“Well?” someone asked.
“Whose is it?”
Fred clamped his mouth shut to stifle a chuckle. Lacking an easy escape, his mocking laugh swelled up his chest. It was just too good. Too perfect. How the mighty do fall! Finally, as if he were the accuser in a courtroom, he raised his arm and pointed at Craig.
It was as if the very air had been sucked free of oxygen. Several boys actually gasped aloud. Others covered their mouths as they gawked at their former leader hugging himself as the fire’s flames flickered in front of him. When they saw that Craig offered no defense, but only stared at the ground in shame, the other boys knew his guilt was sure. And then, like a dam bursting, screams of laughter poured forth and swept away Craig’s reputation like so much debris before a flood. One moment he had been all but worshipped by the other boys. And the next, derided like a leper.
Fame is a fickle friend.
They encircled him and began to chant.
“Brownie boy! Brownie boy!” they said faster and faster and louder and louder. Someone took the shovel and scooped up the underwear to wave it about in rhythm. It took well over a minute for Mr. Howard to take notice from the camp kitchen. He left his pan of frying meat on the propane stove and marched to the fireside, bristling.
“Boys!” he shouted. “What in the world is going on? Put that down this instant!”
Someone flung the underwear right at Craig. It careened off his forehead and landed in the coals of the fire, immediately smoking and then bursting into flames.
“Poop smoke! Run for your lives!” someone yelled, sending the troop screaming and laughing in all directions. His eyes wide as he tried to make sense of it all, Mr. Howard stood there at Craig’s side as the boy began to sob.
“What’s the matter, Craig?” Mr. Howard asked.
But Craig could not answer, could not even speak. He hid his face in his meaty hands and cried like a baby.
Fred saw it all from a stone’s throw away. He hadn’t joined the others in their ridiculous chant. He hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d looked into Craig’s eyes. And seeing him now break down in the awkward arms of Mr. Howard was about the most pitiful thing he had ever seen. It was all his fault, this sweet revenge, and it went bitter all the way down.
4
Fred couldn't sleep.
It wasn’t the rock-hard ground beneath him, or the mosquito trapped in his tent, feasting on his hemoglobin. It wasn’t even the two other boys on his right and left who snored in tandem like a rumbling tennis match.
It was Craig.
The memory of his pleading had haunted Fred long into the night. How Craig had seemed to shrink as the boys danced around him, chanting “Brownie Boy,” a name he would doubtless find hard to escape for years to come.
He pulled the sleeping bag over his head and switched on his flashlight. The bright yellow glow against the nylon calmed his nerves. Darkness left far too much to the imagination.
How he wished it was already morning and they were packing up to leave. He’d get home and tell his parents how awful it had been. He’d beg them to let him out of the Woodlanders once and for all.
When Fred finally drifted off to sleep, it seemed only seconds later when his eyes flew open. Bluish predawn light seeped through the roof of the tent.
“Fred?” someone whispered from outside.
“What?” he whispered back.
“Come out here...I want to talk to you.” It was Craig. Fred swallowed, but did not answer.
“I’m not mad,” the other said. “I promise. I deserved what happened. I can see that now. So come out here. I want to show you something.”
The voice he was hearing right now sounded honest, almost regretful. This was not the voice of one who made a career out of ridicule. It held no brutal edge. Maybe Craig was really telling the truth. Maybe the act of the night before, though cruel and unusual, had actually served to cure a bully of his tyranny, show him the error of his ways. Fred had certainly read enough books where that kind of thing had happened to believe it.
“Just a sec,” Fred said and pulled on his clothes. He quietly unzipped the tent so as not to wake the others and stepped out into cool morning air. Craig was standing there with a walking stick and a smile.
“Want to go see something cool?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.
“The sun hasn’t even risen yet,” Fred whispered.
“I know...but if we don’t go now we won’t be back before breakfast.”
Fred took a deep breath, held it in his lungs. It’d be a nice way to bury the hatchet, he thought. Start over with Craig.
“Okay,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “I’ll go.”
“Awesome!” Craig slapped him on the back. “Now get your shoes on and let’s get out of here. I don’t want Mr. Howard waking up to stop us. Don’t forget your flashlight.”
Twenty minutes later, they were half a mile upriver, moving along the shore until the trail turned sharply to the left, parallel to a boulder-strewn creek bed. Craig walked a few feet ahead of Fred, talking up a storm as dawn brightened the eastern sky.
“My Dad told me these mountains are honeycombed with caves. Most of them undiscovered. He said even a tiny little hole in the ground can open up into something huge if you know where to look.”
Fred didn’t like where this was going. “Don’t you think we should get back?” he asked. “Breakfast is probably ready by now.”
“We’re almost there.”
Five minutes later, they stood at the base of a deep ravine. Craig pointed several hundred feet up an incline where a cluster of car-sized boulders clung to the side of the mountain. “The surprise is up there. It won’t take long to see.”
“Are you sure about this?” Fred asked.
“Absolutely. This is going to be the coolest thing you’ve ever seen.”
Suddenly doubting Craig’s apparent enthusiasm, Fred searched the other boy’s face for any hint of sarcasm or remnant of cruelty. But he saw none of either. The guy truly seemed as cordial and genuine as a tried and true gentleman.
He forced a smile. “Lead on, then.”
Craig nodded with satisfaction. “All right! But just know it’s gonna get dirty!” He stepped off the trail and started up the incline, picking his way between underbrush and scattered rocks. Fred did his best to follow, but the going was rough. He almost twisted his ankle twice and barely avoided tumbling backward. When they reached the boulders, Fred was completely out of breath. He plopped down on his rump to suck in some badly-needed oxygen.
Craig moved to the far side of one of the gargantuan rocks and gave a victory shout. “Found it!” he said. “There’s hardly a soul alive who knows about this sink hole...and here we are!”
In no way, shape, or form did Fred like the sound of the word “sinkhole”, but he said nothing to squelch his companion’s delight.
“So what are we gonna do?” he asked.
“What do you think we’re gonna do? I didn’t bring you up here just to look at a stupid hole. We’ve already done that plenty of times in the latrine.”
“True…but is it safe?”
“Of course it’s safe! Chill out.”
Fred wasn’t sure if the other’s definition of safety held much credence in the situation. But he saw no way out without giving offense. And he actually found himself wanting Craig to like him, to think he was brave. He stood and joined the other boy beside the opening in the ground.
If he hadn’t known what it was, he wouldn’t have thought much of it, even if he’d passed it on the trail. Not an inch wider than two feet across and hidden under a lip of rock. Easily missed if you didn’t know where to look. Craig lowered to his belly and squirmed his way inside, as if the earth had swallowed him whole.
Fred couldn’t believe what he was doing as he lay on his belly as well and followed the other below ground. The passage was just large enough to squeeze through, half full of dirt and rotting leaves. In an instant Fred’s cla
ustrophobia and germaphobia conspired together to spike his heart rate to almost double. He switched on his flashlight as he wriggled down, trying not to inhale microbial bacteria in the dust and soil.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he shouted down the passage. All he could see was the bottom of Craig’s shoes several feet ahead.
“Just a little ways more…” Craig called back. His voice was muffled, as if spoken through a folded towel. “The tunnel gets bigger the further you go. I’ll be able to stand up here pretty soon.”
Fred moved on in a military crawl until the ceiling angled sharply upward, where Craig stood waiting with a dirt-smudged grin. He offered his hand and pulled Fred to his feet.
“This is where it starts to get good.”
Before Fred could offer protest, the other boy darted down the passage. It was as large as a house corridor, descending at almost thirty degrees. Fred watched the beam of Craig’s flashlight bounce away into nothingness. He took a deep breath and followed.
Visions of Jules Verne’s Journey to the Center of the Earth slithered about in Fred’s mind as they moved deeper into the earth. It was still getting cooler. He heard Craig shouting up ahead, though he failed to catch the words due to the cacophony of echoes. Then, to his relief, he found the other boy had stopped. At first, Fred thought a wall of rock blocked the way, but when Craig stepped aside he saw the real reason they could not move on.
An abyss.
“Shine your light into the dark. Let’s see if we can see anything down there.”
Both boys raised their flashlights side by side, but the twin beams were devoured by the inky blackness below them.
“Wow,” Craig said. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a quarter and flicked it into the dark. They waited several seconds before a distant clinking marked the coin’s landing.
“That room down there must be huge!” Craig said, shaking his head in wonder.
“Pretty amazing.” Fred nodded, paused for as long as he could stand, then said, “So…ready to get back?”
Craig shook his head. “One more thing to see. It’s on the floor of the cave. You need to stand on the ledge and look down with your flashlight.”
“Are you serious?”
“Totally….you won’t regret it.”
“And then we can leave?”
“Sure. That’s right.”
Fred did as he was told, stepped forward with one hand touching the wall and looked out and over the drop-off. He pointed his flashlight straight down.
“I can’t see much,” he said. “What am I looking for?”
Two hands shoved him from behind and sent him flailing over the ledge, down and down into darkness.
5
Fred could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. He lay flat on cold, wet stone and stared up into perfect blackness. What had happened? He remembered lying warm and safe in his sleeping bag that morning. But now he was here, blind, his skull pounding as if he'd been struck with a hammer on the back of his head. He rubbed his eyes and blinked over and over, trying to recall what had happened. Still nothing but blackness, of both memory and sight…
Craig!
They had been on a hike. Craig had shown him the tunnel. They had crawled inside. And then...
It all became clear in a rush of understanding, and then, panic. Fred rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to all fours.
"Craig!" he tried to shout, but his voice seemed little more than a croak. He sucked in a lungful of air and yelled as loud as he could. "Craig!"
But there was no response. His voice was swallowed up in the darkness. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his breathing. It had been an accident. Had to be.
"Craig....I'm okay. I'm not hurt. Everything's okay!"
He waited for an answer. But the only sound in the dark was his own breathing. Panic rose like bile in his throat. He tried to calm himself with thoughts of Craig running to get help. Surely, it wouldn't be long before Craig returned with Mr. Howard. Everything would be fine then. Everything would be fine.
Where was his flashlight? Fighting panic, he crawled around on all fours, sweeping his hands about in search of the metal cylinder. When he realized how easily he could fall into another unseen hole he froze and gripped the stone floor with his fingers. Fred rolled carefully onto his back as if he were perched on the edge of a canyon cliff, and focused on his breathing - slowly in through the nose, slowly out through the mouth, repeat. Again and again.
He started counting seconds and minutes. If Craig had run off to get help, he should be back within half an hour. But hadn't he been knocked unconscious? How long had he been out? The rescue party could be crawling down the tunnel that very moment.
Fred held his breath and listened. Water dripped somewhere in the blackness - a lonely, icy sound. But there was no hint of anyone crawling through a tunnel. Blackness pressed close about him - a veil of impenetrable tar.
When he reached fifteen minutes of counting, his teeth began to chatter. It was the first time he’d realized how cold he was. Shock had numbed him, but his senses were slowly returning. At thirty minutes, his entire body was shivering.
Where were they?
At an hour and a half, he gave up counting and resumed his search for the flashlight, this time staying on his stomach like he was doing a military crawl. He stretched his arms out for any signs of changing terrain. His flashlight couldn't be far.
As he moved around in widening circles, the flat wet stone under his questing fingers grew riddled with chunks of rock and small boulders. Here and there the path was blocked by a stalagmite rising from the ground, a cave formation birthed from a trillion drops of mineral-laced water falling from the ceiling above. These formations grew more concentrated the further he went along, like teeth barricading further searching. Soon, it seemed, everywhere he moved the path was clustered with the unfamiliar shapes. He tried not to panic, but hot tears came quickly. Fear mingled with dread infused with misery washed over him and left him sobbing as he inched along the rugged ground.
Turning swiftly to the left, he smashed his head against a shaft of rock. He cried out and lurched backward by instinct, inadvertently slipping off a shallow ledge and into a pool of knee-deep water. Stabs of frigid pain assaulted his skin. He cried out in shock, his body one big spasm seeking escape from the life-sucking cave water.
His chattering and shivering grew more violent than ever as he pulled himself out of the pool and onto flat stone. He collapsed, too weary to move another muscle.
It was then, with warm snot still dripping down his face, that he somehow drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke, everything was so quiet. So still. He forgot for one blissful moment where he was. But the darkness reminded him soon enough.
How much time had passed? He could have been lying there for hours. What if the rescue party had come while he slept? What if they'd called out to him and he hadn't heard? A myriad of terrifying “what if's” swirled in his head like a tempest. But then, the worst idea of all crept in and planted its claws in the remnant of his sanity.
What if a rescue wasn't coming at all? What if Craig had pushed him on purpose and left him there to die? Craig was the only one who knew where he was. He could have marched right back to camp and acted ignorant as a newborn child as to Fred’s absence.
Fred thought back to how suddenly Craig had turned nice. One moment he had suffered utter humiliation at Fred's hands and the next he had been all buddy-buddy. Suddenly, he was sure that had all been an act. A cold-blooded ploy to get him alone so Craig could exact his revenge.
Stupid! Fred ridiculed himself. You stupid ignoramus!
Hadn't Craig told him about his intentions to kill him? He'd practically laid out his plan after they’d cleaned the latrine. He'd laughed it off as a joke, then. But it wasn't a joke. Not at all. Fred was more sure than ever that Craig not only had had the intention to do away with him, but every ounce of necessary gall and cruelty to see it throu
gh.
With a cry of rage and terror at his realization, he leapt to his feet, and began to run. If only he could reach the edge of the cave, touch the wall, somehow try and climb his way out.
His foot caught a lip of stone and he fell face first onto the ground, very nearly breaking his nose. He rolled over in defeat and let his arms fall to either side. His right hand brushed against something smooth, cold and metallic. He reached frantically with his other hand and gripped his flashlight. Sitting up, he fumbled for the on switch and pushed it forward with his thumb.
Nothing.
The flashlight was broken.
6
Fred cradled the flashlight to his chest. His chin quivered. The darkness suddenly felt darker. The cold, colder. He shut his eyes tight and clenched his jaw.
How long would it take for Mr. Howard to begin a search, even if Craig feigned ignorance as to Fred’s whereabouts? There was no way they'd leave the river valley without him. But even if the search for him had already started, would they ever find the cave? The entrance itself was almost invisible unless you knew exactly where to look. Craig would have to show them. Unlikely. He would probably play the part of concerned friend and join the search. He might even lead a group up the creek bed canyon, walk within feet of the opening and act as if he'd never seen the place.
Being at the mercy of Craig was the biggest nightmare of all.
Fred suddenly remembered something about the flashlight. Something his dad had shown him years ago. He felt for the base of the metal cylinder, gripped the end and tried to twist it. It didn't budge. He tried again, gritting his teeth in the effort, and this time it moved, if only by a few millimeters. It was hard, the threads likely grimed by years of rust and dirt, but eventually he managed to unscrew the end completely. Three fat batteries tumbled out onto his lap, one of them rolling away into blackness. He tried to stop it, but not before it slipped beyond his fingers.
In the Belly of the Earth Page 3