Robyn Hogan

“I’m scared. Really scared, Fox.”

“Yeah.”

“What are we to do?” I was barely whispering and panic was like a thorn in my throat sharpening my next words. “What can we do?”

Fox touched my shoulder in a brief, friendly way. “Calm. We, you and I, must stay calm.” His voice, too, was spikey.

Some minutes passed as we stood, side by side, staring at a natural wonder and organizing, controlling our thoughts. Mine rolled round, roved over, the awful problems posed by the blocked wall, Alex, Jacques, but avoiding, deliberately refusing to acknowledge, the tomb-like atmosphere of our environment.

“There has to be a way out.” Fox’s words had a contrived, positive ring. As if he had been rehearsing them

A silly notion occurred to me and I began giggling helplessly, maybe hysterically. “Perhaps it’s marked EXIT in green neon.”

Fox grinned. “Yeah.” Then added, seriously, “it stands to reason, Ame, that there is a way out because, up to now, there’s been enough passages and slots and squeezes. That first part had two openings, one top, one bottom, of the hill. The whole area must be a series of holes and openings. Why wouldn’t this cavern have two, maybe three, ways out?”

It was a long speech for Fox but, if it was his purpose to calm me, it worked.

“Do you think we’re on the other side of the hill?” With self control uppermost again I spoke normally. “I’ve got no idea where we are.” That was a stupid thing to say because it made me feel like crying. I clamped my mouth tight and swallowed hard.

“Point,” was Fox’s comment and he fell silent again.

“Sick. Going to be sick,” Alex interrupted our thoughts.

I spun round, a needle of pain shot through the swelling on my head but I raced to him. He was struggling to sit, or, at least, lift himself up a little and turn to the side. I shoved the now empty sandwich container, which I realised was still in my hand, under his jaw just as he heaved. Keeping my hand steady I turned away, swallowing the gall that rose in my own throat, forcing my mind to think of other smells. Like the sweat on a horse after a fast gallop. The acid tang of squashed ants. Anything that would hold down my own nausea.

“Thanks.”

I turned back to Alex, slumped again on his make-shift pillow. Even his lips, moist and sticky, were white and great beads of perspiration broke and ran down his face.

Carefully, I put the container down and, wriggling a little along the ground, reached for the water.

“Here. rinse your mouth out.”

He looked at me weakly, rallied and lifted enough to sip, swill and spit before falling back, closing his eyes.

I stood up wondering how best to dispose of the much. The crumbled wall was on the edge of my light. I walked over, scooped out a hole with my boot heel, and tipped it in, covering it swiftly. But I did remember and forced myself to look at it. First Aid rules. No blood. Coming back to Alex I set the container near him. He might need to us a dish again, though I sincerely hoped he wouldn’t. For all our sakes.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped, his eyes begging me not to hate him.

“You can’t help it,” I answered softly and saw relief relax his expression. “Just hope it doesn’t happen again – for your sake.” I couldn’t quite believe this was me, tough Amy, speaking. “Soon as the old tum settles a bit I’ll get you some juice.

“Thanks.” He even tried to smile.

If anyone had asked me the day before how he would have reacted I would have said: screaming, red-faced asthmatic mess. We had sadly judged him without attempting to know him. You couldn’t help but admire his self-control since the accident. Maybe I was being humble rather than gentle when I tried to help him. We had unpacked his puffer, the drug he inhaled for his asthma, and I tucked the little plastic cartridge into his hand ready for his use.

“It’d be dark outside by now,” Fox strolled over to me, “it might be better to rest the early part of the night and start searching for a way out when we wake.”

He didn’t add, but it was obvious from his face, he was tired. I felt heavy with weariness too.

“Old Jacques is still asleep. He might be okay again when he wakes. And be able to find our way out. We really need his experience.”

He began to settle himself, lying down, pushing an empty backpack behind his head. I took an apple juice pack, slipped the straw off, pierced the top and crept to Alex.

“Ready for a drink now?”

His eyes opened slowly. I placed the straw between his lips. His hand clasped the packet and he sucked a little.

“Leave it with me. I’ll manage. You get some rest.”

“Sure. Switch your lamp off when you’re ready. We’ll have to begin rationing everything, including light.”

As I settled down beside Fox I said, “They will have missed us well and truly by now.”

“Yeah.”

We had switched off our lamps. The darkness was blacker than I could believe. Still, heavy, cold, nothingness.

“I tried to leave a clue. Mum might find it. But I doubt if it will mean anything to her tonight.” I wriggled a bit. The lump on my head throbbed when I lay on it so I had to turn on my side. “It’s so obscure it will probably be days before she realises it is even a clue.”

I was inwardly cursing myself for a fool, a smarty-pants fool.

“I left a clue too.”

I was so surprised I couldn’t find a reply.

“It shouldn’t be too difficult to understand. But I wish now I had drawn my own map.”

Words still failed me but I felt a spark of joy. A map. Dad was great with maps. They’d find us. And the string. That would lead them in.

“Don’t get your hopes up too high.” Fox had read my thoughts, or felt my relief, through the darkness. “All I did was pencil our approximate position on a Bungonia Recreation Area map. Bit stupid really. Doubt if it will mean anything to anyone.”

A hollow thud and slap of flesh startled me and echoed round the chamber. He must have punched a fist into the palm of his other hand. He did that when he was really thwarted. “Damn and blast. How inefficient, how useless,” he growled.

“It’ll help, you’ll see,” I said, trying to soothe him. “Let’s sleep now. My eyes won’t stay open any longer.”

And, to our surprise and despite the sombre cold, we slept soundly.