Green Mountain Academy, page 12
“What about Diamond?”
Danny looked over at Diamond, who seemed to be sleeping, then back to me. I could see she was torn.
“Let’s make sure she’s warm before we leave her.”
We leaned into the fire, each of us lost in the thoughts that couldn’t be shared. Then Danny said, “If we don’t find him…Or if…”
She trailed off, and I knew that each of us was not just thinking of John-Lee.
chapter seventeen
It was harder to find the entrance to the cave than I expected. Snow had transformed the familiar shapes of boulders and fallen trees. So many cracks and crevices, some bottomless, hid in the rocks that we had to inch along, feeling our way as the storm tore at us and made it hard to breathe.
We finally found it by recognizing the tree we used for an anchor.
“Look! Here it is,” Danny shouted. “The opening will be right there.” Her light lit up the protective canvas cuff we’d fastened to the tree so we wouldn’t damage it with our rope. Then Danny dug in the snow and pulled out the garbage bag with our rope in it. The rope was stiff with cold as we unraveled it.
I made my way to the opening. A depression in the snow warned me before I got too close to the edge. With a branch, I swept it clear as Danny tied the rope around the tree trunk with a bowline knot backed up by a single fisherman’s. We didn’t usually go down into the caves this way. Usually, we crawled through the openings and only used this as a way to get out if we needed it.
This wasn’t the safest method of rappelling. But it was fast. We didn’t have climbing gear or even a long enough rope to reach the bottom. I’d have to get as close to the bottom as I could, then drop. And I’d have to be careful not to bash myself against the rock wall as I did.
Earlier—it was yesterday now—I’d crawled through a series of low, dark and wet tunnels to end up at the rockface I’d been trying to climb. I was pretty sure John-Lee was somewhere in those caves; I’d heard the moaning coming from that direction. But trying to crawl through those tunnels now would waste time and what little energy I had left.
Standing beside me, Danny put her weight on the rope to test its strength. Then I tied butterfly knots in the middle of it and tossed it down the hole. The butterfly knots made stirrups that I could use for foot and handholds, but they also made the rope shorter.
I looked up at the sky. So did Danny. No sign of the storm letting up. The wind sent snow hissing across the rocks. If anything, the gusts had strengthened. Danny’s hair whipped her cheeks and we both struggled to stay on our feet.
“Are you sure about this?” she shouted.
“Not really,” I shouted back.
She laughed, her eyes twinkling. She knew me well enough to know that wouldn’t change my mind.
“Keep an eye on Diamond,” I reminded her. We looked in that direction, but it was a total whiteout. We could barely see three feet in front of us.
“That’s my job,” she said. “This is yours.”
The first few steps were the hardest—getting over the edge. I lay on my stomach and wrapped the rope around my arms, then I let my feet dangle and find the rockface. Once they did, I leaned back with my weight on the rope. I thought of what Dad used to say: Trust the tools. He said that if you were careful enough to choose the right tool for the job, then you had to trust the decision you’d made. There was no point in being half-hearted about it. Trust the tools. I would try.
I moved carefully, lowering myself from loop to loop. I had my headlamp, but it didn’t help me see the footholds. I had to go by feel. Danny peered over the edge, watching my progress.
When I reached the limit of the rope, I pushed off the rock with my feet and let myself drop, landing shin-deep in fluffy snow. I brushed myself off and looked around.
Everything looked different down here too now. Snow had sifted through the cracks in the rocks and left white shapes draped like cobwebs in the cave. I guided myself to the far end of the loaf-shaped cave where I’d heard the moans coming from earlier. But only the wind whistled and squawked through the gaps and crevices now. What if I was wrong? What if it hadn’t been John-Lee I’d heard at all? What if it had been something else?
“Francie?” Danny’s shout pulled my mind back from the scary edge it was creeping toward.
“I’m okay!” I shouted back. “Heading out to the next cave.”
“What?”
I made my way back to the rope. Danny’s headlamp almost blinded me.
“We need signals,” Danny said. “Two quick flashes of light mean you’re okay. Three mean trouble.”
“But I might not be able to shine it somewhere you can see.”
“Use your whistle then. Blow loud.”
“Okay. I’m heading out.”
I don’t know if Danny could feel the hesitation that I felt.
I shifted my backpack and took a step. I had to admit it—
I was scared.
“Francie!” Danny shouted again.
I turned to see her face like moonlight at the rock opening. “Be careful.”
“I thought I’d—” But my mouth had gone dry and I couldn’t finish the joke.
I tried not to think about the fact that I was in the middle of a snowstorm, heading into a labyrinth of boulders toward a strange low moaning sound that might or might not be human.
* * *
The opening into the next cave was easy enough to squeeze through. I’d done it many times, from the other direction. I crawled on my hands and knees then shoved myself up over a lip of rock and I was in. But without the friendly wink of sunlight through the cracks, I had that same sense of doubt that I knew this place.
My headlamp lit up snow dusting down through the openings, but the corners remained in shadow. I looked for something I recognized—that ledge; that was where I’d imagined putting a candle if I ever had to spend the night in here—wasn’t it? I should try to remember that feeling, a tingle of anticipation. The smooth rock shelf was covered by a couple inches of snow and I couldn’t be sure.
“Francie?” Danny’s voice came, fainter now.
“I’m okay!” I shouted back.
“Francie?”
Already she couldn’t hear me. I fished out my whistle and blasted it twice.
A few seconds later I heard something else—a faint cry like a bird. Maybe an animal. What were the chances of some animal hibernating in among these rocks? Bears, for instance. Or even skunks. Cougars don’t hibernate, but they like to sleep in protected places like these caves. Coyotes and wolves might even build their dens in here.
“I hear you!” came Danny’s voice.
Then a squawk, almost a hiccup, soft, muffled. Was it human? I moved toward the sound. How close? My stomach churned, telling me to turn back. I stuck my head through the next opening and listened in the dark hollow space. Haunting moans swirled and echoed. The smell of mud and cold and musty corners that had never seen daylight filled my nostrils.
I forced myself forward on elbows and knees, flattening my body even more as I inched into the next cave. It was smaller than I remembered. I could barely sit up, my head touching the damp stone. I blew the whistle twice, loud, and listened.
No answering whistle. Just the angry hiss of the storm flinging itself in fits against the earth. I doubted whether I could hear anything with the storm drowning out everything. Then the squawk—faint, but distinct—echoed against the rock walls.
It was not an animal, I was sure of it now. It was human and I was getting closer.
chapter eighteen
I hadn’t wanted to admit it. I told myself the storm was the reason I couldn’t hear Danny’s answering whistle. But the cave I found myself in after squeezing through narrower and narrower openings now confirmed the doubt that had been blossoming slowly in my gut.
I was no longer in the caves I knew. I’d followed the squawk, toward what had to be John-Lee. But where I was now, I couldn’t say for sure.
Three other realizations hit me, one after the other: I was cold, I was hungry and I was tired. In spite of the protection from the storm that the caves offered, wind found its way through some openings and sent drafts of icy air and snow shivering down my neck.
Water trickled from the rocks and had pooled in the cold mud. The knees of my pants were soaked and my eyes felt like they’d been scrubbed with a toothbrush. It was the middle of the night and I shouldn’t be awake, let alone out in a whiteout storm, crawling underground in a labyrinth of sasquatch caves.
I took out my water and squirted out a mouthful. It helped a little. I wanted something hot—oatmeal with brown sugar and apple slices (our usual breakfast weekdays at school) or scrambled eggs and toast, our weekend breakfast. Last Saturday, Meredith made a frittata with tomato slices, mushrooms and bubbly cheese melted on it. But nothing could beat Dad’s homemade hash browns that he only made at Christmas and Thanksgiving and that took him a couple of hours. Crispy and spiced with the garlic and rosemary and parsley that Mom grew in her garden on the south side of the house. The rosemary and parsley both survived all through the winter, which Mom said was because they were in a little microclimate, protected from the cold by our house on one side catching the warmth of the sun, even in winter. How I wanted that warmth now.
While I’d been daydreaming, I’d lost the feeling in my butt. I needed to keep moving, and the only thing that made sense now was to keep going toward the moans and cries that I hoped were John-Lee.
But another fear stopped me. What if I couldn’t find my way out? If I was no longer in the caves I knew, then it was quite possible, maybe even likely, that there was no exit at the end of this passage. Even if I did find John-Lee, I might only have succeeded in getting lost along with him. And if a search and rescue crew had to look for both of us, I could be the one responsible for ruining Green Mountain Academy for good.
No one would want to send their daughters to a school where a girl could sneak out in a snowstorm in the middle of the night and get trapped underground in a network of caves. I worried that I’d done the wrong thing for the wrong reason. Heading out alone in a snowstorm had been reckless—it went against everything we’d been taught. But also, in my heart I knew that what made me take that step into the cold night was not as selfless as it seemed at first. Yes, I thought there were people who needed help. But really—if I was honest with myself—it was about making myself feel better, too. I was trying to make up for what I hadn’t done to help Dad. I wanted to prove something to myself.
“Danny!” I yelled. I blew all my frustration into two piercing whistle blasts. I pushed myself onto my haunches and waited. An earthy, animal odor wafted up from beneath me. I felt a sudden need for fresh air, open space, and sun on my hair.
Music—the sound of a radio, or a phone—jingled spookily from somewhere nearby in the caves. It had not occurred to me until now that each time I blew my whistle, I was getting an answer. John-Lee was signaling me. And I was close.
I could almost recognize the song. Something Mom and Dad liked. A memory flashed into my head—a dusty road, sunshine and open windows, Mom driving, her hands pounding the steering wheel and she and Dad both singing as loud as they could. Phoebe and me in the back seat rolling our eyes and covering our ears. “Don’t Stop Believin’,” that was it.
With a quick inhale, I scrambled through the next opening.
The lyrics rang out clearly and I saw, at the far end of a long, narrow cave, the lit-up rectangle of a phone screen and, beside it, a huddled figure on the ground.
The beam from my headlamp landed on him and his head came up. He watched me come closer.
“John-Lee?” I called softly.
I stood in front of him, careful not to blind him with the light. He stared, not believing what he was seeing, shook his head a little, and stared some more.
“Are you John-Lee?”
“Did you fall out of a plane, too?”
“My name is Francie. I’m here to help.”
“Am I dreaming?”
“No, I’m here to help you. My name is Francie.” I said it again because he seemed so confused.
“But you’re—Are you—? Girl, how old are you?”
“I’m thirteen.”
“And I weigh a hundred and eighty pounds. How are you going to help me?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet,” I admitted.
He laughed a little.
“You’ve got to admit it’s funny,” he said, when I didn’t laugh with him. “I fell from the sky. Miraculously, I survived that. Then I landed up in this hole, this—whatever this is, some kind of cavern? And then you materialize from the dark—a girl, and no offense, but a pretty small one at that.”
I felt my temper flare. “And the award for pointing out the obvious goes to…,” I said, before I could stop myself.
Mom says my temper flares are a redhead thing, but I’d say this had more to do with the fact that I hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, I’d risked my life for this guy, I was hungry and cold, and he was insulting me.
He looked like he would laugh again, but he stopped himself. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m all you have right now,” I said, deliberately making my voice calmer. “I’m here and nobody else is.”
“True. True,” he said, and as he moved his left arm, he winced in pain. It was bent back at a weird angle and was obviously broken. “But could you tell me this one thing? Where did you come from? I have to be sure I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming. I found your sister, Diamond, first.”
“Diamond? Is she okay?”
“She’s waiting for you in the woods. She’s okay for now.”
“And Rico?”
“Who’s Rico?”
“Rico’s the pilot.”
I hesitated. “I…I don’t know about Rico,” I lied. I figured now would not be the time to tell him the bad news. “I heard about your plane disappearing. It was on the radio. I had a feeling I knew where you might be. So I came looking.”
“You’re some kind of clairvoyant, a psychic or something? This gets weirder and weirder. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? But I can’t wake up.” He groaned again as he tried to shake his head.
“No, nothing like that. I live in the woods not far from here. I…” There was too much to explain. And suddenly I was so tired I didn’t feel like I could say another word or take another step. I threw down my backpack and sat beside him.
“Could we just focus on what to do next?” I said in a weary whisper.
“Smart. Yes. You’re smart.” He shifted gingerly and let out another grunt of pain he tried to cover.
“You’ve broken something,” I said.
“My left arm, my right leg and some ribs, I think.”
“Okay. I’m pretty sure I’m lost. I kept following the sounds you were making and I got turned around.”
“But you’re here. What did you say your name was again?”
“Francie.”
“Francie, thank you for coming. I’m so glad to see you. You can’t even believe how glad I am.”
“But you would have been gladder if I was a one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man.”
“We got off on the wrong foot. I’m not feeling quite one hundred percent. I’m not myself just now.”
“Well, neither am I,” I admitted.
“But you found me. You wanted to help me. That’s pretty amazing.”
I sniffed and didn’t answer. I was trying to get my temper out of the way so I could think.
“How did you get here?” I said suddenly.
“I fell. Give me your light.”
I handed it to him and he shone it overhead on a crack I hadn’t noticed. Even with the light on it, it was hard to tell that it was an opening to the outside. The rocks were angled in such a way that they made a little slide.
“After the crash, I was crawling through the woods and the next thing I knew I woke up here. I’m not sure what I broke in the crash and what I broke falling. I guess I was unconscious for a while.”
I stood up and reached for the opening. It was only about eight feet from the ground, so close, but just far enough that neither of us could reach it.
I remembered that I had water and trail mix and chocolate. I pulled them out of my backpack and handed them to John-Lee.
“I’m going to make some tea.”
“What? No way. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been craving a cup of hot tea.”
“You need to hold your arm still. Hold it close to your body like this.” I gently guided his arm.
“Uhhh!” he moaned, sounding very much like what I thought a sasquatch would sound like.
“I know it hurts.” I helped him tuck it inside his jacket so it was immobilized. “Take some deep breaths.”
I took out the little one-burner and set it up. The stove was smaller than a can of tuna and had legs that folded out to steady it. The fuel canister that it screwed into was about half the size of a roll of toilet paper and nearly as light.
“You know what you’re doing,” he said. I couldn’t help but smile a little.
“You have the chocolate,” he said, handing it back to me.
“No, it’s for you.”
“Francie, put your own mask on first.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s what they say at takeoff on airplanes. If the oxygen masks drop, you’re supposed to put your own on before you help someone else with theirs. It means you’re my rescuer and you need to take care of yourself if you’re going to help me.”
