Dinosaur Lake (31 page)

“Well, he was a man in 1925 who’d decided to explore this cave on his property. Don’t know what they called it back then, but today it’s called Kentucky’s Onyx Cave. He got trapped in a tight corkscrew fissure so tightly locked in that he couldn’t, for the life of him, get out. Sometimes it happens that way. Spelunking can be dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. You should never do it alone, I say. After a few days missing, his brother went looking for him, suspecting he’d gone down in the cave. Floyd was always exploring them. His brother found him, but couldn’t get him out. The crevice was too narrow and too deep. The man’s body, too tightly compressed, had swollen. He was wedged in that fissure for eighteen days as they tried to free him.

“People flocked to the place, like it was a circus, to wait, pray, and socialize while they tried to dig the poor man out. You have to remember there wasn’t any television back in those days and this was a big deal. But, no matter what they did, they couldn’t free him. The rock was too hard. They fought to keep him alive. Talked to him. Fed him. It was January, bitterly cold. And, though, they tried to keep him warm, they couldn’t. The rocks holding him were like ice, and he was caught so tightly between them they couldn’t even get a blanket around him.

“He died a horrible death. When he was dead they finally retrieved the body by cutting it into pieces.”

“Oh, my,” Justin moaned. “That’s terrible.”

“Cheery story to recount while cave exploring,” Francis cracked, trudging along behind them. Greer was at the front, Justin behind him. Then Francis. Henry at the back. Henry had thought it best to put the two greenhorns in the middle.

“Oh, there’s more,” Greer went on happily. The man was becoming quite the clown of the troupe. As if by leaving his stuffy briefcase and suit behind he’d liberated the true Dylan Greer. “There’s the well-known story of Lost John. Well, that wasn’t his real name, no one knows his real name. That was the name given to the skeletal remains found pinned under a six ton boulder in Mammoth Cave.”

“Sheesh,” Justin exhaled, shuddering under his heavy backpack.

“So you see, people are hurt, lost, or die in caves all the time,
if they don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Thanks, mother.” Henry laughed. “We’re so glad we have you along then. Heck, you’re not only entertaining us with you heartfelt tales of past cavers, you’ve warned us what to expect and even how to dress for caving. What would we have done without you?”

“A lot worse, I daresay,” Greer said. “You’re all newbies compared to me when it comes to exploring caves. Now let me tell you about this one cave I spent a week lost in
–
” And off he went on another cautionary tale, everyone groaning aloud.

Well, Henry mused, the guy was still as smug as ever. That hadn’t changed.

Like most Lava Tubes, the walls had long ago been carved out of the rock by exploding lava, and were jagged and sharp, hard on clothes and human skin alike. Greer had advised them the night before to wear extra rugged clothing. He’d provided the special knee pads, gloves, and boots they were using, having taken their sizes and actually having one of the other rangers run him into town late the night before to purchase everything, as well as the tents and other supplies they’d be using on their journey.

Henry had been impressed by Greer foresightedness and touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Don’t be too grateful, Chief Ranger,” Greer had cracked, when he’d shown Henry the booty. “I put it all on your tab.”

He’d brought back unbreakable flashlights, lifeline ropes to connect the four of them together for when they’d have to climb or descend, a sturdy inflatable raft in case they encountered a body of water, and caving helmets with carbide lamps attached to the front.

“Carbide is a gas and its light’s a brilliant white, better than regular flashlights, though flashlights are an adequate back-up.” Greer had wanted them prepared for anything.

Henry couldn’t get used to Francis in a helmet instead of his cowboy hat. It’d protect his head good enough from falling rocks, but didn’t go with the ponytail as well.

The four made a motley crew. Francis, a wiry old man, with as much spunk as a man twenty years younger. Greer, strange looking in marine fatigues instead of his usual meticulous suit and fancy watch. No notebook. Justin was in faded jeans and a plaid shirt, long stringy blond hair and those golden wire glasses of his. He hated the helmet he had to wear, said it was too clumsy, hot and uncomfortable. Henry sported worn hunting clothes and a three-day beard on his solemn face. The cover-everything clothing made the heat more intolerable, but it kept their skin from being scratched from the sharp protruding rocks.

Greer led the men through the tunnel, one of the grenade launchers on his back hanging from its straps; talking a blue streak in a low voice, which was also unlike him. But then, some men reacted differently to stress.

Henry, in the rear, lugged the other rocket launcher. Justin, besides his backpack, carried a compressed bundle that was the raft. Francis, as the old man of the group, toted the first aid kit, the firecrackers, and Justin’s boom box.

Every man carried generous canteens of water. In a cave a person dehydrated quickly, and in an environment sometimes heated with steaming lava, even quicker.

The four of them explored. Two very tall men and two short with drawn faces and glittering, wary eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about if and when we have to use the RPG-7’s.” Henry moved ahead of Justin and Francis and broached the subject to Greer. “We’d better be sure we hit what we aim at, don’t you think?”

“Don’t see any problem with that. If I can’t aim and hit something that big with this rocket, I’m a sorry hunter indeed.” But, for the first time, Henry caught a flicker of doubt cross the other man’s face as he glanced over his shoulder at him.

For Greer knew as well as Henry that it was possible to miss anything.

It was suddenly hot as blazes. Henry fell back to the rear of the group as they entered another cavern. Sweating, he felt it trickle down his back under his shirt.

“Heat’s not too bad,” Greer pronounced when they’d first exited the submersible, yet he was sweating now, too. “About eight-five degrees, I’d guess, right now in this cavern. Warming up, though. We can take it. As long as we remember to keep drinking water.” He’d grinned in the glow radiating from his helmet, the gray of his long hair glinting in the light.

The next section they marched into was considerably hotter. The one after that, a little cooler. And that was the way it was. Some parts of the cave were almost unbearably hot, while others were normal, or even cool.

“This is one of the most breathtaking caves I’ve ever seen,” Henry admitted a short while later. “The limestone caves I’ve explored can’t hold a candle to this. It’s huge.”

“Ah, breathtaking, but hazardous to people,” Greer responded. For the rock they were treading on was wet and slippery, the fog pesky as it further hindered their progress. Even with the bright headlights, they had to watch every step or they’d end up sliding down into a black pit or a lava stream.

They had to look out for Justin. Though he kept swearing his banged up ribs weren’t bothering him, it was easy to see they were. Henry had been a lot luckier, his sore muscles and bruises from the jeep accident had faded away in the time since. Yet soon after their trek through the cave had begun, he realized they shouldn’t have let Justin come along. His ribs hadn’t healed enough. But it was too late to turn back so they’d have to make the best of it. Under the guise of needed rest breaks for all of them, they halted often; stayed close together.

They couldn’t become separated, no matter what.

Carefully working their way down the winding maze of stone capillaries and veins, it looked like it’d go on forever. Down, down, down. They used the ropes when they had to, to lower themselves to a ledge, or get up to another entrance. And as they descended further into the narrow twisting tunnels, they left a trail of red phosphorescent ribbon to mark their passage so they could find their way back later. Another one of Greer’s excellent suggestions.

The heat was one of their worst enemies, sapping their strength. When the group came to pools or streams of churning lava, which was often, the temperatures soared. They walked guardedly on tip-toe across passages of what appeared to be thin crusts covering cooled lava and they burrowed through small connection tunnels dragging their packs and supplies behind them. They splashed through shallow lakes of water for hours and hours.

Finding no creature or even a sign of its passing.

The blackish walls and rock they moved past and across were sometimes unstable, and crumbly, and they took extra care to avoid brushing the ceilings or disturbing talus, an accumulation of rock debris. The mineral formations, stark white blooms of gypsum and Celestine, as they worked their way deeper into the cave, were delicate and it wouldn’t have taken much to bring them down on their heads.

“Careful here,” Greer would say. “No. Come this way. That ground won’t hold your weight there.”

Then there was the heart-squeezing fear that at any moment they’d come face to face with what they were seeking and that made every discomfort worse.

But they kept moving.

They walked in single file at times, peeking into dark corners and back tracking when they had to. Their conversation died as the going got rougher. They didn’t stop to eat for a long time. If they were hungry they pulled snacks, candy bars, granola bars, or dried fruit, from their pockets and gnawed at them as they walked.

They overhanded across cliffs with the aid of the climbing ropes, waded through chest deep water and climbed endlessly, helping Justin when his injury acted up. As intense as their journey was, they still marveled over the flow stones created by centuries of coursing water, and at the left-behind and wedged lava balls, remnants of the lava flow that had once surged through, which plugged many of the corridors and made them almost and sometimes impassable. There were places they could barely squirm under, or climb above, but they managed somehow. Everyone was soon exhausted from the extreme exercise.

In the silence their hearts were as loud as drums. Henry knew they were all running scared. They’d seen the creature and what it could do to a human. Yet they couldn’t give up and forged on.

Until their bodies told them in no uncertain terms it was time to rest.

“In caves there’s no such thing as time,” Greer said. “No days. No nights. It’s dark all the time. Unchanging. It’s easy to forget time completely. But the body still needs sustenance and sleep. To remain sane and healthy, we must continue to follow the outside world’s time table. So it’s time to pitch camp and get some real food in our bellies and some sleep while we can.”

“Wise words, friend,” Henry seconded. “Let’s do it.”

Tired and filthy, they set up camp that first night in a cool chamber. With sparse conversation, they ate their army MRE’s (Meals Ready to Eat) hungrily. The meals were compact and, thus, had been easy to carry with their limited space; another one of Greer’s ideas. Wrapped into a tiny bundle of dark brown plastic, all of it looked worse than it tasted. Justin had diced turkey with gravy, Henry had chicken a-la-king, Greer had beef stew, and Francis had meatballs with barbecue sauce. All of them had added entrees of dehydrated fruit, beverage powder for a cold and hot drink, a dessert, unsalted crackers and a cheese or peanut butter spread.

Justin had never eaten MRE’s before. In the beginning, as he unwrapped his dinner, he made faces, then after the food had entered his mouth, he declared with surprise, “Other than my hunk of maple nut cake resembling a smashed heel of wheat bread, it isn’t that bad. In fact, it’s pretty good.”

“That’s because you’re starving.” Francis laughed.

“Well, the pears were good, even for a MRE,” Greer concurred. “They’ve improved them considerably since I was in the service, I can tell you that. But,” he handed a small package to Justin, “I’ve had enough peanut butter and crackers to last me a life time. Here, you want them?”

Justin did. They, too, were gone in seconds.

“There’s no vegetables,” Francis pointed out.

“Sorry,” Greer muttered. “Maybe the next batch will have them.”

They slept in their army sleeping bags. Nearby, a lantern was turned down low for light, and they took turns at guard duty through the eight hours. They couldn’t take the chance of being unprepared if the creature showed up.

The following morning they resumed their search, tracing the dank tunnels through the earth. Still they found nothing. No tracks, no fossils, no human remains or animal leavings.

“What if it’s not in the lake or the caves anymore at all,” Justin worried out loud, “but out in the park, or, worse, in a town somewhere, wreaking havoc?”

“We can only do what we can do, one possible hiding place at a time.” Henry’s lips were drawn into a tight line. “We’re only four. We’re only men.”

He locked eyes with Justin. “We continue on until we’re sure it isn’t in the cave. If we don’t see evidence it’s been here within the last couple of days, we’ll consider returning to the lake and looking somewhere else. We can even sub through the water and see if we can’t get the thing to come out after us.”

“Ah, we’ll be bait, huh?” Justin didn’t seem happy with that proposal.