In the Belly of the Earth by Robert L Fuller

Author:Robert L Fuller
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0692942203
Publisher: StoryDoor Books

10

He’d forgotten just how loud the woods got when the sun went down--cicadas filling the evening air with their harsh vibrations, as if they were growling at the stars. Parts of the cave were padded with a layer of moss where sunlight could reach across the stone floor. He ran his hand over the green carpet, thankful for such texture after days of only cold, hard rock. When his legs grew too weak to stand, he inched down and lay on his side, tearing a large wad of moss to clump together beneath his head for a pillow. Comforted by the balmy summer air, he closed his eyes and let exhaustion take him.

He was awakened by a raccoon that had come sniffing and rustling into the cleft. Fred’s odor--the result of a week without bathing--was probably strong enough to draw anything with a nose. He must smell like something decaying to the little beast. It came within two feet of his head before he jumped up and shouted it away. The raccoon hissed, equally startled, and retreated frantically from the mouth of the cave.

Outside, the sky was just brightening, flecks of red on a line of clouds beyond the trees. It was morning again. The eighth day.

He thought hard on what to do. Without carving away at the stone walls on either side of the opening, there would be no way out. At its smallest point, the passage was only three inches wide. He tried tapping at the rock with the butt end of the flashlight but this hardly made a dent. He sat still as day arrived. The air outside warmed, sitting humid and heavy on his skin.

By midday, he pondered his weakness, and his gnawing hunger. He felt his body devouring itself. Soon he would not be able to move, or even cry for help. There had to be a trail running outside somewhere near the fissure. Some offshoot from the main trail along the river. There were many hikers this time of year, groups of climbers, families out picnicking. There could be dozens of people within earshot at that very moment.

“Help!” he cried, and then much louder. “Help! Help me!”

The sound of his voice echoed in the cleft, reflected and magnified by the rock like a giant stone megaphone. He shouted even louder, waited for an answer, and then shouted louder still. For hours he persisted, until his throat felt shredded and his voice was all but gone. When the sun sank toward dusk again he settled on the floor, delirious with fatigue.

“Help…” he croaked in a raspy whisper. His chin quivered, but he had no tears to cry. Without a drink in over a day, he was dehydrated and getting worse by the hour. To get a drink, he knew he had to move back into the cave where crickets stood guard over the flooded tunnel. He loathed the idea, but his thirst was stronger, and it won out.

They seemed even more numerous than he remembered.

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