The Descent

He  could  sense  Kora  struggling  to  orchestrate  some  sort  of  rebuttal.  'He  was  a prisoner,'  she  tried.  'He  was  writing  about  evil.  In  general.  It's  nothing.  He  hated  his captors. He called them Satan. The  worst name he knew.'

'You're doing what I did,' Ike  said. 'You're fighting the evidence.'

'I don't think so.'

'What happened to him was evil. But he didn't hate it.'

'Of course he did.'

'And yet  there's  something here,' Ike  said.

'I'm not so sure,' Kora said.

'It's in between  the words. A tone. Don't you feel it?'

Kora did – her  frown  was  clear  –  but  she  refused  to  admit  it.  Her  wariness  seemed more than academic.

'There  are no warnings here,' Ike  said. 'No "Beware."  No "Keep  Out."'

'What's your  point?'

'Doesn't  it  bother  you  that  he  quotes  Romeo  and  Juliet?  And  talks  about  Satan  the way  Adam talked about Eve?'

Kora winced.

'He didn't mind the slavery.'

'How can you say  that?' she whispered.

'Kora.'  She  looked  at  him.  A  tear  was  starting  in  one  eye.  'He  was  grateful.  It  was written all over  his body.'

She shook her head in denial.

'You know it's true.'

'No, I don't know what you're talking about.'

'Yes, you do,' Ike  said. 'He was in love.'

Cabin fever  set  in.

On  the  second  morning,  Ike  found  that  the  snow  had  drifted  to  basketball-rim heights outside the cave's  entry-way.  By then the tattooed corpse had  lost  its  novelty, and the group was getting dangerous in its boredom. One by  one, the batteries  of their Walkmans winked out, leaving them bereft  of the music and  words  of  angels,  dragons, earth  drums,  and  spiritual  surgeons.  Then  the  gas  stove  ran  out  of  fuel,  meaning several  addicts went into caffeine withdrawal. It  did not help matters  when the  supply of toilet paper ran out.

Ike  did  what  he  could.  As  possibly  the  only  kid  in  Wyoming  to  take  classical  flute

lessons,  he'd  scorned  his  mother's  assurances  that  someday  it  would  come  in  handy. Now  she  was  proved  right.  He  had  a  plastic  recorder,  and  the  notes  were  quite beautiful  in  the  cave.  At  the  end  of  some  Mozart  snatches,  they  applauded,  then petered  off into their earlier moroseness.

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  Owen  went  missing.  Ike  was  not  surprised.  He'd seen  mountain  expeditions  get  high-centered  on  storms  just  like  this,  and  knew  how twisted  the  dynamics  could  get.  Chances  were  Owen  had  wandered  off  to  get  exactly this kind of attention. Kora thought so, too.

'He's  faking  it,'  she  said.  She  was  lying  in  his  arms,  their  sleeping  bags   zipped together.  Even  the  weeks  of  sweat  had  not  worn  away  the  smell  of  her  coconut shampoo. At his recommendation, most of the others had buddied up  for  warmth,  too, even  Bernard. Owen was the one who had apparently  gotten left out in the cold.

'He  must  have  been  heading  for  the  front  door,'  Ike  said.  'I'll  go  take   a  look.' Reluctantly  he  unzipped  his  and  Kora's  paired  bags  and  felt  their  body  heat  vanish into the chill air.

He  looked  around  the  cave's  chamber.  It  was  dark  and  freezing.  The  naked  corpse towering  above  them  made  the  cave  feel  like  a  crypt.  On  his  feet  now,  blood  moving again,  Ike  didn't  like  the  look  of  their  entropy.  It  was  too  soon  to  be  lying  around dying.

'I'll come with you,' Kora said.

It  took them three  minutes to reach the entranceway.

'I don't hear the wind anymore,' Kora said. 'Maybe  the storm's stopped.'

But  the  entry  was  plugged  by  a  ten-foot-high  drift,  complete  with  a  wicked  cornice curling  in  at  the  crown.  It  allowed  no  light  or  sound  from  the  outer  world.  'I  don't believe it,' Kora said.

Ike  kick-stepped  his  boot  toes  into  the  hard  crust  and  climbed  to  where  his  head bumped  the  ceiling.  With  one  hand  he  karate-chopped  the  snow  and  managed  a  thin view.  The  light  was  gray  out  there,  and  hurricane-force  winds  were  skinning  the surface  with  a  freight-train  roar.  Even  as  he  watched,  his  little  opening  sealed  shut again. They  were  bottled up.

He  slid  back  to  the  base  of  the  snow.  For  the  moment  he  forgot  about  the  missing client.

'Now what?' Kora asked behind him.

Her faith in him was a gift. Ike  took it. She – they  – needed him to be strong.

'One  thing's  certain,'  he  said.  'Our  missing  man  didn't  come  this  way.  No  footprints, and he couldn't have  gotten out through that snow anyway.'

'But where  could he have  gone?'

'There  might be some other exit.' Firmly  he added, 'We may  need one.'

He had  suspected  the  existence  of  a  secondary  feeder  tunnel.  Their  dead  RAF  pilot had written  about  being  reborn  from  a  'mineral  womb'  and  climbing  into  an  'agony  of light.'  On  the  one  hand,  Isaac  could  have  been  describing  every  ascetic's  reentry  into reality  after  prolonged  meditation.  But  Ike  was  beginning  to  think  the  words  were more than spiritual metaphor. Isaac had been a warrior, after  all, trained for hardship. Everything  about  him  declared  the  literal  physical  world.  At  any  rate,  Ike  wanted  to believe that the dead man might have  been talking about some  subterranean  passage. If  he  could  escape  through  it  to  here,  maybe  they  could  escape  through  it  to  there , wherever  that might be.

Back in the central chamber, he prodded the group to life.  'Folks,'  he  announced,  'we could use a hand.'

A camper's groan emitted  from  one  cluster  of  Gore-Tex  and  fiberfill.  'Don't  tell  me,'

someone complained, 'we have  to go save  him.'

'If he found a way  out of here,' Ike  retorted,  'then he's saved us. But  first  we  have  to find him.'

Grumbling,  they  rose.  Bags  unzipped.  By  the  light  of  his  headlamp,  Ike  watched their pockets of body heat drift off in vaporous bursts,  like souls.  From  here  on,  it  was imperative  to  keep  them  on  their  feet.  He  led  them  to  the  back  of  the  cave.  There were  a  dozen  portals   honeycombing  the   chamber's   walls,  though  only  two   were man-sized.  With  all  the  authority  he  could  muster,  Ike  formed  two  teams:  them  all together, and him. Alone. 'This way  we can cover  twice the distance,' he explained.

'He's leaving us,' Cleo despaired. 'He's saving himself.'

'You don't know Ike,'  Kora said.

'You won't leave  us?' Cleo asked him. Ike  looked at her, hard. 'I won't.'

Their relief showed in long streams  of exhaled frost.

'You  need  to  stick  together,'  he  instructed  them  solemnly.  'Move  slowly.  Stay  in flashlight range at all times. Take  no chances. I don't want  any  sprained  ankles.  If  you get  tired  and  need  to  sit  down  for  a  while,  make  sure  a  buddy  stays   with  you. Questions? None? Good. Now let's synchronize watches....'

He  gave  the  group  three  plastic  'candles,'  six-inch  tubes  of  luminescent  chemicals that could  be  activated  with  a  twist.  The  green  glow  didn't  light  much  space  and  only lasted two or three  hours. But they  would serve  as beacons  every  few  hundred  yards: crumbs upon the forest floor.