Gunther's Cavern

by Edward Etzkorn

  “I am sorry—I realize this light ruins your night-vision.” Teddy’s voice. “But I want you to see in all clarity, so you will know what we know, that this young male human died of natural causes.”

  Gunther shot a glance at June. In response, she shrugged her shoulders—an admission of guilt. She’d brought along her mini-flashlight, and Teddy had known about it.

  “Ta kung sister pooda flashlight,” he muttered. Sister risk losing flashlight. He stopped quickly, realizing that five words could reveal to Teddy the existence of their private language. He reached for June to prevent her from speaking—but too late.

  Her voice was defiant, and magnified by the surroundings. “Ta kung tee hoya—tow brother foya. Glowworm no latta fee-fo.” Sister’s actions very wise. She knows brother won’t think. Glowworms don’t shine bright enough.

  Gunther made no effort to answer.

  With one of his upper middle arms, Teddy took June’s flashlight, and as the group held its breath, he shone it on a form lying on the rock around which they had gathered.

  “At the risk of boring you with repetition, please allow me to remind you that we had nothing to do with this young male human’s death. Our roving guard noticed him not breathing, and of a color not consistent with human life. We removed him from your midst as of way of protecting the rest of you, in case he was suffering an infection that could have spread to you all.”

  To avoid looking at the form stretched before them on the rock, Gunther focused on the words. He let his eyes drop once, twice, then a third time before he found the strength to look back. His friends did the same. Only Rocky VII stared openly, until his eyes filled with tears. Then he looked away, and did not look back.

  Billy’s body lay before them fully dressed, only his shoes having been removed. No sign of injury marred his body, except for the bluish ovals around his eyes that all of them but Gunther also bore. Willing his arm to move, Gunther reached out and touched Billy’s cheek. The skin felt rubbery, and nearly as cold as the rock slab on which Billy lay. Half expecting—and wishing for—Billy to strike out and punch him in the face, Gunther pried open Billy’s eyes. Billy raised not a finger or a voice in protest.

  “Please shine the light in his eyes,” Gunther said, unsure why he was requesting this.

  Obediently, Teddy directed the light onto Billy’s eyes.

  Rad leaned forward. “Fixed and dilated,” she said, in the detached tone of a medical examiner.

  And perhaps something more, Gunther noticed. Although Billy had been dead no more than a few hours, his eyes appeared sunken, as if pulled into his skull by some invisible force. His skin looked as wrinkled as the skin of a sixty-year-old man.

  Rad’s fingers touched Billy’s face, then probed his head and down the back of his neck. For a second, Gunther imagined he saw a pulse of movement on the side of Billy’s neck, but as he continued staring at the spot, the pulse did not come again.

  One of the girls gasped when Rad started opening the buttons of Billy’s shirt.

  Rad looked up coldly at the group on the opposite side of Billy’s body. “Van,” she said.

  With a frown that said Why me? Van hesitated, then followed Rad’s lead, fumbling at Billy’s shirt. The two girls pulled the shirt up, and Rad touched Billy’s chest, then pressed on his abdomen.

  Rocky VII made a move to stop them.

  “We’ve got to know,” Rad said. “We don’t want to leave a shred of doubt.”

  Rocky pulled his hand back.

  “All okay.” Rad’s voice sounded hoarse. “Thank you, Teddy.”

  The children looked up from the body, shooting glances into one another’s eyes before looking in a dozen directions. Hood began to shuffle toward the passageway back toward camp.

  “What happens now?” Gunther asked, turning toward Teddy. “What do you do with dead bodies here? Will he be buried?”

  Teddy’s voice bore the mournful tones of a funeral director. “I am sorry, my young friends. But because of the nature of our domain, we cannot bury the bodies of our deceased loved ones. Our concern must always be for the health of the cave. Cave ecology does not permit organic matter to decay here.”

  Teddy’s words were true, Gunther knew. A cave was a closed environment. Foreign matter brought in from the outside could contaminate it. Nonliving material could alter the chemistries of the rock surfaces, while the remains of living creatures could initiate a cascade that would lead to permanent changes in the cave’s flora and fauna.

  “So what will happen to him?” Gunther caught his breath, knowing neither he nor any of his friends would like the answer.

  “All dead matter in the cave must be recycled,” Teddy replied.

  This was the answer Gunther had expected, spoken truthfully and in a most euphemistic way.

  “Just like creatures that die up above, in your world,” Teddy continued. “Dead creatures decompose—a nice human word to say they are devoured by other creatures that we don’t like to think about—insects, bacteria, fungi, worms, and so on.”

  Even in the dim light of June’s flashlight, Gunther saw Giles and Van turn a deeper shade of green. Giles bent forward, while Van turned away. Some of the other kids looked ill, too.

  Hood took a few steps closer to the way out.

  “How about King Tut?” Rocky said.

  Gunther thought he heard Rad sigh. No one responded.

  “Let’s go back,” Gunther said, with relief accepting the flashlight back from Teddy and handing it to June.

  None of the children spoke as they followed Teddy back through the catacombs. Gunther tried to focus his attention on the several small alcoves they passed, but found that now he could think only of Billy. They passed the room with the glowing green masses even before he realized.

  Against his will, the image of Billy’s face lurked in front of him. The sunken eyes, the rubbery skin. And the face of Serge, his body locked inside those rocky prominences. Had Serge died before he was placed there, or after? If after—what a horrible way to die. If before, then how had he died? Who had placed him in his eternal prison? Why was his body not recycled? Had the Tardies heard him and June coming, and left Serge’s body as a warning?

  Still, it was the eyes that troubled him most. Both boys’ eyes had looked the same. Sunken—but not only sunken—pulled inward. Shriveled. As if the skull’s contents had been removed, and the eyes sucked inward to fill the void.

  The kids had barely sat down in their usual spots in “The Swamp,” and Teddy respectfully withdrawn, before Kara’s voice filled the void. “They killed him,” she said.

  Fingers shot to lips. Several voices murmured, “Ssshhh!”

  “Tiptoes,” Rad said.

  Within seconds, the group formed a circle, arms wrapped around one another, only their toes touching the ground. Nine of the New Calar kids remained, plus Gunther and June. Gunther sneaked a look around through the semi-darkness and noted Simon standing between Hood and June. Simon had been frighteningly quiet during the past 24 hours.

  The voices came quickly, so fast they overlapped each other.

  “We’ve got to get out of here—like now!” Kara said.

  “Who’s going to be next?” said Sass.

  “What will they do with him?” asked Van.

  Tiff. “Eat him.”

  Giles. “Feed him to the glowworms.”

  “Think they’ll take Billy’s eyes out?”

  “Good question.”

  “We should’ve done a funeral-like thing.”

  “Like speeches and stuff?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s for adults. Billy knows what we thought of him.”

  The comments ceased when Hood spoke up. He pulled the group tighter, flexing his fingers over their shoulders. “My brothers and sisters—as you all know by now, this is a POW camp. None of us can believe that Billy died a natural death. Regardless of why or how the Tardies killed him, we all
know it won’t stop here. First Serge, now Billy. We have got to get our teenage buns out of here! As for that—” He turned toward Gunther. “Mah man, Gunther Cowley.”

  All eyes followed Hood’s, although Gunther doubted any of them could see him as more than a shadowy outline in a football huddle.

  “I do have an idea,” Gunther said. “Give me a few hours to work it out. I’m going to need Rad, Hood, and Kara. Hood’s right. We’ve got to get out of here—fast. I don’t think the Tardies really intended to do us harm, but I they’ve gotten to the point where they don’t know what to do with us anymore.”

  “And please,” Rad added. “Don’t anybody make waves. Don’t be another Billy. That’s what they want—an excuse to get rid of one more of us. Then another and another. To them, we’re all just bits of organic material.”

  Gunther wasted no time in getting Hood, Kara, and Rad together. Although he hadn’t mentioned June, as his sister and confidante, his invitation automatically included her.

  The moment the larger group broke up, he drew the foursome together. Once again they stood on tiptoes, arms around one another.

  “So, Sensei …” Rad said, in a voice so pleasant Gunther could almost imagine she’d invited him to join her in the Brandows’ barn for a jump in the hayloft.

  “I have an idea,” Gunther said. “But I’m not sure it’ll work. Rad, I need your knowledge about the Tardies. Hood and Kara, I need you to remember everything you can about our trek up to the cave entrance. June, I need … you. If you think anything I say is stupid or off-track, you’ve got to let me know.”

  Although the temperature in the cave had not changed from its usual fifty degrees, he had to wipe the sweat from his forehead and hair. “Above all, I think we’ll need quite a bit of luck.”

  Before he could elaborate, Teddy’s voice spoke from nearby—from so close that the five children jumped.

  “Please, young men and women—we will have a late breakfast this morning. “If you will kindly follow me to the dining area …”

  “Later,” Gunther addressed the other four.

  He looked around to see the majority of the group watching them tentatively, as if waiting for directions.

  “Like the man said,” Gunther announced. “Brunch.”

  Teddy stood at the head of “the table” as they entered the dining area. In the pit awaited the usual wiggling bunch of larvae, with several slices of what looked like meat scattered around the edges. Against his will, Gunther’s mouth started salivating at the smell of cooked meat that greeted his nostrils.

  Teddy folded his two upper pairs of appendages over the middle of his body, as if inviting them to join him in prayer. “This morning we will have a few slices of meat to add to your meal. To stave off any fears you might have, I can assure you that the meat comes from one of the salamanders that inhabit the cave. We did not kill it. It walked into our laboratory and roasted itself on a burning rock. And as I told you earlier, in the cave we cannot allow any substance—living or otherwise—to go to waste.”

  The children looked at one another. Gunther knew what they were thinking. Was this salamander meat, or pieces of Billy? The thin slices and paucity of the offering favored the former.

  He took a tiny bite of one piece. “It’s salamander,” he said.

  A collective sigh of relief filled the air.

  Teddy emitted an odd hum that Gunther had never heard from him before. It reminded him of a Buddhist chant he’d heard on a National Geographic Special.

  The humming yielded to Teddy’s usual calm, Frosty-the-Snowman voice. “Before we consume these morsels of food, we wish to offer up a prayer for the souls of your recently-departed members—both the boy you called Billy, as well as the young man you called Serge, whose body we found in the far reaches of the cave. Both of these bodies will be recycled with the greatest respect.”

  The children shared glances, but none of them spoke. Hood’s mouth dropped open. Gunther read his thoughts—the Tardies had overheard their conversations, and wished to reassure them.

  “Oh Father in Heaven,” Teddy continued. “Please accept the bodies of our beloved brothers into the service of your Almighty Army. They have served you well. They have been good sons to their families, and good friends to their friends. Amen.”

  No preacher, priest, rabbi, or minister could have done better. Sobs arose from several kids.

  An echo of “Amen,” followed Teddy’s remarks.

  Gunther remained dry-eyed. His eyes met June’s, and he thought he read her lips. So crastic doe mala.

  Despite a tear or two, Hood flashed Gunther a look of mistrust.

  Rad appeared openly hostile. Careful, girl, Gunther thought. Follow your own advice, or you’ll be next. So crastic doe mala. This is only the beginning.

  Teddy appeared satisfied by the response. “We will eat now,” he said. “A meal in remembrance of our fallen comrades.” Then, as if the thought had just occurred to him: “Oh, yes, and one more thing. The Insect Leaders have requested that there be no more meetings of the kind you held this morning. They wish me to inform you that although they are happy to see you sharing such deep friendship with one another, they do not feel it is appropriate for you to meet together in such a big group. I tried to argue with them, but because they have only the brains of insects, it is difficult to make them understand.

  “So from now on, you may continue to join one another in friendship—and, indeed, we encourage you to do so—but we must impose one restriction. From now on, you may meet together as two people only. Such meetings may occur anywhere you wish, and in any way you wish. But please be assured that any violation of the two-person rule will be dealt with most harshly.”

  The children looked around at one another. The POW camp leaders were tightening their grip. Gunther entertained no illusions about who the leaders of this camp were—and they were not insects. The tiptoe meeting that involved every single one of the kids had greatly distressed the Tardies. He did not think they’d heard anything that was said, and having kept an eye on Simon since then, he knew that Simon had not run to them with a report. The thought that the children might be fomenting a rebellion was driving them crazy. Every POW commander wanted to see his charges divided, not united.

  Giles counted the morsels of salamander meat aloud. “Twenty-one pieces,” he announced. “One of us gets only one portion, the rest get two each.”

  “I’ll take the one,” Gunther said. “I already took a little bite.”

  When the rest of them looked at him, he added: “I had a quarter-piece of a nutrition bar two days ago. My protein level ought to be better than yours.”

  “Yeah, well so did …” June began.

  “I had …” Kara, too, started.

  “The man has made his statement,” Hood overrode them. “End of discussion.”

  The children dug in, each one claiming his or her morsels of meat. Gunther broke his single piece into four, and set them on opposing sides of the section of rock that might have been called “his plate.” Only when he had eaten half the number of larvae he’d anticipated for the meal did he pop the first piece into his mouth.

  The meal was almost over when Rad blurted out, “Telephone!”

  No one said anything until Hood said, “Ah so yes so brain-overloaded Vietnamese Asian female. So excuse me for being so dense …”

  Tiff smacked him on the back of his head. “Say again, Rad?”

  “Telephone,” Rad repeated, with irritation. “As in Br-ring, br-ring, br-ring, br-ring!”

  Tiff smiled with sudden recognition. “Brilliant! How do we arrange it?”

  “Alphabetical order,” said Gunther.

  “Fine,” said Rad. “Or any other way you want. Whatever’s easiest to remember.”

  “Alphabetical order,” Gunther repeated, with a quick look around at the group. “Rad and I will start it. We’ll take it from there.” He turned to Rad. “Trial.”

&nbs
p; “Trial,” she agreed, looking satisfied. “In The Swamp.”

  June reached across Van to punch him in the ribs. “See no facina Simon doe gowda?”

  He’d thought of that, too, but did not yet want to count Simon out. “Facina conta gowda plano juice,” he answered. We’ve got to take the chance.

  June shook her head. “Risky.”

  “Plano juice.”

  Several Tardies watched from above as he and Rad stood together on tiptoes toward the far edge of The Swamp. He thought he recognized several of them, but the only one he could identify beyond a doubt was Thomas. The thin—by Tardy criteria—form faced them from the ledge above, unmoving, flagella barely waving, one eye cocked toward him and Rad, the other gazing off toward the stream rushing down from above. His presence aggravated Gunther even more than the thought of the crackdown on the children’s right to talk to each other. Holding Rad tighter than usual, staring defiantly at Thomas, he sang in her ear, imagining his mother cheering in the wings.

  “A-B-C-D-E-F-G, Giles and me and Hood make three. June and Kara, Rad and Rock …”

  With a smile, she continued, tossing her hair so it brushed across his neck. “Sass and Simon, Tiff and …” She counted on her fingers, then switched to a spoken voice. “Van?”

  They laughed together.

  “Let’s try it,” he said. “Okay, here goes. Salamander meat ain’t cool.”

  “Okay. You start with Hood—he’s after you in the alphabet. The loop ends with Giles.”

  “Right.”

  “You debrief him when he’s done.”

  He could hardly hold back his laughter as he watched the message being transmitted from one person to the next. Most of the other kids laughed, too, as each of them took a turn standing on tiptoes one-on-one with the next kid in line. The message was so simple, there was no way any of them could get it wrong. With just eleven kids, all of whom could text each other and send mass e-mails, there was simply no way they could get it wrong.

  Three minutes later, Giles whispered in his ear: “Salamander feet hate school.”

  Gunther nearly screamed. He glanced up at Thomas, and feared that another go-round would tip the Tardies off to what they were doing. He decided to avoid Rad and go straight to Hood.