The two sat in silence, thinking.
“Want to see something amazing?” asked Milo.
“Sure,” said Bridget, smiling.
“Follow me.”
Milo swam through the underwater tunnel, his thoughts clear and bright, his lungs full of clean air. With every stroke, he could feel the waters around him warming; Bridget followed at his heels. His powerful headlamp winked out, extinguished by moisture encroaching through the rubber seal.
But he didn’t need his artificial light. The warm, golden glow was more intense now, streaming out of the breakdown pile in thick rays, erupting from the waters and dancing across the ceiling.
Milo and Bridget broke the surface of the water and inhaled deeply. A slight mist had collected at the surface, the bathtub-warm waters evaporating into the humid chamber.
A feeling of profound giddiness flooded through Milo, and with it an overpowering raw euphoria; a oneness with the glow. Dizzy with intoxicating sensations, he and Bridget locked eyes for a fraction of a moment before they threw desperate, shivering arms around each other, Milo clung to the wall with one hand as Bridget’s yearning mouth locked onto his, limbs intertwined.
Milo’s buzzing mind took a single step off the ledge and into oblivion, surrendering his perception into a somersaulting deluge of overpowering present and remembered past. Only his primal inner self remained, unbound to thought or consequence. Feverish heat surrounded him, an uncontrollable fire pouring from his skin and hers as they pulled desperately at each other’s clothing. Milo swam across the surface of his own mind, primordial sexual memories of their lovemaking swirling into a single impossible moment.
Bridget and Milo almost dragged each other under, tumbling and circling as they half-paddled, half-floated toward the altar-topped rock in the center of the room. The last of their clothing fell away, boots already kicked off, Bridget’s shirt drifting abandoned, Milo’s trousers slowly sinking into the depths.
Irretrievably lost to the ecstasy, Milo was yanked suddenly into vivid flashes of his most precious memories—Bridget bathed in morning light as she slept in his arms; Bridget sneaking a look over her shoulder as she left his class; Bridget dancing in front of a mirror to a long-forgotten pop song as he watched, lost in his love for her. And then Bridget pulled him onto the island, tearing him from his memories, and in an instant straddled him with her naked form, pushing herself onto him, her fingers digging into his flesh of his chest as she threw her head back, her muscled body heaving in sync with his own.
Drifting, flying, floating, Milo allowed the last of his consciousness to disappear into the rapture of the golden glow.
CHAPTER 23:
ESCAPE
Bridget breached the water’s surface like a mermaid, sputtering and laughing and snorting as she shook droplets from her soggy dark hair. Milo watched her nude form as she swam toward him, skin smooth and lustrous in the glowing golden light. Naked, he leaned against the stone altar and basked in the warmth of the underground room.
“I got your pants!” Bridget announced, waving them up and out of the water so Milo could see. “They were almost thirty feet down.”
“Thanks,” said Milo with a smile. “No way was I swimming that deep. You saved me from more than a bit of embarrassment.”
“Embarrassment?” said Bridget, reaching the island and pulling herself out of the water. “Ha! Not half as embarrassing as literally every single thing Charlie did for the camera.”
The pair immediately broke eye contact. Looking away, Bridget unrolled Milo’s pants onto the rock beside all the other clothes they’d managed to fish out of the deep waters. A quick survey revealed they’d found virtually everything, missing only two socks and one of Bridget’s gloves. The doctor sat against the rock cairn next to Milo, resting her head on his shoulder as they watched the slow dance of the golden rays shift across the smooth stone ceiling.
The light slowly faded as they watched, turning the golden sunset-like illumination to twilight. The mists around the water receded, the room slowly settling to cool darkness as Milo finished repairing his caving lamp.
Bridget pulled Milo’s wrist away from his work and into her lap, slowly stroking his palm and intertwining her fingers with his as their clasping hands rested just atop her soft mound of silky dark pubic hair. Kissing the top of her head, Milo couldn’t help but drink in the lovely contours of her strong, sculpted body, the curve of her waist, her muscled arms and taut stomach.
He looked down at his own body. The extended caving expedition had done wonders to his admittedly lackluster physique, the strenuous exercise and rapid weight loss emphasizing dormant muscles and freeing his abdomen from too much takeout and craft beer. He felt like the energy of his early twenties had returned; the sharp physicality he’d buried little by little with the distractions and resentments of modern life. Milo felt focused. He felt strong. But more than anything, he felt . . . alive.
Bridget smiled and kissed him on the cheek, her soft lips brushing against his growing stubble. “What the fuck just happened between us?” she asked, wonderment in her voice.
“I have no idea. Things feel so much simpler down here. Food . . . air . . . light . . . so little else matters.”
“There’s something else at work.” Bridget turned to stare deeply into his eyes. “You felt it. I felt it. The glow, this room . . . it’s like it took over, unleashed something buried deep inside.”
Milo nodded.
“I wish I knew more about the glow, why it affected us like this,” mused Bridget as she fiddled with her helmet. “I’m afraid that when someone comes back with the proper equipment it’ll be gone. It’s bioluminescent life; that much seems certain. But what is it?”
“We know it’s a powerful psychoactive,” said Milo. “My head started buzzing the moment I surfaced. Felt like I was skipping across a universe of my own thoughts and memories. I felt this . . . infinite joy. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”
“And a connection to everything,” said Bridget, nodding. “Do you suppose that’s why we made love?”
“Hard to say,” answered Milo, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Seeing you brought up a lot of old feelings. Our judgment may have been compromised—but I never felt like I was acting against my will. I hope you felt the same way.”
Bridget nodded, but didn’t respond at first. “Even with all the chaos, the flood, Isabelle’s accident, I don’t remember the last time I could think so clearly,” she finally said, not acknowledging the answer to her own question. “It’s like all the noise is gone. Like I can be alone with my thoughts for the first time in years.”
She paused for a few more moments, lost in contemplation. So much remained unspoken.
“Let’s go,” she finally said as she clicked on her light. “I want to get dressed and swim back before they send a search party.”
The cavers in the cathedral room were all awake and standing by the time Bridget and Milo emerged from the submerged tunnel. Logan and Charlie were at Isabelle’s side. Milo and Bridget quietly climbed onto the largest rock and joined Dale and Joanne standing next to Duck, who had his arms crossed and eyes closed as though he were about to perform a particularly difficult magic trick.
“Abby, Angel, Ashton,” said Duck, rattling names off. “Calvin, Devin, Elisha, Giorgio, Henry, other Henry, Kelsey, Kevin, Lucas, Matthew, Max, Medha, Michael, Nick, Nina, Serena—”
“We get the point,” interrupted Joanne, tapping her foot in frustration.
“What’s Duck doing?” whispered Bridget, tapping Dale on the shoulder.
“He says he can remember the names of every classmate in his third grade after-school science camp,” Dale replied. “I said he couldn’t, so here we are.”
“Weird, right?” said Duck. “Just came to me—out of nowhere. It’s not just their names. I remember all their favorite foods and the first names of their mothers. Most of them said cheeseburgers and pizza, but one of the geekier ones said
‘ants.’ Like, you eat a few ants on a dare and that’s suddenly your favorite food?”
“I’ve eaten ants,” said Logan, raising his voice from the nearby rock where he attended Isabelle. Everyone swiveled to look at him.
“It’s weird,” maintained Duck. “Eating ants is super weird.”
“Why?” demanded Logan, almost shouting to be heard from across the thirty-foot distance. “Insects are the protein of the future. I’ve eaten tarantulas, crickets, scorpions, even maggot larvae.”
Dale just winced in disgust and turned back to the semicircle.
“While I have everyone here, I have an announcement to make,” said Dale, addressing the cavers. “I’ve spoken with Duck and we’ve agreed that we need a new camp. The flooded-out chamber is no good, and we’re too remote and waterlogged down here to be much good to anybody. Duck and I will hit the anthill shortly and look for a safe space to hold out. Logan has run the numbers—he thinks we’ve only explored about one to three percent of the total area of this cave to date. There has to be a better spot to hunker down than this.”
“Hold out?” protested Joanne. “We can’t just wait down here, Dale—we need to leave.”
Around her, others murmured in support. Milo found himself fixated on the one to three percent calculation, unable to fathom the sheer size of the system.
“I agree that’s the ultimate goal,” said Dale, holding out his hands to quiet the group. “But we can’t, not with Isabelle in her current state, not until our surface teams get their shit together, re-rig the main shaft, and come find us—the existing ropes are too damaged. We haven’t checked in for almost twenty-four hours, which means they may have already started looking for us, or they’re waiting until it’s safe.”
A few nods—they’d seen the boulder that took out the descent system and heard Logan’s blunt assessment of the one remaining rope.
“But—” protested Joanne.
“He’s right,” interrupted Duck, cutting her off. “The surface teams know we’re down here and they know what they need to do. We can’t risk making for the hatch.”
“At least allow me to go to the main chamber,” said Joanne. “I can mark the path—leave instructions—see if there’s still anything worth saving.”
“Didn’t Duck and Logan do that already?” protested Dale.
Duck shook his head. “We were running on fumes, bro,” he said. “I was too tired to see straight, much less do a thorough check. There could be all sorts of stuff left in the base camp chamber, probably some supplies washed down the anthill too.”
“Fine, whatever,” snapped Dale, clearly done with the conversation.
“Very well,” said Joanne, eyeing Dale with skepticism. “I’m taking Milo and Bridget with me. She says she can’t do anything more for Isabelle, at least not for the next few hours.”
Dale turned around and looked toward Logan. “Dr. Flowers—you okay with staying with Isabelle?” he asked. “You need someone else with you?”
“I’m a certified Wilderness First Responder,” answered Logan irritably at having been asked. “And I have Charlie with me. The patient will be fine.”
The trio moved in silence for most of the wet slog up the anthill. Joanne led, Bridget was on her heels, and Milo wheezed some distance behind as he attempted to keep up.
Joanne finally interrupted the quiet.
“Do you think what Duck said was strange?” asked Joanne, stopping for a moment in a narrow passageway as she turned to address the pair.
“How so?” asked Bridget. “About remembering things? I missed most of it. Not sure what to think.” Milo noticed she’d said nothing about their own experience in the glowing room, where past and present swirled and a sea of memories converged in a single uncontrollable stream of consciousness.
“I’m remembering things too,” Joanne admitted.
“Like what?” asked Milo. “Third-grade classmates and their favorite foods?”
“Not as such,” said Joanne with a chuckle. “More like . . . the weather on every birthday I’ve ever celebrated. February in Birmingham is quite rainy, so perhaps not such a feat. But then . . . other things as well.”
“Such as?” asked Bridget.
“Such as the first hundred pages of Charles Dickens’s Bleak House,” answered Joanne with a low whisper. “Word for bloody word. Like I can see the pages in front of me.”
Milo and Bridget looked at each other, not sure what to say.
“I keep coming back to a single quote,” Joanne continued. “Can’t get it out of my mind. It reads: Fog everywhere. Fog up the river where it flows among green airs and meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping, and the waterside pollutions of a great and dirty city . . . Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.”
“All I remember from that one is ‘the universe makes a rather indifferent parent,’” said Milo. “I couldn’t name a single character.”
“Queer, isn’t it?” asked Joanne. “Especially after Duck’s little show.”
“Maybe,” said Bridget. “Maybe not. I think all of us have been experiencing similar symptoms. There’s not much sensory stimulation down here, especially in the quieter chambers. Auditory and visual hallucinations are common in the depths, aren’t they? Could it be that your bored mind is simply digging up old information for re-processing?”
Joanne shook her head in fierce disagreement. “I’ve been in a lot of caves,” she answered. “Never remembered much Dickens before. This ability is something new.”
The trio trudged up the last of the anthill without speaking. Joanne continued her rigorous policy of marking every intersection with chalk, this time reaching far above her head and marking with thick, unmistakable streaks well clear of the still-glistening flood-line. Exhausted from the climb, they emerged into the deafeningly loud, wet, muddy main chamber.
One of Duck’s illuminated balloons still clung to the ceiling, dimly burning through the last of its flagging battery. The others had deflated, lying in collapsed, wrinkled piles in distant corners.
“Should we start searching?” asked Bridget, disappointment in her voice as she surveyed the massive room. The waters had scraped it clean, and the small ledge and alcove where they’d sheltered appeared thoroughly ransacked.
“Bollocks to that,” said Joanne as she strode purposefully toward the main shaft waterfall. Reaching it, she experimentally tugged at the single wet rope still hanging from the distant ledge fifteen hundred feet above.
“You’re not seriously considering trying it, are you?” asked Milo, unsure of the cave guide’s intentions.
“There are no safety lines left,” added Bridget. “And you have no way of knowing if the rope will hold!”
“There’s only one way out of this complete debacle,” said Joanne without turning to look at him. “Make contact with the surface, direct the rescue. They should have been down here by now—but if they’re not coming to us fast enough, we’ll have to go to them. I can rig three harnesses out of spare webbing. We’ll use cord to make hand and foot loops, attach them to Prusik knot ascenders. The knots only slide one way—up. Slide the hand above your head; bring the foot after it. We call it frogging. It’ll take time, but we’ll be at the top of the shaft in a few hours, find out what the bloody hell is going on up there. We’ll bring back food, medical supplies, and a proper team of rescue cavers.”
“We’re just going to leave?” said Milo angrily. “Abandon everyone?”
Joanne swiveled around and stuck a finger in his face. “If Isabelle stays down here much longer, she will die,” stated the cave guide. “It’s only a matter of time until an infection takes hold. Or a vital organ fails. Left untreated, cranial swelling will get worse. I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen my share of caving accidents. We have to bring her to hospital. And for the rest of us—we have maybe four days
’ worth of food left if we stretch it.”
Bridget put an arm around Milo’s shoulders, comforting him. “She’s right,” said the doctor. “Even in the best-case scenarios, Isabelle is dead within seventy-two hours. Every minute counts, and we need all the help we can get.”
“Milo, you know where this is leading,” said Joanne. “You study disasters like this one. Equipment will fail. Lights will go out. People will break down, falling victim to paranoia and hallucinations. What little remains of our expedition will become only chaos and death. Better to risk our three lives now.”
“I’m in,” said Bridget, jutting her chin and narrowing her eyes in steely determination. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Milo?” asked Joanne, tilting her head at him.
“Fuck it,” said Milo as he eyed the long rope disappearing through the mist and into darkness far above. “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER 24:
SYSTEMIC FAILURE
725 feet below the surface
Trembling with exhaustion, Milo gingerly extended his gloved fingers to grip the top of the ledge. The cascading waterfall churned and roared, deafening him as water pounded rocks into sand fifteen hundred feet below. Salvation was mere inches away, but rallying the strength to grasp the overhang and pull himself over felt all but impossible. Every wet, mud-covered inch of his body burned with pain after climbing the near-endless height in complete darkness.
Though it saved their dwindling batteries, the darkness came with flickering hallucinations as his exhausted, understimulated mind struggled to cope with the vast nothingness of the shaft. Little flashes of light danced in the corners of his eyes, false glows that refused to move from the periphery of his vision. Every few minutes during the ascent he’d heard someone sharply call his name from just inches away. He’d jolt his head in the direction to see nothing but blackness. The voices were always disturbingly familiar yet unidentifiable, spoken by long-forgotten friends.
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