Now I get to work. I’m going to pull enough of these vines to make a rope to pull Slag out of the mine.
These things are tough. The really thick ones are impossible to yank away from the cavern walls, the leaves have stickers that cling to the rock. I pull the ones that aren’t stuck so tightly to the rock.
I pull vines for hours, then make several trips back to the little cave I originally bedded down in.
I allow myself a quick nap even though I feel guilty. Every minute I waste is a minute Slag is sitting in the cavern believing he’ll never make it out alive. But I’m too tired to think and can’t do him any good in this state.
The pale sun wakes me a few hours later, and I start braiding immediately. The vines are inherently sturdy, but now that they’re braided I don’t doubt they’ll be strong enough to hoist him. The only question is—will I be?
I loop the heavy braids over my shoulders and begin the trek back to him. I tried to be mindful of the direction I traveled, realizing the barren landscape has few landmarks and fearing I’d never find my way back to Slag.
Miraculously, I finally see the little cairn of rocks I made to mark my way.
“Slag!” I yell, wanting to give him hope. “Slag! I’m back!”
I don’t know what he sees when I stick my head over the hole we made in the mine’s ceiling. I’m probably just a dark blob backlit by the sun. But I see his face clear enough. At first, he’s shocked, then the relief is written all over him as his shoulders relax. And then I see the corners of his mouth tip up in the tiniest smile.
“Yep. I know. You wondered if I stopped for some McDonald’s and a latte. I took the time for a mani-pedi, too. But here I am,” I tell him knowing he doesn’t understand a word, but wanting him to hear the happy sound of my voice.
From the pile of rocks that is not far from the hole, I select a boulder that I hope will be large enough to hold Slag’s weight but that I can roll in my weakened state. I haven’t slept more than two hours in two days, the relentless heat means I’m thirsty, and I still have bouts of the swirlies from the radiation sickness. But I don’t stop for a minute because I’m so full of purpose, wanting to finally see Slag when I pull him out of the hole.
I thought I might have wasted my time braiding too many vines, but by the time I secure the braid around the boulder, there’s barely enough to hang half-way down the hole.
Slag ties the axe to the rope, which I pull up first. The effort of widening the hold for my huge friend leaves me sweating and panting, but I’m filled with purpose. It’s certainly easier to use the axe standing on the ground than it was reaching over my head. I’m going to get Slag out of there.
After securing his flute to his loincloth, he grabs the rope as soon as I lower it to him. With a grunt and all his upper body strength, he climbs out.
Now it’s not a little smile tipping the corners of his mouth—he’s beaming. And so am I.
As tired as he is, he lifts me under my armpits and whirls me in a circle, then clutches me to him so hard it leaves me breathless. I can only imagine his fear that I’d never come back for him. My chest clenches in happiness at seeing him. We’ve only known each other a few days and he hasn’t said a word, but I feel connected to him.
“Wait ‘till you see the room I rented us. Spacious and colorful. It doesn’t have cable, but it has running water and a light show.”
Grabbing his hand, I pull him toward our new digs. I hadn’t allowed myself to think beyond this moment, but now I have all the time in the world to wonder how we’re going to survive on this hostile planet and how we’re going to get off it.
Slag
Mine.
KJ
The walk to the cave was grueling in the heat of the day, made even harder by the fact that Slag hasn’t had a drop to drink in two days. As soon as we were through the mouth of the outer cave, I pulled him toward the tiny opening to the magical inner cave.
It was a tight fit getting Slag through the opening to the water hole. We’ll have to make it bigger later, but it won’t be a problem again, because I don’t think he’ll want to ever leave.
I have no idea what his childhood was like or how long he spent in the mine, but I don’t think he had the opportunity to investigate bioluminescence on the Internet like I did. His mouth gapes open and a laugh bubbles up out of his throat when he sees our private light show.
It’s fun watching my huge giant act like an excited kid. He wants to touch every glowing thing and seems to have no innate fear of anything. He scrapes his hand against the lichen on the walls, reaches out to grab this planet’s equivalent of a firefly, and touches the kudzu as if he’s never seen a living plant.
He tears off his loincloth and wades into the water before I can pull him back to shore.
“Slag! No!” I doubt he can understand explanations of all my fears of leviathans surfacing from the deep or scary alien piranha or microscopic bacteria that could harm him. And now he can’t hear me either, because he’s dog-paddling to the other side of the cavern.
“Slag!”
