“I’m open to suggestions.”
“Okay, let’s see what our resources are. We’ve got two flashlights and one headlamp. A camera. A gun. An evidence kit, which probably doesn’t help us much at the moment. You got any food or water?”
“Pack of gum,” I said. “Sugarless, so there’s no energy in it. We got water flowing in the cave, though.” I pointed my light in the direction of the subterranean stream, which we now knew originated at the springs behind the church. But the stream was gone, leaving only a muddy bed behind. The first of the two cave-ins must have blocked it.
“I’ve got a Snickers bar and a bottle of water,” said Art. “If I can just pull off that loaves-and-fishes trick I read about in the Bible, we’ll have bushels of leftovers. Oh, this might help—the map Methuselah the Caver faxed me.”
“What good’s that gonna do? We already found the cave. Unfortunately.”
“It’s not a map to the cave, Smarty Pants, it’s a map of the cave. The interior. The part where we happen to be trapped like rats. Or bats.”
“But we’re sandwiched between two cave-ins, with nothing in the middle but fifty yards of tunnel and that damn grotto.” Art studied the map silently. “Face it, Art,” I said. “We’re sealed up in here. No way out.”
Art aimed his headlamp straight into my eyes, blinding me. “You’re just gonna give up?” he said. “Me, I’m not ready to throw in the towel.” With that, he spun and began picking his way back through the debris, back toward the grotto.
“Art, wait. Slow down.”
“You hurry up.” He kept moving, his lights sweeping every square foot of the tunnel’s walls and ceiling. But his pace slackened slightly. I caught up with him in the grotto, just in time to see the beam of his light point upward at the grotto’s ceiling and disappear into a circular opening about the diameter of a beach ball. “Aha!” he said.
“Did you know that was there?”
“Not until I checked the map. Back there when you were busy kissing our asses good-bye.”
“Sorry. Does it go out?”
“Don’t know.”
“What’s the map say?”
“Says ‘Unexplored.’ Guy who made the map used to be pretty hefty. I’m guessing the word ‘Unexplored’ shows up on most of his maps.”
“So maybe it leads to another entrance—but maybe it just meanders around inside the mountain for a while and then peters out?”
“Maybe. Do I need to get all hardass with you again, or are you feeling optimistic and exploratory?”
“Let’s go.”
That proved easier said than done. The opening was about ten feet overhead. Even if I stood on Art’s shoulders, I doubted I could reach it. I was about to suggest we start hauling in rocks from the tunnel—we certainly had enough debris to build a big pile—when Art clambered up onto the stone shelf and began studying the wall above, playing his light across the surface from various angles. “Hand me that case, will you, Bill?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You found some evidence up there?”
“No, genius. I need something to stand on.”
I handed it up, and he stood the rectangular case—a glorified tackle box, basically—up on end. Reaching slightly up and to one side, he grabbed a small knob of rock with his left hand. With his right, he stretched straight up and jammed two fingers into a narrow vertical crack in the wall. With a grunt, he levered himself up off the box, the toes of his hiking boots somehow latching onto projections I hadn’t even seen. Once he had both feet up off the evidence kit, he extricated his fingers from the crack, reached a foot higher, and inserted his entire right hand into the crack. As first one foot, then the other, sought purchase on the wall, I saw him strain. His left hand lost its grip and he slipped, smacking against wall and dangling by his right hand, still wedged tightly in the crack. He cried out in pain, and his feet frantically scrambled against the rock. Instinctively I climbed onto the stone bench, took his boots in my hands, and hoisted upward with all my strength. With agonizing slowness, his boots reached the level of my chest, then my shoulders; finally, I found myself standing with my arms fully extended, quaking with the effort. Just as I was about to gasp out a warning about my strength failing, I felt the load lighten, and then he was gone, his legs disappearing up through the opening in the roof of the grotto.
I kept expecting him to reappear, and when he didn’t after a few moments, I felt the panic returning. Finally, his head popped back into view. “Damn, that was tough. Thanks for the help. I thought for a minute there I was gonna leave that hand behind.”
I was still panting, partly from exertion, partly from fear. “No problem. Anything encouraging up there?”
“Come see for yourself.”