The Gravity Myth

Cellmates

"There's a dead guy in my pit. He was in the opposite corner from where I woke up. That's why it took me so long to find him", Evan relayed to Callie.

"I knew it. They're just leaving us here to dieeee", Callie trailed off into a wail.

"I don't... I'm sorry," was all Evan could think to say back. He tried to steady his breath and steel his nerves. It was imperative that he search Boyd's corpse. No. He shouldn't think of it as Boyd. Why was he even putting a name to the cadaver? He didn't know Boyd, and it hurt to humanize the stiff in his cell. He wondered if the next hapless son of a bitch that ended up in this hole would wonder about some guy named Evan.

"Hey Callie, listen. I have to see if this body has anything useful on it, okay. I'm really freaked out. Can you maybe talk to me? Take my mind off of it?"

She sniffled several times. "Yeah, I guess." Her voice was that of a child's. "What do you wanna talk about?"

"Anything. Tell me about where you grew up."

"I don't like to talk about my childhood."

Evan started meticulously going through pockets. "Alright. We don't have to talk about your childhood, specifically. Why don't you just describe the town." He pulled out a wallet as he turned the first jean pocket out. It wouldn't do any good since there was no light with which to read the contents.

"Umm, it was like the suburbs, I guess" Callie replied. "It was kinda boring. Trees and dogs and shit."

Evan pushed the wallet into his own back pocket. He'd look at it later if he ever got a chance. "Uh-huh. Go on." He bent back down to resume the macabre task.

"Ugh, fine. There was a creek or a river that all the grown-ups would tell the children to stay away from. Everyone was always afraid a kid would drown in it. What else?" There was a long pause. "I went there once. By myself. I made a friend." Her voice became wistful. "I brought him home. He was a turtle. I named him Sam and he was mine."

Sweat had broken out across Evan's face. Not only from his nerves, the air here was hot and sticky, stifling like summer in the bayou. By the end of ransacking the corpse, the only other thing Evan had turned up was a pair of keys. One felt like a fob for a car, and another that was probably for a house or apartment. The car key might be useful, Evan thought, just in case. He contemplated turning the body over to rifle through the back pockets, then decided against it. "That's nice. I'm all done now."

"Good. I don't feel like talking anymore" the melancholy in her speech remained.

The pair of prisoners sat in silence for a while. "I found a wallet and some keys" Evan finally chimed. "I don't think that'll do us any good." As he spoke, Evan heard a faint buzzing overhead, and bright fluorescent lights blinded him to the point of pain.

"They're coming!" Callie cautioned.

Evan pressed his palms into his eyes and looked down to shield them. The murk surrounding his feet was a brackish brown, and came up just over the soles of his shoes. A loud clang sounded through space, doors opening somewhere. He heard footsteps coming toward him, saw Boyd out of the corner of his peripheral vision. The carcass was swollen, and its eyes were horribly open. The footfalls became louder and a set of shadows passed over his cell. Evan yelled at the captors.

"Hey you! You'd better hope I don't get out of here!" The steps fell silent and the silhouettes hovered. "I'll fucking kill you if I do!" His speech was all fake bravado, pitchy and full of quivers. "You hear me? You better pray I die here, motherfuckers!"

The invisible people above made no motion. They did not taunt him back, nor did they whisper in conspiratorial tones. They just stood there, in silence and still shadows. Evan imagined them glaring down at him, cold and unfeeling. The moment seemed to last a lifetime. The absence of sound gave way to Evan's throbbing pulse. That feeling when you've reached a certain altitude in an airplane, or covered your mouth and nose when sneezing really hard. Finally, the shades turned away, their footsteps echoing away from him. Another set of doors banged shut, and the prisoners were returned to the pitch black.

Evan's tirade had done more than let him vent. It had bought him a few precious seconds of light with which he could truly view his surroundings. In that span of time, he noticed three very important things. First, Boyd was wearing a watch on his right arm. It was one of those crappy rubber wristband knock-off Casio pieces. The kind you got in the mail with twenty UPC's of your favorite sugary cereal, plus postage. The best part about these types of watches were that they usually had a small button that, when pressed, shone a faint blue LED. The downside is that they kept horrible time. Regardless, if the thing had any juice left in it, Evan now had a source of light.

The second observation was even more uplifting. Callie had called it, the grate at the top of the hole wasn't that high. At six-foot-two, Evan might be able to jump high enough to move the grate and get his fingers around the edge of the pit. However, thanks to the aforementioned diet of sodium rich noodles and beer, it would be a close call. The bad news was that the grille might still be locked, and it looked heavy, with wide lattice work. Budging it would be a chore.

Regrettably, the third sight was so horrible that Evan temporarily forgot everything previous. Boyd wasn't the only dead man in the cell. Well, man or woman. The other body was too decayed to determine any gender. It was mostly skeleton, with only small chunks of rotten flesh still attached. The figure was so stripped it fit neatly beside Boyd, squashed into the corner on his left side. One of the legs had been removed and resided in Boyd's post-rigor mortis grip. The end of the bone had been filed down to a semi-sharp point. This must have been what was used to make the engravings.

Worst of all, the skin and muscle were shredded, and Boyd had a greasy brown peppering around his darkened mouth. The man had gone Donner as a last resort. That seemed to solve the mystery of his twelve-day survival. Unfortunately, it also explained the quagmire Evan stood in. A mixture of bodily fluids and putrefaction. The older carcass had been here so long it had liquefied, and Evan now had Not-Boyd seeping into his socks. Deep breathing techniques weren't working anymore as his stomach twisted into knots. Evan wretched quietly, but he had nothing left to give.

Once his guts settled, Evan spat, losing more vital moisture. His lips were dry and beginning to crack. He collected himself as best he could and crouched next to Boyd. He picked up the limp wrist and felt around the sides of the cut-rate watch for the LED button. With a press, the hole lit up a dim blue. It lent a spectral air to the already eerie room. With a little more work, Evan slipped the watch off of the dead guy and strapped it onto his own wrist. The mere thought of such an action should have revolted him, but he was way past any predispositions.

Evan stood up and aimed the soft light at the grate. He tried a couple of small jumps off the tips of his toes with no luck. A full-fledged jump allowed his fingers to brush the grille. It bounced slightly with the push. It wasn't as heavy as he'd believed. Evan shone the watch light to the opposite wall, judging the distance. He took two running steps and leapt, attempting to use the wall as a higher jumping point. The sludge on his shoes wouldn't allow traction, and he ended up on his back in the rot, with the wind knocked out of him. His body striking the floor made a loud crack, and he noisily sucked at the air.

"Are you alright? What happened?"

"I... fell" Evan said through a series of wheezes. "I can't... reach the... grate."

"Jesus, fuck! Could one thing go right?"

Callie's outburst was cut short by the scraping of metal. Evan lifted his head and turned toward the small cylinder in the center of the cell he had found earlier. The metallic rasp ended with a locking click and was replaced by a slick gurgle. It was a drain, the liquid filth flowing down the slope of the floor and accumulating into some unknown drainage receptacle. It sounded malevolent. And hungry.