Where She Fell

by Kaitlin Ward

  He laughs, and tightens his hands on my hips. I reach out until my fingertips meet solid flesh. Skim up, along the side of his neck until my fingers twist in his hair. My heart is beating so fast, it’s going to break open my rib cage pretty soon.

  And then our lips meet, and even though it was me who pulled our faces together, I’m still surprised when it happens. His hands leave my waist, sliding over bare skin as he moves them up my spine. I draw in a sharp breath, pulling him closer to me and kissing him with all the force I possess.

  His mouth leaves mine and delicately traces the curve of my throat, leaving shivering skin in its wake.

  Confession: I have only ever kissed two boys before now. One of them was even more socially awkward than me, which meant that after our (not-very-good) kiss, we never spoke again. Neither of us could summon the courage. The other was at one of the parties Sherri made me attend, during a game of spin the bottle. He put his whole tongue in my mouth and it took everything in me not to retch.

  This is not like that at all. This is the opposite of that. It feels natural and easy to slide my fingers through his hair, down his cheeks, along the twist of muscle in his arms. I’m not usually confident about anything when it comes to people, but I’m confident about this.

  Our mouths collide once more, a little harder than we mean to, and he lets out a small laugh. I smile. He can’t see it, but he can tell when he kisses me again and my lips are curved.

  This is perfect, I think, and then I echo the sentiment aloud.

  He rests his forehead lightly against mine. “I agree.”

  I swallow the urge to ask him a million questions about why on earth he likes me, me of all people. Why my personality isn’t off-putting, why it’s fine that I’m so into rocks, why he doesn’t think I’m weird. Because it doesn’t matter why he likes me. I know that he does, and that’s enough.

  I slide my arms around him, holding tight. My face fits perfectly beneath his chin. His fingers slip through my hair with a contented sigh, and there is something so nice about just existing like this. I tilt up my chin so we can kiss again, and this time, we don’t stop. I’m pushed back against the wall of the tunnel, one of Grayson’s hands between the back of my head and the hard stone, the other on the small of my back.

  I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but this, us, together.

  And then something bumps against my leg.

  Something, I realize with horror, that is not any part of Grayson’s body.

  “Grayson.” The horror is evident in my tone. He stills. “We … are not alone.”

  “Insect?” he whispers.

  The thing at our feet growls, as if to say no.

  I’m not proud of what happens next. But … I flee. It’s beyond cowardly, and I know that as I’m doing it, but I do it anyway. The sound of heavy breathing catches up to me, and I want to scream and scream and scream.

  A hand slips into mine. The breathing is Grayson. “Don’t slow down,” he says.

  “I—”

  “Don’t apologize. Run.”

  I don’t apologize. And I run.

  There’s a pinprick of light ahead and the only reason I haven’t smacked face-first into a wall is because this tunnel is fairly straight. My elbow’s scraped the side several times, though, and this feels like my first flight all over again.

  We stumble, wild-eyed, back to our campsite. Eleanor and Alice jump up and hurry over to where we’ve collapsed in a heap of heaving breath and terror.

  “Bioluminescents?” Eleanor asks, hand on my shoulder. I shake my head. Look to Grayson, because I don’t even know what it was.

  “Firebreather,” Grayson whispers, and the others recoil. He holds out his foot. The bottom of his pant leg has been singed.

  Guilt swoops down, heavy and cloying.

  “I thought it was one of those dog-creatures,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “I thought so, too,” says Grayson. “When it growled. But then it … well, did this.”

  “Doesn’t look like it got your skin,” says Alice, inspecting closely.

  “No, it didn’t.” Grayson sits up. His voice is tight, not from pain, but from worry.

  This is extremely sobering. Our first dangerous encounter since our departure, and a good reminder that we’re not safe.

  Our eyes meet but I can’t keep contact. This is, of course, exactly what would happen to me. Have the best kiss of all time interrupted by a creature that spits acid.

  It’s the least of my worries right now, but all I can think is, Grayson is never going to kiss me again.

  I am a big chicken, so I avoid Grayson for the rest of the night and as long as I can the next day. Avoid is kind of a strong word, because it’s literally impossible to avoid someone when you’re traveling in a group of four through treacherous, creature-infested tunnels, but I am never alone with him.

  Until he corners me.

  Nicely.

  We’ve stopped in an L-shaped cavern to take a break, and I’m hidden off to one edge, scribbling in my journal by the light of my plant. He saunters over casually and plops down beside me.

  “Maybe I’m being paranoid,” he says, resting his forearms on his knees, “but it seems like you haven’t wanted to be near me since we kissed.”

  I say nothing, which, I guess, is as much a confirmation as anything I could’ve said.

  He nods curtly. “Was it … Did I do something wrong?”

  “No! No, definitely not.” I close my journal and tuck my legs under myself. “I’m … I didn’t want to pressure you.”

  “Pressure me into what?”

  I shrug and look away. “Into … anything.”

  “That is not helpful.”

  He sounds frustrated, and, I mean, I can’t blame him.

  “Grayson, I’m sure this is not news to you, but you are extremely good-looking.”

  “Okay.”

  I almost laugh at the way he just accepts what I said. But there’s an undertone to that okay. One that says, Please elaborate. “That was my third kiss. Ever.”

  “Well, it was my second. So there.” He sees the way my eyebrows have risen to my scalp and rolls his eyes. “I’m not any better looking than anyone else, you know, it’s just been a while since you’ve seen what other guys look like.”

  I snort. “I’ve been here like two weeks, Grayson. Anyway, I’m just not sure …” I hesitate, because I’m about to sound like a huge loser, but I’m already kind of being one, so I might as well go all out. “I don’t know why you would like me enough to … I am really bad at social situations, and I have no idea how to navigate this one.”

  He lifts my chin with gentle fingers. “You could start by kissing me again. If … only if you want to.”

  I don’t hesitate; terrified he’s going to change his mind, I lean in and brush my lips lightly over his. It sends tingles through my body that have nothing to do with anxiety, for once.

  His hand grips my knee and he kisses me back. Suddenly, I think I remember what the sun feels like. It feels like this. Spreading warmth across my skin and settling happiness into my heart.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers, lips grazing my earlobe.

  “Of course.”

  “You keep implying that you don’t know why I’d like you. But I think it’s much more surprising that you like me.”

  “Please.” I trail fingertips down his stubbly cheek. “How could I not?”

  He smiles at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen, and I can’t stop myself from kissing him again.

  Until we hear voices. Adult voices.

  Grayson and I dart out of our corner, nearly bumping into the others as all of us head for the alcove’s opening.

  I can’t make out the words, but I do recognize the sound.

  “That’s Colleen,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, and Maurene and Brandon and who knows who else,” Eleanor whispers. “We’ve gotta get out of here and fast.”r />
  Trembling, I shove my journal into my backpack and shoulder it. We slip cautiously out of the alcove and into the main tunnel.

  The floor is basically one big flowstone formation, like giant vats of pancake batter spilled out of the left wall and froze almost instantly. It’s slippery and uneven and requires us to lean heavily on the right wall for balance. Our breathing is labored and our hearts hammering, but we can’t stop, cannot slow down for an instant. If the others have followed us this far, they’re truly determined to have us back.

  We reach intersections and always take a quick moment to choose the right path.

  Soda straws hang heavily from the low ceiling. We move, hunched and uncomfortable beneath them, smashing our heads and breaking them off every so often. It makes me feel ill every time—not only because we’re ruining these beautiful formations, but because we’re leaving a trail that the others can follow.

  The tunnel makes a sharp twist, widens out, and slopes up. The condensation is practically running water, and when we clamber up the thick flowstone on the far side of this room, it’s like climbing into a mouth via a smooth, damp tongue.

  Sweat drenches every inch of me. We are hurrying, and hurrying’s not safe. My foot slips on the flowstone slope, and I crack my chin, biting my tongue. The thick taste of blood fills my mouth, but I have to ignore it. At the top of the slope, we slide under a narrow ledge, slithering on our bellies until we reach a sheer drop.

  We dangle our arms over the edge, glowite extended as far as it can go, but the stones only illuminate a short distance. It’s impossible to tell how deep this goes. I lift my arm up to see if we can jump across this chasm, but the other side is all solid rock.

  At my feet, the word LEAP is scratched.

  I glance at Grayson beside me. I know he sees it, too.

  “I’ll go first,” he says.

  “Wait,” says Eleanor. She drops her glowite onto the floor below. It shatters, unsurprisingly, but it shows us that we’re only maybe fifteen feet up. Very doable.

  Grayson wriggles himself around, dropping off the ledge with his arms and then his fingers holding him in place. He takes a deep breath and lets go. He lands ungracefully, but safely.

  I go next, mimicking the way he slowly lowered himself, even as my muscles scream in protest. He catches me as I land, arms steadying around my waist. It warms me to my core.

  Eleanor follows, and Grayson catches her, too. But when Alice starts to lower herself, she slips, falling sideways. We all reach for her, and slow her fall, but she still lands badly, cracking her head off the stone.

  She stays there, limp, on the ground for several terrifying seconds before sitting up and blinking dazedly.

  “Alice?” Eleanor whispers, crouched at her side with an arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  Alice rubs her head, grimacing. “I have to be, don’t I?” She rises unsteadily to her feet. “I’ll be fine. We don’t have time to stop.”

  She definitely has a concussion, and the right thing to do would be to stop, let her rest a little bit, make sure she’s fine.

  But the problem is, she’s right. If we don’t keep moving, we’re caught. And if we’re caught, we’re dead.

  Alice struggles. She carries on without complaint, but stops every so often to throw up, and she stumbles frequently, requiring a lot of support to remain upright and functional. Worry coils heavy in my gut. There’s a washed-out look behind her skin. A sunken gloss to her eyes. She falters as we scramble and crouch and edge and crawl over the difficult terrain. We give her extra water to rehydrate her, but still her breaths are raspy and her skin sweaty. None of us knows anything about the proper care of a concussion except don’t let her go to sleep. It’s extra scary because she was already banged up when we started.

  Every time we reach an intersection of tunnels, we search for our three lines. Every time, we choose the tunnel they’re drawn beside, and a tiny moment of relief settles into my chest.

  But although we haven’t heard the sound of their voices in a while, we know that Colleen and the others could be behind us. They could be closing in. I frequently have the type of nightmares where something’s chasing me and I try to run but I’m sluggish, can’t make my legs speed up enough to outrun it. Where I can feel its hot breath on my back, get that crawling sensation down my spine, where at any moment a claw might reach out and rend me in two.

  I feel like that now. My legs are moving but it isn’t fast enough. I’m constantly suppressing the urge to glance over my shoulder for a glimpse of what might be lurking in the oppressive blackness.

  We keep moving for what feels like about a day; then everyone has to sleep, even Alice. I’m glad we got the rest, because just after we eat what we’ve decided is breakfast, there’s another problem.

  Our tunnel narrows to a small opening—a very small opening—that we have to crawl through.

  We all stand hesitantly before the narrow gap.

  “I guess … we have to crawl,” Alice says uncertainly.

  “And what if we don’t fit?” Grayson’s voice shakes. Honestly, it’s a pretty legit question. I’m worried I might not fit, and I’m a wisp comparatively.

  “Yeah, pretty sure my hips are not getting through there.”

  I roll my eyes at Eleanor, whose hips are not at all going to be an issue. She grins, and I realize she was trying to lighten the moment.

  “Well,” she says, “either we go through or we go back. I’m going through.”

  And she drops to her stomach, edging into the hole. I admire the way that Eleanor interacts with the world around her. She’s so straightforward. Everything is options and you choose the option that feels right to you and go with it.

  The rest of us wait like giant chickens, clustered around the low opening.

  “It widens out pretty fast!” Eleanor’s voice echoes back to us. “But it does get narrower first.”

  “Narrower.” Grayson’s voice is pure panic. “I can’t fit through narrower.”

  “Eleanor?” I duck beside the opening. “Can he fit?”

  She pauses for too long. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Okay.” I turn toward Grayson and Alice, trying to appear confident. “I’ll go next. Then Grayson, you’ll go. That way, if you get a little stuck, we’ll have people on either end to help pull you through.”

  “That works,” says Grayson, but he’s very pale, and sweating much worse than the rest of us. I place a hand on his arm. “It’ll be okay,” I promise. “We will get you through no matter what.”

  I take a moment to gather myself, almost uncontrollably anxious about getting my own body through. Eleanor is taller than me, but is she wider? My stomach kneads itself until I want to throw up, but I put on a brave face. I still love caves. This is an adventure.

  If only it wasn’t the life-or-death kind.

  You can do this, Eliza, I repeat over and over in my head. I have to get through this because I cannot be the one who gets stuck. I will not. I take a deep breath and lower myself to the ground. The faint light of glowite emanates from the other end of the tunnel. Breathe.

  Pushing my backpack ahead, I ease into the crevice. It narrows quickly, flattening me out entirely. I can’t lift my head at all without bumping it on jagged rock, and every time I breathe, I fear that the expansion of my lungs will make me too big for the space. Inch by inch, I creep through the narrowest part, but I cannot relax until I’ve reached Eleanor. The ceiling is still low here, but the walls are wider, and we crouch side by side with no problem. Eleanor’s eyes meet mine, mirroring my worry. I barely squeezed through, and now Grayson has to try it.

  He’s broad-shouldered, and if he hadn’t lost bulk due to our never-quite-enough diet, he wouldn’t stand a chance. As it is …

  I gnaw ferociously on a fingernail.

  The ragged sound of Grayson’s breathing edges closer as he attempts the passage. And then … it stops moving closer.

  “You okay?” I call out.
r />   Silence. Then: “I’m stuck.”

  “You’re okay,” Eleanor says immediately. “You’re not stuck; you just feel stuck. Eliza and I will pull on your arms and help get you through.”

  “No, Eleanor, I’m really stuck. My shoulders are too wide. I can’t—can’t go forward and I can’t go back I’m trapped I can’t move I—”

  “You have to calm down,” says Alice, her voice muffled. “I’m coming behind you. I’ll push on your feet while the others pull on your arms.”

  “I can’t do it.” Grayson is sobbing, I realize, and the sound pulls a lump to my throat.

  My jaw clenches tight as I turn to Eleanor. “We’re getting him out of there. We’re not going anywhere without him.”

  “Of course not,” says Eleanor. “If you crawl in a little bit, you’ll be able to grab on to his arms. And then I’ll pull your feet. Sound like a plan?”

  “Yes.” I take a deep breath and crawl back into the tunnel. I slip my hands into Grayson’s outstretched, sweat-slicked palms. “You have to hold on to me really tight, okay?”

  “Okay,” he whispers.

  “Ready?”

  Silence.

  “Grayson?”

  “Yeah, I’m—Eliza, I’m really scared.”

  I squeeze his hands tight. “I know. But we’re not going to leave you. I promise. I—we need you. We’re not leaving you here.”

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  He says that part loudly enough so everyone can hear, and Eleanor’s fists tighten around my ankles.

  “You’re going to have to pull harder than that!” I shout.

  “Don’t want to hurt you,” Eleanor replies.

  “I’m fine. Just pull.”

  She yanks harder, and stone scrapes roughly against my stomach as I’m stretched back. The muscles in my shoulders wail in pain, but whatever pain I’m feeling, Grayson is getting it tenfold. Alice pushing on his feet, Eleanor and me yanking on his arms. He screams and I feel hesitation from Eleanor, so I yell at her not to stop. Grayson is moving. Slowly, painfully, but he’s moving.