The air hadn’t always been that way. This was certain. When they’d first arrived, it was only slightly off from the outside mixture.
The heat!
That was absolutely it. Raising the cave temp had activated the worms. She’d even said it. She’d said it and never looked back. But had she inadvertently poisoned the air by killing all the worms? Like carbon from deforestation? She switched to therm and moved her head through a full scan of the floor, walls, and ceiling. All appeared clear until red streaked across her optic as she glanced past the smaller subcavern. She looked back and walked toward it.
Indeed, speckling the subcavern’s walls, floor, and ceiling, plus entirely coating the half-barricaded tunnel, there were thousands of the things. In therm, it looked like someone had lit up the place with red holiday lights.
Minnie rushed back to the campsite and began shoving their gear into the backpacks. Food, clothes, SSKs, weapons. She needed to carry it all in one trip out. And that’d be the easy part. Getting John into his suit and helmet, dragging him across the cave, out through the underwater tunnel, and then somehow up and out the sinkhole—probably still unconscious the entire time—it all might pose a small challenge.
An abrupt scritch. Again, longer. Nausea. Neck pain, legs sore, side burning, jaw… so much burning. Hunger. Dry mouth. Unable to swallow.
Strangely, among all the new pain, the pressure behind John’s fone was still relentless. He wanted to rip it from his face, but needed it to keep contact with Minnie. Minerva.
Scriiiitch!
The sound pierced his helmet and he suddenly sensed his orientation: upside down and buried beneath something.
His body lurched reflexively when his boot knock something that wasn’t a wall. He woke up his fone to see where he was. Low power alert from his suit. Everything felt wrong. Something pushed his feet again and his helmet scratched once more against coarse rock. He was in the water tunnel. How had she gotten him into the tunnel? What was the last thing he remembered? Hadn’t he taken off his suit at some point?
JOHN: What’s happening?
MINNIE: Hey! Good morning! Just sit tight, okay?
Assigning inflections to text was generally ill-advised, but her M looked downright chipper.
Light appeared at the end of the tunnel. Apparently daytime outside. He used his hands to guide his body through the tunnel and keep himself from banging up against anything. His arms felt tender and weak, as if they’d been punched all over a thousand times. An unseen Minerva continued to push him forward from behind.
MINNIE: Almost there! You still doing OK?
JOHN: For the most part. Care to share the plan/situation here?
She shoved him out of the tube and into the wide pool of green-hued water. He tried to right his body into a proper feet-down orientation, but the attempt only served to reemphasize the uselessness of his muscles and to light up sore spots on his legs, side, neck, and chest. Minerva appeared before him, took hold of his shoulders with her hands, and used her legs to set him upright. Facing helmet to helmet, he saw her grinning face. He watched as her eyes skittered about—movements indicative of typing. A few seconds later, he received the M.
MINNIE: I was going to tie your limp body to the rope and then lift you out. Now, same plan, but with you awake you’re much less likely to be damaged in the process.
She followed up with a winky face emoji. The only emoji Minerva had ever sent him in the past decade was that of sarcastic slow-clapping hands. He’d long since forgotten what it had been for, but he still remembered those hands, and he remembered the sour mug on Minerva’s face when he’d looked at her to inquire. She’d been seriously pissed. While surprised and perplexed by her current friendly nature, he didn’t want to do or say anything that would cause it to stop, if at all possible. And knowing himself (and her), it’d only take a single M.
One of her hands moved to the grip on his chest and she began to swim upward, dragging him behind her to the blinding light above.
JOHN: How are you going to lift my weight? I don’t think I can contribute much.
MINNIE: The skimmer.
Both of their helmets breeched the surface, water sheeting down their visors as fog formed at the edges. Minerva reached back and produced the soggy end of their rope.
He’d tried to get out before, but failed. His arms had been too weak. Much stronger then than now, but he just couldn’t heft himself up.
JOHN: You found the EV.
He watched her face change an instant later when she received the M. She frowned and shook her head.
MINNIE: We apparently have a lot of catching up to do. For now, know that I found EV5 but no Ish, we have comms but no messages, we have an op skimmer, and that we almost died. Several times.
JOHN: I look forward to elaboration. What happens after you lift me out of here?
She began tying gear bags to his waist, followed by the end of the rope around the grip in his chest.
MINNIE: Moving to a safer spot. Mt. Duck Rock. Where Ish was, and might return to if she isn’t already a lump of Hynka feces. I’m not sure which one I’d prefer.
John resisted the urge to scold her for such talk. For the time being. He watched as she tested the strength of her knot. The suit tightened around his shoulders and torso, pinching into his right side, and slapping the area with searing pain. His eyes instantly teared up.
Minerva must have seen him wince and flinch.
MINNIE: I’m so sorry!
MINNIE: You OK?
JOHN: Yeah, just surprised by some sensitivity here.
He pointed to his ribcage.
MINNIE: Yeah, that’s where the worst wound is.
She glanced up toward the light, considering, then faced him once more, stricken.
MINNIE: I don’t know how else I can get you out of here. It’s seriously going to hurt.
JOHN: It’s fine, really. Let’s do it.
He forced a confident smile.
MINNIE: I don’t know. What if you go into shock?
JOHN: Ready when you are.
He saw the rise and fall of a big sigh and she gave him a concerned mother look before turning and grabbing the rope. She climbed it with impressive ease. Their exercise regimen must have worked out nicely. How long had it been since that failed attempt to get out? He glanced at the clock and date in the upper right corner of his fone.
What the hell? Two weeks?
Minerva’s feet disappeared over the top of the sinkhole, her helmeted face reappearing in its place. She flashed an inquiring thumbs up.
MINNIE: Everything still securely attached to you? That’s nearly all of our gear.
He looked down, saw the bags floating gently at his sides. The suit pressed at his neck. More agony.
JOHN: I think we’re good.
She disappeared again and a moment later he watched his side of the rope slacken and drop, gathering around him. The bottom of a skimmer appeared overhead, about 20m above the top of the sinkhole. The other end of the rope was fastened to an anchor loop and slowly rising, straightening into a perfect bar. He stiffened his body just before the first yank.