The Last Place on Earth

by Carol Snow

  “But why wouldn’t he have told you he was going away? And why not invite you to visit him in a normal way? Why the drama?”

  “I think he knew I’d be upset about him going away, and he didn’t want to tell me.”

  I hadn’t told Peter about the awkward night at the pond and how Henry had tried to kiss me. And I wasn’t going to tell him now. It was none of his business. Besides, I didn’t want to waste any more time. Henry was waiting for me.

  “So you’re really going to stay up here?” Peter asked.

  I slung the guitar case strap over my shoulder. “Of course not. Henry can miss a week of school, but I can’t. I’ve got a pile of homework due tomorrow as it is. But I need to see him. And bring him his guitar. Wait here. I’ll be back within the hour so we can get back to the main road before dark.”

  “You don’t want me to come with you?”

  “It’s not that.” It was that. I wasn’t sure what it would be like when Henry and I first saw each other, and I wanted to be alone. “What if we go into the woods together and something happened? This way, if I don’t come back, you can go for help.”

  “You said that like getting lost in the forest is no big deal.”

  “Henry marked the way. I won’t get lost.”

  Actually, I almost did. I followed the pebble trail again, but without the note fluttering from the oak tree, I found myself momentarily disoriented. But then I spotted the bush with the purple berries and beyond it a sapling with a yellow ribbon fluttering from a low branch. I worked my way over. The ribbon was actually a piece of caution tape. Most people would have taken that as a bad omen.

  Next to the sapling’s skinny trunk, I scanned the forest until I saw another flash of yellow. This time the caution tape was tied around a big old tree that reached high into the air.

  This was like a treasure hunt—super fun!

  No, it wasn’t. It was like a strange, anxious dream. But if this was what it would take to find Henry, then okay.

  From there, it took a few moments longer to spot the next ribbon, behind a bush and down a gully. My feet slipped on some dead leaves, and I almost dropped the guitar. In the time it took to regain my balance, a wave of panic washed over me. What if I really did get lost out here? How many more ribbons did I have to follow before I found Henry?

  But then, almost as if he knew I’d be getting nervous at this stage of the creepy treasure hunt, the caution ribbons came in a steady and almost-straight line of shrubs. Shrub number four … shrub number five … six, seven, eight. At the ninth shrub, another note fluttered in the breeze. I pulled it off. Immediately, the sight of Henry’s tiny, spiky handwriting made me feel better.

  Almost here! Now look to your left and follow the pebbles.

  H.

  Sure enough, there was another pebble trail, this one denser than the last, though the stones were difficult to spot against the tan, dusty earth.

  The pebbles led me around a boulder, along a dried-out streambed, and over a log. At the far side of the streambed, I looked back to see if I could spy any of the yellow ribbons, but they were out of view. It would be difficult to retrace my steps.

  If I got lost …

  No. It wouldn’t happen. And if it did, Henry and Peter would have a rescue squad out in no time. Follow the white pebbles.…

  A bramble bush scraped my thigh. Sweat drenched my T-shirt. My heart pounded all the way down to my swollen fingertips. I should have brought water.

  Pebbles … pebbles …

  For one terrifying instant, the path seemed to run out, but the forest gave way to a clearing that in spring would be green but was now a parched yellow. In the middle of the clearing someone had planted a big stick, a note speared through the top.

  I ran through the tall, dead grass, eager to read the note, to get one step closer to Henry, to escape a forest adventure that was starting to feel far too Grimm for my tastes.

  Right before I reached the stick, I thought, The ground here feels soft.

  I reached for the note. It said, YOU’RE SAFE.

  And then the ground gave way below me, and I fell into a deep, dark hole.

  Twelve

  I WAS ON the ground. On my butt. My ankle hurt. Otherwise, I seemed to be pretty much okay—if you consider being stuck at the bottom of a fifteen-foot hole okay.

  “Henry? Are you up there? Help!”

  A patch of brilliant blue sky bloomed above, but the dirt walls muffled my voice. Panic bubbled in my throat. I struggled to my feet, favoring the good ankle, and wiped the soil and rocks from my hands onto my shorts. I pulled out my phone. The good news was that it hadn’t broken. The bad news was that of course it had no signal—and the battery was almost dead, anyway.

  The guitar had taken a few hits on the way down, but the case protected it. Plus, I had at least partly cushioned its fall, which probably accounted for the soreness in my ribs.

  My elbow stung. I stepped into a patch of sunlight and twisted my arm until I got a look at a big, dirty scrape that started just above my elbow and ran along the forearm. This was going to need some serious cleansing and antiseptic cream, along with a great big bandage, preferably with a Hello Kitty design. Hello Kitty makes everything better.

  There were cuts on my legs, too, though they weren’t as bad. Apparently, this is why people wear long sleeves when they go camping. Not that I was ever going camping. This nature thing was completely overrated.

  The hole was slightly wider than my arm span. I groped around the walls, hoping to find some kind of handhold: a rock, a tree root, anything. But every jagged stone tumbled out with the lightest pressure, thick, black dirt crumbling around it.

  I continued working my way around the perimeter, hoping to find roots to grab on to. I kept my touch light to avoid setting off an avalanche, even as I tried not to think of avalanches. Or spiders. Or worms.

  And then—wait. A stretch of moss-covered wall felt unnaturally flat, and the moss itself felt just plain unnatural, like AstroTurf. I groped along the surface until my hand bumped against a protrusion. At first, I figured it was another rock, but no, it was smoother than the rocks, and straighter. Eyes adjusting to the dimness, I made out what appeared to be some kind of man-made handle. I turned it to the right and pushed.

  Click.

  To my surprise, a door swung open, the space beyond completely dark, the air stale and cool.

  “Hello?” I called, just in case someone was in there. Like the Mad Hatter. Or Indiana Jones. I could really use Indiana Jones right about now. Sadly, he did not appear.

  The cool air gave off a metallic smell. Was this some kind of storage space attached to Henry’s camp? Weird that someone would put it out in the middle of a field, without any warning or notice posted nearby. A sign that said DON’T STEP HERE—YOU’LL FALL INTO A DEEP HOLE would have been extremely helpful.

  Don’t freak out, I commanded myself. Henry will be here soon.

  No way was I stepping into the blackness beyond the door. I took a wobbly step backward and let the heavy door click back into place. At least the door meant that people had been here before. People who might return.

  I hobbled back to the middle of the hole, tilted my head up, and yelled as loudly as I could. “HELP!”

  Nothing.

  “I’M IN THE HOLE!”

  More nothing.

  “Please?”

  That one came out as a whimper. It didn’t matter. Obviously, no one could hear me. No one knew where I was. Fear made me shiver.

  Peter will send help.

  Of course! Peter was still out there, waiting for me. When I didn’t show up within the hour, he’d go for help. I couldn’t have walked much more than a mile from the access road. It wouldn’t take long for rescue crews to find me. All I had to do was sit down, remain semi-calm, and wait.

  I settled down on the cold ground and looked up to the sky for reassurance, only to see that the light had changed; the blue had grown more intense. It had to be, what? Five o�
��clock? Five thirty? Soon the sun would fall and darkness would swallow the hole. And all the creepy critters that were now sleeping in the dirt around me would slither out of the walls and onto my arms and legs.

  Do. Not. Panic.

  I tried to focus on my breathing, like they do in yoga. Not that I had ever tried yoga, which had always struck me as only slightly less unappealing than camping. But that was too bad since right now I could use every relaxation technique available. Unfortunately, trying to focus on my breathing made me breathe too fast and too deep, which made me light-headed. This was no time to pass out.

  And then, just as the sky began to fade to purple, sounds filtered down into the hole. Footsteps pounded the ground above me. Something rustled.

  I scrambled to my feet, wincing as pain shot through my injured ankle. “Hello? HELLO?”

  From above—silence. Had I imagined the noises? No. Someone was up there. I was certain.

  “I’M IN THE HOLE!”

  More silence. And then … whispers. Unless it was the wind? But no, those were definitely voices. People from the nature school, probably. Or maybe Peter with the rescue crew, figuring out how to get me out of there. Maybe they didn’t hear me yell. Maybe the dirt walls muffled my voice too much.

  I took a deep breath and let out such a scream so loud and bloodcurdling, my throat actually hurt. Then, holding my breath, I waited for a response that didn’t come.

  Above me, the voices grew louder. They were arguing about something. If I could hear them, why couldn’t they hear me?

  A face peered over the edge of the hole and looked down at me. It was a man, middle-aged, ruddy cheeked, and unsmiling, with a pale, straggly beard that failed to camouflage an unusually square jaw.

  I waved my arms. My T-shirt, the pony design excepted, was white. Well, white-ish. It was pretty dirty. Still, it would show up against the dark background. There was no way the man with the square jaw could have missed seeing me.

  The face disappeared. But that was okay. Everything was going to be okay. They knew where I was. They would save me. They just had to figure out how get me out of here without caving in the hole. (That was not a comforting image, and I immediately tried to unthink it.)

  The footsteps above grew heavier. They were carrying something—a plank, or maybe a board. A straight edge obscured my view of the sky. That made sense. They needed something to brace the mouth of the hole so it wouldn’t cave in.

  Except … why were they covering the entire opening? How could they get a ladder down to me? Or a rope? How was I supposed to get out?

  Then they dropped the board over the opening of the hole, sealing me in darkness except for a few cracks of light at the very edges. I heard voices—male and angry. I screamed, but they only paused for a moment before resuming their argument.

  A crack of light above grew a fraction wider. Something fell down from above, hard and cold. It grazed my arm and landed on the ground. Overhead, they slid the board back into place. A few more thumps, and they dragged something over the board, shutting out the last remaining cracks of light.

  That was when the buzzing started. It came from above, a muffled yet undeniable Zzzzzz. It sounded like a machine. Or a swarm of wasps. Or a chain saw.

  I sank to the ground and hugged my knees, my entire body shaking.

  This couldn’t be happening—and yet it was.

  No one could save me now.

  Thirteen

  THEY HAD THROWN down a mini flashlight, like something you’d attach to a key ring. The beam was narrow but bright. It danced around the walls in starts and jerks, like a tiny fairy who had just downed her fourth espresso.

  If only they had tossed down a bottle of water, too. My thirst had gone from uncomfortable to insistent. I licked my lips and ran my tongue against the roof of my mouth, but that only left my lips chapped and my mouth parched. The ache in my ankle had subsided to a dull throb, but the scrape on my arm, now at least an hour past the time when it should have been cleaned, felt raw.

  Above me, the muffled buzz continued, even as there were no more sounds from the men. I had no way of knowing whether they were still up there, waiting, or if they had left me here to die or suffocate or be attacked by killer bees or chain-saw-bearing robots or whatever that sound was.

  With every tingle of my skin, I brushed away a spider or worm that was real or imagined—I couldn’t even tell the difference anymore. Every once in a while, I turned on the little flashlight and did a quick sweep of my body to make sure nothing was crawling on me.

  Something tickled my thigh. I told myself it was just my imagination and flicked the flashlight beam over it just to be sure—only to discover an enormous beetle making its way up to the edge of my shorts.

  I screamed, brushed the bug away, and pushed myself to my feet. And then I screamed some more because maybe, maybe, maybe there was someone above me. Someone with really good hearing.

  Flashlight in hand, I returned to the fake-mossy section of the wall, turned the handle, and pushed open the door. The narrow beam revealed a small vestibule, about the size of an elevator. To my surprise, there was another door straight ahead, set in the middle of a concrete wall, about a foot off the ground.

  I hoisted the guitar over my shoulder and stepped into the tiny space, thinking, At least the concrete lining means the walls won’t cave in. At least I hoped that was what it meant. The heavy door shut behind me. Panicked, I dropped Henry’s guitar on the ground and turned back to the door. Tiny flashlight in one hand, I tugged on the knob, relieved when it turned and the door opened back up to the hole. Gently, I let the door close again and made my way across the space.

  The far door had what looked like a metal steering wheel for a handle. I balanced the flashlight on the ground, pointing straight up. From that angle, the light was pretty useless, but no way was I going to immerse myself in total darkness.

  Using both hands (and grunting from the effort), I tried turning the handle to the left. When that didn’t work, I reversed directions. The wheel gave way, resisting at first and then suddenly—

  Click.

  The door in front of me hadn’t opened. No, the sound came from behind. I grabbed the little flashlight and stumbled over Henry’s guitar on my way back to the first door, the one that led to the hole. This time, the knob didn’t turn. I had locked myself in.

  My entire body began to shake as thoughts ran through my brain. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic … even though you are trapped inside a little tomb of a room with no food or water.

  A scream began to bubble its way up my throat.

  Don’t scream.… There is no guarantee how long the air down here will last.… You can’t waste a single molecule.

  I returned to the far door, stumbling over the guitar again, and put the flashlight on the ground, not bothering to balance it but just letting it spin on its side. Hands shaking, I jerked the round handle to the right, fully expecting the resistance I had encountered before, but it unlocked and swung toward me so fast, the force almost knocked me to the ground.

  “Hello?” I called into the darkness ahead. Of course no one answered, but the sound of my own voice provided some comfort. The buzzing was louder here than it had been in the anteroom.

  I flicked the little beam around the space in front of me and stepped inside. On the wall next to the door, something looked like a light switch. I flicked it up, heard a buzz even louder than the one coming from outdoors, and … on. It didn’t just look like a light switch; it was a light switch. The buzzing sound came not from killer bees but from a generator. The sudden brightness hurt my eyes, but after a few blinks they adjusted.

  Ahead of me lay a long, white tubular room. Built-in bunk beds provided sleeping space for eight, while a table with bench seats provided seating for four. There was a built-in desk and a compact kitchenette with a little stove, a little sink, a compact microwave oven, and a fridge that, sadly, turned out to be empty. Next to the kitchenette, a wide-screen TV
took up most of a wall. I pushed a button, but nothing happened.

  With its curved walls and built-in everything, the room looked like something you’d see on a submarine or a spaceship—not that I’ve ever seen a submarine or a spaceship, but Henry and I watched a lot of movies. For the record, I’ve never had any great desire to go inside a submarine or spaceship, but after being trapped inside the little elevator/coffin anteroom, the tubular room was one heck of an upgrade.

  Open shelves lined every free inch of wall space. Mostly, there was food: powdered milk, powdered eggs, bags of beans, canned vegetables, tuna, chicken, and sausages. There were barrels of rice, flour, sugar, and assorted spices and seasoning packets, along with an unopened bottle of Sriracha sauce and an enormous ziplock bag filled with Taco Bell salsa packets.

  I couldn’t imagine what I’d do with any of that, so I was relieved when some cardboard boxes, stacked on the highest shelves, turned out to be filled with dehydrated meal pouches: lasagna and stroganoff and jambalaya and much, much more.

  But what I really needed right now was water. I turned the tap on the little sink. It vibrated, gurgled, and spewed water at a surprisingly high pressure. An open shelf above held plastic cups. I took one and filled it, closed my eyes, and sniffed. I smelled nothing—which meant nothing. Maybe the water was okay to drink. And maybe it teemed with microbes or radon or arsenic.

  But my body needed fluids, and unless I drained some liquid from the canned corn, it was tap water or nothing. I downed the water in a few big gulps, refilled the cup, and drank more. It tasted a little dusty, a little metallic, but at least it was cold.

  My thirst quenched, I examined the rest of the provisions. There were batteries, iodine tablets, propane canisters, medicine packets, hydrogen peroxide, and bandages in varying sizes. There was glue, paper, plastic bags, twisty ties, wire, string, and burlap. There were books and matches, needles and thread, and so much more. It was like I’d stumbled into an episode of Hoarders: Subterranean Edition.