that she begged him to stop would be the moment when he would triumph. She was still strong enough to deny him that, but she didn't know for how much longer. And in the end, would it make any difference if she went out cursing him or thanking him as he had predicted? It still made a difference to her now, but would it by the end?
She was beginning to doubt it.
She felt his eyes on her before he stirred and lit the candle. He would do that, lie there for a time, listening to her breathe, trying to gauge something about her, she did not know what. Or maybe he was just working himself up, savoring the pleasures of the day before they began.
This morning he was bright and cheerful. It ' was the fifth day. The fuel for the lantern was gone; they burned only candles now.
'I slept really well,' he said. He was opening.a can of beans.
'Me, too,' said Aural. 'Slept like a log.'
'Did you really? They usually have trouble sleeping.'
It always troubled her when he talked about the others.
There was no comfort in thinking that she was one of many. He had told her that they usually lasted six or seven days; she was on her fifth.
Judging by his cigarette supply, which Aural kept close track of, he didn't expect to be down here much beyond that. One way or another, he'll be gone before long, she thought. He certainly wasn't rationing the food or water; he planned to be out of here.
Swann was feeling chatty. 'I'm glad you're well rested,' he said. 'Today is normally a Very tough day, they usually start running out of strength about now, but if you're feeling good, that's wonderful news. We'll be able to work even harder that way.'
'You know what would make it even more fun?' Aural asked. He unsnapped her cuffs, repositioning her hands in front of her so that she could eat. 'How about if we switch places for a while? This is getting kind of boring this way. I think I'll set you on fire today, and then when it's your turn again, you'll be even better at it because you'll know more about it.'
He looked at her for a moment as if considering her proposal.
'You're not as pretty as you were,' he said at last.
'How unkind.' Some beans dribbled off her chin. She had no appetite and no taste for the food, but she forced herself to eat. It would keep her strength up and she knew it would delight him to see her falling. 'This is not my best light. You, on the other hand, get more handsome every day.'
'Thank you. My eye didn't bother me at all last night.'
'There's good news.'
'I think it's healed. Praise be to Jesus.'
'Jesus loves a sinner,' she said.
'Amen.'
More beans dribbled off her chin and fell onto her legs, which made her wince in pain. She did not seem to be able to control the plastic fork enough to make it all the way from plate to mouth.
'I don't want to see that,' he said, annoyed. 'Why do you think I leave your face to last? I want you to look good '
He leaned towards her to wipe at her chin, and Aural stabbed at him with her fork, aiming for his eye. The fork missed and struck him harmlessly in the cheek, but the steel of the handcuffs hit the target. It was a reflex action, totally unpremeditated, and she was unable to follow up her advantage because she was as shocked as he was.
Swann recoiled, clutching his eye, holding up his other hand to fend off further blows. By the time Aural thought to strike again he had already scrambled out of her reach and was on his feet.
'You dirty bitch,' he moaned.
Aural looked at the remnant of the plastic fork, which had snapped off in her hand. A tiny trail of blood was seeping down his cheek from where the fork had penetrated the skin, and Aural thought that was the wound which had hurt him. She thought of hitting him again while he was disoriented, but she realized there was no chance as long as he was on his feet and she was shackled.
She would have had to hop after him; he could knock her over with the slightest shove.
'You son of a bitch, you dirty fucker,' Swann was saying. 'You hurt me.'
'Oh, I hope so.'
'You really hurt me,' he said. He kept backing away from her as if he expected her to leap up and renew the attack.
'It was only a fork,' she said. 'Don't be such a whiner.'
'Oh, Jesus,' he said, and he rocked back and forth, holding his head.
'JESUS.' He screamed in pain, lashing his head from side to side, then collapsed abruptly onto the cavern floor.
Aural started to drag herself towards him, moving backwards with her weight on her heels and hands to keep her blistered legs off the ground.
If she could only get to him while he was passed out, if she could get the key to her chains, she didn't need much of a head start, just give her a minute and he'd never catch her…
Swann groaned and rose to his knees. Aural froze, hoping he would be too distracted by his pain to notice how close she was but he looked at her, snarling.
'Stay away. Stay away.'
He lurched to his feet, swaying, and backed away from her again. To her astonishment he held a large chef's knife in his hand. He must have had it concealed on him all the time, she realized, or else it was tucked away in the golf sack and she had not seen it. Whatever the source, he had it now. The long blade glinted brightly in the light.
Aural moved slowly back the way she came, heading toward her boots.
Swann positioned himself with his back against the fat cone base of a stalagmite and sat down, facing Aural across twenty yards of space. He had already shifted his focus away from her, thinking now only of his own pain. elp me, Jesus,' he said, clasping both hands to his head and rocking slightly. 'Help me, sweet Jesus.' The knife lay in his lap.
Aural reached her boots and settled back so that her feet were just touching them. She knew her own knife was still in its crevice but had to resist the urge to touch it to reassure herself. It was vital not to do anything too soon. She had to do it absolutely right this time, she told herself She would not get another chance. The existence of his weapon changed it all.
As Swann moaned and cried out in his pain, Aural leaned her back against the stone and rested. And thought.
Sunrise was still minutes away when Becker led them by flashlight to a ridge that folded back on itself, forming a crease in the landscape.
They were on a steep hillside among the foothills of the Cumberland Mountains, less than twenty miles from where the Cumberland gap pierced the Appalachian massif, tucked into the corner where Kentucky, Virginia, and Tennessee met. Two hundred and fifty miles to the east the underground skein of holes and tubes and tunnels that leached its way under the mountains erupted into one of its more spectacular orifices, the Great Mammoth Cave. Less than fifty yards from where they stood was another opening to the subteranean honeycomb, but Becker knew he had no real hope of finding it in the dark. He was as close as Browne's map could take him.
The land surrounding them was scruffy second-growth forest that had reasserted itself among the rocks- without great enthusiasm-after the original stand had been cut and carted and dragged down the mountain to form the fledgling 19th century settlements in the valley below.
The hillside was too steep and stony to farm, the area not yet sufficiently upscale to serve as building sites for overpriced chalets.
It was a form of wasteland, belonging to an absentee owner, used occasionally by boys hunting for squirrels. If the entrance to the cave had ever been marked, the marker was too obscure to find in the dark.
Light, however, was only minutes away and Becker would be ready for it.
Pegeen regarded him as he squatted just below the crease in the hillside, too agitated to even sit. He
