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“We had a lighter this whole time?” I ask. I hadn’t noticed one upstairs. “Why didn’t you use it in the chamber?”
“First, I was worried about burning up what oxygen we had, and then we used your camera, so…”
Logan flicks the lighter to life. At once, the flame blows to the left.
“That way,” Logan announces, pointing to the right. He pockets the lighter and takes the reflex back. “We have to go against the draft. Air draws inwards, not outwards.”
The words have barely left his mouth when the camera in his hands goes dark, the battery dead at last. Blackness surrounds us once again.
“Use the lighter,” I say.
Logan turns it back on, and in the flickering light, I see that he has looped my camera around his neck.
“Let’s go,” he prompts me. But, as soon as he takes a step forward, he stops and blows out the flame. “I can’t walk with the lighter in my hands. The flame blows backward and burns my fingers.”
“So what do we do?”
“We’ll have to grope our way forward and hope this blasted tunnel is short.” I’m about to protest when Logan, probably sensing my discomfort, adds, “Hold my hand.”
One hand safely tucked into his, I feel along the wall with the other and walk along, trying the ground before me at every step.
After about half an hour, the passage suddenly takes a sharp turn. We flick on the lighter again to make sure there aren’t any off-shoot passages, then head onward. After a while, there’s another turn, then another, until I lose count and am utterly disoriented. I have no idea which direction we’re going, or how much time has passed since we lost the camera light, but I’m losing hope we’ll ever get out of here alive. We’re buried in a stone maze that doesn’t lead anywhere. Hell, maybe we’re going in circles. Whoever built this place probably thought it’d be a fun joke to give us hope of escaping, only to trap us in a much worse nightmare.
“Logan,” I say. “I need a break.”
We stop and use the lighter to fish two protein bars out of the backpacks and eat them in the flickering light of the small flame.
Not exactly my idea of a candlelit dinner, or breakfast, or whatever this is. I have no idea what time it is, or if it’s still today or already tomorrow. Day, night… I just don’t know. I need to get out of here or I might go crazy.
“Ready to go on?” Logan asks, once we’ve drunk the last of our water.
I nod.
He offers me his hand once again and snuffs the lighter.
We trudge on, nothing changing in our surroundings for what feels like hours. Until, over the rustling of our feet on the ground, I catch a sound. Very faint and very far off, but definitely a noise. A distant murmuring of…
“Logan,” I say, pulling on his hand to make him stop. “Do you hear it?”
We pause, holding our breath and straining our ears.
“I do.”
“What is it?”
“Sounds like running water.” I hear the smile in Logan’s answer. “Let’s go; we can’t be too far off.”
Summoning the last of our energy, we grope our way along the rocky walls, the sound becoming more and more audible. We go on and on until we can distinctly make out the unmistakable swirl of rushing water.
“You think it’s an underground river?” I ask.
“It must be,” Logan says. “I swear I can smell the water—Aaah…”
Splash!
A sudden tug on my hand makes me tumble forward, and I follow Logan down, sinking headfirst into the river below. Even in the initial moment of surprise, I manage not to let go of Logan’s hand. I quickly recover from the shock of the fall and start kicking my feet to keep my head above water toward where Logan is pulling me.
He must find some kind of hold, because all of a sudden we stop floating with the current, and his hand keeps me anchored in place.
