“Matches—that’s great!” Jack enthused. “We could really use them. Man, I can’t believe we lucked out this way! Not that we’re going to be here very long, but….”
“My m-m-mom c-c-collects matchbook c-covers,” Sam answered softly. “It’s for h-h-her.”
Since those were the first words Sam had actually spoken in ages, Jack nodded at him encouragingly, but Sam seemed to dry up. His fist closed around the matchbook, tight.
“I need the matches, Sam.” When Sam hesitated, Jack added, “Please. We’ll get you some more when we leave Carlsbad. OK?”
Sam slowly loosened his grip. Without waiting for a reply, Jack snatched the matches and pocketed them. Those were more precious than the food.
“Are you going to build a fire?” Ashley asked.
“We could, except we don’t have anything to burn.”
“How about some of our clothes?”
“You volunteering yours?”
Ashley clutched her sweatshirt tightly under her chin. “No.”
“I’m just joking—none of us have clothes that’d make a decent fire. Everything’s at least half polyester, which means they’d just smoke, and then we’d end up choking to death. Besides, we’d get way more warmth from wearing our clothes than from any fire we could make. We—we might be here a while. Not too much longer, but…” Jack hesitated. Resting his head against the rock, he focused once again on the problem staring him right in the face, a problem bigger than food and almost as big as water. Light. Illumination. The six inches of white wax had melted to four, then three, and now it was hovering dangerously close to two. Two inches, and then what? He’d sounded so sure when he’d announced that they’d be rescued if they stayed in one spot, but would they be? If the candle burned to nothing, they’d have no illumination; that slender piece of wax had become their lifeline. He shuddered, picturing the inky blackness that would envelope them when the last of the candle melted away, but he didn’t want to let on how bad it could be, especially with Sam acting as spooked as he was. With the matches, Jack had another option. He just prayed they’d be rescued before he’d have to do it, but….
“Hello—Earth to Jack,” Ashley said, waving her hands in the air. “What are you going to do with the matches? Heat the granola bar?”
“The candle’s burning low,” he answered slowly. He might as well say it—there was no way around the problem. He tried to keep his voice emotionless as he stated, “I’d say we have two more hours of light—tops.”
Ashley’s eyes widened. It was obvious she hadn’t thought of that. “Not that it’s a problem right now,” he rushed on when he saw panic ignite in Sam’s face, “but unless the rangers show up soon, we’ll have to blow out the candle and then relight it later, you know, to sort of pace it. That’s why it’s so great that we can relight—”
“No!” Sam cried. It was as if he’d suddenly come to life. Rocking forward onto his knees, his face contorted as he choked, “I h-h-hate th-th-the d-d-dark. B-b-bad things h-h-hap-p-pen in the d-d-dark. N-n-no, no, n-no!”
“OK, OK, we won’t blow it out, Sammy, at least not yet.” Ashley was instantly at Sam’s side, her arms encircling his shoulders, and for once he let her hold him. “Shhh.
It’ll be all right. We’ll wait.” Then, to Jack, “What is wrong with him? He’s shaking like a rabbit.”
Jack had no idea what to do. The blood had drained from Sam’s face, leaving his skin deathly white in the candlelight. He looked like a ghost, like a troglodyte or a cave imp. Fear had distorted his features.
“P-p-promise m-me! L-leave the c-c-candle burning!”
“But we can’t afford to waste—”
“It’s all right, we’ll let it burn for now,” Ashley told Sam soothingly. She settled in next to Sam’s small form, so close there wasn’t enough space for a credit card between them. Ashley’s head, thin and oval-shaped, rested against the top of Sammy’s so that a braid hung right in his face until he pushed it away. Jack got closer, too, patting Sam’s leg awkwardly. He wasn’t as good at this as his sister was, but Sam quickly moved from Ashley to sidle up next to Jack. If that bothered Ashley, she didn’t let on.
“P-p-promise. P-p-promise.”
“OK. Why are you so scared of the dark, Sam?” she asked, keeping her voice smooth. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you there’s nothing in the dark that’s not there in the light? Why not?” she asked after Sam shook his head defiantly.
Sam looked away. His face began to settle back to normal. He hugged his knees tight, but didn’t hide his eyes.
“You can tell us. Jack’s your friend. I’m your friend. We’re stuck here, with absolutely nothing to do until the rescuers get here. So why don’t you explain—what are you so afraid of in the dark?”
Sam blinked. Ashley’s quiet tone seemed to have softened him at the edges. After a few gulping breaths he said, “M-my d-d-dad—m-my d-d-dad—”
“It has something to do with your dad?” Ashley coaxed. “What?”
“He d-died.” Sam swallowed again, hard, his lips twisting as he fought against himself. It seemed as though the words stuck somewhere inside him, beneath his tongue, strangled in his throat. It took him a full ten seconds to push out the words, “In the d-d-dark. W-w-with m-m-me.”
Jack felt his muscles tense. Had he heard that right? Sam’s father was dead? “You were there, Sam? When your dad died?”
Sam nodded silently.
“Was your mom there, too?”
Sam shook his head no.
“So you were all alone with your dad? Wow.” Jack murmured. “That’s rough.” He wanted to ask how Sam’s dad had died, but thought he’d better not. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.
“How old were you when it happened?” Ashley asked gently.
“F-f-five. He over-over—My dad over d-d-d-”
“Overdosed?” It was worse than Jack had expected. Poor Sam.
“And it was m-m-my f-f-fault.”
Ashley stiffened indignantly. “Your fault—how could it be your fault?”
“I-I-I c-couldn’t t-t-talk,” another pause, and then a tortured, “r-r-right. M-m-mom t-t-told m-m-me. M-m-my f-f-fault. It w-was d-d-dark. I c-c-couldn’t c-c-call 911. I-I-I tr-tried to c-c-call, but I c-couldn’t t-talk r-r-right. I’m a f-f-freak!” He slammed his fist into his forehead and shouted, “A f-f-freak! A f-freak in the d-d-dark!”
“Sam—” Jack began. But Sam wouldn’t stop the rush of broken, twisted words.
“I—” His face pinched before he squeezed out, “And today, Con-Con—”
“Consuela?”
Sam nodded. “I c-c-couldn’t t-t-tell. I c-couldn’t h-h-help.”
“You thought you couldn’t help?” Ashley repeated. “Sam, is that why you ran? Because that was not your fault either. I couldn’t help her, and neither could Jack. Sometimes things just happen. You’re not a freak!”
“I d-d-don’t want the d-d-dark.”
Jack felt utterly helpless. The candle would disappear, millimeter by millimeter, unless someone came for them, but that was a plan that they couldn’t seem to count on. Why hadn’t anyone found them? What was he supposed to do with a hysterical kid and a candle that was about melted down?
“Help! We’re back here—in the cave!” he shouted between cupped hands. Nothing. Everything he’d done had gone hopelessly wrong. First chasing Sam, then getting lost, and now waiting—what was the right thing to do?
Rolling to his feet, he took the lantern to the intersection and peered once again down the three arms of the tunnels, shaped like a Y. It felt as though he were in an absurd game show, choosing what was behind door number one, or maybe two, or three. If he chose wrong and the light burned out…but could he just sit there, waiting? Sam was losing it. And so was Jack.
That’s when he heard it—the soft whiff, whiff, slicing through air like knife blades. In the distance he saw a flash of light, no bigger than a dime, hovering against the ceiling.
They’d been found.
<
br /> CHAPTER EIGHT
Here we are! Over here!” Jack shouted into the darkness. “Can you see us? Help! We’re over here!”
He waited, but there was no answering call, just that whiffing that sounded almost like rainfall. And that tiny wink of light. Another reflector? No, the light was moving, fast, like a flash of moonlight on water. Then more tiny lights began to appear, all of them in motion, in a rush, in a swarm. Behind Jack—beside him—around him—ahead of him. Those tiny lights—a dozen, 20…. And the sound grew louder into a…a…beat of wings!
“Bats!” Jack cried, throwing his arms around wildly to brush them away. Bats, so close he could reach out and touch them. As they buzzed past his head, he could feel waves of disturbance in the air current; it made him shudder. It was one thing to see bats streak into the night sky, but another to be within inches of them.
“Bats—with lights?” Ashley asked, incredulous. “Look at them. They’re like fireflies.”
In the candlelight, Jack could see more of them coming. “I don’t know what the lights are from, but they’re bats. Lots of them.” They swarmed above him, higher now, farther ahead of him, with their small, grotesque features hidden by the darkness, except for those tiny lights, which might have been reflections shining from their eyes. But to make a reflection, there had to be a source of light, and the only light in the cave was the wavering, sputtering flame from their lantern, hardly bright enough to reflect in a mirror.
“I d-d-don’t like this,” Sam stammered.
“Yeah, well I don’t either,” Jack agreed. “They’re way too close for me. They’ll be gone soon, Sam. I think they’re swarming, like we saw the first night.” How long ago had that been? It seemed that an age had passed since he and his parents had witnessed the bat flight in the amphitheater.
Then it clicked into his brain—the bats were flying out toward the cave entrance for their nightly emergence. They were leaving the cave. The bats knew the way to the outside.
“Quick—follow them!” he yelled.
“Go after the bats? Why?” Ashley demanded.
“They’ll lead us out. Follow the bats!”
With Jack going first, holding the lantern high, they stumbled after the bats, moving as fast as they could over the uneven floor in the near darkness. But the bats knew the way, and Jack did not. The bats had an echolocation system perfected over millions of years; Jack lurched forward, unsure whether he was moving toward a tunnel or only into the shadows ahead of and to the sides of him. He could hear Ashley’s rapid breathing and Sam’s jagged panting as they pushed to keep up.
“Hurry!” Jack cried as the tiny flashes of light grew even smaller. “They’re getting away!”
“Ouch! Jack stop!”
When he spun around, he could see Ashley’s thin form sprawled on the ground. Sam, his hands clamped under her shoulder, was trying to pull her to her feet. A dark smudge of dirt cut across her left cheek; rocking onto her knees, she stood, clutching her elbow as if she had a broken wing.
“Are you OK?” Jack cried.
“I don’t know—I think so.” Gingerly, she felt her arm. “I didn’t see the rock sticking up, and—”
“That’s OK. Let me get a look at it.” Setting the lantern down, Jack pushed up her sleeve and inspected her arm. As quickly and as gently as he could, he moved the joint forward and back while Sam watched, wide-eyed. Ashley winced when Jack rotated the elbow to the left. Between gritted teeth she said, “I’m all right.”
“I don’t think it’s broken,” he told her quickly. When he looked overhead, he saw two dim lights buzz by. The rest of the tiny lights had sped forward in the darkness.
The bats had almost disappeared.
“There’re just a few stragglers still flying,” he told Ashley. “If we don’t follow them right now, they’ll all be gone.”
“I know,” she replied, her voice grim.
“I’ll st-stay here and h-h-help Ash-sh-shley,” Sam said. “Y-you g-g-go ahead, Jack.”
“No,” Jack told him. “We keep together.”
Down a twisted tunnel and around another bend, Jack tried to keep his eyes on the ceiling while watching his step on the rough terrain. It was slower going now; Sam clutched Ashley’s good arm, trying to keep her steady, while Jack fought back his own impatience. Blackness pressed in on him as he tried to follow the very few remaining chips of light that shot past him like bullets in the dark, until there were no more bits, just endless, unbroken blackness. He stopped at yet another turnoff, straining to see any flash that could tell him which way to go. Once again, the lantern light was swallowed up as he held it into the mouth of each path. Once again, he had no clue which way to go. The contest had been too uneven. The bats had won the race.
“Now what? What should we do now? Where are the bats!” Ashley cried, straining to see.
Jack blinked hard before answering. “Gone.”
“Are w-we even m-m-more l-lost now?” Sam stammered. “Are we?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Jack stood there, feeling helpless. The weight of it pushed on him, as heavy as the gloom around them. He looked at the lantern, burning dangerously low, and into the frightened faces of Sam and Ashley. Running after the bats had been his idea, and it should have been a good one because the bats were on their way out of the cavern. Or were they? He didn’t know that much about bats, especially bats with little flickers of light shining from them. Did that mean they were a different species? Maybe these bats stayed inside the caverns all the time and just flew from one cave to another. So he might have been following an illusion.
Dejected, Ashley slid down onto the ground, her hurt arm held at a right angle from her body. “I thought we were really going to get out of this place. Why doesn’t anyone come for us? We could die back here and no one—”
“Stop it!” Jack told her, more harshly than he meant to. “You’ll get Sam all worked up, and that’s the last thing we need. Give me a minute; I’ll think of something.” But the truth was, Jack was coming close to losing it, too. Being responsible for his younger sister and an eight-year-old boy meant he had to keep himself under control, when he really wanted to scream out his own frustration at these unforgiving cave formations, this wicked maze that had them trapped in its black maw. But he couldn’t lose it, not now. Ashley and Sam were looking to him for answers. Even though he didn’t have any, he couldn’t afford to let himself panic.
“Now listen,” he told them, keeping his voice even. “We know we were going in the right direction because we followed the bat flight to this point.” Yeah, he told himself, that is, if those bats were actually on their way out. But what did he know about it? Nothing! “We just have to keep trailing them,” he finished lamely.
“How can we trail them if we can’t see them?” Ashley asked. “Did they go to the right or to the left? Do we take door number one or two?”
“I’m not sure. So I’m going to let you pick. Which way should we go, Ashley? You have a 50 percent chance of being right.”
“I don’t want to pick—”
“Th-there.” Sam said, pointing down a tunnel. “It’s this w-w-way.”
“You sure, Sammy?” Jack asked.
Sam nodded.
Sam’s guess was as good as anyone’s, Jack supposed. “OK then. Door number two it is.” Even as he said it, he saw that the candle had burned perilously close to the bottom of the lantern. “Let’s move it!” he barked.
After that, no one spoke. They trudged along in silence, making slow progress because it was so hard to see. Although the cave was supposed to be only 56 degrees Fahrenheit, it felt warmer, and Jack began to sweat. The candle had begun to sputter, a sign that the flame would soon die. Then what would they do? He was beginning to formulate a plan where he would shred his shirt to make a wick, when suddenly, Ashley whispered, “Stop!”
“Why?” he asked.
“Shhhh. Be quiet. I hear something—I don’t know what it is.”
Then Jack hea
rd it too. A scraping noise, somewhere ahead of them in the blackness. That was all. Like someone’s fingernails clawing at the calcite walls of the cave.
“Is it bats?” Ashley whispered.
“Doesn’t sound like any noise a bat would make.” But then, Jack had no idea what sounds bats might make, and he couldn’t give the matter enough attention because Sam’s hand, holding tightly to his, had begun to tremble. “It’s OK,” he hissed to Sam. “Don’t be scared.”
And then, very clearly, they heard a man’s deep voice saying, “Just what are these here cave balloons we’re stealing?”
Another voice answered, “Don’t say ‘stealing.’ It’s such a harsh word.”
“You college students!” the deeper voice scoffed. “Don’t you know it don’t matter nothin’ what word you use? I know what we’re doing. You know what we’re doing.”
“Yes, but it’s all in the semantics, Stoney. Let’s just say we’re borrowing the cave balloons on a permanent basis.” A pause, then, “At least they’re going to someone who will value them.”
“Borrowing on a permanent basis…. I’ll have to tell my probation officer that next time he tries to bust my chops.” Stoney laughed harshly. “You can use all the fancy words you want, Ryan, but my probation guy would still call it stealing.”
Stealing? Jack had just been about to yell out, but the word stopped him. “Wait a minute. Keep quiet,” he murmured to Sam and Ashley, pressing his finger to his lips. “Shhhhh.”
“So tell me about these balloon things you and I are ‘borrowing permanently.’ How come they’re worth so much?”
The second person, who must be the “college boy,” Jack figured, answered, “The real name for any cave specimens is ‘speleothem.’”
“Speel—talk English,” Stoney responded.
“Here’s another word for you: hydromagnesite. That’s what these little guys are made of. They are so rare—in the U.S., they’re found in only eight caves, and in only three other caves in the whole world. Here in Carlsbad, there’s only half a dozen of them in existence. That’s what you call really rare.”
Running Scared Page 7
