by Marie Reyes
“Do you know what a cenote is?” Samuel asked, shining the torch in Michael’s face. He squinted and looked down at the forest floor, not answering. He remembered the first cenote he had visited in Mexico. It was huge, much bigger than this one. The water inside was crystal clear and connected to a network of underground caves. Tourists gathered at the opening, looking in, plucking up the courage to make the drop into the blue water below, and when they did, everybody would cheer. This was different.
“You know there are over 6,000 cenotes in this area alone, and that doesn’t include the undiscovered ones.” Samuel got close to Michael, trying to force him back towards the opening. Michael took a step back, not being able to stand being so close. “You know the Mayans believed that Cenotes were gateways to the underworld?” Samuel said, his face glowing underneath from the torch in his left hand. His gun was in his right hand, lowered, so that the gun was pointing somewhere around Michael’s thigh. Samuel got closer. “You know what else?”
“What?” Michael asked. He opened his hand that had been clenched into a fist at his side, and wondered if he grabbed at the gun now, would he be able to move it away quickly enough to avoid getting shot? He could twist Samuel’s hand in the other direction. Maybe he would misfire into the forest. Maybe he could then catch him off balance. Knock him into the hole in the ground. Too many maybes, but then again, he had nothing to lose.
“The Mayans would also drop their sacrifices into the cenotes. Pots, jugs, precious stones, food, cloth… people. It’s so important to keep tradition alive. Don’t you think?”
Michael reacted on instinct, his hand working independently of his brain, reaching for the gun. He heard the sound before he felt the pain. So loud in the deathly quiet night. Ringing though the trees, waking up whatever animals had been quiet until now. The solid ground beneath his feet gave way as he stumbled backwards, falling from the precipice, and in seconds his body slammed against the water like a stinging-slap.
The shock of the cold water made him gasp, but as his head went underneath the surface, he couldn’t breathe. He sank from the momentum of the drop, sliding deeper and deeper, to a whole new level of blackness. For a brief moment, we wondered what it would be like to drown. He moved his arms in a swimming motion, but could not tell which direction he needed to go until his body naturally started floating towards the surface. As he broke through to the world above, he sucked in all the air he could and panted as he tried to stay afloat. The disturbed water lapped against the limestone walls.
Now his head was above water, and even though he could barely see, he could tell how huge the cave was from the inside by the way the sounds echoed off of the walls. It had the acoustics of being in a stone cathedral. It had to have been much bigger than it looked from the outside, because he swam for a while before his hands made contact with the cold, damp stone that made up the sides of the cave.
The water got shallower towards the edge and he could stand up. He leaned against the stone, resting his weight against it as he waited for his breathing to catch up with him. Now he didn’t have to worry about staying afloat, the pain made itself known again. He touched the side of his torso and winced as his fingers touched the exposed flesh through the rip in his t-shirt. He must have been hit when he tried to grab the gun. The bullet appeared to have grazed his side. He couldn’t let the pain overwhelm him and tried to distract himself, and wondered what the hell he was going to do now.
He looked up but couldn’t see anything. It was mostly black, except for the odd flash of white as water rippled and the tiniest amount of light glistened off of the damp walls. He couldn’t see the mouth of the cave.
Fragments of limestone exploded near his head, and reverberations echoed off of the cave-walls as a shot rained down from above. The water exploded near his feet, liquid shooting up into the air like a volcanic eruption. Michael dodged, hopping around clumsily like he was walking on hot-coals. He waited, chest heaving, as he flattened his body against the wall, but no more shots came.
The voice from above was an incoherent mumbling from where Michael stood. He desperately tried to make out the words, to have some kind of clue as to what was going on up there. Another shot fired out, but it wasn’t fired into the cenote, not that he could tell anyway. A sinking feeling lurched inside of him, like going over a bump in the road. His heart sunk. It had to be Josie, surely. Another shot fired. It sounded quieter this time, further away maybe. He hoped Josie was making a run for it. Maybe she could outrun him. There were plenty of hiding places in the thick jungle. There was a chance, and he held onto that sliver of hope as tightly as he could.
There had to be a way out of this pit. As his eyes adjusted somewhat to this new level of darkness he could make out cave walls curved over him. Not going straight up, but creating a dome above. The opening was tiny in comparison. There was no way he was climbing out of there, not unless he could dangle from the ceiling of the cave. He had felt vines or dangling algae brush past him when he had fallen in, but there was nothing that dangled down far enough for him to climb up it.
The walls were impossibly slippery and his injured finger made it almost impossible to get any kind of purchase on the stone. All he could do was try and think, to push through the fog that closed in around his brain. The only thing he could hear now was the occasional drop of water. Nothing was going on above him. He started walking along the wall, feeling for any craggy areas, or a drier section of rock that he could use to elevate himself.
As he made his way around towards the other side of the cave, feeling with his hands, the dank, musty smell of the cave got stronger, until it smelled strongly like rotting leaves, no not that, something else. He shuffled further, and further. He recognized the smell now. It reminded him of when he had found a dead raccoon under the front steps of the house. It was the height of summer and he would never forget the smell as he had to scrape its stiff corpse into a garbage bag. He stopped immediately and hurried back the way he came, telling himself some jungle animal had just fallen in. Not one of Samuel’s victims. He didn’t want to imagine the look of the bodies while he sat trapped in the dark. If he was never found, he could be stuck here a long time with them. It would get light soon, and then he would be forced to confront whatever was there. He got as far away as he could from the source of the rancid odor but he could still smell it, like his brain wouldn’t let him forget. He imagined what a corpse might look like if it had been submerged in water for days. His mind conjured flashes of purple, swollen flesh, bulging eyes. Flesh falling away. Slippage. It was only now he wished he had spent less time looking at gory sites in the darkest corners of the World Wide Web.
He tried to think about something else, but started wondering how long hypothermia might take to set in. Although it was warm in the jungle, the cold stone and damp atmosphere had raised goosebumps across his bare arms and his hairs stood to attention. There was only so long he could stand it. His feet were already numb. Now he’d had time to process what had happened, he fought the urge to sob. This wasn’t how he was supposed to go out. Cold. Uncomfortable. In pain. Terrified. If Samuel had killed Josie, this would all have been for nothing. Just piling misery on misery. The sorrow branched out from Tanya, to her parents, to Josie. It then crept from Josie, to Miguel, Miguel’s family, to himself, maybe even to Aleksander. One tragedy had ruined so many lives. Although everything had turned to shit, Michael wasn’t sure he still wouldn’t have joined Josie if he could go back in time. He envisioned an alternate universe in which everyone was still alive. Fantasizing was the only thing that could get him from one minute to the next, not just in this dark place, but through his entire life.
He went to wrap his arms around himself to keep warm but cried out in pain as he touched the gash and just held his arms limply to his side. His broken finger throbbed and the wound on his side started to itch as he imagined the water he had been sharing with a decaying body lapping over it. He screamed. First he screamed curse words into the void at
the top of his lungs, and then he called for help. This then devolved into guttural animal-like sounds.
Once he had exhausted himself he leaned his forehead against the solid rock and let silent tears fall. Even if Josie wasn’t dead, a worse fate could be befalling her right now. As he thought about all the awful things that could have been happening to her at that exact moment, light flooded in from above.
“Michael.” The voice called, distorted by the curves of the walls, but it definitely wasn’t Samuel.
“Help.” He called back hoarsely.
“They took my car.”
“Miguel. Is that you?” Michael’s cries turned to hysterical laughter.
“Yes. Hold on.” Miguel’s voice echoed back.
The crushing feeling of dread subsided somewhat, but he still had no idea how he was going to get back up. Samuel had probably left him there, assuming he was as good as dead. Maybe Samuel had underestimated him.
The beam lit up the stalactites that hung down like icicles. “Okay. Listen. There used to be a ladder, but no more. You need to swim. There is smaller cenote connected by the underground cavern. I used to do when I was young. I did it with no gear. I left a safety wire. It will maybe still be there. You follow it all the way to other side. You feel for it. It is at the deeper end. Go right.”
The things Miguel was saying were impossible and Michael wondered if he was really expecting him to do this. To dive into pitch blackness without a source of oxygen. He must have gone mad. The only thing that made him go through with it, was what had happened to Miguel. He felt responsible too, and if Miguel had to endure seeing his wife like he did, hanging from the balcony, then Michael would have to suck it up and endure this. The thought of it made his blood run colder than it already was. There was no way he could do this. He struggled to hold his breath for long period of time. He hated it, that feeling. The water splashed around him as he waded towards the other end of the pool. Water came up higher and he shuddered with the cold as it got to his waist. Miguel did his best to keep the light in the right place.
“You’re going to have to go under now,” Miguel called.
What am I doing here? Michael mumbled a quiet prayer to a god he didn’t believe in before dunking his head under. The shock of the water overtook him completely and he brought his head back up. He wasn’t ready for this—to suffocate to death. The pain would end at some point, no matter what happened. He sucked in the biggest lung-full of air he could muster and submerged his head again. Plunging himself down with urgency he groped around for this rope Miguel spoke of. If Miguel had managed it once, he could too. Rock, rock, more rock, and something thin and coarse. Yes. He clutched the wire and fought against his own buoyancy until there was only rock above him. He pulled hard on the rope to bring himself down and stop his head scraping along the stone above and his ears popped. Worried about pulling the secured line from the cavern floor he instead, opted to use his hand to keep his head protected from the jaggedness of the surface. It was a tight space but he tried not to think about that, which lasted all of five seconds until he thought about what might happen if he got stuck. Bubbles came out of his mouth as the tiny bit of air left in it escaped. It wouldn’t be much longer until his brain would demand that he open his mouth. He had already lasted longer than he ever thought possible. His lungs started to burn as he wondered how much further could it be? The panic took over and he started scrabbling wildly and lost his grip on the safety wire.
Chapter Thirty Three
Michael propelled himself forward, kicking and grabbing onto bits of stone and pulling himself. The wound on his arm burning red hot, the only part of him that was warm.
At the point where he knew he had a few seconds left, without even trying, he started to drift upwards. There was nothing above him anymore and he rose upwards. He tried to propel himself faster by kicking his feet but it felt like an eternity. That moment when the water broke above him he was overjoyed. If he wasn’t so busy gasping he would have been crying. All the fear that had built up inside of him escaped with his ragged breaths, but his elation was short lived when he realized he still had to get out of there.
Even though he struggled to see he got the sense this cavern was smaller than the last. The noises he made did not travel so far before they bounced back to him. He made his way to the nearest wall. This cenote did not have a shallow part for him to escape the water and he stayed afloat, barely. When the light from Miguel’s torch shone into the hole, he breathed a sigh of relief. Although this cenote was much smaller the hole was bigger and it looked like it might be possible to climb up, although he couldn’t imagine doing that in his state. The light revealed the nooks and crannies. His desire to be out of the water overtook his fatigue and he swam to the nearest section of wall he could find while Miguel illuminated the way.
He managed to wedge his foot into a crack and put his weight on it while feeling around for anything he could grab onto. It was still slick, but not as slippery as the last time he tried. The lack of plant-matter attached to it helped. He had only tried rock-climbing once in an indoor place with specially designed hand grips, security harnesses and padded floors. One slip of the hand would be all it took. He may just fall back into the water, or he could end up impaled on a stalagmite.
The thought of making progress, only to have to start again filled him with a heavy feeling of dread in his stomach. He wouldn’t let it happen and forced himself to concentrate more than he ever had before. Not acting too quickly. His core muscles tensed as he tried to keep his balance when climbing and heaved himself up to the next overhanging piece of rock. The tension made a tearing sensation in his side and he was certain he could feel warm blood gush from his injury. He ignored it and forged on, his biceps trembling as he hung on as tight as he could. The closer he got to the top, the more he rushed. He just wanted to be at the top already so he could spread out on the floor and let himself go for a second.
When he got about two-thirds up, he reached the roots that hung down. He was going to have to grab onto them, but had no idea if they would hold his weight—there was no other way around it. His hand gripped onto the rough root and tugged. It seemed secure enough. He avoided using his pinkie finger entirely as if any pressure was placed on it, a stabbing pain made him want to let go. He moved one of his feet higher up, balancing on a small piece of something. As his other hand reached for another root, whatever was keeping his foot in place broke away and his body weight tried to pull him down and he jolted, tightly gripping the root with both hands. The yanking motion sent pain shooting across his various injuries like lightning bolts and he swung gently from side to side, waiting for the pain to subside before finding another foot-hold. After taking a few seconds to recover from the shock of it all, it was time for the last push. He ignored the burning sensation of friction as the roots dug into his hands. He was never one for pep-talks, but this time was the exception. You can do this. You got this. Using every last bit of body strength he had, he climbed the hanging tree-root like a rope. He remembered having to climb a rope when he was at school, and for some reason his physical education teacher insisted all the other kids watch. His upper body strength wasn’t much then, and it probably wasn’t much now, but adrenaline was a surprising thing, making the impossible, possible. If the circumstances were right, your body could put up with all sorts of punishment. He was so close now. Miguel’s face waited above him. When he got close enough to reach him Miguel held out an arm and he took it gladly. Even with Miguel helping, that last push over the lip of the opening, felt like conquering Everest.
Once he rolled onto the flat earth of the forest Michael laughed. Compared to the harsh rock, the ferns beneath him felt like a soft mattress. Every muscle shook, partly from cold, partly from exhaustion. He smiled as he saw stars through gaps in the trees.
“You look like shit.”
“I’ve been better.” It was only now, when letting go, that Michael realized just how weak he felt. Just a moment ago
he had been climbing, but now, he couldn’t even imagine standing up.
“You need to see someone.” Miguel looked him over. The concern in Miguel’s face didn’t inspire confidence.
“Who?”
“Someone needs to stitch you up.”
“It’s fine. I just need a little rest.” He closed his eyes. This was a fine place to sleep, enveloped by ferns, watching the stars above.
“They took my car. Need to call someone, but I can’t. Most of my guys were Samuel’s guys too.”
“There is this one guy,” said Michael.
Chapter Thirty Four
They waited by the roadside for ten minutes before one of them spoke. “So this friend of yours, you trust him?” Miguel asked
“Implicitly?” Michael had perked up a little now, but staying upright was a struggle, so he sat on the gravel. He had used Miguel’s phone to call Alex to pick them up. Hearing his voice and knowing he was okay was something at least.
Miguel unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and slipped his t-shirt over his head, before putting his other shirt back on. “Here, take this. Use it to stop bleeding. Put pressure on it.”
“Thanks.” Michael bunched up the T-shirt and pressed it against his side, although it looked like most of the blood had congealed now.
“No tighter. You have to put real pressure on it.”
The headlights of an oncoming car temporarily blinded the pair of them. Michael wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been Samuel, coming to finish the job, but he recognized the car as Alex’s as it got closer. The car pulled in front of them, coming to a sudden stop.
As his muscles had grown stiff, Michael lowered himself slowly onto the front passenger’s seat, and Aleksander’s eyes widened when he saw the state he was in.
