and curve. It plunged downwards, disappearing into the rock face.
          ‘Here, Ame,’ he called softly, ‘what do you make of that?’ He shone his lamp along the ridge of root and focussed on a spot about a metre above the floor.
          ‘Looks promising,’ I bluffed.
          ‘Yeah.’ We clambered over the boulders and he ran his hand along the rootline. Sensitive but firm. Like stroking a horse. Soil crumbled away at first then a decent hunk slipped off, away. A slide, probably three metres long, the root a low lying banister that crossed over near the base, appeared. The floor seemed to extend reasonably level at the perimeter of our light. We called Jacques and Alex.
          ‘Great!’ Jacques tied a loop into the string, marking the distance across the cavern then, on bottom and heels, slid down. Simple. Making sure we had all the gear we followed.
          ‘Disneyland must be like this,’ I laughed as I scrambled to stand on the floor of the next cavern and move out of Fox’s way.
          We were now in a thin, high slot, a little over a metre wide. Solid walls rose up beyond the range of lamp light. As one we gasped. The walls were beautiful. Black, or a deep, dark blue-grey, streaked with pearly white rivers and splashes of pale and heavier orange. Maybe the light worked some magic but the effect was breathtaking. I reached out tentatively. The surface was dry but with a clammy feeling, like an old person’s skin.
          ‘What is it, Ame?’
          ‘Marble.’ I looked at Fox and his eyes were wide with wonder, the pupils black pools behind the light. ‘I wonder how thick it is.’
          ‘And how long it has taken to make.’
          ‘Hear them?’ Jacques spoke sharply, ‘they’re coming down to get us. We’re trapped. You weren’t careful enough. Now we are cornered.’
          His words echoes into silence. Nothing moved. Little silvery grains twinkled in the walls and we could hear each other breathing.
          ‘There’s no one after us.’ Fox spoke in the reasonable tone he uses when planning farm work with Dad. But his words triggered something awful in Jacques. He went beserk.
          ‘We’ve got to move on. Move on before they catch us. We’re trapped. Rats in a hole.’
          All the while he was gabbling he was kicking and thumping at irregularities in the walls and floor. A pebble patch in the sandy floor heaved and slipped beneath his wild attack. He dropped down and, crouching over the area, began clawing at the stones feverishly, muttering anxiously. A hole began to form, then a narrow squeeze, running more or less under the main floor, became apparent. Jacques eased his body in, his hard hat and shoulders forcing rubble aside, hips, legs and feet slithering after, as smooth as a snake. Then his light shone back through the slot. It was less than a metre to the next cave.
          ‘Hurry! Hurry, damn you!’
          Without stopping to think, I’m sure, Fox dived into the squeeze. I grabbed the packs, pushed them in, and followed him. We both forgot the basic discipline; Alex was left to come last.
          He was fatter than us, quite solid, and the passage gap narrow. His head and shoulders struggled through but he lost rhythm of movement and his hips and buttocks became wedged. His face, red with embarrassment, scowled at us. He placed his hands either side on the walls and heaved, writing and grunting. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he swore quite expressively.
          The rumble was faint at first, as if someone else was moving in the passage, but, as it became louder, a spill of loosened cobbles and dirt fell round us. Then the wall shifted and settled, anchoring and burying half of Alex.
          His scream was short and sharp. And once only.
To be continued