with the lingering light from their headlamps, they would be climbing blind most of the time, their feet stepping down into space.
Remember
, she scolded herself. What did she tell the others in training?
Trust the space.
Find a finger space and the hand will follow. And after that the arm. Ease yourself in. Ease yourself out. She edged forwards. Breath held, ribs contracted. Head. Shoulders. Rock cut through the rough material of her shirt. Skin scraped and bled.
Hips. There was a moment, then; fear knotted inside her, tight as a fist.
Something caught, then released. Legs followed arms. Lungs exhaled.
She was through.
She inched into the space, pulling up some slack in the rope, and then turned to look behind her. As her headlamp illuminated the gap through which she had come, she drew a sharp breath.
It was the narrowest opening, a bare sliver of space between two rocks. But this was what they trained for. She had passed through it and the others would too.
“Come on,” she urged. “It’s fine.”
Breath caught in throats. Stone etched itself into flesh. Between Asha and Loren the rope frayed as it rubbed against a jagged rock. Once Loren was through, Asha drew her knife and cut the ragged strands from the rope. She took the two clean ends and tied them together, then pulled sharply, testing the knot.
Three
…
four
…
five
. It was meaningless to count, but Jena did so anyway. As if her words might somehow help pull the others through.
They were six now, backs to stone, rubbing bruises, prodding scrapes, reminding themselves not to waste water on wounds. There was just Kari to come. Already Jena was looking about, testing the air. Which passage were they in? How much longer before they reached the outside?
She peered down the line. As each girl had emerged, Jena had shuffled further away from the opening. The other girls’ headlamps had dimmed almost to nothing and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the gloom. She turned to Asha. “Is Kari through yet?”
Asha leaned away towards the others. Someone spoke, their voice muffled and blurry. Asha turned back to Jena. “She’s coming. She’s just–”
A cry echoed through the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. It sounded eerie, distorted, but the voice was unmistakable.
Kari.
“What’s happening?” Jena asked.
“I need more light.” Calla’s voice was quiet but steady.
“Here.” Jena removed her own headlamp and passed it to Asha. She watched it move down the line to where Calla sat, bent almost double beneath the low stone roof. Calla shone the light into the opening and Kari blinked as the glow hit her face. She was halfway through the opening, her torso flat to the floor of the tunnel, arms straining forwards, fingers grasping. Her face was a sickly white.
“Jena.” There was a deadening flatness in her voice. “I … I’m stuck.”
“No, you’re not. It’s tight; that’s all. Work the angles.”
“I did. I have been.” Kari’s reply was clipped.
Kari knew as well as anyone what to do, how to turn and twist, to make herself small and fluid. But the others had come through. She must have missed something. It was like this sometimes – there was one precise passage and only one. You just had to find it, work yourself into it a certain way.
“One with the rock,” Jena said. “Flatten and pull.”
“I
know
!” Kari’s voice cracked into a gulping sob.
Dread coiled inside Jena. This was the beginning of panic. She had seen it before – had watched it grow from a moment’s weakness and then spiral on and on, feeding on itself until it was beyond any control.
Kari twisted, groaning, every movement laboured, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I
can’t
, Jena.” There was a new note in her voice, the sense of something rising to a point at which it must surely break.
Across the gloom of the tunnel, Jena’s eyes met Calla’s. She held her gaze until the other girl nodded, a sudden set to her jaw. Calla
Remember
, she scolded herself. What did she tell the others in training?
Trust the space.
Find a finger space and the hand will follow. And after that the arm. Ease yourself in. Ease yourself out. She edged forwards. Breath held, ribs contracted. Head. Shoulders. Rock cut through the rough material of her shirt. Skin scraped and bled.
Hips. There was a moment, then; fear knotted inside her, tight as a fist.
Something caught, then released. Legs followed arms. Lungs exhaled.
She was through.
She inched into the space, pulling up some slack in the rope, and then turned to look behind her. As her headlamp illuminated the gap through which she had come, she drew a sharp breath.
It was the narrowest opening, a bare sliver of space between two rocks. But this was what they trained for. She had passed through it and the others would too.
“Come on,” she urged. “It’s fine.”
Breath caught in throats. Stone etched itself into flesh. Between Asha and Loren the rope frayed as it rubbed against a jagged rock. Once Loren was through, Asha drew her knife and cut the ragged strands from the rope. She took the two clean ends and tied them together, then pulled sharply, testing the knot.
Three
…
four
…
five
. It was meaningless to count, but Jena did so anyway. As if her words might somehow help pull the others through.
They were six now, backs to stone, rubbing bruises, prodding scrapes, reminding themselves not to waste water on wounds. There was just Kari to come. Already Jena was looking about, testing the air. Which passage were they in? How much longer before they reached the outside?
She peered down the line. As each girl had emerged, Jena had shuffled further away from the opening. The other girls’ headlamps had dimmed almost to nothing and she could only make out indistinct shapes in the gloom. She turned to Asha. “Is Kari through yet?”
Asha leaned away towards the others. Someone spoke, their voice muffled and blurry. Asha turned back to Jena. “She’s coming. She’s just–”
A cry echoed through the tunnel, ricocheting off the walls. It sounded eerie, distorted, but the voice was unmistakable.
Kari.
“What’s happening?” Jena asked.
“I need more light.” Calla’s voice was quiet but steady.
“Here.” Jena removed her own headlamp and passed it to Asha. She watched it move down the line to where Calla sat, bent almost double beneath the low stone roof. Calla shone the light into the opening and Kari blinked as the glow hit her face. She was halfway through the opening, her torso flat to the floor of the tunnel, arms straining forwards, fingers grasping. Her face was a sickly white.
“Jena.” There was a deadening flatness in her voice. “I … I’m stuck.”
“No, you’re not. It’s tight; that’s all. Work the angles.”
“I did. I have been.” Kari’s reply was clipped.
Kari knew as well as anyone what to do, how to turn and twist, to make herself small and fluid. But the others had come through. She must have missed something. It was like this sometimes – there was one precise passage and only one. You just had to find it, work yourself into it a certain way.
“One with the rock,” Jena said. “Flatten and pull.”
“I
know
!” Kari’s voice cracked into a gulping sob.
Dread coiled inside Jena. This was the beginning of panic. She had seen it before – had watched it grow from a moment’s weakness and then spiral on and on, feeding on itself until it was beyond any control.
Kari twisted, groaning, every movement laboured, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I
can’t
, Jena.” There was a new note in her voice, the sense of something rising to a point at which it must surely break.
Across the gloom of the tunnel, Jena’s eyes met Calla’s. She held her gaze until the other girl nodded, a sudden set to her jaw. Calla
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