Because of what happened to Helen, she thought.
Why are they killing us?
We broke through Ely's Wall. If we'd stayed at the elevators… It's my fault. Jim and Beth and Helen, they'd be alive if…
Shit, I had no way of knowing. Who could have known we'd be murdered?
They must have heard us pounding, and gathered on their side of the wall, just waiting.
Thank God it was Jim who broke through. Jim, and not Greg. It would've been Greg if there hadn't been a second layer of rocks.
Poor Jim, though. Jesus. That bone. Right into his mouth. And Beth. In the stomach.
The water carried a hollow, ringing thump to her ears. It came from beside her. From Greg's side. Though alarmed and puzzled for a moment, she quickly understood the meaning of the sound: Greg had gone up for air and struck his head on the hull of the boat that was tied at the dock.
It better be that boat he hit,
she thought.
If it's the other boat, we're in deep shit.
Her grim humour surprised Darcy. It came from relief, she supposed, from knowing that they had found the dock.
Greg pulled her forward, then lifted her.
Before, when they came up for air, they had both remained crouched so that only their heads were exposed. Now, Darcy stood up straight. The water was as high as the undersides of her breasts. She put a hand on Greg's shoulder. He released her other arm, and she reached out to her left. As she expected, her fingertips found the metal side of the boat. The boat, she knew, had been moored snugly against the dock. Raising her arm, she felt the rough wooden planks above her head.
They'll never find us here,
she thought.
We're under the dock with the boat blocking the way. If they get this far, they'll go around the boat. They'll run into the dock, and they'd be more likely to climb onto it than to search beneath it. If we're quiet, they'll never find us.
You brought me here, Greg. Somehow, you got us here.
We'll be all right, now.
She knew they were coming, could hear the soft liquid sounds of their approach. But they were still some distance away.
She slipped both arms around Greg and hugged him tightly.
They stood in the blackness, embracing. They were both trembling and breathing hard, and she could feel the thud of his heartbeat through his chest. The barrel of the flashlight was pressed between their bellies. After their breathing calmed, he slipped a hand under Darcy's windbreaker and pulled the flashlight out. He gave it to her. She clipped it to her belt, out of the way. For a moment, she considered opening the zipper and spreading the front of the windbreaker. It would be so good, so comforting, to feel him against her bare skin. But she didn't do it. Because those from beyond Ely's Wall were wading nearer and nearer. She pressed herself against Greg, and listened.
And heard a slurp behind her.
Jesus no!
Greg went rigid.
He stopped breathing. So did Darcy.
Someone was under the dock. It seemed impossible, but Darcy had heard the slosh. So close behind her! And it wasn't her imagination. Greg had heard it, too.
If we don't make a sound…
Something touched her right shoulder. Flinching, she pushed her mouth against Greg's shoulder to stifle a gasp.
Her shoulder was patted, squeezed. Her hair was stroked.
She heard a faint sigh.
Carol?
Darcy let go of Greg. His arms loosened around her. He, too, must've guessed the intruder's identity. Darcy turned slowly, careful not to disturb the water. Her hands, below the surface, found fabric. She remembered the sundress Carol had been wearing, and moved her hands higher and felt the armholes. She touched an armpit, a breast, the low neckline of the dress. She slid her hand up the side of the neck, and stroked the woman's wet cheek. She felt eager nodding.
And heard a quiet sob.
Curling a hand behind the neck, she drew Carol against her. The woman hugged her. Greg, moving silently to Darcy's side, put his arms around them both.
Carol shook as she wept, and her breath made hitching sounds.
The others were very near. They seemed to be in front of Darcy and over to the right, approaching the dock - probably somewhere just beyond the bow of the boat.
Fearing they might hear Carol, Darcy brought a hand up and pressed the woman's face against the side of her neck to muffle the ragged breathing sounds.
She heard a soft bump, followed by an 'Uh!' Someone must have bumped the edge of the dock.
'What?' A whisper. A woman's voice.
'Hit something.' A man.
Christ,
Darcy thought,
they can talk.
Patting sounds on the wood. 'I know what this is. It's the pier where they keep the touring boats.' That was a woman. She had to be one of those from the other side of the wall, but she was familiar with this side.
Who the hell are these people?
There came a
whush
of spilling water. A sudden thud as if a heavy object (a person) had been thrown onto the dock. Darcy flinched. Carol jerked rigid and sucked hard on the side of her neck. Darcy felt Greg's grip tighten on her shoulder.
Then there were sloshing sounds, dribbles, thumps and scurrying sounds.
They're climbing onto the dock,
Darcy thought.
Thank God. They're not going to search under it.
She listened carefully. From the sounds they made boosting themselves up and clambering onto the platform, she guessed that there were at least four of them. Maybe five.
They didn't leave.
Darcy wanted to hear them walk way, but they seemed to be going nowhere. She guessed that they were sitting down. They'd left the water about six feet ahead of her, and had come no closer. She heard water dribbling onto the surface of the lake, probably spilling off their bodies and falling through the cracks between the planks.
They're so damn close, she thought. But not so close that she could hear their breathing. And they can't hear ours, she told herself.
'Let's we leave her for later,' the woman whispered, 'and go after the others.'
Someone laughed as if it were a stupid suggestion.
'I mean it. If they reach the elevators, they'll go up and tell about us. They'll tell what we did. People will come down with guns, and…'
A smack. A whimper.
'Okay,' the woman muttered.
Darcy heard quick, soft popping sounds. Things clicked on the wood, skittered along. Something plipped into the water.
Buttons,
she thought.
Leave her for later. They weren't leaving her for later. Somebody had just ripped open her blouse, making buttons fly.
That first loud thud before the others climbed onto the dock. It had been a body hitting onto the dock. Beth or Helen, more likely Helen since she was the one who'd been caught a few minutes ago.
Carol, apparently coming to the same conclusion, squeezed herself more tightly against Darcy.
The sounds continued. Darcy wished she could cover her ears and free herself from the knowledge of what was happening above. But she heard thumps as limbs were lifted and dropped, the rasps of fabric, the tinkle of a buckle, the skid of a zipper and she could see them up there in the black, kneeling in a circle around the body, stripping off its clothes.
They're going to rape her,
she thought.
She wondered if Helen was dead.
She heard sighs and moans, quiet chuckles. She wondered if any of the moans came from Helen.
No, Helen's dead. Must be.
If she isn't, how can we just stand down here, hiding, while they rape her?
What if Greg decides to go to the rescue?
The way he was clutching Darcy's shoulder, she guessed that he might be considering it.
Then came a wet, ripping sound.
Another and another.
Something began to patter the water in front of Darcy.
Blood?
Then came rhythmic squishes, moans, moist sucking - the sounds that people might make with mouths full of meat.
Chewing.
***
With the rubble cleared away, Hank crawled over the rock slab. The water running around his hands and knees, though less than an inch deep, felt like ice. Cool air blew softly against him as if the small hole in the hillside was the open door of a refrigerator. He was bare to the waist, sweaty from wielding the sledge hammer under the hot sun, and the breath of the cavern chilled his wet skin.
Goosebumps scurried up his back as he put his head into the cave.
His body blocked out most of the sunlight. All he could see in the dim shadows was more of the shallow, narrow stream.
He crawled farther, until he was completely inside the cave. The cold wrapped around him. The dark pressed in on him. His heartbeat quickened. Though he couldn't see the walls or ceiling of the cavern, much less feel them, he sensed them shrinking, closing in on him, suffocating him. The air was being squeezed from his lungs.
Water swirled around his hands as he rubbed the stinam-bed.
That's solid rock,
he told himself. It felt like concrete.
This cave's been here thousands of years, maybe millions. It isn't about to fall in on you.
It's solid rock. It's a cavern. It's safe.
'Yoo-hoo, Hank,' Lynn called from behind him in a sing-song. 'What are you doing in there?'
What am I doing in here?
he wondered.
Testing myself? Giving it a little try to see if I can take it?
I'll take it, no matter what. Paula's at the other end of this darkness, and I'm going to get her out.
'Is everything okay?' Chris asked.
It was good to hear her voice.
'Fine.'
Fine, like having a pillow pressed against your face by someone trying to cancel your ticket.
Hank began crawling backwards. He wanted to rush, to free himself from the oppressive tightness, but forced himself to move slowly.
Then he was free. He filled his lungs. He sniffed the piney air of the hillside. The sunlight clothed him with wonderful heat.
As he stood in the water, gasping, the others stared at him. He saw concern on Chris's face, confusion on Brad's, and a strange, rather leering smile on Lynn's as her gaze roamed down his body.
'What's wrong with you?' Brad asked.
'Closed-in places. I don't like them.'
'You've got claustrophobia?'
'But only a touch of leprosy.'
'Well,' Lynn said, 'what do you know about that?'
Brad arched an eyebrow and rubbed one of his bulging pecs. Like Hank, he had stripped off his shirt during their labours to smash through the wall. He had the body of a Mr. Universe contestant, and his sweaty skin gleamed in the sunlight as if slicked with oil. Hank suspected the man's chest didn't itch, that he was rubbing it simply to draw Chris's attention to his amazing proportions. But she was looking at Hank, not Brad.
'Maybe you should wait here,' Brad told him, and Lynn nodded in agreement.
'I'll be all right.'
'What if you're not? Suppose we get in there and you have some kind of panic attack?'
'Don't worry about it.'
'I think you should stay here,' Lynn said.
Of course you do, Hank thought. You'd like nothing better than to get me alone.
He suspected that the girl was less interested in seducing him than in defeating Chris. Some kind of a competitive thing that had little to do with desire, a lot to do with ego.
Earlier, when they parked the car on the dirt road across the small valley, she had climbed out and tied her jacket around her waist and proceeded to unbutton her uniform blouse. There was nothing under it but skin. She didn't take the blouse off. Instead, she lifted its front and knotted the tails just under her breasts. From the glances she gave Hank, the show was for his benefit, not Brad's.
When it came time to distribute the equipment for the hike to the cavern, she insisted on carrying the backpack full of flashlights and candy bars. She faced Hank while she put it on. Her struggle getting into the straps made her blouse spread apart and one side fell away, baring her left breast for a while before she noticed the problem, said
'Woops'
, and covered it.
Hank might have been amused by such ploys, but he sensed Lynn's rather malicious intent - and Chris was a witness to every display. Though Chris didn't complain, Hank caught her frowning slightly, sometimes shaking her head, and she'd even rolled her eyes upward as if asking the Lord for mercy when Lynn so accidently exposed the breast.
Chris stayed at his side as they hiked across the narrow valley and up the hillside to the cavern. Lynn, continuing with her tactics, walked a short distance ahead of them, swaggering and waving her rump, often walking backward to give Hank a view of her half-naked, bouncing breasts. Whenever she faced him, she spoke to Hank as if Chris and Brad weren't there. She told him about Tom. 'He's a nice guy,' she said, 'but we weren't, you know, serious. I mean, he's not all that mature.' She asked if Hank was still married. He said, 'No.' She asked, 'So what happened to your wife?' A dark place swelled inside him. 'She died.' And Lynn said, 'Woops.' And he thought, you are a little shit. But Chris looked at him with tenderness in her eyes and said softly, 'I'm sorry.'