by Stephen King
"Pictographs," Yune said.
"That's it. You got a Coleman gas lamp when you went in, so you could look at em, or up at the stalactites hangin down from the ceiling. There was an iron spiral staircase that went all the way to the bottom, four hundred steps or more, around and around and around. It's still there, I shouldn't wonder, although I wouldn't trust it these days. It's damp down there, and iron rusts. Only time I took them stairs, it made me dizzy as hell, and I wasn't even lookin up at the stalactites, like most of em. You want to believe I took the elevator back to the top. Goin down is one thing, but only a pure-d fool climbs up four hundred steps if she don't have to.
"The bottom was two, maybe three hundred yards across. There were colored lights set up to show off all the mineral streaks in the rocks, there was a snack bar, and there were six or eight passageways to explore. They had names. Can't recall all of them, but there was the Navajo Art Gallery--where there were more pictographs--and the Devil's Slide, and Snake's Belly, where you had to bend over and even crawl in places. Can you imagine?"
"Yes," Holly said. "Oough."
"Those were the main ones. There were even more leadin off from them, but they were closed off, because the Hole isn't just one cave but dozens of em, goin down and down, some never explored."
"Easy to get lost," Alec said.
"You bet. Now here's what happened. There were two or three openins leadin away from the Snake's Belly passageway that weren't boarded over or barred up, because they were considered too small to bother with."
"Only they weren't too small for the twins," Ralph guessed.
"That's the nail, sir, and you hit it on the head. Carl and Calvin Jamieson. Couple of pint-sizers lookin for trouble, and they sure found it. They were with the party that went into Snake's Belly, right behind their ma and pa at the end of the line, but not with em when they came out. The parents . . . well, I don't have to tell you how they took on, do I? My brother-in-law wasn't the one leadin the group the Jamieson family was a part of, but he was in the search party that went after em. Headed it up would be my guess, although I have no way of knowin."
"His sons were also part of it?" Howie asked. "Claude's cousins?"
"Yessir. The boys worked part-time at the Hole themselves, and came on the run as soon as they heard. Lots of folks came, because the news spread like wildfire. At first it looked like it wasn't going to be no problem. They could hear the boys callin from all the openins leadin off from the Snake's Belly, and they knew exactly which one they went into, because when one of the guides shone his flashlight, they could see a little plastic Chief Ahiga Mr. Jamieson bought one of the boys in the gift shop. Musta fallen out of his pocket while he was crawlin. As I say, they could hear em yellin, but couldn't none of the grown-ups fit in that hole. Couldn't even reach the toy. They hollered for the boys to come to the sound of their voices, and if there wasn't room to turn around to just back up. They shone their lights in and waved em around, and at first it sounded like the kids were gettin closer, but then their voices started to fade, and faded some more, until finally they were gone. You ask me, they were never close to begin with."
"Tricky acoustics," Yune said.
"Si, senor. So then Roger said they should go around to the Ahiga side, which he knew pretty well from his explorin, what they call spee-lunkin. Once they got there, they heard those boys again, clear as day, cryin and yellin, so they got rope and lights from the equipment buildin and went in to fetch em out. Seemed like the right thing, but it was the end of em, instead."
"What happened?" Yune asked. "Do you know? Does anybody?"
"Well, like I told you, that place is a goddam maze. They left one man behind to pay out rope and tie on more in case they needed it. That was Ev Brinkley. He left town shortly after. Went to Austin. Brokenhearted, he was . . . but at least alive, and able to walk in the sunlight. Those others . . ." Lovie sighed. "No more sunlight for them."
Ralph thought about that--the horror of it--and saw what he felt on the faces of the others.
"Ev was down to his last hundred feet of free-rope when he heard somethin he said sounded like a cherry-bomb a kid set off in a tawlit bowl with the lid shut. What musta happened is some goddam fool fired a pistol, hopin to lead the boys to the rescue party, and there was a cave-in. It wasn't Roger done that, I'd bet a thousand dollars it wasn't. Old Rog was a fool about many things, especially those dogs, but never fool enough to fire a gun in a cave, where the ricochet could go anywhere."
"Or where the sound could bring down a piece of ceiling," Alec said. "It must have been like firing a shotgun to start an avalanche up in the high country."
"So they were crushed," Ralph said.
Lovie sighed and resettled her cannula, which had come askew. "Nawp. Might've been better if they were. At least it woulda been quick. But people in the big cavern--the Chamber of Sound--could hear em callin for help, just like those lost lads. By then there were sixty or seventy men and women out there, eager to do whatever they could. My George had to be there--his brother and his nephews were among those trapped, after all--and finally I gave up on keepin him home. I went with him, to make sure he didn't try to do some damn fool thing like tryin to pitch in. That would've killed him for sure."
"And when this accident happened," Ralph said, "Claude was in the reformatory?"
"Gatesville Trainin School is what I believe they called it, but yes, a reformatory's what it was."
Holly had produced a yellow legal pad from her carry-bag, and was bent over it, taking notes.
"By the time I got to the Hole with George, it was dark. The parkin lot's a good size, but it was damn near full. They'd set up big lights on posts, and with all the trucks and people scurryin around, it was like they were makin a Hollywood movie. They went in through the Ahiga entrance carryin ten-cell flashlights, wearin hardhats and puffy coats like flak jackets. They followed the rope to the cave-in. A long way, some of it through standin water. The rockfall was pretty bad. Took em all that night and half the next morning to clear it enough to get past. By then, people in the big cave couldn't hear the lost ones callin no more."
"Your brother-in-law's bunch wasn't waiting for rescue on the other side, I take it," Yune said.
"No, they were gone. Roger or one of the others might have thought he knew a way back to the big cave, or they might've been afraid more of the ceiling was gonna cave in. No way to tell. But they left a trail, at least to start with; marks on the walls and litter on the floor, coins and screws of paper. One man even left his bowling card from the Tippit Lanes. One more punch and he'd've got himself a free string. That was in the paper."
"Like Hansel and Gretel, leaving breadcrumbs behind," Alec mused.
"Then everything just stopped," Lovie said. "Right in the middle of a gallery. The marks, the dropped coins, the balls of paper. Just stopped."
Like the footprints in Bill Samuels's story, Ralph thought.
"The second rescue party kept goin for awhile, callin and wavin their flashlights, but no one called back. The fella who wrote it up for the Austin paper interviewed a bunch of those guys from the second rescue party later on, and they all said the same thing--there were just too many paths to choose from, all of em goin down, some leadin to dead ends and some to chimneys as dark as wells. They weren't supposed to holler for fear of starting another cave-in, but then one of them yelled anyway, and sure enough, a piece of the roof come down. That's when they decided they better get the hell out."
"Surely they didn't abandon the search after one try," Howie said.
"No, course not." She fished another Coke out of the cooler, cracked it, and swallowed half at a go. "Not used to talkin s'much, and I'm parched." She checked her oxygen bottle. "Almost out of this stuff, too, but there's another one in the bathroom there, with the rest of my goddam medical supplies, if someone wants to fetch it."
Alec Pelley took charge of this task, and Ralph was relieved when the woman didn't attempt to light up as he swapped them out.
Once the oxygen was flowing again, she resumed her story.
"There was a dozen search parties went in there over the years, right up until the ground-shaker in '07. After that it was considered too dangerous. It was only a three or four on the Richter, but caves are fragile, you know. The Chamber of Sound stood up to it pretty well, although a bunch of the stalactites fell off the ceilin. Some of the other passages, though, collapsed. I know the one they called the Art Gallery did. Since the shaker, Marysville Hole has been closed. The main entrance is stopped up, and I believe Ahiga is, too."
For a moment no one spoke. Ralph didn't know about the others, but he was thinking of what it must have been like to die a slow death deep underground, in the dark. He didn't want to think about it and couldn't help it.
Lovie said, "You know what Roger said to me once? Couldn't have been six months before he died. He said the Marysville Hole might go all the way down to hell. And that makes it a place where this outsider of yours would feel right at home, don't you think?"
"Not a word about this when Claude comes back," Holly said.
"Oh, he knows," Lovie said. "Those were his people. He didn't care for his cousins much--they were older and used to bullyrag him something awful--but they were still his people."
Holly smiled, but not the radiant one; it didn't touch her eyes. "I'm sure he does, but he doesn't know we know. And that's the way it has to stay."
11
Lovie, now looking tired going on exhausted, said the kitchen was too small for seven people to eat in comfortably, so they'd have to take their meal out back, in what she called the gaze-bo. She told them (proudly) that Claude had built it for her himself, with a kit he got at the Home Depot.
"It might be a little hot at first, but a breeze usually sets in this time of day, and it's screened against the bugs."
Holly suggested that the old lady should take a lie-down, and let the company set up for supper outside.
"But you won't know where anything is!"
"Don't worry about that," Holly said. "Finding things is what I do for a living, you know. And these gentlemen will help out, I'm sure."
Lovie gave in and wheeled along to her bedroom, where they heard her grunting effortfully, followed by the squall of bedsprings.
Ralph stepped out on the front porch to call Jeannie, who answered on the first ring. "E.T. phone home," she said cheerfully.
"Everything quiet there?"
"Except for the TV. Officers Ramage and Yates have been watching NASCAR. I only surmise bets were made, but know for sure they ate all the brownies."
"Sorry to hear that."
"Oh, and Betsy Riggins came by to show off her new baby. I'd never say this to her, but he looks quite a bit like Winston Churchill."
"Uh-huh. Listen, I think either Troy or Tom should stay the night."
"I was thinking both. In with me. We can cuddle. Perhaps even canoodle."
"What a good idea. Be sure to take some pictures." A car was approaching; Claude Bolton, back from Tippit with their chicken dinners. "Don't forget to lock up and set the burglar alarm."
"The locks and alarm didn't help the other night."
"Humor me and do it anyway." The man who looked exactly like his wife's nighttime visitor was at that moment getting out of his car, and seeing him gave Ralph a queer feeling of double vision.
"All right. Have you found anything out?"
"Hard to tell." This was skirting the truth; Ralph thought they had found out a great deal, none of it good. "I'll try to call you later on, but right now I have to go."
"Okay. Stay safe."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you, too. And I mean it: stay safe."
He went down the porch steps to help Claude with half a dozen plastic bags from Highway Heaven.
"Food's cold, just like I said. But does she listen? Never did, never will."
"We'll be fine."
"Reheated chicken's always tough. I got the mashed potatoes, because reheated French fries, forget it."
They started toward the house. Claude stopped at the foot of the porch steps.
"Did you guys have a good talk with my ma?"
"We did," Ralph said, wondering exactly how to handle this. As it turned out, Claude handled it for him.
"Don't tell me. That guy might be able to read my mind."
"So you believe in him?" Ralph was honestly curious.
"I believe that gal believes. That Holly. And I believe there might have been someone around last night. So whatever you talked about, I don't want to hear."
"Maybe that's for the best. But Claude? I think one of us should stay here with you and your mother tonight. I was thinking Lieutenant Sablo could do that."
"You expecting trouble? Because I don't feel anything just now except hungry."
"Not trouble, exactly," Ralph said. "I was just thinking that if something bad happened around here, and if there happened to be a witness who said the person who did it looked a lot like Claude Bolton, you might like to have a cop handy who could testify that you never left your momma's house."
Claude considered. "That might not be such a bad idea. Only we don't have a guest room, or anything. The couch makes into a bed, but sometimes Ma gets up when she can't get back to sleep and goes out to the living room to watch TV. She likes those worthless preachers that are always yelling for love-offerins." He brightened. "But there's a spare mattress out in the back entry, and it's gonna be a warm night. I guess he could camp out."
"In the gaze-bo?"
Claude grinned. "Right! I built that sucker myself."
12
Holly put the chicken under the broiler for five minutes, and it crisped up nicely. The seven of them ate in the gazebo--there was a ramp for Lovie's wheelchair--and the conversation was both pleasant and lively. Claude turned out to be quite the raconteur, telling tales about his colorful career as a "security official" at Gentlemen, Please. The stories were funny, but neither mean nor off-color, and no one laughed harder at them than Claude's mother. She laughed herself into another coughing fit when Howie told the story of how one of his clients, in an effort to prove he was mentally unfit to stand trial, had taken his pants off in court and waved them at the judge.
The reason for their trip to Marysville was never touched upon.
Lovie's lie-down before dinner had been a short one, and when the meal was done, she announced that she was going back to bed. "Not many dishes with takeout," she said, "and what there is I can warsh in the morning. I can do it right from my chair, you know, although I have to be careful of the goddam oxygen tank." She turned to Yune. "You sure you're gonna be all right out here, Officer Sablo? What if someone comes stirrin around, like last night?"
"I'm fully armed, ma'am," Yune said, "and this is a very nice place out here."
"Well . . . you come on in anytime. Wind might kick up strong after midnight. Back door'll be locked, but the key's under that olla de barro." She pointed at the old clay pot, then crossed her hands above her admirable bosom and did a little bow. "You are fine folks, and I thank you for coming here and trying to do right by my boy." With that, she rolled away. The six of them sat a little longer.
"That's a good woman," Alec said.
"Yes," Holly said. "She is."
Claude lit a Tiparillo. "Cops on my side," he said. "That's a new experience. I like it."
Holly said, "Is there a Walmart in Plainville, Mr. Bolton? I need to do some shopping, and I love Walmarts."
"Nope, and a good thing, because Ma does, too, and I'd never get her out of it. Closest thing to it we got in these parts is the Home Depot in Tippit."
"That should do," she said, and stood up. "We'll clean those dishes so Lovie doesn't have to in the morning, and then we'll be on our way. We'll be back tomorrow to pick up Lieutenant Sablo, then leave for home. I think we've done all we can do here. Do you agree, Ralph?"
Her eyes told him what to say, and he said it. "Sure."
"Mr. Gold? Mr. Pelley?"
"I think we're fine," Howie said.
Alec went along. "Pretty well done here."
13
Although they returned to the house only fifteen minutes or so after Lovie had taken her leave, they could already hear rough snores coming from her bedroom. Yune filled the sink with suds, rolled up his sleeves, and began to wash the few things they had used. Ralph dried; Holly put away. The evening light was still strong, and Claude was out back with Howie and Alec, touring the property and looking for any signs of the previous night's intruder . . . if there had been one.
"I'd've been all right even if I'd left my sidearm home," Yune said. "I had to go through Mrs. Bolton's bedroom to get into her bathroom where she keeps her oxygen, and she's well gunned up. Got a Ruger American ten-plus-one on the dresser, extra clip right beside it, and a Remington twelve-gauge leaning in the corner, right next to her Electrolux. Don't know what old Claudie's got, but I'm sure he's got something."
"Isn't he a convicted felon?" Holly asked.
"He is," Ralph agreed, "but this is Texas. And he seems rehabilitated to me."
"Yes," she said. "He does, doesn't he?"
"I think so, too," Yune said. "Seems like he's turned his life around. I've seen it before when people get into AA or NA. When it works, it's like a miracle. Still, this outsider couldn't have picked a better face to hide behind, wouldn't you say? Given his history of drug sales and service, not to mention a gang background with Satan's Seven, who'd believe him if he said he was being framed for something?"
"No one believed Terry Maitland," Ralph said heavily, "and Terry was immaculate."
14
It was dusk when they got to the Home Depot, and after nine o'clock when they arrived back at the Indian Motel (observed by Jack Hoskins, once more peering through the drapes in his room and rubbing obsessively at the back of his neck).
They carried their purchases into Ralph's room and laid them out on the bed: five short-barreled UV flashlights (with extra batteries) and five yellow hardhats.
