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He moved
as close as he dared to the edge of the chasm and tried to peer
upward, hoping to see the opening, but a large overhang blocked
his view. A check below appeared to be a bottomless pit. A wind
coming from somewhere seemed to gather in the center of the void
like some kind of cyclone. Although he couldn’t see it, it made
its presence known by the swirling dust and bits of rock. “Fuck
this. How the hell am I supposed to get back up there? They
don’t even know I’m still alive.” He checked the depths again.
“If I can get back toward the center where they can see me, I
might be able to yell up at them. Hopefully the hole isn’t
plugged.” He double-checked again. A length
of rope ran from his harness, looped slightly across the floor,
and disappeared over the edge of the ledge. He drew it in,
wrapping it between his hand and elbow, until he reached the
end. “Thirty, maybe thirty-one or so feet. That should give me
enough leeway.” Securing his harness, he tied one
end of the heavy plaited rope around a firmly rooted stalagmite.
Already the wind seemed to be getting stronger. Its roar
gradually rose in volume, and for a second he feared it might be
signaling another avalanche. Brix dug
the toes of his boots into the dirt sides of the pit and began
his descent, paying out the line a little at a time as he tried
to get enough distance to enable him to swing outward, using his
weight to help steady himself. Bits of sand and gravel lashed
about him, stinging his face, almost blinding him. He hastily
wiped his cheeks and forehead on his shirt sleeve before
resuming. When he felt he had enough line extended, he bent his
knees and kicked himself away from the side. He only got a
glimpse, but it was enough to see it was impossible to see the
hole above him. It was more of a dim light, as if it was being
filtered through some sort of foggy lens. He
continued to kick outward, trying to see if anyone was
attempting to come down after him. It was impossible to tell in
the gloom. However, there seemed to be a light source coming
from below. “Hello!
Hello! Can anybody hear me?” His voice was muffled in the
building storm. The light
below looked to be wavering, as if someone was trying to shine
it up at him. “Hey! Hey, you!” It had to be one of the
spelunkers he was searching for. “Hey! I’m coming down!” He had
no way of knowing how far he could get before his rope played
out. With any luck, he’d reach another ledge before then. It soon
became evident that the farther down he went, the rougher the
maelstrom, until the minute bits of dirt and rock threatened to
scour his skin from his face and hands. Keeping his balance
became extremely difficult, forcing him to cling to the chasm
wall in an effort to orientate himself. Too often his feet would
lose their purchase against the side, and he’d scramble to find
another toe hold. He kept checking for the light
he’d seen earlier, but this far down the glow was not visible
through the storm. However, there looked to be a ledge a few
feet below and slightly to the right of where he was hanging.
Sighing, Brix looked up. He could barely make out the edge of
the hole. Judging where the opening might be, he shifted over to
lower himself to the ledge and hoped he had enough line. The wind clawed at him, pulling
his hands away from the crumbling sides of the pit, when it
suddenly blew him back into the center of the maelstrom and
began slamming his body repeatedly against the unrelenting rock.
He was a marionette, manipulated and abused. Battered and
nearing exhaustion, Brix tried to keep from getting tangled in
the rope as it twisted and turned. His head ached from the
concussion he’d sustained and the thunderous roar of the gale.
His nails were broken and his hands bloody from trying to keep
their grip during his descent. Looking up again, he could no
longer see the rim of the hole, only a yellowish swirl of dust.
His boots could not keep their hold, so he used his feet the
best he could to straddle the wall, bracing himself against the
wind and spreading out his arms to crawl crab-like to the small
protruding ledge. He could definitely make out the
light now, a pale, yellow-white wash illuminating a tunnel
approximately five feet in diameter. Paying out a bit more rope,
Brix reached across the narrow span to grab the lip of the
opening when suddenly a tremendous gust threw him away from the
hole, ramming his shoulder into the nearby wall. He gasped in
pain when the winds grabbed him again and swung him back to the
ledge. It flipped him sideways, and too late he tried to adjust
his position before the back of his head connected with the
rock. Pain, thick and bright, filled him. His body went rigid,
and he felt himself losing his grip on the rope. Fear made him scramble blindly
for the sides of the pit, but the whirlpool was not ready to
relinquish its grip. He was flung back into the opposite wall
before another burst of air snagged him, ready to smash him like
a racket with a tennis ball. He knew he was losing
consciousness from the brutal beating. His only hope was to try
and reach the edge of the opening on his next pass, drag himself
over the lip, and out of the main force of the wind. As the
storm started to swing him back across, he reached out with both
hands and tilted himself, aiming for the hole. Miraculously, his
left hand caught the edge, and he feverishly clawed at the
smooth rock in an attempt to hang on. He shook his head, trying
to clear it, but the power inside the abyss was too strong. He
felt himself falling, his failing strength unable to grip both
ledge and rope at the same time. |