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Tears fill my eyes as my throat tightens. What happened?
He moves slightly in my frame of vision, shifting away from me as he sits back on his heels. “There was a mudslide. Rockslide. I don’t know.” He blows a breath out. “Maybe an earthquake. When it happened, we got knocked off our feet. I grabbed you and took off down the hill, and…I don’t know.” He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. “There was a fucking ton of rock. Like part of that peak fell. It came down so fucking fast. I threw you over my shoulder and just ran…until it got right on us.”
“Where are we now?”
I sit up—or try to. I feel weak and strange, and can’t seem to coordinate my limbs. He leans in and helps me. The cave spins slightly as I feel his hands on my upper arms. A cold sweat sweeps me, and I wonder if I’m going to be sick. “Where are we?”
I look around, my stomach churning. I don’t recognize this place, and my head feels odd and foggy.
I watch as his mouth tightens. He shakes his head once. “I don’t know.”
I look around again, gauging the space. It’s bigger than the living room at Gammy’s house, but probably not as big as her living room plus kitchen. The walls are damp, the air smells dank as caves do, and the curved ceiling is not far overhead—maybe just six or seven feet above the cool stone floor. I hear the tinkling of water, likely from a stream, as most caves on the island are intersected by small rivulets of water.
“I don’t think I understand. How did we get in here?”
He looks as confused as I feel. “I ducked underneath some rocks and—” he exhales, shaking his head— “into here.”
I feel ill as he looks away, trying not to meet my eyes. “What’s it like now outside?”
He blinks, and I know the truth by the roundness of his eyes, the stillness of his features. In the space between that look and his words, I turn my head and see a pile of rubble rising from the cool floor into the ceiling. It’s perhaps a meter and a half away, this six-foot-tall rubble pile that’s mud and grass and rock.
My stomach bottoms out as I look at it.
“Listen—don’t be worried. I know it looks like we’re blocked in, but I can get us out. You woke up pretty fast. I haven’t had a chance to start, but I can get the rocks and mud moved quick.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. My chest aches as if it’s cracking.
“Does your head hurt? I think a rock hit you right here.” His fingertip brushes my forehead, near my hairline, and I struggle not to recoil.
I nod, and despite my still-shut eyes, I feel his body brush mine. When I peek my eyes open, I see a swatch of his wet shirt; he’s sitting right beside me…quite close. I feel him shift again and get the sense that he’s moved back a bit.
“Talk to me.” His voice is low and soft—a pleasing voice accompanying a pleasing physique.
A shudder ripples through me, then another. A trough of fear and horror makes me feel as if I’m sinking. This cannot be happening. It cannot be.
“Hey now…it’s okay.” He scoots closer—close enough that I can feel his knee brush my thigh. “Those rocks aren’t that big. Just watch. I can get them moved in half an hour. Then we’re outta here.”
I press my lips together, inhale slowly through my nose. We will not get stuck here. I will not be stranded—never again. If he can’t dig us out, the village will come for us.
I lift my head and find his face more earnest than I’ve ever seen it. Contrite, I hope. I raise my eyebrows, telling him with my face to sod off. His mouth twitches at the corners. Message received.
A few feet away, a familiar lantern flickers. It’s set beside my pack, which looks lumpy and rumpled. “I see you took the liberty of going through my belongings.”
He brings his palms together in a praying pose, raising his brows in a look of definite contrition, and gets up without a word.
The spineless knob.
I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. With my back to the rear of the cave, where I believe the stream is, I watch as the Carnegie walks to the rubble pile. Underneath his drenched clothes, his body looks impossibly chiseled. A bit like a superhero, actually. There’s not a soft spot to be found on him, except the lump of clay between his ears.
He steps around the rubble pile, which I note again extends from floor to ceiling—signifying that the cave’s mouth must be there in the ceiling’s slant.
The opening is likely not large—I’d guess a meter or so, most. If it were bigger, I’d know of this place. Glancing around the area again, I decide it’s more burrow than cave. I
wonder if its entrance is masked by a tree or hidden beneath a crest of rock or grass, further disguising it from plain sight.
My throat cinches. I’m stuck in a burrow with Sheep Whisperer Carnegie.
He’s now poking at the rocks near the top of the pile, causing several to thud to the floor. The dull sound echoes off the walls. Then he steps back, hands at his hips. He remains that way, unmoving for a few long moments before pacing back to me.
