Chapter 63
The Next Day...
"Fuck me!" Ginge groaned, as he surveyed the low tunnel. "That's about the right size for a bleedin' 'obbit... 'cept even Frodo'd be crawlin' on his belly."
Nick shone his flashlight around the small chamber. "There's no other way," he announced, then hunkered down and aimed the bright beam into the hungry blackness. "It's gonna be a tight squeeze all right.... Looks 'bout like a wide crack.... You guys stay put.... I'll go see what we're up against."
"Keep the rope on," Ginge advised. "Two sharp tugs, if you have any problems... and don't push it.... It'd be a bit crowded for a rescue mission."
The SEAL agreed with a firm nod. "I'll tie my pack and haul it through behind me."
"It could be a dead end," the Brit reasoned. "Either way... if it gets any narrower than this...." The SAS man glanced over at Derek. "Me an' Dutch'll have a shit of a job gettin' through.... 'S OK for you fuckin' pygmies."
"Hey!... Small, but perfectly formed," Nick retorted. He gave his friends a reassuring grin. "OK.... See you later."
The two larger men watched the SEAL shimmy into the tight passageway. "Like a rat up a fuckin' drainpipe," Ginge commented. "Wanna cuppa tea, Dutch?... We might as well make ourselves comfy."
Derek nodded, but lay down on his stomach before the opening to watch and listen. As the SEAL made steady progress, he let the rope play slowly though his fingers "I'm not sure I can get though there," he said, glancing up at the soldier.
Ginge appraised the other man's build. "I'm 'bout the same height as you... maybe a few pounds heavier... probably broader in the shoulders... a little more chesty.... You know, you're bloody scrawny."
"You're fitter... more agile...," the precept replied, "...and younger.... Maybe you should follow Nick through.... If you can make it, then I should be fine."
"Here...." Ginge handed over a mug of tea. "Maybe...," he considered. "Indy won't like it... but he ain't here."
"Why do you call him 'Indy'?" Derek asked, perplexed.
"Indiana Jones... 'Indy'... after he told us about the stuff you guys do... the 'digs' for old bones and shit.... What else could we call 'im?" Ginge laughed.
"I see...," the precept muttered.
"Betcha never heard of 'im... or the Temple of Doom
," the younger man challenged."On the contrary... I've visited many 'temples of doom'... and I knew Dr. Jones quite well," Derek replied, amused by the disbelief in Ginge's expression. "He lived a very long, eventful life... produced some fine academic work and many excellent protegees, who have since made their own contributions to the field of archaeology."
The soldier did a double-take at Derek's poker face. Was his leg being pulled, he wondered. He took a sip of tea, pondered, then added, "He was relation, you know."
"Indeed?" Derek replied. "And how did your Welsh Joneses become Scottish Joneses?"
"How'd you know Welsh?" the Brit asked suspiciously.
Derek turned his attention to the static rope. "He's stopped moving," he announced.
Ginge dropped to his stomach beside the precept and both men listened intently.
"I'm through," Nick called, his voice echoing down the long, rocky slit. "It's about a hundred yards... prob'ly less.... Only a couple of tight squeezes... one rocky stretch that's hell on your ribs and elbows... and one tricky spot.... It's a dogleg to the left," he explained, "'bout halfway down. It gets tight and there's an upslope, then over a hump and sort of a twisty hole.... Just take it slow," he cautioned.
"Gotcha!" the soldier called back. He then turned to hurriedly pack up the camp stove and kettle. "OK... Dutch... here goes.... You sure 'bout this?"
Looking up, the precept gave a half-hearted nod. "If you get through OK, I'm sure I'll be fine."
the Other End...
"Where the hell's Derek!" Nick angrily challenged as he hauled the redhead out through the narrow exit.
"Keep your fuckin' 'air on," Ginge retorted, again struck by the odd relationship between his two companions. "He was worried about making it though. I'm bigger... so we figured if I got through... well... so should he."
The soldier scanned his new surroundings. This chamber was much higher.... He could stand with ease... even stretch. It broadened out... and there was a warm humidity to the stale air. He played his flashlight's beam over the far walls. "Fuck me!... Who's the bleedin' Picasso!"
"Mmmm," the SEAL murmured, not really listening. He knelt back down on the ground beside the shaft. "Derek!... Can you hear me?... Ginge is through OK.... No problems.... Right, Ginge?"
"Easy as pie, Dutch," the soldier called.
"OK...." They heard the softly accented voice echo from the darkness. "I'm on my way."
"Take your time," Nick shouted, offering encouragement. "We ain't goin' nowhere."
the Tunnel...
Derek swallowed hard to fight the bile that rose in his throat. He struggled to quell the claustrophobic panic that raced round his mind, causing his body to shudder with fear.
"Come on, Rayne," he lectured himself. "You've been in tighter spots than this." Taking several deep, calming breaths, he tied his pack behind him, lay back down on his stomach, and began to walk on his elbows, dragging his body along, as the SAS man had done.
His light stick, gripped gently between his teeth, cast a neon circle about him, but did little to light the way ahead. He found it disconcerting to be able to see the rock beside him in vivid, green detail, while four feet ahead, beyond the bubble, was total blackness. Backing out of the tunnel, Derek found his penlight, and tucked the glowing, plastic stick into his pack, then started again.
* * *
A few minutes later, the precept was wondering how far he had come. His elbows were already raw and his arms were cramping from the hard, awkward work of dragging his weight along. The air seemed hot and thin. As he came to a particularly low spot, he was forced to drop his head sideways, grasp the rock ahead with his fingertips, and pull his body forward, up what seemed to be an increasing slope. "Jesus," he gasped, as his wounded shoulder rubbed the jagged ceiling. He paused to wipe his sweaty face on his shirt sleeve and to rest a moment.
"How you doin'?" He heard Nick's voice ahead.
"Mmmm...." he replied, peevishly... a flashlight in one's mouth was not conducive to conversation... and Nick should know that.
"Derek?... You OK?"
The precept sighed in frustration. He reached awkwardly for the light and knocked it upwards, rattling his teeth. As the penlight fell from his mouth, he twisted round, desperately trying to catch it, but he banged his shoulder. He heard the tinkle of breaking glass, then the hollow echo of the metal cylinder as it rolled away, down the slope behind him. He tried to block it with his knee, but it was gone. The blackness that suddenly engulfed him was absolute.
He remembered the light stick in his pack and tried to work his hand down beneath him to pull the rope forward, but it was no use.
"Fuck!... Fuck!... Fuck!..." he cursed aloud.
"Derek!"
"Yes!" he snapped back.
"Was that the 'F' word I heard?" Ginge called, his voice conveying the smirk that was written across his face.
"Damned right it was the 'F' word... and bear in mind that I do not use it as frivolously as others do."
"What happened, Derek?" Nick asked with concern. "Dammit!... Derek!... Answer me." He whispered to Ginge, "'Fuck' coming from him ain't good."
"I broke my goddamned light... that's all," Derek replied, hearing the anxiety in his own voice, and cursing himself for it. "The light stick's in my pack, but I can't get to it."
"Fuck it!" Ginge shouted back. "It's only a bleedin' torch.... Just keep comin'.... You'll be fine."
Derek took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, then began to inch his way forward, relying on his outstretched hand to guide him. Like a blind man, he felt his way along, trying to judge the width of the tunnel, cope with the irregularities, and position himself correctly for the next move, only then would he pull and push himself forward.
"I'll come back," Nick yelled.
"No!... I'm fine," the precept responded. "You'd just have to back out." He halted as he reached what felt like the crest of the slope. Reaching ahead, he felt the rock face, then searched for the open air on the left. "I'm at the elbow," he called. "Soon be with you."
Cautiously, like a worm he wriggled forward, trying to feel the stone around him, but the hump and the angle put him in an awkward position. This must be the tightest place... about which they'd warned him. He twisted round the bend; with his left hand outstretched, he pulled, but he needed more leverage. He got his right arm beneath his ribs and tried to twist by pushing against a small outcropping.
"Jesus!" he muttered again as his shoulder scraped rock. He tried to flatten himself, tried to angle his shoulders differently and to push with his knees, but his legs could gain no position to offer leverage or movement.
Again, he twisted and tried to push and pull at the same time. With his left shoulder jammed hard against the rock face, he wriggled towards the right, kept low, and curved his body to fit the small opening. He had managed to move another few inches, when his right shoulder blade hit rock. Realising he was in completely the wrong position to make any progress, he sought to reverse, but found himself unable to move backwards. His right arm was jammed beneath him, pinned. He tried to twist, but could gain no leverage... not one inch. If he could just get his arm free....
Attempting to wriggle forward again, his knee found purchase and pushed. As he tried to use his shoulders to take advantage, he smacked his head on the ceiling. If only he could see.... He had no idea which way to twist... no idea if there was a handhold out there millimeters beyond his finger tips. It was no use.... Again he fought to edge backwards, but the rock seemed to have changed.... It seemed to have closed about him, holding him fast. He could find no leverage... no way to maneuver his body.... He had come forward.... How could he not go back?
Derek's heart thumped in his chest. His breathing rate increased. His muscles tensed. "Gott!... It's so damned dark!" he gasped. "Think!... For Gott's sake, Rayne... think!... Relax!"
"Derek!... You still moving?" Nick called.
"I'm stuck.... I can't move," Derek cried out, unconcerned about the panic in his voice.
"You can't be stuck," Ginge shouted. "Just relax and keep moving."
"By Gott!... I'm stuck!"
"No you're not!" the Brit yelled. "Listen to the voice of experience 'ere.... You're just holdin' your breath because you're afraid you're stuck. Exhale!"
"I'm not holding my damned breath!" Derek shouted back. "...and this isn't the first damned cave I've been in.... I know when I'm stuck... and I'm stuck!"
"I'm coming back," Nick called. "Just stay where you are."
"I'm stuck," Derek repeated. "I'm not going anywhere!.... Godverdomme...." he added quietly.
At last, with flashlight in one hand, light stick in the other, Nick reached his friend. "You sure are stuck," he agreed as he played the bright beam over the situation. "Dammit!... You zigged when you should have zagged.... OK...." He slid a flattened hand between Derek's back and the rock. "When I push down... exhale as much as you can... and wriggle forward.... I'll pull."
The SEAL, in his slightly higher and wider area, was able to brace his knees against the sides and raise his own body to gain leverage. With his left hand, he pushed downward; with the right, he grabbed Derek's shirt and gave a mighty tug.
The precept moved forward... fractionally. "Owww!" he groaned. "No.... Can't!... It's only wedging me in tighter.... My arm's under me.... It's jammed."
"OK," Nick gasped. He withdrew his hand, which was covered in blood. "Problem is... you're at the wrong angle."
"I know that...." the precept snapped back. "I can't get any help from my legs to move backwards... and I can't push myself in any direction...."
"You and those damned, long legs." Nick smiled weakly, despite the situation. "If we had some Vaseline we could grease you up... slide you through... like a puppy caught in a pipe."
"It wouldn't help," said Derek. "My right arm and shoulder are the problem.... The shoulder blade's jammed against rock and so's my elbow.... I can't twist round to get it free." He paused to take a couple of deep breaths. "I just need to calm down.... Relax... mind over matter.... I've got to maneuver my body backwards... and come at this the right way.... I couldn't see what I was heading into and I was trying to protect my shoulder.... As you said... I zigged when I should have zagged." He paused again to collect himself, then continued, "This may take a while.... It's going to be a centimeter at a time, but I'll do it.... It'll be OK."
"Mind over matter?" Nick chuckled. "Just don't set yourself on fire."
The precept tried to smile at the quip. "I'll try not to.... Did you bring any water?"
"Shit... no.... You thirsty?.... I'll go get some." In an attempt to cheer the other man, he gave a wicked grin, "You stay put now."
"Can you leave the flashlight?" was Derek's only reply.
For the first time the SEAL studied his friend's face and saw the barely concealed fear. "Sure...," He placed the metal cylinder in the precept's free hand. "Be back in a jiff."
Derek watched his friend gradually disappear into the blackness, then struggled to control his own panic. He took deep breathes... counting slowly as he inhaled and exhaled. "Om mane padme hummmm...," he recited the ancient Buddhist chant again and again, focusing on each rhythmic syllable, seeking his own center, until he had quelled the terror and felt it drain away.
Now, he could will his body to relax. Beginning with his legs, he found each muscle and mentally spoke to it... "Relax... be at ease." Thank Gott for the light, he thought, knowing full well why the darkness... the confined space... had inspired such terror. Another fear crept forward.... Would he never be whole again?... Had his self-assurance and mental strength been lost forever?
"I'm on my way back...," he heard Nick yell. He listened to the small sounds in the intense silence that told of the SEAL's steady progress along the tunnel. His friend soon reached him and held the water bottle while he drank, deeply. The water that ran down his chin and neck was cool, and very welcome.
"That was goot.... Thank you," Derek murmured, then managed a reassuring smile. "Leave me the light and the water... and you go," he told his friend. "I'll be fine... but it'll take some time... and you're using my oxygen.... Go on," he repeated, when he sensed hesitation. "I'll be along, I promise... and I'll be expecting dinner."
"You sure?" the younger man asked. "I know I can't help... not yet... but... I'd be here... you know... and once you're free... you'll be exhausted. I could pull you."
"I'm sure.... Go.... I need to focus.... If I need help, I'll yell."
"OK.... See if you can hook your feet on the rocks... back in the curve.... Maybe you can pull yourself back," Nick suggested, as he gave his friend's shoulder an affectionate, encouraging squeeze.
* * *
Derek watched as Nick slowly edged his way backwards. Once he was gone and all was again silent, he began to wriggle his body, like a snake, backwards. After a few minutes, he had to stop... to rest. It was exhausting. Panting, he struggled to draw in enough air. Sweat ran down his face and stung his eyes. He licked his lips and tasted the salt, then took a sip from the water bottle.
"All right, Rayne," he whispered to himself. "Relax.... You can do this.... What goes in... must come out." He closed his eyes... concentrated once more on finding his center... controlling his breathing... controlling his mind... concentrating on one thing, and one thing only... getting himself out of this bloody tunnel.
He began again. First, he focused only on shifting his arm... freeing it from its trap. Cramping pain seized his shoulder, neck, and back. He held his breath against it, then finally let it flow through him and wash away. In his mind, he visualized the snake.... He was one with that snake... moving... creeping... a few millimeters to the left... then a few back... then left again... back again... then an infinitesimal shift of the arm again... but a memory rose... of West's torture chamber... of the abominable weight of the mask... of a body slowly awakening from paralysis... of the pain... of the thirst and hunger he had endured as he had struggled to move a finger, then a hand.... Then there had been the hellish drag of an iron head and leaden body across a concrete floor to a bowl of slop that had taken hours to eat, and had sickened him.
He stopped again... struggled for focus as his stomach lurched. The physical reaction to the memories were always so close to the surface... so close to destroying him. "Om mane padme humm...," he recited, forcing the monster back into its coffin.
He couldn't let it win now... because he had moved.... His escape plan was working, but at a dreadful toll.
the Chamber...
"Now, can you tell me what's happening?" Ginge asked impatiently, as the SEAL backed out of the low shaft.
"He's jammed in real good," Nick replied, letting the Brit pull him to his feet. "...on this side of the dogleg.... Without light, he misjudged his approach... went in at the wrong angle with his arm underneath him.... Dammit!" Anger surged from the SEAL's voice. "We should've talked him through there... or got him some light.... I wasn't thinking. Son-of-a-bitch!" he swore.
The SAS man nodded in agreement. "Yeah.... You're right.... We fucked up," he confessed. "So... what now?"
"He said he can handle it... now that he can see the problem.... But it's gonna take time," Nick explained, plucking his canteen from his gear and taking a deep drink. "He's gotta inch his way back... then have another go at it.... He said when he's free, he'll holler. Then I'll go in with a rope and we can pull him out."
"He'll be fine, Indy," Ginge consoled. "I got through OK... and I'm bigger... wider...."
"You're also twenty-five years younger and on active duty with the SAS," Nick reminded him. "There's more.... The rough time he had... was an underground cell... trapped... paralyzed... unable to breathe... a torture chamber... where a monster tried to demolish him mind, soul, and body... and damned near did.... Then, came a padded cell and a straight jacket."
"Bugger... poor bastard," the redhead commiserated. "He's going through it all again.... Can he do it?"
Nodding, Nick slumped down at the tunnel's mouth. "After all that... he's here, isn't he?... He'll do it.... Derek Rayne is the most obstinate bastard on the face of the earth."
After a few minutes of silence, Ginge said absently, "You know... I found water.... There's a pond in here... and it's warm."
"Good," Nick muttered. "Now... shhhh...."
For the next hour, only their breathing echoed round the walls as both men listened intently for any sound from down the shaft. At last, Ginge got up to busy himself with a soldier's mundane chores. After a bit, he returned Nick's side. "Indy?..." he said. "I've been looking at these cave paintings... and chiseled places...." He walked along the wall, holding the light stick high, illuminating the colorful displays and incised figures, spread across the rock face. "This ugly bastard... bit like a bird... appears in 'em all. They're all by different people... but all the same fuckin' beastie."
"Whatever," Nick muttered, without looking around.
Ginge sighed. "I'll fix something to eat.... Blimey... I really fancy bangers and mash.... He'll be hungry and tired when he gets through."
"Yeah," Nick agreed, turning to face the other man. "Sorry.... That'd be
good... but don't hurry.... I think we'll be having a late supper."
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