by Seth Fishman
“Chumps,” he said. Greg couldn’t have agreed more.
• • •
An hour later, they stood halfway up a mountain, lost to the world. The sun was hot, even if the air was cool, and they all were reminded to stay hydrated. The cave entrance was small, barely wiggle-room big, and before they went in, the group of kids stood semicircled and staring.
“You sure about this?” Chuck asked Veronica, his voice squeaking with indecision. Chuck was the tallest of the group, no muscle at all, just skin and bones. He’d have to duck more than anyone; whenever he took a step, his Moe bowl cut would bounce like a sea anemone. Avery had already entered and was standing inside, shining his light about, scouting ahead. “Come on, you rascals!”
Veronica punched Chuck playfully. She loved doing that, and whipping her braid at his head. She flipped on her flashlight and crawled in, disappearing into the dark. Brenda next, Blake and Greg, Chuck and Alex. The passage only stayed narrow for a spell, and soon they could stand up. Avery had the only high-intensity beam, and he was twenty feet ahead, clearly on a ledge, shining his bright light about the walls.
“Not much to see here,” he called back. “Not yet at least. We’ll go ahead and take a gander. You can see some guano at your feet, but nothing much fun that is.”
The six students immediately scanned the dirt at their feet, and sure enough: dried guano in prodigious amounts. Bats must fly from the hole every evening. Veronica grabbed Greg’s arm. The simple touch was a shock to him. He was glad it was too dark for her to notice.
The cave cancelled out any of the heat of the sun, and suddenly everyone was shivering. “Forward,” Avery cried, and they did exactly that, single file, squatting and stopping occasionally, unused to the emptiness and fear that darkness brings.
“All right, then, lads and ladies.” Avery had stopped and was pointing with his beam to a slit in the wall about fifteen feet high, but narrow, the width of a shoulder. The group was huddled a few yards behind him. They had never experienced this level of dark. Blake kept running his hands through his hair, a nervous tic. Brenda and Alex held hands. Chuck fidgeted, though he was smiling broadly, his crooked teeth reflecting more light than his clothes, and Greg couldn’t tell if he was excited or nervous, or both. “You up for the new, for the real adventure? Who’s going first?”
“I thought you were going to lead us,” Brenda said, her nasally voice not entirely trembling, but close. She always scrunched up her face when talking, her cheeks pushing up to her eyes.
“Sure, sure. But you asked for it. Nothing dangerous here. Just go on to the other side and then turn and shine the light back through the path to guide the others. Any volunteers?”
“I’ll go!” Veronica said, stepping forward. Greg felt a twist in the gut—why couldn’t he have taken the lead? If there was ever a place to be the person he always imagined himself to be, it was here in the dark.
“I’ll go too,” he piped up, raising his hand, his red jacket swishing against his skin. Blake started making smooch noises.
“Enough now, pissant,” Avery barked at Blake. “Sure. Just go on behind her. Let her do the leading, okay?”
Greg nodded and hurried to catch up to Veronica, who was already well ahead, halfway into the slit. Her body turned sidewise, she stepped carefully, squatting some. It was too narrow for her to even look back. Greg followed, feeling the wall tight against him, the rock slick from centuries of drip, cold and smelling of an inoffensive mold. A familiar smell, like that of a basement or an old washcloth; it was somehow comforting in this enormous place. His blue canteen, attached to his belt, snagged for a moment on the rock.
When he looked up again, Veronica had disappeared. One second he could see her knee-high socks, her dangling braid; the next, she might never have been there at all.
“Veronica?” he called, but no one answered. He couldn’t turn his head either, but tried anyway. “Mr. Avery, I can’t find Veronica!”
“You’re not even through yet, pipsqueak! Keep going.”
Greg kept sliding forward, step by step, almost there. “Veronica?”
Nothing.
And then he popped out into a larger room, so big he couldn’t find its end with his flashlight. But that wasn’t what he was looking for. Up ahead, on the dirt, maybe fifteen feet beyond him, was Veronica’s flashlight.
He slid frantically down a small slope, scattering dust, hurrying to the fallen flashlight. “Mr. Avery! Come quick! Veronica! VERONICA!”
But she wasn’t there. He expected her to be lying prone, unconscious or moaning from a fall, but instead he was all alone with two flashlights in an enormously dark room. There was a small twinkle of light piercing the slit behind him. Someone must be coming through. He picked up her flashlight and used both to illuminate the walls.
There! Her boot, just sitting on its side. Greg was so afraid he could barely move. He took a slow step, then another, swinging his gaze around. No one. He picked up the boot, felt its weight in his hands. He tried not to hyperventilate, he was breathing so hard.
Blake had made it through the passage, and his beam of light was zooming around the cavern. “Down here, hurry!” Greg called up. Suddenly he was pushed from behind and Veronica yelled, “Gotcha!”
Greg screamed and dropped the lights. A real girl scream, high and loud and long. It echoed around the unseeable walls, like a dozen damsels in distress. Veronica was on her ass laughing, rolling in the dirt, and Blake, the one who made it through, was shouting something at them both, but Greg didn’t hear or care. He felt so hot all of a sudden that he was dizzy, and he stumbled away before he could think about it, the flashlight left behind rolling on the dirt.
And then he tripped. It must have been over a rock, something just big enough to catch his boot. But the strange thing was, he didn’t slam into the ground as he expected. The sound of Veronica laughing disappeared above his head, and Greg felt wind and a whistling in his ear, like he was almost somersaulting in place, moving faster and faster, Veronica’s laughter still there but so high overhead in the darkness, and suddenly there was no more light, not the faintest echoes of the flashlights, and he didn’t even have time to scream because he was too terrified. The wind kept pressing against his face, and he knew he was still falling.
Greg tried to look down, but didn’t know which way was down. He could see a faint, glowing haze out of the corner of his eye and managed to think one thing before he hit.
I’m in a black hole.
• • •
The pain burst through, waking him in a jolt of agony. There was a light, so blindingly bright that for a moment Greg actually, actually thought he was going to heaven, and then the beam slipped from his face and he could make out the hazy silhouette of Avery hanging in the air about five feet above him, one hand on a rope that was twisting in the darkness.
“Hold still, son. Hold still. I’ll be right there.”
There were a few flickers above, way, way, way above, and he could only guess that was where he’d fallen from. Too far to tell. He tried to think about the distance, but his head squeezed in protest. He moaned; his leg felt like it had been cut in half and dipped in salt. There was a ringing that began to fade. Avery pulled close, and Greg attempted to sit up, but his body was heavy and weak. And, he belatedly realized, he was wet. He’d landed in a puddle. The water, which he hadn’t even felt before, rose about halfway up his body and was warm; maybe he’d pissed himself after all.
Avery rappelled down a few more feet, his rope hissing as it gave way, but then he stopped again, swinging gently back and forth.
“What the . . .” He was not looking at Greg, but rather shining his light all around him. Greg craned his neck over as far as it could go and saw where the beam landed: on a pale white tree, not dead but very much alive, its branches long and willowy, with leaves dripping down to float in the shifting pond of water
where Greg was lying.
Avery recovered and splashed down next to him. A drop hit Greg’s face and felt almost hot, soothing, like a bath.
“Greg,” Avery whispered, his voice urgent. He put his hand to Greg’s cheek and gave a half caress, half pat. “It’s going to be okay, son. I’ll send one of the kids to get help.” The teacher’s eyes frantically searched his body. “I can’t believe you survived that, kid.” He laughed in relief. “Holy cow, I thought you were done.”
Greg tried again to get up but Avery’s face grew alarmed, and he gently pushed Greg back down. “No, no, best you don’t move. You might aggravate any injuries you have.”
“But I’m feeling better.”
And he was. The agony he’d felt upon waking was already subsiding. Though that might not have been a good thing.
Avery scanned Greg’s body and gasped. His jeans were cut open, torn by the fall.
Greg leaned back, defeated. “My leg is broken, isn’t it?”
Avery didn’t say anything, just widened the gap in the jeans and let out a breath of disbelief. Then he looked back at Greg.
“What? Mr. Avery? What’s going on?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, son. But something’s happening.”
Greg forced himself up, feeling lightheaded but otherwise okay. Avery’s beam was on the wound, and Greg squinted his eyes near closed, expecting to see a bone or three jutting out. Instead he saw his leg and yes, a cut, but one that was only three or four inches long and not deep at all. There was blood all over his leg, though. Avery squeezed him on the shoulder, not to comfort him but in shock as they watched the wound get smaller, slowly but surely, tightening and whitening and then, finally, disappearing completely. No scar. Nothing.
“Mr. Avery!” Greg breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from his pale but perfect leg. “What’s happening?”
His teacher didn’t answer. Instead, Avery ran his finger lightly along Greg’s leg, his hand leaving a trail in the drying blood. There was no pain. In fact, Avery’s hand tickled Greg.
“Hey!” came a voice, faint and faraway. “Is he okay?”
Avery looked straight up, his mouth open and his eyes glazed, dumbstruck. But the voice reminded the teacher of his surroundings; he flashed his light around them. Greg followed this beam of light as Avery twirled it in a circle. There was not just one impossibly lush tree, but many, a whole tight forest of plant life. And not just trees. There were bushes and ferns and flowers and, with some focus, they made out insects buzzing around and even what appeared to be some type of bird rustling in the branches.
“Inconceivable,” Avery whispered.
“Guys?!”
Avery called up to them. “We’re okay! He’s okay!” Avery looked all about, wide-eyed, his hair in a frazzle. “What are you doing, Sebastian?” he muttered to himself, peering close to the water’s surface, lifting up a handful, sniffing it and letting it fall. “Are you really going to do this?
“Youngsters,” he cried, “you best come down here. All but one, we have to leave one up top. Who’s strong enough to help pull us back?”
“No one wants to be alone, Mr. Avery!” the voice came back. Greg was sure it was Veronica. “We all want to come down.”
“If we all come down, we won’t all get back. I promise whoever misses his turn this time will get it later. Alex, you’re a strapping one. You harness the rope, son. Everyone else, remember what I taught you. Lock yourself in and rappel down! You wanted an adventure—Mr. Avery got you one!”
• • •
Avery had Greg stay put until curiosity finally got the best of the teacher and he left his patient’s side to go examine a tree, giving Greg the opportunity to try to move. He didn’t expect to be able to do so, but his body tingled, energized, probably in shock, and he happily heaved himself up from the water. He walked gingerly around the perimeter of the oasis, and each time his foot sank into the water, he felt a warmth surge up through his leg. He was stronger by the step.
Chuck and Blake had already landed, having rappelled down with ease. Brenda next, you could hear her squeaking on the way. Greg had waved Blake off, wanting a moment to get his bearings, and the two boys were with Avery, cataloging everything they saw. When they had given Greg his flashlight back, they had gazed at him in disbelief. Blake looked like he had been crying, his eyes red and puffy. They probably didn’t know how to handle his fall. He certainly didn’t. He should be dead. That was, like, two hundred feet or more. Well, Greg chided himself, the rope is only one hundred and fifty feet, so not that far. But close.
Brenda held the rope for Veronica, who, when she landed, rushed directly to Greg and was about to give him a big hug when she paused, worried about hurting him any further.
“I’m okay,” Greg said, not sure he wanted to reassure her.
“Greg”—she was clearly as upset as Blake—“Greg, I didn’t mean to do that. I mean, I did, but to have you fall? I’m sorry. It’s a miracle you’re okay. I don’t . . . wow.”
“Greg, son,” Avery shouted to him from somewhere in the mass of branches, “you feeling good? Nauseated? Headache? Don’t move now, you hear? I want you to just sit still, and we’ll get you out of here soon.” To Greg, and clearly the others, their teacher’s words were hollow and distracted. They should pull Greg out of there, come back another time. But no one objected, least of all Greg. Something was going on here, something special, and they all wanted to be part of it.
“Mr. Avery, I’m great. Totally fine. Lucky one, I guess.” He felt weird speaking to dense foliage; you couldn’t see anyone clearly through the branches. Veronica was on her knees, peering at something, already distracted by the oasis around them.
“In that case, dig out your notebook and start cataloging what you’re feeling. How you fell in, what you first remember when you woke, painwise, and how you’re feeling now. I want to know everything you see here. I don’t recognize most of the vegetation or the animal life. From where you’re sitting, draw what you can. Everyone else, don’t touch anything, just record. We may have found a unique bastion of life here. This could be a major find, kids, a major find!”
Greg squatted next to Veronica. She was cupping her hand around a flower, a pale thing, so pale you could see right through it. The leaves were tricornered and small, but the flower itself was a twisting knot of petal. It reminded him of the creatures that lived in the deep of the oceans. The fish that had their own lights dangling over their heads to illuminate their way.
He remembered the haze of light he’d seen during his fall, from below, and got an idea. “Turn off your flashlight.”
Veronica stared at him, puzzled. He clicked off his own, and then shielded the flower from any stray beams flickering from the rest of the group. Veronica shrugged and turned hers off too. Sure enough, the flower’s outline began to come clear in his palm. It was like a lightbulb warming up, until suddenly it burst on, incredibly bright, catching the air ablaze.
Veronica gasped and clapped her hands in childlike delight. Greg was feeling pretty blown away himself. But as soon as he moved his hand, the smallest hint of a flashlight beam from one of the others came vaguely near the plant, and it shut down.
“It’s afraid of the lights,” Veronica said.
“Mr. Avery,” Greg called, “turn off your flashlight. All of you. Turn them off and stand still.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Trust him, guys,” Veronica shouted. “It’s incredible.”
One by one, the flashlight beams disappeared. The last one danced on the far edge of the oasis, holding out for a good twenty seconds until Avery bellowed at Chuck to shut his down. Then they were in total blackness again. Someone made the oooooooohhhhhhh of a ghost, and there were snickers. This time, Veronica and Greg knew what to look for, and they watched the flower begin to glow, its iridescent brilliance pulsi
ng bright. Greg was about to call everyone over when he heard murmurs of surprise from the group. A few feet away from him, there was another flower, then another, and more. The room had brightened incredibly, lit up all on its own, a mask of beautiful floral lights.
“Holy shit,” Avery said. Everyone laughed, so giddy at the find that they couldn’t move.
“Do we take one back?” Chuck asked. The group had congregated now in one place, watching the symphony around them.
“We try,” Avery responded. “Though I get the feeling they aren’t going to last long up top.”
Two things became very apparent in the light and silence. One was that the inch-deep water was flowing, gently, toward the center of this amazing oasis. The other was that in this center, there was an outcropping of rock jutting from the ground, something that was easy to realize now that the room was bright. The group, needing no prompting, seemed to move as one toward the center.
Through the folding branches and leaves of an enormous tree, their boots splashing the entire way, the group came upon a hole in the ground, a natural well. Not a big thing, small, maybe big enough for one of them to fall through. And not man-made. It looked like an anthill, like a small mound. Brenda said it looked like a miniature volcano, except instead of lava there was water. In the light around the rest of the oasis, the group could all see the silty bottom of the pond, but here, their boots planted along the edge of the well, they saw darkness straight down.
“How is it flowing into this hole? Shouldn’t the water be flowing out of it? Isn’t that a contradiction?” Greg asked.
No one had an answer, but Avery bent down and tentatively stuck his hand, then his arm, then his shoulder into the hole.
“Not too shallow, I couldn’t feel a bottom,” he pronounced, coming back up, shaking his arm free of water.
“Guys, what’s that?” Blake asked. He was staring at the outcrop of rock, which seemed nothing special from Greg’s vantage, just a flat rock face covered with a pulsing mosslike fuzz. Nothing compared to the anthill of a well. Looking closer, though, he realized quickly how wrong he was. In the center of that mossy fuzz was a clearing, where a series of images was visible—it was as if the drawings repelled any plant growth. The most beautiful cave drawings the students could imagine. Not the familiar renderings of early man, like the slides Avery had shown them in class, these were different drawings. Big trees, golden cities, flowing fountains, pale men with piercing blue eyes.
