enough to lay a coffin down, a ragged hole cut through to another chamber. Beyond this uninviting aperture, Anna could see a spill of light from Iverson's lamp. Then that was snuffed, and she felt terribly alone.
A blinding eye winked over the lip above. 'You off-rope?' Holden asked.
'I guess.' Anna couldn't move. A creeping numbness was flowing in from her fingertips. As it passed through her insides she felt her bowels loosen and bile rise in her throat. 'I don't think I can do this,' she said.
Holden landed beside her as lightly as a feather and flipped open the rack to free the rope. 'Were you talking to me?'
'No.' Anna didn't trust herself to elaborate.
Holden dropped to his knees and skittered out of sight through the crevice. 'We having fun yet?' she heard him say.
Mechanically, she got on hands and knees and followed. From the look of the tiny room she entered, things were going to get worse before they got better. Hacked from native soil, the space was too low to stand upright in. The far side was higher but partially blocked by a slide of dirt and rock. Nowhere could she see anything that even obliquely promised the wonders she'd heard spoken of in connection with Lechuguilla. Oscar and Holden crouched with their backs to her, their helmet lights pointed toward the floor, where they groveled before some god hidden from the eyes of unbelievers.
Light swung in a dizzying arc and struck her in the face. 'Ta da,' she heard Holden say.
'Down the rabbit hole,' said Iverson.
Vision cleared, and Anna saw the altar at which the men worshipped. Sunk into the floor was a heavy metal manhole cover with a T-shaped handle welded to its center.
'Cover your eyes,' Iverson said, but Anna couldn't. She was transfixed. Grasping the handle he pulled the hinged trapdoor open, swinging it on a counterweight. Corrugated metal drainpipe set vertically in the ground was exposed. A ladder welded to one side led down. Wind gusted from below, blowing dirt into Anna's eyes.
'It blows. Hoo-ee, does it blow,' Holden said. 'By the air coming out of here it's been estimated Lechuguilla might go three hundred miles or more.'
'From where?' Anna asked, and was embarrassed when the words came out in a wail.
'Air pressure,' Iverson said. 'When it gets low outside, the cave exhales; high outside, it inhales. Pressure equalization is all it is. You last, me first?' he said to Holden. The other man nodded, and Anna wondered if they consistently put her in the middle so she couldn't escape. Iverson slid easily into the pipe and pulled the trapdoor closed behind him. The sudden stillness was a boon for Anna's nerves.
'How long is that?' She pointed to the culvert.
'Twenty feet maybe. It was installed to stabilize the entrance. You can see the soil up here shifts when we get rain.'
'Clear,' reverberated through the metal conduit. Holden laughed. 'Oscar goes down in record time. The pipe's so small he can't use the steps. He's too long from hip to knee. Coming out is what really gets to him.' He pulled open the trapdoor, releasing an angry blast of warm, wet air, warmer than the air above ground. Lechuguilla maintained a temperature of about sixty-eight degrees with close to a hundred percent humidity year round. In this case it was a blessing. In a colder cave Frieda would have been at risk from hypothermia in addition to her other ills.
'M'dam.' Tillman gestured toward the culvert with the pride of a maitre d' indicating a coveted window seat.
Down the drain.
In that instant Anna knew she had to confess her shortcomings, admit her fears, and get out of the hole with as much speed and grace as she could muster. Most people would be understanding. Even cavers would see that it was better to bow out than to fall apart once inside and, at best, provide the rescuers with a second casualty to evacuate or, at worst, endanger other members of the team. Not going would, in a way, be the more courageous choice. Facing up to one's failure. All this went through her mind in a calm and orderly fashion as she watched her body, possessed by demons, crab-walk over to the open culvert and begin the climb down.
Holden dropped the trapdoor. Anna felt the tremors through the palms of her hands, but she didn't hear the clang of finality. Her mind had shut down. She had no thought but of her next step, her booted toe reaching for the rung beneath, the catch of her pack on the pipe above, the circle of light inches in front of her eyes.
The culvert emptied out into a crawl space much the same as the one she'd just left. Anna chose not to think about it. Having hollered back up the culvert to let Holden know she was clear, she turned her back on the escape hatch and crawled after the faint glow of Iverson's lamp. The air in her lungs compressed until she breathed in short gasping sips. Perspiration, born cold and feeling like ice water, drenched her armpits. She wanted to weep for herself.
Then the passage opened up. Not gradually but with a suddenness that must have shattered the composure of the first men digging into the cave. Jules Verne time, Anna thought, breathing a bit easier, and pushed herself to her feet.
A tunnel big enough for a locomotive led away to the southwest. 'Tunnel,' with its connotations of smooth walls and unhampered passage, was not the right word. The space Anna stared down was more a fantastical corridor, walls and floor and ceiling merging, growing together in rock outcrops and smooth pale beards of liquid stone, separating again, leaving behind delicate towers to reemerge into recesses maybe six feet deep, maybe going into the shadowed heart of the world for a thousand miles.
A path had been worn down through this cluttered basement of the desert. Orange plastic surveyor's tape marked both sides, the dirt between pounded and tracked. This surprising touch of humanity gave Anna back a morsel of control, and she felt the grip of muscles on the scruff of her neck loosen somewhat.
The trail wound through enormous blocks of limestone studded with rough grayish-white formations called popcorn, then vanished in darkness beneath a low arch in the rock. Though impressive, and the size a relief to her fear-tightened mind, the cave had no life and no color. In a land devoid of sunlight, color was superfluous. Everywhere the puny beam of her headlamp touched was gray or white or brown. The paucity of light circumscribed the area, making it no larger than the small circle illuminated, creating a sense of fragmentation that was disorienting.
In the world above, the memory of which was already fading, there were signs and portents, clues that let one know one was alive: breezes, birdsong and crickets, the sound of distant thunder, the smell of sage. Here, the silence was absolute, the only sounds those of their own making. With the manhole closed, the air moved, but much more slowly, and the only smell was the dank odor of ancient rock. In this place unmarked by the rise and fall of the sun, the tides, the seasons, time ceased to have meaning.
With a thud and a scrabble, Holden Tillman joined her at the commencement of the passage. 'Pretty neat, huh?'
'Neat.'
'This is nothing. Wait till we get in the cave.'
Iverson ducked into sight from beneath the arch. Something in the cast of his features, the set of his shoulders, had changed subtly. The unhitched movement of his joints had tightened up, become smoother. Responsibility wrapped around him, tying up all the loose ends. He radiated competence.
'Frieda and her team are on what is usually a two-day trek-maybe a day and a half. It'll be at least that hauling her out. Traveling fast, I figure we can get there in seven hours. Maybe a bit less. We've been over this before, but we're going to go over it again. I can make it. Holden can make it. If you don't feel up to it, Anna, now's the time. No loss of face. We leave all testosterone topside. Heroes are a pain in the butt down here.'
'If you get too tired, start getting stupid or scaring yourself, let me or Holden know. We'll take a break, eat a bite, swap some stories. Can't leave anybody by 'emselves down here. Hodags'll carry 'em off.'
'Cave spirits,' Holden said solemnly. 'Mischievous little beggars.'
'Got it,' Anna said, relieved she'd never be left alone in the vast gullet of New Mexico with only her own brain for a playmate.
After a couple hundred yards the passageway came to an abrupt end, the floor dropping unceremoniously away into a pit so deep that light was lost. Water dripping from the ceiling laid a slippery layer over gold-colored stone that poured over the lip into the void. Two stalagmites, just more than knee high, protruded like eyeteeth on either
