The Well's End by Seth Fishman

Author:Seth Fishman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-02-25T06:00:00+00:00

14

BRAYDEN AND I SLOSH THROUGH THE DARK TO CATCH up with the others, his light our only guide, and it actually illuminates very little. A pale beam that he streaks across the rough-cut stone and the shallow water. After spending a while in the dark, following a light beam, you almost forget you’re actually there. This small tunnel, it’s different from the hallway with its empty rooms and economical space. The water runs lower here, shin high, with thousands of tons of rock overhead. I wish it weren’t so narrow in here, that we could walk next to each other. If it weren’t for Brayden’s flashlight, I’d already be sniveling in a ball. The rock is familiar, and it does its best to remind me of the well.

But no, that’s not exactly how I want him to see me. So I buck up, and we keep going, almost jogging through the water, our boots splashing out and in and out and in, and I’m trying to ignore the fact that for the second time in two days, I’m about to get hypothermia. My right foot has stopped hurting, at least. I think, at this very moment, that I’d rather no pain than the reminder, the dull ache of a lost cause. I can’t imagine what my toes look like. We keep on, breathing hard. I time my breaths, like I do when swimming, trying to pace myself. I wish Brayden would catch my timing, but he just goes ragged—deep and wet breaths that break my rhythm. We’ll be there soon, wherever “there” is. We have no other options. Find the entrance or freeze to death. No better motivator out there.

A couple hundred yards in, I think I can see the others. I motion to Brayden and point. They’ve stopped and are huddled together, shivering like a bunch of refugees. Jimmy has his fists clenched, as if he’s ready to box, squinting into the light.

“Stop walking. Stay right there!” he shouts.

“What’s he doing?” Brayden whispers to me, his voice slipping along the rocks.

I know what he’s doing. Our flashlight probably blinds them, and they think we might be the bad guys. “Jimmy,” I say, my voice amused, “do you really have so little faith in me?”

“It’s them!” he cries, laughing, and the whole group surges toward us.

Rob and Jo give me a big hug, then Jimmy makes it a bear hug, and even Odessa pats me, weakly. She’s in pretty bad shape, her lips so blue they look ultraviolet whenever a light hits her face.

“We didn’t have a flashlight,” Rob explains, almost apologetically. Whoever was in front must have lived in a nightmare. They probably had their hands on the wall at all times, feeling the slickness of the stone like the gullet of a beast.

“Oh, my God, that’s horrifying,” I say.

Jo’s hair is wet, water dripping down the sides of her face. She smiles. “I thought of you and wasn’t scared at all.”

I’m suddenly ten times warmer and want to

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