Lindsay turned on her flashlight and extinguished her candle. To her horror, the light flickered and went out.
"Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no," she whispered. "Please, God, no."
She sat on the floor and fumbled in the darkness with her pack, found the matches, and relit the candle. What now? Batteries, I have extra batteries, she remembered with relief. She grabbed them out of the pack and opened the back of the flashlight. They were the wrong size. Her heart sank. She started to cry.
Maybe it's the bulb. She found the extra bulb and unscrewed the front of the flashlight case and then the bulb. The new bulb fit. She screwed the cap back on the flashlight and pressed the button. The light came on brightly. She sighed with relief and quickly gathered the things back into her pack.
Lindsay shone the light around the chamber. It looked like many she had been in and was about as large as her house back in Georgia. She walked, shining the light, looking for a passage, and came to a large pile of breakdown. The beam from her light rested on a hand.
It startled her at first, but she saw immediately that it was mummified. She kneeled, examining it with her light. It looked like a male hand. That was all she could tell. Caught in a cave-in, she thought. She didn't tarry. She rose and began looking for a passage. She saw an opening on the other side of the chamber. She almost ran to it. She had to hurry. She had no idea how long the batteries would last.
As she approached the entrance, the beam rested on a head. She flinched, then walked over to it. The dryness of the cave had mummified the body. It was that of another male who had been caught in the cave-in. Its lower half was covered in rubble. She knew from the earspools and tattoos that this was an Indian. The skin under the tattoos was better preserved. Lindsay put the age to be the Mississippian period. Odd, she thought, I didn't think that the Mississippians used caves. Then she realized this was the first fleshed-out Mississippian Indian she had ever seen. She wished she had a camera. The Indian once had a head of long hair. There were still many locks left. His chest was damaged. She examined it with the beam. Rodents? No, the gnawing would have been more extensive. He was shot, she thought. Lindsay looked back over toward the other body. She couldn't afford to tarry, as interesting as the puzzle was. She hurried through the passage. Slow down, she said to herself. I can't slow down. I don't know how long the batteries will last.
She did slow to a comfortable walk. Suddenly she was brought up short when her beam rested on a large engraving of a winged serpent. It was very similar to the many she had seen carved on shell and copper gorgets. This one, however, was about three feet long and about two feet tall and was carved into a large stone. Beside the stone was another opening. She gave the carving a brief look as she passed and ducked into the cave. She found more mummies. Two lay close together and had pieces of wood protruding from them-arrows. They were dressed in smooth dome-shaped crested helmets and fabric clothing. She recognized the helmets as sixteenth-century Spanish conquistadores! Neither wore armor, she noted. One was shot through the neck, the other in the side and in the leg. Two oval shields stood against the wall. The remains of burned torches lay near their hands. Their swords were still sheathed. She was in the midst of the archaeological find of the New World! And lost.
Farther ahead in the small room was another body, dressed like a conquistador, with his back against the wall. His arms clutched something to his breast. Lindsay gently moved the mummified fingers and revealed a large quartz crystal. The unfortunate man had been killed by an arrow to the chest.
The man was surrounded by pots filled with quartz crystals. She picked up one and stuffed it into her pocket. I'm a pot hunter, she thought. A large broken clay vessel lay amid what looked like the remains of a hide of some sort. It reminded her of something, maybe some story. She couldn't remember.
It looked like the conquistadores had been caught stealing. Lindsay wished she had the leisure to investigate further, but she had to get out. She looked for an opening, but there was none. She had to backtrack out to the cavern. What if the room was sealed? What if she had come to a dead end? What if her end was here with this dead Mississippian Indian and the Spanish conquistadores? Ironic end for a southeastern archaeologist.
No, she wouldn't think like that. She went out to the main cavern and searched for an opening, shining her light over the walls. She found one, not large, but it was an opening. She walked through it, ducking her head, then backed out, shining the light around the entrance. There was a round dark smudge about the height of her head. She touched it with her fingers, then rubbed it. A faint gray soot came off on the tips of her fingers.
"Smoke," she said aloud, but didn't linger. She went back through the passage. It was small, with the now familiar scallops and tight curves indicating the fast passage of water. It was not a long passage and ended at a pit.
"Oh, no," she said aloud. "Not another canyon. I can't do it. I can't."
She almost collapsed, defeated. She was so tired. She very carefully took out the foil she had wrapped her wet handkerchief in, opened an end, and carefully squeezed a few drops of water into her mouth. It was so good. She wanted to drink more. Instead she resealed the foil and put it back into the pocket of the backpack. She picked up the flashlight and looked at the canyon.
It was a pit. It didn't rise as high as the gigantic shaft she had already climbed, and it wasn't as deep. Moreover, there was a ledge wide enough to cross and a tunnel almost on the other side of the pit. Lindsay took a deep breath and stepped out onto the ledge. It wasn't nearly as scary as the last one. She walked slowly and carefully to the other side. Near the entrance to the passage was the same round patch she had seen before, smoked onto the rock. The passage is marked. Lindsay clapped her hand to her mouth. The way out is marked.
Don't get too excited, she told herself. It could be only these two or it could mean something else entirely. But she couldn't suppress the optimism, and she enjoyed the feeling. Lindsay entered the passage recharged. It was similar to the last and sloped gently upward. Before long she came to a choice. She could continue to go forward, off to the left, or to the right. She shone her light around the entrance to each opening. There it was. The sign on the passage to the left. She walked onward, almost racing, ignoring aching muscles and hurting joints, stinging cuts and scrapes. Lindsay stumbled a few times, but caught herself before she fell. Slow down. Don't make a mistake this late. You've come too far.
She was in a maze again, she realized, but each passage was marked. She hardly considered any other passages. Briefly, she had a panicked thought that perhaps the marks were leading to something deeper into the cave, but she had to believe that it was a way out, or she would simply lie down and die right here.
Lindsay was skeptical of the last choice. The passage looked smaller, but it was marked and she took it. Rocks frequently rolled out from under her, and she almost fell several times, catching herself with her hands. Her hands had never been so sore.
She came to a place where she could go no farther. The way was too small. Lindsay screamed in frustration, clutched a rock, and threw it through the opening. "This isn't fair," she cried. "This isn't fair."
She took her flashlight and examined the opening. It was small. Very small. If she took off her pack, she might be able to fit. How would she get it through? She couldn't leave her pack, and if she put it through first, she might not be able to get it back. She took out the fishing line again and tied it to the backpack. She also took off the belt with the flashlight and belted it to the pack. She wrapped the fishing line around her hand and pushed the pack ahead of her. She crawled after it.
The fit was too tight. She couldn't do it. But she could almost do it. She pulled the pack back to her and examined the wall of the opening again, trying to see if there were any rocks she could move without dislodging everything. There were none. This was the opening. She had to fit through it. She thought of the scene where Mammy was fitting Scarlett into her corset to give her a seventeen-inch waist. Tha
t was what she needed to be-just a little thinner. How do I get thinner? She took off her shirt and pants and stuffed them in her backpack. The light showed a cavern just beyond the Squeeze. Damn, just a few inches. She pushed the backpack through, and it went flying out the other side. She had forgotten to wrap the fishing line around her hand.
Lindsay had to get through or die here. She squeezed into the hole, her arms in front of her. It was still too tight. She curled up her legs and pushed. She was stuck. This was it. This would be how it ended. She could barely breathe because there was no room. Then she exhaled all her breath, pushed with her legs, and clawed with her arms. She inched forward. She was dying for a breath of air, but she was in too tight. She couldn't expand her lungs to take in a breath. She panicked. She pushed with her legs again with all the strength she had left in her body and propelled herself forward. Her chest was past the tight spot. She lay still for a moment, gulping in air, trying to calm herself. She could see the beam from the flashlight. Her head was out of the tunnel.
Lindsay pulled with her arms and tumbled down a short embankment in the dark to the hard cave floor. She shifted to her hands and knees, breathing hard, raspy breaths. She stayed there, on her hands and knees, unable to move, not so much from pain as indecision. She was so tired, so tired. She reached for her pack and the flashlight and got her clothes. As she was putting on her jeans, she noticed that she had no panties. She was too tired to see if she could reach them in the cave. Someone would just have to find them in later years and guess what they were doing there.
Lindsay picked up her things and started walking. Several passages led off the cavern. She looked for one with the markings. It was still there. The way was still marked. She walked on, stopping once to take a drink and eat a nutri-bar. She continued, following the markings through passages, breakdown rooms, and through other small places, though none as tight as the Squeeze. As she reached a large oval passage, her flashlight flickered and went out. She shook it. Nothing. She turned it off and on. Nothing. It was dead. "No!" she cried. "Why is this damn cave so big?" She fumbled in her backpack for the candle and matches. It was then that her dark-adapted eyes saw that the cave was no longer pitch black, but gray. She rubbed her eyes and looked around her. In the distance she saw the sun coming over a rise. She seemed to be standing in a road lined with rocks. Had she finally gone mad? Had she died in the Squeeze? She stood there, shielding her eyes from the light that was getting brighter. Then she heard voices. First muted, then higher pitched.
"Look, over there, who is that?"
Lindsay slumped to the ground. She was too tired to be relieved. She sat in the middle of the road and waited.
"How the heck did you get in here?" said a male voice. "Don't you know this is off-limits except for tours?"
What? What kind of tour? thought Lindsay. Who would go on a tour like this?
"Don't you know caves are dangerous?" said the voice.
Yes, I do know that, she thought.
"Just what are you doing here?"
"She's hurt." This was a female. She heard other voices. Someone shone a light in her eyes. It hurt. She shielded them. "Stop that," said the kind voice. "Can't you see her eyes are photosensitive? She needs help. Can you walk? We saw you standing a moment ago."
For some reason Lindsay was having trouble forming answers. She thought she could walk. She tried to stand. She had run out of adrenaline. She was cold.
"Hell, she ain't but a little bit of a thing. I'll carry her." This was yet another voice. "It ain't that far to the entrance."
Lindsay felt herself lifted and conveyed. She didn't protest. She tried to say thanks, but the words didn't come. Or perhaps they did, for the man said, "You're welcome, little lady."
The sunlight was painful. Someone handed Lindsay a pair of sunglasses. "You're about as scraped up as anybody I've ever seen," said the voice who carried her. She looked toward the sound and saw a giant of a man in khaki shorts, a yellow T-shirt, and a beard. He had two children and a woman gathered around him. Lindsay assumed them to be his family.
"Thank you," she said again. "Can I have a drink?"
"Someone give her some water." An order from someone.
"What you need is Gatorade, little lady. Rachael, give the lady some of your drink."
Rachael dug into a bag as large as she was and came out with a bottle of a green-colored drink and handed it to the man. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Lindsay. She drank half the bottle before she stopped.
"Now, we need answers to some questions." Lindsay looked up at a thin young man in a T-shirt that said: Cumberland Caverns. "Just how did you get into the Caverns?"
"What time is it? What day?" Lindsay asked.
"Uh, it's 10:00, Tuesday morning."
"Ten A.M. Tuesday," she repeated. The math wasn't hard to do. She had been in the cave about twenty-two hours.
"Now just what are you doing here and how did you get in?"
"I came in through Hell Slide Cave."
"Now, that isn't true. You're mixed up. Cumberland Caverns doesn't connect up to Hell Slide Cave."
"Why is it called Hell Slide Cave?" asked a child.
"Nevertheless. I am here. And that is where I entered."
"Maybe she found a route," said the man who carried her.
"No. The only cave that connects to Cumberland Caverns is Henshaw Cave. None of the other caves connect. You must have slipped through the Henshaw Cave entrance."
"No. I came through Hell Slide."
"Maybe she came through the Grand Serpentine." This was from the kind woman who had helped her in the cave. She handed Lindsay a cold paper towel to wipe her face. "It is close to the caverns, and many people have thought that there is a connection."
Lindsay shook her head.
"Why is it called the Grand Serpentine?" asked the kid, who Lindsay now saw was a boy of about seven.
"Because the passages are all curvy like a snake crawling," his father said, making a serpentine motion with his arm.
"It's not the Grand Serpentine," said Lindsay. "It's grande serpiente." She had just had a flash of insight, of all things, about the name of the cave.
"Is she delirious?" asked a woman whose voice she hadn't heard before. "Shouldn't we get her to a doctor?" It was the wife of the man who had carried her, whose name she thought was Rachael.
"It's Spanish for "large snake." The Spanish named it, probably after something the Indians named it, and the name became corrupted."
"How do you know?" asked the first kind woman, who also wore a Cumberland Caverns T-shirt.
"I just know," she answered.
"Look, lady," said the angry young man, "whoever you are. You can't just come into Cumberland Caverns and walk around without a guide. What were you doing in there? You didn't mess anything up, did you?"
Lindsay looked at him for a moment. He was younger than she had first observed, perhaps twenty. He had blond curly hair and blue eyes. Girls probably considered him handsome. Lindsay thought him callow. She wondered if that meant she was getting old.
"My name is Lindsay Chamberlain. Dr. Lindsay Chamberlain. I am a forensic archaeologist, and I did not willingly go into Hell Slide Cave, but was kidnapped and left there to die. I am quite cross about it, as I have just spent the last twenty-two hours trying to get out. I am very tired. I must look like hell, and I want to talk to the police."
Chapter 15
THE FIRST SHERIFF wasn't much help. Since Lindsay claimed to have been deposited by her abductors in Hell Slide Cave, it came under the jurisdiction of Ellis County, where she was kidnapped. The sheriff of Ellis County wasn't in town, and Lindsay had to make her complaint to a deputy.
"You can't tell us anything about the men?"
"Only what I have told you."
"And you don't think it is this Denny Ferguson or his kin?" asked the deputy. "Now why is that?"
"Because of the way I was treated while kidnapped. It was not vindictive. It was detached, almost p
rofessional."
"You think maybe you are just being nice. You know, you may have gotten that Stockholm syndrome that some kidnap victims get."
"Deputy, I was in their hands all of about twenty minutes, and we had little interaction. Stockholm syndrome takes a little longer. I'm attempting to describe to you my observations, and I happen to be particularly good at observations. I'll write up a report, sign it, and give it to you. Do with it what you will, according to how professionally you see your job." She rose and left the office, stopping outside to lean against the building, shaking with anger. She must look like a homeless person, she thought. She had gone straight to the police. The tour guides had given her a Cumberland Caverns T-shirt. That was the only thing clean she had on.
"Are you going to be okay?" asked Laura, the female tour guide who had driven her to the police and waited outside for her.
"Yes. I'm fine. Would you take me to my motel?"
"Sure."
Her Rover was still parked in front of her motel. It was a welcome sight, a piece of home, familiar. She had no keys, however, to get into her room.
"Do you want me to stay and help?" asked Laura.
Lindsay smiled at her. "That's very kind, but no. I just want to get some sleep."
Lindsay went to the desk. A cheery clerk was on duty, one she hadn't seen before.
"Good Lord, what happened to you?" The girl looked at Lindsay's T-shirt. "Oh, you've been to Cumberland Caverns. You must have been on the wild tour."
"You could say that. I've lost my purse and can't get into my room. My name is Lindsay Chamberlain."
"Oh. You're in luck. Someone turned this in last night." She put Lindsay's purse on the desk.
"Did you see who left it?"
LC 02 - Questionable Remains Page 19