Love Not at First Sight by Sarah Ready

10

Sam

Fifty-two hourslater we’re still in the cave. We followed the stench of ammonia through tight cracks, up natural stairs, through tunnels and more dead ends than I can count. But we haven’t found the bat colony or a way out.

I can hear them off and on, squeaking and scratching, but I can’t pinpoint where the sound is coming from. The echo could be traveling from far away, through a small crack in the stone for all I know, or through a twisted labyrinth of turns that we haven’t managed to crack.

I don’t know what to do. We’ve been in this cave for more than four days. Veronica hasn’t complained, but I know she’s getting weaker. Sometimes she stumbles over rocks or grabs at the walls to support herself. She was sure-footed when we started this trek, and the fact that she’s not anymore tells me that time’s running out. We stop more often for drink breaks and huddle together for rest more often. Time is pressing down on us, but there’s no way I’m giving up. If Veronica passes out from hunger and I can’t stand anymore, I will crawl and drag her out on my back. I’m not giving up.

We stand in front of a small tunnel. Veronica sniffs, the smell of bats is strong and there’s a slight draft.

“This is the way,” she says. “I swear I hear them through there.” Her voice is less confident though; we thought we’d found the path to the colony dozens of times over the past two days.

I kneel down and set up a cairn and an arrow. If she’s right, we’ll not see it again. There’s a squeak and I tilt my head.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers.

We remain quiet and unmoving, but the noise doesn’t come again.

I stand and measure the tunnel with my hands. The rock is hard and unyielding, cold and quiet. I’ve learned a lot about this cave over the past few days. The caverns, the tunnels, the streams and pools, the formations and stalagmites, all of them have a different personality, a feeling they emanate. Some spaces are quiet, like they are watching or listening as we pass through. Others, like the waterfall cavern, are full of energy and mischief, and the water sounds like it’s laughing. There are spaces that feel ominous, others that are peaceful and silent, like the feeling that comes just before falling asleep. This tunnel has a unique feeling. I can’t describe it, except that it gives me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt the same way once as a ten-year-old kid. I walked through Central Park alone one night and when I saw a group of teens on the path ahead I had this same feeling. Instead of turning around and going another way I went forward. I was beaten and robbed.

I feel the rock of the tunnel and span the circumference of the entry.

“It’s going to be tight.” The narrowest yet.

The squeaking noise comes again. Then, there’s the flapping of wings and a disturbance of air next to my cheek.

“Did you feel that?”

“It went into the tunnel?” she asks, her voice is filled with hope.

“It did. It flew right past me.”

That settles it. Strange feeling in the pit of my stomach or not, this is the way out.

Veronica moves next to me. I light my watch and she peers into the dark space. It looks like a coffin, tight and smooth and dark. “Should I go first?” she asks. Her voice shakes. There’s no question about it, she hates the feeling of being closed in.

“Good idea,” I say.

She bends over and starts to climb in. “Wait,” I say. I unstrap the watch from my wrist. “Take this.”

I put the metal watchband around her wrist, it’s too big by a few links, but I click it into place then push it up her forearm. I settle my hand on her arm, press it over the watch. She reaches out and presses her hands against my chest. “The button on the side lights it,” I say. “In case you need the light closer to you.” Having the glow nearby should help her make it through.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Of course. You can give it back when we make it to the end of this tunnel. We’ll be at the exit and you won’t need it anymore.”

“Exactly,” she says. Then she turns and starts into the tunnel.

It’s the same as every other tight space we’ve shimmied through, except not. It’s tighter, my shoulders barely fit through some of the gaps, and the feeling…it’s unsettling.

“Tell me again,” says Veronica, “about your dreams for the future. Your business and your travels and your house in the country.”

Her voice is muffled in the close confines, but I can hear her mounting anxiety. It’s hard when we’re in these coffin-like spaces not to think about getting stuck and never making it out. Talking helps.

Over the past few days, Veronica and I have shared our dreams. Mine are new. I’m finally shedding the past and letting myself have new dreams. I’ve told her my plans to renovate a house in the country, one near the White Pine Trail, and to make it a home. I’ve shared all the places I want to travel. We’ve brainstormed ideas for building my new business. She’s told me about her greeting card company and I’ve helped her create a plan for growing her staff and going international. She’s shared how she’s going to be a godmother and how she’ll spoil the baby and love her so much. I think about how much love Veronica has to give, how strong and brave and kind she is. I’m going to get us out of here.

“In my house,” I begin, “I’ve thought of a new room.”

“Yeah?”

“A climbing gym. It’ll be three stories tall, full of complex holds and practice areas for difficult climbing techniques.”

“Sounds nice,” she says.

“It’s for this woman I know. I really like her, and I’m hoping she’ll want to live with me.” I stop crawling and listen for her response. My chest tightens as I wait for her answer.

She doesn’t speak for a bit, then, “What else will be at your house?” There’s a smile in her voice.

I let out an exhale.

“She likes coffee. So in the kitchen I’m going to have an industrial setup. An espresso maker and a steamer, and I’ll only buy the best coffee beans.”

She makes a noise that I take as approval.

“She also doesn’t like to be cold, so I’ll put in fireplaces. One in the living room, another in the kitchen, one in the bedroom. And I’ll have a hot tub and a sauna.”

“Sounds expensive,” she says.

“Does it?” I ask.

“This girl doesn’t need you to go into debt for her. She’d be happy with a hot bath and some wool socks, maybe a blanket and a cuddle on a couch.”

I smile. “So, do you think she’ll want to move in with me?”

“What else will be in your house?” she asks.

“I was thinking a bed, a shower, a kitchen stocked with food.”

“Now you’re talking.”

“And me. The house would come with me.”

“Then I think she’d be crazy to refuse.”

I send up thanks to heaven.

Then, “There’s an incline. It’s tight here,” she says. I hear her boots scrape against the rock.

I move in after her, send my arms up and grab a rocky protrusion. I pull my arms through. The walls scrape my arms as I lift myself. Then, I stop. My heart starts to beat hard. I try to pull up, can’t…I try to push down…can’t.

Veronica moves forward. The light of the watch grows dimmer.

“Veronica,” I say. My voice is a sharp gasp. I’ve wedged my ribs between the walls of the inclining tunnel and I can’t pull myself out. “Veronica,” I say more sharply.

She stops. “Are you okay?”

“I’m stuck,” I say.

My ribs start to ache and it’s hard to breathe. She crawls back to me. The walls are too close for her to turn around, so she lays down on the ground and flips onto her back. She scoots on her back until she’s next to my extended arms.

“I pull you through,” she says.

My throat tightens. “No,” I say. “Too tight.” I’m running out of air. I jammed myself in and my lungs are compressed. I’m taking short, painful breaths.

“Sam?” Her voice is small and scared.

I lever my hands on the ground and try to shove myself back. I can’t. I’m stuck.

“Push me back,” I say. “Kick…” with your feet, I want to say, but it’s taking too much air to speak.

She puts her boots on my shoulders and presses as hard as she can. I grunt at the pressure. The sides of the rock squeeze down on my ribs and her boots dig into my shoulders. There’s a sharp painful stabbing in my chest.

“Sam? Can you…can you just pull through?”

“Can’t…” Red and blue sparks light in front of my eyes. The pain in my chest grows and my lungs ache every time I pull in a short breath.

Suddenly, I’m dizzy. My head feels heavy. The darkness is different now, like it’s coming from me rather than the cave. The rocks are crushing my ribs, crushing my lungs.

My head drops to my chest. I try to pull it back up but I can’t. My hands claw at the earth, I push back…pull…nothing. I try to pull in another breath, but there’s no air.

“Sam?” I hear panic in Veronica’s voice. Fear.

But I can’t answer. Can’t reassure her. I don’t have enough air.

This isn’t the end, it can’t be.

My thoughts jumble. Spin together. I see Veronica, the picture that I have of her in my mind, she floats in front of me. I see us walking toward our house. We’re holding hands. I turn and kiss her, carry her over the threshold.

I desperately try to pull in air, to fill my compressed lungs. My head swims, falls forward. My forehead smacks against the rock. I want to tell her…need to tell her something. I thought we were going to get out of here. I’d hoped…

She still can. She can follow this out.

With my last bit of air I bite out, “Go.”

Then I slip back into the vision of us walking into our home, but when I open the door, step inside, it’s dark and she’s gone.