Love Not at First Sight

by Sarah Ready

  “You alright?” Sam asks.

  “Good. I’m good,” I say. This maneuver is strenuous even when you’re rested. My legs start to shake. I press my opposite leg harder, then quickly drop my hand to my shirt and wipe the blood off. I hiss at the sting.

  We’ve gone at least ten feet. I can’t see in front of me to know whether we’re close to the end of the crack. I can’t see anything at all. Sam’s watch light has gone off and he’s not in a position to turn it back on.

  I shift my back and inch my way forward. My right foot jams forward, moving faster than I intended. Rock from the wall comes loose and clatters to the bottom of the pit. My limbs shake and sweat trickles down into my eyes.

  I wipe my hand again. The blood oozing out makes it hard to keep my hand flat against the rock.

  Sam swears. I hear rocks smash against the bottom of the pit.

  “Okay?”

  “Hit a loose spot.”

  My heart thuds in my chest, ramming against my ribs. My legs and arms burn with the exertion. I concentrate on moving forward. Shift, slide, press, move. Shift, slide, press, move. Inch forward. Don’t fall. Wipe the blood. Shift, slide, press, move.

  Sam’s moving faster than me. He’s caught up to me. I feel his hand brush against mine as he slides forward. His breath is harsh and loud.

  “Hey you,” I say. My limbs shake.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” he says.

  I inch forward. Press, slide. Wipe the blood.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asks in a light, playful voice. He’s trying to cut the tension.

  “Oh,” I grunt, “just hanging out.”

  “Come here often?” he asks.

  “Only on Tuesdays,” I say.

  “And Sundays. It’s Sunday.”

  “Fancy that.”

  He laughs. “Just hanging out. Tuesdays and Sundays.”

  I smile.

  Suddenly, my bloody hand slips, to compensate I jam my foot harder against the wall. But the rock’s loose. It crumbles away and my back slides down the wall. I start to fall.

  “Sam!”

  The rock tears at my back. My hand claws at the rock. My feet slip. My stomach rises up and this is it, I’m…

  “Got you.”

  Sam catches me. He grabs my arm. Levers himself against the wall and lifts me back up into the crack. I wedge my feet into the wall and wipe my bloody hand on my shirt. Press my shaking hands into the walls. I’m cold and sweating. I think I’m going to be sick. The sound of my pounding heart fills my ears. It’s dark. It’s too dark. I’m shaking. My limbs can’t hold on.

  “We’ve got to quit meeting like this,” Sam says. He presses his thigh against mine. “You falling. Me catching.”

  I let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

  Then, I close my eyes and re-center myself. Better. I blow out a long, steadying breath. “One of these days, I’m going to catch you,” I say.

  “Looking forward to it.”

  He brushes his fingers over mine.

  A second later, “You okay?” he asks.

  I swallow down the rising fear and try not to think about the open crevice beneath me.

  “I’m great. Like I said, just hanging out.”

  “Good.”

  I start moving again. I wipe my hand every few seconds to keep it dry. My arms and legs burn and ache. They’re screaming at me to straighten out, but we’re not to the end yet.

  Sam hits his watch display and I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “We made it.”

  I scoot another foot then drop down. My legs shake and cramp and I drop to the cold rock. Sam lands next to me. He sits down and pulls me into his lap.

  We don’t say anything. We just sit there, breathing hard, relishing the hard ground beneath us. His heart pounds against my back. His arms shake and he pulls me harder against his chest. I rub my face against him and wait for his heartbeat to slow.

  Finally, my arms and legs stop aching, my hand stops bleeding, and my heart stops racing.

  His fingers tangle in my hair and drift over my back. The familiar movement of his hands on me brings me back to a calm place. His touch is the only light I have. There’s the soft, reassuring touch of his fingers to my lips, like the golden light of dawn. When his hands circle and drift over my back, it’s the gentle, breezy light of mid-afternoon. The hard grip of his hand in mine is the bright clear light of a sunny afternoon. The touch of his lips pressing against mine is the dusky, purple light of evening. And when he touches me with want and need, it’s the light of a thousand sunsets.

  He brushes a kiss to my forehead, at the corner of my eye. I see the light of stars shining in the darkness.

  “You saved me,” I say.

  He presses a kiss over each of my eyelids.

  “I told you I’d get you out of here. I can’t do that if you’re at the bottom of a pit.”

  “Well, that’s true.”

  “Besides, you promised me a shower and a bed. I’d do just about anything for a shower.”

  I wrinkle my nose. He’s right. It smells really bad. Like musty ammonia, but worse.

  “Do you smell that?” I ask.

  “It’s coming off that draft,” he says.

  I stand and sniff the air. Sure enough, there’s a slight breeze coming from the wall behind us. There’s something tickling my mind, a memory, or a thought. Then there’s a noise. A scratch, then a squeak.

  “Bats,” I say. “Bats!”

  I grab Sam and start jumping up and down. I hug him to me.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It’s bats. That smell is bat pee. There’s gotta be a whole colony.”

  He stops, and then what I said sinks in because he pulls me to him and lets out a whoop.

  “Bats,” he says. “Thank the lord for bats.”

  Then he kisses me and I jump into his arms. I smile against his mouth.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  The bats are going to show us the way out.

  10

  Sam

  Fifty-two hours later we’re still in the cave. We followed the stench of ammonia through tight cracks, up natural stairs, through tunnels and more dead ends than I can count. But we haven’t found the bat colony or a way out.

  I can hear them off and on, squeaking and scratching, but I can’t pinpoint where the sound is coming from. The echo could be traveling from far away, through a small crack in the stone for all I know, or through a twisted labyrinth of turns that we haven’t managed to crack.

  I don’t know what to do. We’ve been in this cave for more than four days. Veronica hasn’t complained, but I know she’s getting weaker. Sometimes she stumbles over rocks or grabs at the walls to support herself. She was sure-footed when we started this trek, and the fact that she’s not anymore tells me that time’s running out. We stop more often for drink breaks and huddle together for rest more often. Time is pressing down on us, but there’s no way I’m giving up. If Veronica passes out from hunger and I can’t stand anymore, I will crawl and drag her out on my back. I’m not giving up.

  We stand in front of a small tunnel. Veronica sniffs, the smell of bats is strong and there’s a slight draft.

  “This is the way,” she says. “I swear I hear them through there.” Her voice is less confident though; we thought we’d found the path to the colony dozens of times over the past two days.

  I kneel down and set up a cairn and an arrow. If she’s right, we’ll not see it again. There’s a squeak and I tilt my head.

  “Did you hear that?” she whispers.

  We remain quiet and unmoving, but the noise doesn’t come again.

  I stand and measure the tunnel with my hands. The rock is hard and unyielding, cold and quiet. I’ve learned a lot about this cave over the past few days. The caverns, the tunnels, the streams and pools, the formations and stalagmites, all of them have a different personality, a feeling they emanate. Some spaces are quiet, like they are watching or listening as we pass t
hrough. Others, like the waterfall cavern, are full of energy and mischief, and the water sounds like it’s laughing. There are spaces that feel ominous, others that are peaceful and silent, like the feeling that comes just before falling asleep. This tunnel has a unique feeling. I can’t describe it, except that it gives me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt the same way once as a ten-year-old kid. I walked through Central Park alone one night and when I saw a group of teens on the path ahead I had this same feeling. Instead of turning around and going another way I went forward. I was beaten and robbed.

  I feel the rock of the tunnel and span the circumference of the entry.

  “It’s going to be tight.” The narrowest yet.

  The squeaking noise comes again. Then, there’s the flapping of wings and a disturbance of air next to my cheek.

  “Did you feel that?”

  “It went into the tunnel?” she asks, her voice is filled with hope.

  “It did. It flew right past me.”

  That settles it. Strange feeling in the pit of my stomach or not, this is the way out.

  Veronica moves next to me. I light my watch and she peers into the dark space. It looks like a coffin, tight and smooth and dark. “Should I go first?” she asks. Her voice shakes. There’s no question about it, she hates the feeling of being closed in.

  “Good idea,” I say.

  She bends over and starts to climb in. “Wait,” I say. I unstrap the watch from my wrist. “Take this.”

  I put the metal watchband around her wrist, it’s too big by a few links, but I click it into place then push it up her forearm. I settle my hand on her arm, press it over the watch. She reaches out and presses her hands against my chest. “The button on the side lights it,” I say. “In case you need the light closer to you.” Having the glow nearby should help her make it through.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “Of course. You can give it back when we make it to the end of this tunnel. We’ll be at the exit and you won’t need it anymore.”

  “Exactly,” she says. Then she turns and starts into the tunnel.

  It’s the same as every other tight space we’ve shimmied through, except not. It’s tighter, my shoulders barely fit through some of the gaps, and the feeling…it’s unsettling.

  “Tell me again,” says Veronica, “about your dreams for the future. Your business and your travels and your house in the country.”

  Her voice is muffled in the close confines, but I can hear her mounting anxiety. It’s hard when we’re in these coffin-like spaces not to think about getting stuck and never making it out. Talking helps.

  Over the past few days, Veronica and I have shared our dreams. Mine are new. I’m finally shedding the past and letting myself have new dreams. I’ve told her my plans to renovate a house in the country, one near the White Pine Trail, and to make it a home. I’ve shared all the places I want to travel. We’ve brainstormed ideas for building my new business. She’s told me about her greeting card company and I’ve helped her create a plan for growing her staff and going international. She’s shared how she’s going to be a godmother and how she’ll spoil the baby and love her so much. I think about how much love Veronica has to give, how strong and brave and kind she is. I’m going to get us out of here.

  “In my house,” I begin, “I’ve thought of a new room.”

  “Yeah?”

  “A climbing gym. It’ll be three stories tall, full of complex holds and practice areas for difficult climbing techniques.”

  “Sounds nice,” she says.

  “It’s for this woman I know. I really like her, and I’m hoping she’ll want to live with me.” I stop crawling and listen for her response. My chest tightens as I wait for her answer.

  She doesn’t speak for a bit, then, “What else will be at your house?” There’s a smile in her voice.

  I let out an exhale.

  “She likes coffee. So in the kitchen I’m going to have an industrial setup. An espresso maker and a steamer, and I’ll only buy the best coffee beans.”

  She makes a noise that I take as approval.

  “She also doesn’t like to be cold, so I’ll put in fireplaces. One in the living room, another in the kitchen, one in the bedroom. And I’ll have a hot tub and a sauna.”

  “Sounds expensive,” she says.

  “Does it?” I ask.

  “This girl doesn’t need you to go into debt for her. She’d be happy with a hot bath and some wool socks, maybe a blanket and a cuddle on a couch.”

  I smile. “So, do you think she’ll want to move in with me?”

  “What else will be in your house?” she asks.

  “I was thinking a bed, a shower, a kitchen stocked with food.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “And me. The house would come with me.”

  “Then I think she’d be crazy to refuse.”

  I send up thanks to heaven.

  Then, “There’s an incline. It’s tight here,” she says. I hear her boots scrape against the rock.

  I move in after her, send my arms up and grab a rocky protrusion. I pull my arms through. The walls scrape my arms as I lift myself. Then, I stop. My heart starts to beat hard. I try to pull up, can’t…I try to push down…can’t.

  Veronica moves forward. The light of the watch grows dimmer.

  “Veronica,” I say. My voice is a sharp gasp. I’ve wedged my ribs between the walls of the inclining tunnel and I can’t pull myself out. “Veronica,” I say more sharply.

  She stops. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m stuck,” I say.

  My ribs start to ache and it’s hard to breathe. She crawls back to me. The walls are too close for her to turn around, so she lays down on the ground and flips onto her back. She scoots on her back until she’s next to my extended arms.

  “I pull you through,” she says.

  My throat tightens. “No,” I say. “Too tight.” I’m running out of air. I jammed myself in and my lungs are compressed. I’m taking short, painful breaths.

  “Sam?” Her voice is small and scared.

  I lever my hands on the ground and try to shove myself back. I can’t. I’m stuck.

  “Push me back,” I say. “Kick…” with your feet, I want to say, but it’s taking too much air to speak.

  She puts her boots on my shoulders and presses as hard as she can. I grunt at the pressure. The sides of the rock squeeze down on my ribs and her boots dig into my shoulders. There’s a sharp painful stabbing in my chest.

  “Sam? Can you…can you just pull through?”

  “Can’t…” Red and blue sparks light in front of my eyes. The pain in my chest grows and my lungs ache every time I pull in a short breath.

  Suddenly, I’m dizzy. My head feels heavy. The darkness is different now, like it’s coming from me rather than the cave. The rocks are crushing my ribs, crushing my lungs.

  My head drops to my chest. I try to pull it back up but I can’t. My hands claw at the earth, I push back…pull…nothing. I try to pull in another breath, but there’s no air.

  “Sam?” I hear panic in Veronica’s voice. Fear.

  But I can’t answer. Can’t reassure her. I don’t have enough air.

  This isn’t the end, it can’t be.

  My thoughts jumble. Spin together. I see Veronica, the picture that I have of her in my mind, she floats in front of me. I see us walking toward our house. We’re holding hands. I turn and kiss her, carry her over the threshold.

  I desperately try to pull in air, to fill my compressed lungs. My head swims, falls forward. My forehead smacks against the rock. I want to tell her…need to tell her something. I thought we were going to get out of here. I’d hoped…

  She still can. She can follow this out.

  With my last bit of air I bite out, “Go.”

  Then I slip back into the vision of us walking into our home, but when I open the door, step inside, it’s dark and she’s gone.

  11


  Veronica

  “Sam?” I cry out. He doesn’t answer. There’s nothing but the forbidding silence of the tunnel. “Sam!” Nothing. My heart jerks in my chest. “Answer me.” He doesn’t. I hit the watch light and the dim glow outlines his figure. My heart lurches and bile rises in my throat.

  “Sam, move. Push.”

  He doesn’t. He can’t.

  His head lies at an awkward angle on the ground, his arms sprawl in front of him, his hands are open and still. He doesn’t move.

  “Sam,” I shout. “Please.”

  Nothing. My stomach turns and I fight down rising nausea. He’s stuck. He’s…suffocating?

  “No. Sam. No.” I jerk myself across the ground, inching closer to him.

  “Talk to me. Sam.” My hands reach his face. His skin is cool, I can’t feel his breath, he’s as still as the walls of this godforsaken cave. My hands shake, my heart thunders, I can’t hear, I can’t think.

  “Sam? Move. Pull yourself through.” From somewhere outside me, I realize that I’m not thinking clearly. That he’s unconscious and can’t hear me. “Please. Please!”

  My legs brush against his arms and they flop to the side, completely without the life or strength that I’m used to. He’s…he’s dead? Dying? The light of the watch goes out and we plunge into darkness. I can’t see him, I can’t hear him, he’s left me. He’s gone.

  ”Sam! Wake up. If you leave me in this cave I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will come after you, follow you in death and I will kill you. Do you hear me?”

  He doesn’t answer. There’s no sound, and he doesn’t even twitch. Thirty seconds has passed since he told me to go. A sob escapes me and I shove it back down. I won’t cry. He’s not gone. I can fix this. How dare he tell me to go? We’re together. We’re in this together and I’m never going to leave him.

  I love him.

  I love him.

  I realize that love hasn’t made me weak, it’s made me strong. I couldn’t have made it this far without him. He’s given me support and kindness, courage and friendship…I love him, I can’t…