by Steven Bird
“Based on how things work, I’m probably the next to go. To be honest, I’m ready. I can’t take this anymore. It’s hell. It’s a maddening hell,” he lamented as his voice began to crack.
Wanting to get as much information from the strange voice in the darkness as she could, Britney asked, “What’s your name?”
Pausing, the voice replied, “Greg. Greg Toliver. Or at least I was, at one time.”
“I’m Britney,” she responded, in her best attempt at a friendly and calming voice.
“I’m sorry,” Greg replied.
“Sorry?”
“Sorry that you’re here,” he sobbed.
Britney could only imagine why Greg was beginning to weep.
In an attempt to keep the exchange of information going, Britney asked, “So, where are you from, Greg?”
“Memphis,” he replied. “My parents and I lived in a suburb on the southeast side of Memphis—not too far from the airport.”
“I heard Memphis was hit pretty hard during the attacks,” she blurted out, though quickly realizing her error.
Hearing a sniffle, she heard Greg shuffle a bit and then say, “Yeah, my dad never made it home from work that day. He was killed by one of the gunmen. I still can’t believe the world got so evil so fast. Leading up to that, it seemed like the country was a powder keg, just waiting for a match. Neighbors were turned against neighbors by the powers-that-be. School shootings, protests turned to riots… it was obvious something was going to happen. So when a busload of gunmen were unleashed on downtown, well, I guess we really weren’t all that surprised it happened. I was just surprised my dad got caught up in it. I’d always pictured him being there for us, no matter what.
“My mother and I joined up with my uncle and his wife. He was a marine before becoming a cop, so we knew we would be in good hands with him. Or at least, we thought we were. He was killed in the middle of the night in our camp when a group of strangers tried to rob our group. My aunt couldn’t take it after all the losses and insanity. She took her own life a few days later.
“From there, my mother and I traveled east, heading for the hills, I guess. You know, that’s what everyone always joked they’d do, when and if the shit hit the fan. Head for the hills and live off the land,” he scoffed.
Hearing him try to regain his composure, Britney empathized, “I lost both of my parents recently.”
“I guess we’ve got a lot more in common than just being here,” he fretted.
“Yeah. I guess,” she sheepishly replied. “The foreigners kept moving us from one refugee camp to another, with promises of having better resources. That was a lie, of course. They bussed us out into the middle of nowhere where there were no prying eyes, where they planned to murder everyone in cold blood. Women, children, the elderly, it didn’t matter one bit to them. It was like we were merely cattle being brought to slaughter. Every single person on the bus…all, except for me.”
Hearing her begin to sob in the darkness, Greg stammered, “That’s… that’s… I just can’t begin to grasp how things could come to that. How did you escape? How were you the only one to get away?”
Clearing her throat, she explained, “A group of men, a militia, I believe, killed the UF soldiers and rescued me. It was only minutes later when a counterattack killed all but one of the militiamen. It was awful. Me and Nate—he’s the militia guy—met up with a man on horseback who helped us to get away. It was like something straight out of a western. It didn’t even seem real to me. Then again, none of this seems real. I was with both of them until we were ambushed and a big man covered in fur brought me here.”
“I wish I could say something stupid like, ‘don’t worry,’ we’ll be fine,’ but we won’t. I’ve accepted that, and I just want to get it over with,” he conceded.
“It!?” she exclaimed. “What’s it? What do you want to get over with?”
“Like I explained, whatever happens when they scream. I look forward to the moment when I no longer scream. When I’m no longer hungry, suffering, or in pain. I look forward to the time when I’m finally at peace. Even if we somehow escaped from this hell hole and got away from here, something else bad would happen. I mean, look at your story. You were supposedly being taken care of, and…”
Hearing someone in chains moving around in the darkness, Greg said, “That’s him. He spoke a few words the other day, but nothing since.”
“Hello, over there,” Britney called out, attempting to get the other stranger in the darkness to talk.
“It’s no use,” Greg grumbled. “I’ve tried. He doesn’t even cry anymore. At first, he wouldn’t stop. He cried for what seemed like a solid day. Now…now, nothing. Nothing but a few rattles of his chains here and there.”
Laying her head back on the cold, dark rock behind her, Britney contemplated everything Greg had told her. Was this it? Was this where she would meet her fate? Why? Why would God bring her out of the hands of the UF only to leave her here, in this pit of utter darkness and despair, to die a miserable death? She couldn’t accept that. She couldn’t accept the fact that she would meet her end here, in this all too real version of Hell.
Chapter Seven
Following the trail, Jessie and Nate worked their way down the rocky hill toward what appeared to be a clearing ahead. “I’ve lost it,” Jessie grumbled as he frantically scanned the ground for signs of Britney and her captor.
“Over here,” Nate gestured, pushing his way through the overgrown brush toward the face of a cliff.
The clearing they could see through the trees was approximately fifty feet below their elevation. Between them and the clearing was a steep rock cliff that cut back and underneath, almost like a shelf or an overhang.
“We need to find our way down to the bottom,” Jessie suggested, trying to spot an obvious path. “We may be able to pick up the trail again down there. It’s all rock between here and there. That won’t help at all.”
“This way,” Nate decided, working his way along the edge of the drop, hanging onto roots and trees as he went, until reaching a switchback that led them toward the clearing below.
Reaching the base of the cliff, they looked around for tracks or signs of Britney or her captor’s presence, to no avail.
Nestled along the bottom of the rocky cliff was a seam of limestone that sloped downward toward the level area below. At the base of the rock face, where it met the limestone seam, was an opening. “Check this out,” Nate said, pointing toward the opening. “And there are those crazy footprints,” he declared, pointing at the fine, powdery dirt and rock debris surrounding the opening.
“Is that a cave?” Jessie asked.
“It appears to be,” Nate replied while cautiously looking inside. “This area is riddled with cave systems. As a matter of fact, Tennessee has more caves than any other state, and that’s saying something, considering the fact that it’s not even close to being the largest state in terms of size.
“The mapped and documented caves number above eight-thousand, I believe. A cave on our homestead saved our bacon during an attack on us once. It served as the perfect place for folks to hide and live during the peak of the fighting.
“I’m not from here,” Nate continued, “but someone explained to me that this part of the country was under a shallow sea millions of years ago. Sediment from that sea formed the limestone layer that lies so close to the surface throughout the area. When the tectonic plates shifted and pushed the mountains up, it formed the widened passages through the limestone, and the subterranean streams ate away at it until it formed the elaborate cave system beneath us. There are rivers and even lakes underground here. Several of them became big tourist attractions for the area, such as Forbidden Caverns, which isn’t too far at all from here, and the Lost Sea down in Sweetwater.”
“Hmmm,” Jessie pondered. “Well, if I wanted a secure and secluded hideaway, a cave system would be on the list.”
As Nate worked his way closer to the cave’s entrance to ge
t a better look inside, Jessie reminded him, “Be careful, we’re sitting ducks out here, and there’s a good chance someone in there is drawing a bead on you this very moment.”
Thinking the situation over, Nate turned to Jessie, and declared, “You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?” Jessie asked. “That we have to go inside?”
“Yep, I’m afraid so,” Nate concluded.
“Damn, I don’t wanna go crawling in there, but…”
“Yeah. Trust me, I know,” explained Nate. “But if those tunnel rats back in Vietnam could go crawling into a tunnel they knew was probably boobie-trapped or full of VC, we can do this.”
With a sigh, Jessie agreed, “Yes. Yes, we can.”
Looking around, Nate determined, “We’re gonna need some light.”
“Let’s step away from the cave for a moment,” urged Jessie while he pulled his pack off his shoulder. With his back against some large rocks for cover, Jessie knelt down, then looked up at Nate, saying, “Keep an eye out while I do this.”
“Do what?”
“I’d prefer a flashlight, but usable batteries aren’t readily available at the moment. I’m gonna unleash my inner Indiana Jones,” Jessie quipped, with a sly grin while unzipping his bag.
Seeing that Jessie was beginning to work on some sort of small project, Nate said, “Don’t you mean your inner MacGyver?”
With a chuckle, Jessie shook his head. Removing a small, brown bottle from the main compartment of the pack, Jessie placed it aside and then removed a roll of cloth bandages from a pocket on the side of his pack. Placing a lighter off to the side as well, he said, “Now, we just need a handle.”
Looking around, he saw a young tree with a trunk at around two inches in diameter. Removing his hatchet from his pack, he quickly chopped through it and then fashioned a handle approximately two feet in length.
Placing the handle between his knees, Jesse took the cloth bandage and began wrapping it tightly around the handle. “You probably know this, but the trick here is to get the wrap really tight. If it’s loose, it’ll burn too fast.”
Once he had the bandage wrapped tightly and with sufficient thickness, Jessie placed it aside and opened the brown bottle.
“What’s that?” Nate asked.
“Cooking oil,” answered Jessie. Rotating the torch’s handle with his left hand, he began pouring the oil on the cloth bandage with his right. After setting the oil bottle down, he began pushing the oil into the cloth with his finger. “The other trick to this is to make sure the cloth is saturated all the way through.”
When he felt the cloth was thoroughly saturated, Jessie removed a small roll of metal wire from his pack, and continued, “Safety wire can fix damn near anything. If you’ve got this and duct tape, you’re unstoppable.”
“See? McGyver,” Nate chided.
“No, that would be a paperclip and a nickel,” Jessie joked in reply.
Rapidly bending the wire back and forth, Jessie broke off three pieces in lengths of approximately six inches. He then wrapped the sections of wire securely around the cloth, twisting them tightly with his multi-tool pliers.
“That ought to do it,” he boasted, holding out his creation. “See? I meant my inner Indiana Jones. He always had one of those Hollywood torches that burned all day long. I’m sure mine won’t live up to movie standards, but it’s better than being blind.”
“Are we gonna just go walking right in there?” Nate asked.
“I hadn’t planned on that,” explained Jessie. “I was planning on lighting it and tossing it inside. With the oil-soaked rags burning, it shouldn’t go out.
“Hopefully, if there is a guard near the entrance of the cave, that’ll elicit a response. If not, it’ll illuminate things enough for us to make our initial entry. We need to move in bounds, covering each other as we go. It goes without saying that we’re at a major disadvantage here and are taking on substantial risk.”
“That we are,” Nate agreed. “But my friends back there didn’t die trying to free those people only to have me walk away from our only survivor now. They laid down their lives to get her out of there, and I’ll lay down mine to get her out of here, if that’s what it takes.”
Looking Nate in the eye, Jessie paused, and asked, “What drives you? I still don’t know what group or organization you’re with, but you’re obviously willing to give everything up for a person you just met, and you risked it all back when you didn’t even know her. For all we know, stepping into this cave will be the equivalent of stepping out of a landing craft on D-Day, yet you’re willing to charge right into it?”
“It seems I could ask the same of you,” Nate retorted. “Hell, you weren’t even in our group and had no clue who we were, yet you jumped right in to help. At least I had a cause to die for.”
“You have a cause to die for, and I very likely don’t have anything to live for,” Jessie replied. “I lost everything. My wife and children were murdered. They lost their lives because I couldn’t protect them well enough on my own. The pain from that nearly ended me. Quite frankly, I wanted to die.
“Then, when I was at the very bottom, a father and his young daughter stumbled across my place high up in the Rocky Mountains. I saw a spark of hope in them. I saw a reason to keep going, for others, even if not for myself.
“Setting out across the country to find my sister may simply be another sad tragedy for me to find, more pain for my heart to bear, but at the very least, I have to try.
“Along the way, though, I’ve met a lot of folks, like you, who give me hope that we’ll claw our way out of this hole we’re in and be stronger for it in the long run. I’m hoping the next generation of leadership in this country, and around the world, will be those who were forged in the fire of all this hell we’re going through now.
“Several months back, I met up with a group in Arkansas. One gentleman, Isaac, became a very dear friend of mine. He explained to me the concept of clay forging, and how it was used to make swords back in the days of the Samurai. Have you heard of clay forging?”
“No. I can’t say that I have,” Nate shrugged, curious to where Jessie may be going with this.
Jessie explained, “If you look closely at a Katana, there is a line that runs through the center of the blade for the entire length of the sword. That line is caused by the process of clay tempering. When the blade is forged, the metal is soft. This is, of course, required so the swordsmith can shape the blade into its desired form. Tempering the blade hardens it, much like this world has hardened the soul of many a man. Achieving balance, however, is important to the soul, same as it is to the sword.
“Isaac explained to me that a blade that is too hard will break, but a blade that is too soft will bend. To achieve balance, the swordsmith applies clay to the freshly formed blade. He applies a thin layer of clay over the edge and a thicker layer of clay over the spine. This allows the blade to cool at different rates when tempering, giving it the hardness it needs to hold its edge, with the softness and flexibility it needs to survive a very hard hit.
“As with the blade, if a person is hardened too quickly, they tend to break. Yet if they remain soft, they bend far too easily. Both the soft man and the hard man will eventually succumb to the challenges they face. But if the right amount of clay was placed into your heart before you were tossed into the fires, you’ll find that you emerged with both the hardness you need to do what must be done and the softness you need to retain your humanity.
“This world is going to need more people like you, who have been forged by the fire of this hell we’ve found ourselves in, yet retain their hearts, in order to rebuild our nation and our world.”
“That’s pretty deep for Arkansas,” Nate chuckled. “I’m just kidding. I know exactly what you mean. That Isaac fellow seems like a wise man.”
“He was something else,” Jessie said, thinking about his friend for the first time in a while. “Like you, though, he was willing to put it all on
the line when the time came.”
Seeing Nate fiddling with his prosthesis, Jessie asked, “Did you lose your leg before or after the collapse?”
“After,” Nate quickly replied. “I had to make my way from the west coast to try to find my parents, much like what you’re doing now. I ran into a little trouble along the way, but like you, I met just the right kind of people to keep me going.”
Placing his hand on Nate’s shoulder, Jessie said, “I rest my case. Now, let’s get on to what’s important in this very moment, and that’s Britney.”
“Right on,” Nate affirmed, with enthusiasm in his voice. “By the way, I’ve got an idea. I’ve got a few flares in my pack that my team would carry to assist during an exfil. They wouldn’t make good walking around lights, but they could help out. I can toss one in, and we’ll see from its light if the coast is clear. Once we move forward to that position, I’ll toss the flare deeper into the cave. When we advance to that position, I’ll toss it again.
“We can use the flares to light up the spaces ahead of us while using the torch for our personal light. The sparks and intense light from the flares may also obscure the view for anyone trying to observe us from deeper within the cave, because they would be much brighter than your torch.”
Shaking his head, Jessie grumbled, “I sure wish I’d known you had flares before I spent all this time making a torch.”
“You didn’t exactly share your plan with me before you started,” Nate countered.
“Touché,” Jessie conceded. “Well, I don’t see any other way to do this. I’m not in favor of just walking into the darkness with the light of the entrance at our backs, so I guess this is the only way. They’ll definitely know we’re in there, though.”
“There’s no avoiding that.”
“I reckon so,” Jessie confirmed as he looked at the entrance to the cave. “Well, like you said, this can’t be as bad as what those tunnel rats had to do in Vietnam. If they could suck it up and crawl into those little holes, and often times for a mission that to them, at least, was hard to see as worthy of giving up their own lives, then we can do this for her.”
