The Deep Zone

throbbed under their feet. “There is no other place to camp between here and the moonmilk chamber. It’s another ten hours, at least.”

They had passed nothing remotely suitable for a camp during their last hours of descent. It had been one vertical drop after another, interspersed with short, steep connecting passages. They could have hung portaledges, like climbers use, from the cave walls if they had brought any, but the weight of those things was prohibitive, which left them with no choice; they had descended until they simply could go no farther.

“It will have to do,” said Bowman, shrugging.

Once again, there was no one open area big enough for all three of them to camp together. But after hunting for half an hour, each managed to find an adequate sleeping spot. Bowman’s was between the other two, about a hundred feet from Cahner’s and half that distance from Hallie’s.

Alone in the dark, Hallie switched off her light and removed her boots and filthy caving suit. She repeated her ritual placement of suit and boots by her shoulder, so that even if all light failed she could still find them. Then she lay down on top of her bag.

Caves make luxuries of the simplest things. One cup of tea, better than champagne. One damp bag, better than a Plaza suite. What else do you need, girl? Well, okay, that would be nice, too. Been a while for you. But it’s not going to happen here. After, maybe. I really could see us doing something together if we get out of this cave. That kind of thing doesn’t do much for mission focus, like he said. But it’s fun to think about, just for a minute.

Her sore muscles began to relax, inducing a sense of cozy security. She knew it wasn’t real, knew that the camp couldn’t protect her from any of the cave’s dangers—flooding, falling rock, bad air. She knew that there were still hazards between them and the moonmilk and that every one would have to be faced all over again on the way out. But just for a few minutes she surrendered to the luxury, false though it might have been, of allowing herself to feel safe.

Hallie thought of the farm down near Charlottesville, the best and safest place she had ever known. She saw green pasture washed by light, the breeze stirring summer hay in great slow waves, black horses grazing, their necks stretched down, muzzles working in the smooth green grass, tails flicking the air. She thought of all that, and especially of the sun, felt its warmth on her face and arms and neck. She fell asleep.

She dreamed of Bowman. Of his scent, that salty, citric tang with a hint of warm honey. She dreamed, as well, of the touch of his hand when it had brushed her face, the palm and fingers rough but the touch somehow light. And how it felt to kiss him. He would be a man who knew how to touch horses, and that said a great deal, because horses could tell in an instant what kind of person was laying hands on them, even if it was just fingertips. She dreamed of his voice, too. It was soft, softer than most of the men’s voices she had ever heard, but it made your attention snap to.

“Hallie.”

Her eyes opened and she realized it was no dream. Here was Bowman, his face inches from hers in the dark, close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead and smell that lovely scent. One of his hands was touching her shoulder. “Wil.” Her voice was rough with sleep.

“I thought you might be lonesome.” His lips brushed her ear. “No, that’s not true. I wanted to see you.”

An honest man, she thought. Truly rare in this day and age.

“Well…” She yawned, despite herself. Now, what message does that send? she thought. Stupid girl.

“Do you want me to go?”

“No.”

Then she knew he would kiss her, but he did not. Instead, he pulled her closer to him, wrapped one long arm around her, and settled her head against his shoulder. She put her arm across his chest. Their legs touched all along their length. He kissed her ear. She kissed his neck. Together like that, wrapped around each other, they fell asleep.

Later, half dreaming and half awake, she thought she felt Bowman moving beside her, rising to an elbow, saying, “I’m just going to the river, Hallie. I won’t be long,” and she nodded and said, “Take a light,” and he said, “No need. I’ve got it pictured,” and she said, “Too far. Take it,” shoving her backup light into his hand, squeezing his fist around it, saying, “Take it,” and he finally did. Then she felt him standing up, she thought she felt that, anyway, or maybe she dreamed it, and listened to him moving off, all sound torn away by the crashing river, and then she dropped back down into the darkness of her own sleep.

• • •

When Hallie woke, she was alone. She looked at her glowing watch dial. She had slept almost four hours. She lay there in the dark, breathing, feeling her heartbeat, coming back to herself. She listened hard for the hiss of a stove, but there was nothing to hear but the river, nothing to see but red and silver bursts of false-light images swarming before her eyes.

She stood up, dressed, turned on her light, and headed toward Bowman’s spot. His gigantic red pack was there, leaning against a rock. His green sleeping bag was there, too, spread out flat on the cave floor, but it looked neat and smooth, like it had just been deployed. His one-piece red suit had been rolled into a compact tube and placed at the head of the sleeping bag. His boots and socks sat beside his pack.

A touch on the back of her shoulder made her cry out and spin around.

“Al! You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry! Where’s Bowman?”

“I don’t know.”

She used her light to slash the darkness up and down, again and again, the signal divers used to alert each other, but saw no flashing in return. She began to feel the first nibble of fear in her belly. She stopped moving, took several deep breaths, let them out slowly.

She turned toward Cahner. He held his hands out, palms up, eyebrows raised. He looked afraid. Hoping to calm him, she put her hand on his forearm.

“We need to search.”

“How?”

“Cardinal directions first. You go north. Three hundred steps. I go south. We meet back here. Primary light and backups.”

They retrieved all the lights from their packs and started out from camp, walking away from each other’s backs as if they were duelists. It took her almost ten minutes to complete the three hundred steps, the terrain was that rugged and broken. As she went, Hallie searched on both sides slowly and carefully with her light, yelling Bowman’s name all the while. We are using way too much light, she thought, but there’s nothing else do to. We have to find Bowman.

Hallie reached the end of her search line and came back to their starting point. She was surprised to find that Cahner had beaten her there.

“Hallie, you’ve got to come see something.”

Her heart jumped. “Did you find him?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Come on.”

Cahner headed back in the direction of his search route and she followed close behind, so anxious it was hard not to step on his heels. She expected them to walk for a long time, but they didn’t. Thirty feet at most.

“Stop!” Cahner’s voice was a bark, unusually sharp. She looked past his shoulder. There was a hole in the cave floor about twenty feet in diameter. “It’s deep, Hallie. Very deep.”

“How do you know?”

He stooped, picked up a baseball-sized rock, and tossed it into the hole. They waited. And waited. Nothing. But there was always the river’s roar covering everything else, so she picked up a larger rock herself and tossed it in and listened. Again, nothing.

“How deep would it have to be for us not to hear those rocks hitting bottom?” Cahner asked.

“A thousand feet, at least. Probably more.”

“Is that possible?”

“Anything’s possible in a cave like this.”

“If he fell in here…”