Love Not at First Sight by Sarah Ready
3
VERONICA
There’sa man ahead on the trail. I scowl at his back. Every so often I catch sight of him. He’s a couple hundred yards up, and when the curves of the trail straighten into a long stretch I watch him. He doesn’t know I’m behind him. Why would he? He moves like an elephant. He breaks dry twigs, crashes through leaf piles, and makes more noise than a three-year-old in a candy factory. Clearly he’s not an outdoorsman. I snort as he trips over a root and catches himself just in time.
It’s barely seven in the morning. The crisp woodsy air and the golden morning light fill me with happiness. I take a breath and the sharp pine smell tickles my nose. Everything is perfect, at least it would be if the quiet weren’t disturbed by the guy up ahead. He steps on another twig and the loud crack reverberating through the woods sends a jay squawking into the sky.
I expect he’ll turn around soon. We’re three miles from the trailhead, but it doesn’t look like he has any gear with him. He’s in shorts, a T-shirt, hat, and tennis shoes. But he doesn’t have a pack or water that I can see. Not even the greenest day hiker would go much farther without any water. It’s supposed to get hot today. I roll my shoulders and smile at the comforting weight of my frame pack. Chloe always teases me about my prepper tendencies and my obsession for all things survivalist. I’m not going to deny it, I love getting out on the trail, or into the backwoods and losing myself in the wild for a week or two.
I started in my teens. It was a rough time in my life. My mom and dad fought constantly, I felt so lost. Hiking, climbing, camping, those things saved my life. Now, even though I don’t need them anymore to help me survive, they still make me feel strong and safe.
The man on the trail ahead turns to the west and starts into the woods. I look to the sky and shake my head. What the heck is he doing? He jumps over a large fallen tree trunk covered in moss and moves into the thick vegetation of the woods. This is survival no-no number one. Every year inexperienced hikers leave a trail and become lost in the woods. Some even die, sometimes only a hundred meters from the trail, because they’ve gotten turned around and they can’t find their way back and they don’t know how to survive off the land.
I pick up my pace and come to the place where the man left the trail. I can see him picking his way through the brush. He looks like he’s just enjoying the day, meandering, and…oh no.
I curse as he steps into the mouth of a cave. There are plenty of caves in Upstate, dozens of them in the forests around Romeo. I steer clear of them.
“I’m not going after him,” I say out loud.
There’s a chattering of birds in the distance. I swat a mosquito that thinks it’s a nice time to bite. I glare at the entrance to the cave. It’s about five feet high and three feet wide. Ivy covers most of the opening. It’s barely noticeable from the trail. If I remember right, this cave was discovered by school kids about one hundred and fifty years ago. This one hasn’t been explored too much. To be honest, caves really aren’t my thing. I tap my foot, expecting the man to come out of the cave any second.
But he doesn’t.
I smack another mosquito. The forest is quiet. Now that the hiker isn’t crashing through the trail making noise, the animals have started to come out again. I hear the steps of a careful deer, the chiding kuk-kuk-kuk of a squirrel, the liquid notes of a jay. The sounds paint the forest green and gold and beautiful.
But he still hasn’t come out.
I roll my shoulders and the weight of my pack shifts. Inside my pack I have two weeks of provisions, a water filter and bottle, my canister stove and cook kit, a hatchet and multitool, my tent, sleeping bag, compass, maps, my first-aid bag, extra socks, needle and thread, light, duct tape, a whistle and mirror, there’s more…needless to say, I’m well prepared for two weeks on my own in the woods. This is a light trip for me, I’ve gone six months on my own for a thru-hike.
I give him another minute, but still no movement. The guy might not realize it, but caves can be dangerous. They aren’t something you should go and poke around in on your own.
But maybe he’s actually really experienced? Maybe he’s a caver, or a speleologist and he’ll be annoyed that I’m coming after him.
Or maybe he’s a criminal and he’s going to check on the money from his last bank heist, or he’s got his victims stored in the cave or…
Ugh.
A mosquito buzzes at my ear and I smack it.
I can’t just walk away. I’ll always wonder if the noisy hiker with no gear made it out okay. And if he doesn’t…I’ll blame myself.
“I’m going to have to go after him,” I say.
I let out a sigh and then step off the trail.
Sure, he could be a creepy insane wackadoo, but he could also be a normal guy, probably from the city, who doesn’t know the end of a stick from his…ahem.
My pack slaps against my back as I scramble over downed trees, a dry creek bed and thick foliage on my way to the cave. The smell of damp, limestone-scented air hits me as I come to the entrance and push away the vines.
“Hello?” I call.
My voice echoes, “lo, lo, lo.”
I shiver. The cool damp air, probably about fifty degrees, fans over me. Shafts of light shift through the vines and dimly illuminate the interior. The cave mouth opens into a rounded chamber of rough limestone that narrows into a downward sloping passage.
I take out my flashlight and shine it onto the pale dirt. I can see footprints in the dirt leading to the passage.
I let out a long sigh and step into the cave. I won’t go far. I’ve never explored a cave before. The darkness, their unknown nature, they give me the creeps. Sort of like when you’re a kid at night and you’re terrified of what might be under the bed or in the closet, that’s what a cave feels like to me. They are nothing like the wide open freedom of a forest.
I shine my light toward the passage and step in the narrow confines. I press my hand against the rock wall. It’s damp and cold. I let out a shaky exhale.
“Hello?” I call again.
No answer.
After about fifty feet of a slow descent I decide it’s time to turn around. The darkness is heavier and the air is closed and stagnant. The only noise is the slow drip of water leaking from the ceiling building the mounded stalagmites rising from the ground and pulling down the stalactites dropping from the ceiling like sharks’ teeth. I duck under another stalactite and see that I’ve come upon another chamber. The passage opens and I shine my light over glittering crystalline structures.
“Wow,” I breathe.
The room sparkles in the beam of my flashlight and I’m mesmerized by the otherworldly beauty. The cavern is made of milky white stone twisted around like pulled taffy and tall spires that shine like diamonds rising to a ceiling of glittering, winking stars. No, not stars, crystals.
“Hello?” I call.
My voice echoes, again and again, until a symphony of hellos returns to me. I feel as if I’m in a cathedral, an underground cathedral, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.
With my head tilted up and my eyes traveling up the spires to the glittering ceiling I step into the chamber. I step forward, once, twice, and again. Then my foot lands…on nothing. There’s no ground in front of me.
My arms pinwheel. My heavy pack throws me off balance.
I cry out and fling my arms, trying to grab something, anything. My flashlight flies from my hands and drops into the pit. I plunge forward. As I do, I close my eyes. Certain that I’m about to die.
Then, there’s a jerk and my arms yank back. My body twists and hits the slick wall of the crevice. My pack, the metal frame caught on something, a stalagmite, I think. I hang by my arms, suspended over black, open air. I kick my feet, claw at the wet rocky wall. If I can just get a handhold, a foothold, anything. Suddenly, there’s a cracking noise, another jerk, I’m thrust forward and my arms wrench free from my pack.
I scream. There’s nothing but black, open air beneath me.
As I start to fall, the second when I’m certain this is the end, someone grabs my arm.
I slam back against the wall. I’m hanging over the edge, and a stranger’s grip is the only thing keeping me from plunging into the darkness. My heart punches painfully against my chest.
“Hold on.” It’s a man. His voice is deep and strained.
His grip is tight and painful and I’m so thankful for the burn of his bruising grasp.
“Help,” I gasp. I look down. I can’t see the bottom, it’s a dark pit.
“Got you,” he says.
Then he starts to pull me back up and I think, my word, it’s the hiker and he’s strong and he has me and he’s going to save my life.
Then, the thought cuts short, because there’s a strange groaning noise coming from the rock beneath me, a rumble. And then the edge of the wall breaks away, the man slides forward, pitches over me into open air and then we’re both falling.
I grip his hand. We roll in the air and our limbs tangle together. Then a second later, a minute later, my mind can’t tell, we hit bottom. My head slams against rock. There’s blinding pain and a flash of light and a loud whooshing noise cracks through my skull. I try to fight past the pain and the lights sweeping in my eyes, but I can’t.
My fingers loosen, feel like jelly, I drop the man’s hand. For some reason everything feels wet and cold and like I’m floating. In fact, I think I am. I’m floating. And the man’s next to me but I can’t see him, it’s too dark. I can only feel him.
“Are you okay?” I ask him. My voice sounds slurred and far away. He doesn’t answer. I really hope he’s okay. Then I lose the thought and sink into blackness.