It’s quickly apparent this isn’t a mine, but an abandoned living space—a small cave. There’s a pile of dried leaves against a wall that someone must have slept on. There’s no evidence of predators, and night is upon me. I’ll have to hole up here and resume my search for a way to rescue Slag tomorrow.
Fear nudges the edges of my thoughts, reminding me of all the ways the deck is stacked against me. No food, no water, an inhospitable environment, and no big new friend to help me.
No matter how scared I am, at least I’m above ground. I think of poor Slag, waiting in the fetid depths of the cave, looking up from time to time and losing hope that the human female whose life he saved will ever come back for him.
“I’ll get you out of there, Slag,” I vow.
Slag
Alone.
Chapter Three
KJ
I search for food in the little living space, but no one’s been here for a long time. They’ve left nothing edible behind.
I settle into the little pile of old leaves with nothing to keep me company but the incessant howling of the wind.
I must have fallen asleep, but I’m awakened by a funny noise. Actually, it’s not a noise, but the lack of noise. For several blissful seconds, the whistling has stopped.
“Silence,” I say into the darkness, then realize it’s not silence at all. Do I hear water?
With just the dim glimmer from the moon, I rise to look around the little cave. I definitely hear moving water. The space is so small, I don’t understand how I missed it, but in the back, hiding in the shadows is a small hole where the floor meets the wall. When I stick my hand inside, I can feel the humidity.
“Dear God. I’ve found water.”
I lick my cracked lips. I haven’t had even a sip of water in a day. I want to explore so badly I can barely contain the urge, but I force myself back into my bed of dried leaves to wait until the first rays of morning light.
Moments later, I can’t contain my need to explore. I hurry to the hole and find the courage to stick my head in.
In the gloom, I see lights shining. It’s not green salt. If anything, the glow is tinged with yellow, not green.
I squat like this for a long time, weighing and measuring my choices. Something’s humid in there. Without water, I’m going to die in a matter of days. This planet is so inhospitable, I didn’t see much brush. Just a few wispy trees, ground cover, and a couple of little rabbit-like animals. That and the relentless wind.
If I’m going to survive, I need water, and I’ve found it. No matter what animals or aliens may lurk in this hidden space, I have to explore.
I gather my dwindling courage and crawl through the hole on my hands and knees and look around. I’m in a huge cavern. I can see how large it is because the walls are splattered with splotches of color. The formations look like ragged spots of lichen back on Earth.
Bioluminescence. I had a file on my computer about it so someday when I had enough money I could travel to places known for it. My research told me organisms from algae to fungi to vertebrates can produce their own light.
Although it’s now obvious I’ll never travel to those fascinating places on Earth, here I am with my own private show.
The water isn’t stagnant, it’s moving swiftly. As I follow the glowing algae flowing with the current, I realize I’m looking at an underground stream, perhaps a river. Right here, though, the underground riverbed is wider, creating a fairly calm pool.
The smell is rich in here, like fertile soil. As barren as it is on the surface of the planet, it’s teeming with life down here. I hear the sound of what might be birds calling to each other in the far reaches of the cave system.
Now that my eyes have adjusted, I see that it’s not just yellows, but greens and pinks and shades of blue that dot the walls and the banks along the water.
I have no weapon. I don’t know how I could possibly defend myself if a predator rushed me. I wonder if the air or water or stone might be irradiated like the mine.
Although this place could be magical, it could also be fraught with danger.
The wall just a few feet from me is covered in vines. It reminds me of the kudzu I saw on a trip to Georgia. My hosts told me how invasive the species was and that it was said to grow a foot each night.
The walls of this cavern are covered with the large-leaved foliage. The vines themselves are thick, some are as big around as my wrist, most are the width of two or three fingers.
“Slag,” I whisper into the night. Just this soft noise causes a chain reaction of silence as every bird and insect quiets for a moment, then resumes its mating call.
I debate for long moments about taking a drink from the river. It’s running, not stagnant, which is good, but it could be deadly. I already know the walls of the mines carry radiation, could it be in the stream? And who knows what animals might lurk in the water’s murky depths.
But the fact of the matter is that if I don’t drink soon I’m going to die.
I walk to the edge of the pool, kneel, and scoop water into my hands. After sniffing it, I dip the tip of my tongue in. It tastes good, better than the tinny water of the mine. Then I drink. Just a sip.
I stand, waiting for it to kill me, but when nothing happens,
