He switched off his own flashlight, just to be sure it wasn’t a reflection. But the ghost flashlight continued to glow luminously. No, he hadn’t imagined it, unless the cave’s supernatural vibe was more real than imagined? Tom’s eyes, having adjusted in the dimness, identified a slight curvature in the passageway’s meandering. It didn’t seem possible, yet–yes, a soft but unmistakable glow had revealed itself–and it was coming from up ahead; and around a corner.
Before he could think about it too much, Tom wasted no time paddling to reach it.
Then his gaze dropped. Lower, lower…
A flashlight inconspicuously rested on the pebbles on the ground of the passageway. And it was turned on, its light angled eerily towards the way he had come from. How the hell? Irritation masked his fear, and he kicked forward impatiently, scooping the object up. Upon inspection, Tom noticed that it was a standard underwater flashlight. These things only had enough power to keep working for a few hours, at best.
Tom felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Someone was here. Very recently. Carefully looking around the dark room, he realized that the flashlight wasn’t the only equipment left behind. Divers’ strings, spare tanks, a flipper… someone, maybe more than one, had made a big mistake and it most likely ended in a loss of life.
But where were the bodies?
Tom flashed the beam of his light across the walls of the passageway. The visibility wasn’t the greatest, the surrounding water was noticeably dirtier; the silt here had been recently disturbed.
The passage ended here. Had the passage continued, Tom still couldn’t fathom how anyone could have traveled far without a flashlight or fins. None of it made sense.
His oxygen indicator beeped, then beeped again three seconds later. And it would continue to do so, indicating that the tank capacity was under ten percent, until he ran out of air. Unless he wanted to repeat this poor fool’s big mistake, Tom had no choice but to go up to the surface.
He tucked his spool of fishing line behind a rock so it would stay in place for Sam. Then, swimming urgently yet calmly, Tom turned around and followed his fishing line back toward the entrance. Exiting proved to be significantly less difficult than the trek in. Knowing exactly where to go, Tom expertly tugged along, careful not to break it. Knowing Sam as he did, he’d no doubt he’d be on the mysterious flashlight caper like flies on shit and with the SCUBA line he’d laid down—the diver’s breadcrumb—Sam should arrive at ground zero in half the time it’d taken Tom.
He was cutting it close. Gripping his flashlight and kicking hard, Tom’s only thought was you’d better be worth it, lamp, at the same time his air tank sputtered out.
Tom’s throat burned and his vision vacillated between bright and dark as he kicked his way toward the surface, his focus locked on the light above. He didn’t let go of the flashlight as his vision darkened further, struggled against the instinct to breathe. Alarms sounded in his heads-up-display, warning him that the carbon dioxide levels were rising dangerously high and the partial pressure of oxygen was falling.
He kept going, kicking harder.
There. Light up ahead, a distant glow.
Tom swam toward it but the closer he got, the light seemed to disappear. Even the light of his own flashlight dimmed until it was all but gone, and he was left once more in complete darkness.
Chapter Twelve
Sam watched the stilled water above the cave.
It had calmed a long time ago and become a surface of glass. Flies and mosquitoes buzzed all around Sam’s body like tiny planets in orbit, searching for any opportunity to swoop down and collect some sweat and blood. Sam slapped the air uselessly in annoyance. Curiously, no matter how many swarmed their group, they never seemed to collect on the pool. He distinctly remembered playing in the lakes near his house in the summer as a kid and splashing away any mosquitoes that landed near them. It was always so satisfying to see them speed off in surprise. He remembered how he and James Longley used to crouch at the edge of the lake, paper cups at the ready. After finding the clusters of tall eggs, they would scoop them up and let them hatch into larvae before letting them go. Then nature’s process would start all over again.
Sam missed those days, when everything was simple. He turned to one of the locals who seemed unfazed by the insects.
“Why aren’t there any mosquitoes on the water? I thought they loved to lay their eggs on the surface.”
The local let out a short yet hearty laugh. Apparently, his English comprehension was better than his execution. “Si, si. Normally. This one no. Mama knows it is sacred. Fish?” He shrugged, exaggerating his eyebrows to make sure Sam got his point. “Where?”
Sam hadn’t thought of that. “There aren’t any fish, are there?”
There wasn’t any Tom, either. He stared at the pool and the endless expanse far ahead of them, and then back at his clock. Four minutes ago, Tom should have popped his head out and given them some critical information. Sam’s mind shied away from worst-case scenarios, but forced himself to consider them. Was he stuck down there, or was he just taking a little longer? Maybe Tom had found something and was exploring before he came back. But then again, Tom was just like Sam: Military training dictated we always arrived early, not late.
“Hey! Armando!” he called over, where the man was smoking a cigarillo with the locals, apparently conversing about some sort of logistics issue. “I’m going in. Something’s happened.”
Armando started. “No, you can’t. You’re only going to get you both killed. How many times do I have to tell you it’s too tight for more than one person?”
“I don’t care. He’s my brother. I can’t just leave him down there.”
Armando seemed to understand this but Sam didn’t care. He’d already made up his mind.
Having already put his dry suit on a long time ago, Sam started to prep his oxygen tank for the dive. He was always at the ready, primed for action no matter the occasion. And if they died together, at least Sam went down trying to save his best friend. Loyalty trumps all.
Just then, one of the locals shouted. He was speaking fast, pointing down at the water. Sam’s eyes followed.
Was that something moving? Sam looked more closely. There was a black shape coming from the opening Tom had disappeared through almost forty minutes prior. Sam paused his prep, sighing with relief.
Then he frowned. It was evident, with the clear water, that despite the distorted depth perception and flurry of bubbles that Tom wasn’t moving.
Without hesitation, Sam kicked his shoes off and jumped into the water. Years of dive training had perfected his underwater breaststroke kick. The powerful pectorals he’d spent years cultivating, whether at the city pool or vacations on the cape, the work now paid dividends, allowing him to cut through the water like a blade toward Tom’s motionless body. It was a visceral urgency that eclipsed all else and thankfully, a rare experience. The last time was when they’d swum for their lives— under water and in battle mode—through the pitch black depths of Yellow Dragon’s Cave.
He didn’t notice the warmth of the water nor its clarity as he struggled to reach his friend. All he noticed was that it felt like he was moving through air, but in slow motion. He felt like he was dreaming by the time he finally got to Tom, grabbed him in a lifeguard’s hold and desperately kicked his way toward the surface.
The panic had taken a toll on his breathing, all right. He had been in the water for less than half a minute and already his lungs felt as if they were about to burst. Still, Sam held tight even as Tom’s muscled bulk rebelled, sliding ever so slightly downward with every kick of his legs. Come on, why the hell isn’t anyone helping me? Hauling two-hundred-and-fifty-pounds of dead weight through water, opposing gravity, was no easy task–not even considering the full complement of diving gear along for the ride.
When he finally surfaced arms were waiting to haul them up, however, and Sam collapsed down with Tom on the pool’s sandy edge. As the locals strippe
d Tom’s equipment off of his heaving body in a flurry of Spanish, Sam noticed a jarred look on Tom’s face. He was awake. Never in their adventures had Sam ever seen Tom look so surprised. Sam took off the straps of the air tank, helped him sit up and encouraged him to breathe, recover. He’s probably still in shock, Sam thought as he read the air levels remaining in the tank. Zero percent. He was at zero percent. Divers were trained to always be at the surface before their tank reached fifteen percent. The fact that Tom’s tank was below that meant he’d either made a colossal mistake along the way or had found something very, very interesting.
When his breathing had gone from slow, steady gasps, to a regular in and out rhythm, Tom swiped his hair out of his eyes and weakly held up a flashlight Sam hadn’t taken note of in his flurry to get them to the surface. It was inconspicuously small but looked rugged. And it was still on.
Sam reached over and tried to shut it off for him.
Tom pulled it away with a grunt.
“What?” Sam frowned. “You want to keep it on?”
Tom shook his head. “It’s not mine. I found it down there, turned on, just like this.” Sam’s face must have portrayed his shock because Tom continued on. “That’s not all. I looked around, and there was a lot of equipment scattered around. Somebody was down there in the last twenty-four hours and by the looks of it, they’re still down there somewhere.” He blew the drops of water that had collected on his lips from his sopping hair away with an air of frustration. “Or they died and I can’t find their bodies. I really don’t know what to make of it.”
What? Armando had said no one else knew the location of Xibalba. Was it possible that wasn’t the truth? Even more unexplainable was, even if someone did know the location and had set out to dive the site, why they would leave all their gear behind? Even if they’d had to surface quickly, they surely would have kept their flashlights with them to navigate the dark tunnels. Sam shook his head. A million questions and only one way of answering them. He grabbed a towel and started to mop his body so he could suit up. “Rest here. I’ll check it out.”
Tom sighed. “I knew you would say that.” He relinquished the flashlight. “I left you the line, so you’ll know which way to go. But be careful. The walls… they’re different from anything I’ve ever seen.”
Looking at Tom’s face Sam knew he wasn’t just saying empty words. He genuinely looked as if he’d just completed a monumental task he’d never want to attempt again.
“All right. I’ll take care of it. Help me suit up. I’ll need the rebreather.”
Armando stood by their side, listening in and translating everything to the locals, as they looked on, expectantly. They, who’d lived here for centuries and hadn’t dared go inside stood resolute, proof as to why, before them.
They broke the conversation and started scrambling to get the equipment ready. The two gas cylinders mounted on the pack contained Oxygen and Trimix. For a depth dive such as this, oxygen became less and less efficient as pressure increased. To fix this, mixing other gases such as Trimix allowed the divers to use the oxygen more efficiently, even under incredible pressures.
Sam placed his mask over his face. Tom turned around and harnessed the rebreather kit on Sam’s back and connected it to his mask. After checking that all systems were in good working order, Sam waddled to the edge of the pool and prepared to dive in.
He stopped when he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. He turned to find Tom peering at him and cracked his neck, eager to get on with it.
“The string should lead you directly into that room. You’re also going to have to take off your tank and push it through the choke point.” For no reason at all, his patient tone reminded Sam of the time his dad had taught him to ride a bike.
Turning around to fall into the water, Sam took a last look at his companions’ faces.
“Good luck,” said Tom.
Giving a last all-good symbol with his index finger and thumb, Sam fell back and beneath the crystal waters.
Chapter Thirteen
Sam swam through the clear water to the string that led to the opening. Though he understood the reasoning for the strength and slimness of the line, he wished it was a little easier to see. He had learned a long time ago that he should never touch or tug on a path string. Sam remembered feeling that paralyzing tightness of the walls closing in on him the first time, a dozen feet underwater, and the panic had overwhelmed him. He had grabbed on to the trailing string for security. Wasn’t a good idea then and surely wasn’t a good idea now, diving solo.
As he swam through the huge maw which somehow had darker water than everywhere surrounding it, Sam looked up and his jaw dropped.
The passageway swooped far above his head and expanded far more than he expected on both sides of him. He couldn’t contain the sigh of relief that escaped his mouth and went into his regulator, creating a Darth Vader-esque sound effect, which somehow was both echoed and swallowed by the massive chamber.
He had never told anyone he had claustrophobia. At least, no one other than Tom. Though Tom had always had suspicions – they’d grown up together, after all, and had been in plenty of tight situations over their years of adventures- but those suspicions had never been confirmed until they’d trekked through the narrow passageways in South America and he couldn’t squeeze through them without hyperventilating and stopping every thirty seconds.
It was a moment of utter shame, but Sam was thankful that Tom had never made fun of him for it. Claustrophobia was his one and only fear and he hated how insecure it made him feel. Eventually he had come up with some techniques to master it; he didn’t want to be a burden to his group, and he would never forgive himself if he’d allowed himself to back out of a challenge. But that still didn’t change the fact that the walls still felt as if they were squeezing in on him.
Years of swimming in the open ocean had made Sam a master at consistent and smooth forward movement in the water, and now his muscle memory enabled him to not even think about it. Inspecting his surroundings while swimming allowed him to keep moving without paying attention to what he was swimming through.
He felt the first tendrils of fear creeping in and pushed the sensations to the back of his mind, fiercely. He didn’t have time for doubt, not even a hint of panic. He could not afford to freeze, not now. It was possible there was a person in there depending on him, even if Sam did not know who that person was.
If he was honest with himself, though, Sam didn’t believe that a person was alive in these caves. Of course, he knew Tom had seen some evidence, and there undoubtedly had been someone down here- probably still was. But Sam knew the way dives worked. He had a sinking suspicion- not quite yet a certainty- that he was on a body retrieval mission, not a search-and-rescue.
Sam drew up short, confronted by a wall. When he looked up, he realized that he had come to what so far was the tightest part of the cave. The fishing guide line led into an opening that was barely two feet wide, maybe even narrower. Sam suddenly felt nauseous. The dark, deafening silence of the underwater passage was already pressing down on him like invisible hands, and now he was expected to crawl through an opening meant for something the size of an ant? And, without getting any of his equipment stuck or broken in the process?
You must be joking.
Jesus, how did Tom even manage? Sam briefly considered turning around. Maybe he could come back down here with Tom
Idiot, no. He couldn’t bear to explain to them as to why he couldn’t follow a simple path, already laid down by a trusted diver. And Tom had just come out of this hellhole unconscious and sputtering. Putting his best friend through that again would be torture.
Sam took a deep breath, calmed himself and faced the hole. Methodically, he took inventory of everything on him. Before going in, he had taken the largest air tank. He knew that Tom had struggled to make it back to the surface with the smaller size and Sam might be down here even longer than Tom. To follow up and possibly find more information, he’
d need the extra oomph if he was going to be carrying a passenger.
Sam thought, I’ve got my regulator, and tank, nothing else. He hadn’t needed to bring string or navigation equipment: Tom had already blazed the trail with his fishing line. He did have the compass in his dive pocket but that didn’t take up any space at all, and there was no point in getting rid of it, especially if he might need it later.
Maybe if I make myself thinner and longer… Taking a deep, shivering breath, Sam took his gas tank off and held it on top of his head. It made him feel like he was hiking back through the jungle with Armando and his team, but it also made him an entire foot thinner and 3 feet taller.
Positioning himself right against the opening, he sucked in his stomach as far as it would go and then started kicking in very small motions; as much as the narrow passageway would allow. The cavern walls dug into his fins as his feet hit the rocks continually, kicking up sediment in the otherwise clear water. His heart felt like it would pound out of his chest and all Sam wanted was to be elsewhere, doing anything else, than be in this godforsaken tunnel trying to fit through this godforsaken crack to save someone who was probably already beyond saving.
Damn you, Sam Reilly, he thought. Damn you and your heroics. He squeezed his eyes shut until he could feel himself on the verge of tears.
He kicked some more.
And more, without pause.
Sam found his legs had been hijacked by his body’s autonomous fight-or-flight response system, autopilot had been engaged and cessation of motion unlikely until he could pull his brain back from the cliff’s edge of claustrophobia. Not wanting to risk getting stuck by stopping prematurely Sam kicked for what seemed like an eternity, until he sensed the surrounding walls begin to open up.
Taking a deep breath, pausing mindfully, pulling forth the technique he’d employed in the past to bring his body back in line with his psyche. Within seconds his adrenaline levels had receded and Sam took a look around, finding himself healthily buoyant and in the calm depths about midway across a large cavernous room—and according to Tom’s guide line, exactly where he was supposed to be.
The Labyrinth Key Page 7