Lassie (and Shawn's) Great Adventure

3. Two if By Sea... Or Sinkhole

Lassiter made a desperate grab for the melting edge as the bank vanished beneath them. There was no time for him to warn Spencer as he fell backwards, dragging the younger man along for the ride. There was no sound from him as they fell, though his companion made enough tea kettle shrieking to cover that front anyhow. The bank undercut in a bowl of wet mud – the closest handhold nearly five feet away once they began to drop. There was nothing to grab other than Spencer; nothing he could do other than hope they didn't smash to bits when they hit bottom.

The wall of the pit sloped out to meet them about ten feet down and as his heels caught against the fifty degree angle they were flipped into a tumble. Sky and ground inverted and his mouth was the next thing to strike sediment – the taste of earth thick and gritty – the pain and blood instant. Spencer stopped screaming as they rag dolled together, the thin chain they shared twisting between them as an inadequate pivot point.

And then the eternity of the fall suddenly stopped in a slap – air ripping away with sensation and leaving only numb shock behind. Sound muted and took the few dull colors of their world with it. For the hours that may have been seconds as Lassiter fought to recover, he felt the sensation of gray warmth heave over him.

Coughs and groans that he wasn't sure who was making were the first things to work past the muffling roar. It was too early to try any serious moving but he could, at least, pivot his head. His chin carved a groove through muck as he gave his surroundings a thrice over. Mud, mud, mud, muddy Spencer, and more mud. His eyes moved back to Spencer with reluctance. The things he'd been hoping to see; a handcuff key, a ladder, a cell phone, were absent.

Spencer was on his back – his right arm stretched out from his body by the handcuffs shared between them. The fall had sunk them both nearly a foot into the mire, with the rain turning the pit into a bog.

“Can you move?” There was no way to know if Rogers had located the gun or if he'd even stuck around after being shot. They had to get as close to the edge of the sinkhole as they could to even stand a chance if the bastard started shooting at them.

Fingers lifted from their individual mud coffins, an answer to his question before the younger man even spoke.

“No.” The lie was followed by coughing and Lassiter rolled his eyes before attempting movement for himself.

Greenish gray sludge with the viscosity of school paste sucked at his hands as he tried to push himself up. Rain coated his face and blurred his eyes and a shiver from the icy downpour scurried from neck to tailbone. Bruised? God yes, but the mud seemed to have had enough cushion to prevent bone breakage. Luckily they hadn't bit it on any of the significantly more solid litter that filled the pit. Car parts, old appliances, twisted metal that could no longer be identified, as well as any number of rusty cans, bottles, and more.

Spencer groaned as he moved his hand again – lifting it enough to brace his elbows near his sides and carefully push against the ground. It actually took a small bit of struggle before the mud released him with a sklutch. He winced, but still grinned when he looked over his shoulder at the near perfect mold of his body.

“Dude, this totally makes me Han Solo!” Then he looked back, the grin combining with raised eyebrows. “Which makes you Chewbacca. Come on, give me a throaty YUUUURR!”

Lassiter's eyebrows dropped in response. Not bothering with words, he yanked on their handcuffed wrists – tolerating the stab of pain it brought when Spencer hissed and snapped his mouth shut.

“Come on!” Demand for motion was easier than the activity itself. Rogers must have run for it by now because there was no way they'd still be alive if the man had found the weapon.