The Fickle Winds of Autumn

52. The Tumbling Darkness

Her body stretched - laid out taut in the shivering darkness. The foreboding, unwelcome rock crunched and squeezed. She would have to grip and kick with the side of her boots to get any further in - Ellis would have to let go - there would be little hope of ever returning without his help - but there was still a gap in front of her to explore - there was still a hope - she had to try, she had to help her friends.

"Courage!" she thought in the dark, uncertain silence.

"It's all right Ellis - you can let go!" she said as loudly as she could. Her muffled voice bounced straight back into her face.

Perhaps he wouldn't be able to hear her properly?

Perhaps her strangled voice would remain buried in the mute rock which entombed her?

She kicked and wriggled forward; the warm security of Ellis's grip slipped away from her ankles; she was alone; she would have to get through the fissure now - somehow - or perish trying.

She squirmed and twisted her frame; her fingers scratched and rummaged at the bruising rock; her toes strained and dug hard inside her boots; her tender knees and elbows cut and bloodied by her efforts; exhaustion and isolation and terror began to exert themselves along the length of her vulnerable body.

Was this the Surrounder's true plan for her?

To be trapped forever in an inescapable tomb?

To feel the harsh rock caress her lonely cheeks and legs for all Eternity as it clasped her in a final deadly embrace?

She must not give up - she must not surrender to the solitary blackness.

Her fingers scrabbled forward and ripped along a rough edge; she fumbled and groped and rotated her wrists - but there was no more floor.

Perhaps there was a larger gap just beyond her extended arms?

The hopeful adrenaline kindled her fractured body and mind; a pulsing desire for escape, and food, and survival flooded through her.

Her bruised, weary fingers grasped the abrupt edge; she heaved and strained and dragged herself forward; she dug and pushed with her knees, her toes, her body, her will, and hauled herself towards the lip of the abrasive floor.

Her panting breath rebounded hard through her head, threatening to drown out the wounding rasp of her boots on the coarse rock.

The clenched stone walls squeezed tighter, grasping at her clothing and hair; crushing her; refusing to relinquish their morbid grip.

The cold rock edge bit and stung into her palms; she twisted and writhed and levered herself forward; her arms and elbows slid out over the sudden rim of the floor and dangled free - away from the pressure and rubbing soreness of the cracked fissure.

Her arms were free!

There must be a larger, open space just beyond this pinch-point?

Perhaps even a way out!

Just a little more effort and her shoulders and head would escape too.

She paused and sucked the shallow breath back into her exhausted lungs; the anxious adrenaline would not allow her to rest for long; she braced her hands down against the angle of the rock verge and pushed back against the frigid surface; she kicked and wrestled her squirming body; she slithered and rasped through the callous, narrow fissure; her cheeks and chin scoured the crushing stone; the grit and gravel coughed into her throat and mind.

Her torso wedged in the solid, unyielding fangs of the tunnel; a frustrated panic of fear convulsed through her; she kicked and heaved and thrashed and grunted; her frantic head scraped and wormed and lunged free; it dangled out over the lip of the ground.

Her head was through!

She was still alive!

She could breathe!

She gasped and panted her grateful relief and listened for the echoes of her breath, but could not discern any.

She opened her tentative eyes, but encountered nothing except the same intense, stalking darkness that had haunted her since she had first entered the tunnel.

A sombre disappointment blunted her hopes.

But just how big was the gap her head was now in?

Was she in mid-air or near the ground?

Was there another way out, an exit to the waiting world perhaps?

Her eyes gave her no clues; but at least her head and arms were free -

she would not die in the crushing rock sepulchre.

Her arms heaved again and dragged her straining shoulders and body out to the waist; several small fragments of rock caught and pulled beneath her. The loose debris rattled down the side of the opening and clattered to a halt not far below.

A sharp, thin echo bounced through the blackness - the distant reverberation suggested she was entering a large, spacious cavern.

She lent the top half of her body out into the void and walked her cautious hands down the rough wall beneath her; she searched and probed for some solid ground to land on.

Her aching limbs stretched and flexed; she bent down as far as her back would allow - but her fingers could not find any trace of floor in the groping darkness below them.

She wriggled out a little further and reached her extended arms down as far as she dared - but still there was nothing - no floor to touch in the echoing, sightless void.

She squirmed her hips forward and strained down again - the ground must be there somewhere - she was certain the pebbles had hit it.

Her impulsive fingers elongated and hunted for the cave floor; the giddy blood rushed down into her head and flushed through her cheeks; the weight of her hair tumbled and pulled across her face; she stretched and forced her arms down; her legs rasped and slithered out of the tunnel behind her; she frantically tried to lock them in place, to grasp at the abrasive rock with her boots, but she slid and slipped away from the solidity of the crevice.

The fast air rushed past her face.

She flailed her panicking arms out and plunged helplessly into the head-long darkness.