Starry Eyes(55)

“Okay,” I say, feeling cool air emanating from the darkness inside. It’s like natural air-conditioning. Feels nice. “What’s the catch? Is there a cave troll we have to conquer?”

“This isn’t Moria, Zorie. We aren’t crossing the Misty Mountains.”

“Evil armies of miner dwarves?”

“You mean orcs. The dwarves weren’t evil. Did we not do an annual Christmas viewing of The Lord of the Rings trilogy during Sunday dinners every December?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“You loved them.”

I did. “Okay, Gandalf. What’s the catch about this cave?”

“No Balrog to fight. No catch. That I know of. I mean, I’ve never been inside this cave.”

“But you’ve been in others, right?”

“Just the Melita Hills Caverns and Zip Lines,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.

“On that school field trip?”

“When Barry Smith vomited on the bus after the zip lines.”

“Those are the only caves I’ve been inside too,” I say, alarmed. And it was basically just an excuse for them to build a gift shop and charge everyone a million dollars for Cokes. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“We’ll be fine,” he assures me. “The book says the tricky part is that the tunnels are all connected. It’s one big maze. There are supposed to be a pair of ropes that lead up to a higher level of tunnels, and that’s what we’re looking for.”

“We’re climbing ropes?” This is gym-class horror all over again.

“No.”

“Oh, thank God,” I mumble.

“The ropes are just our visual landmark. There are several exits, and the one we need to find is near the ropes. It will take us out to the northern side, where there’s a big trail that leads to that valley I told you about.” He slips on his hoodie. “You might want to put a jacket on. It’s going to be chilly inside. And it should take us about an hour to make our way through. Then there’s an easy path down into the valley on the other side, where we can make camp by a creek and have dinner.”

An hour. I can do that. Better than climbing up that rocky path behind us. And at least it’s out of the sun. I should have brought a hat like my mom suggested. I think the part in my hair is sunburned. Pretty sure my cheeks are too. But who’s got a vitamin D deficiency now, huh?

I flick on Reagan’s headlamp as we step into the mouth of the cave. The entrance is a big, round room. Scattered rocks lay in heaps, as well as a couple of empty water bottles and what looks to be a pile of toilet paper. So much for “leave no trace.”

A fat tunnel at the back of the room leads farther into the mountain, and that’s where we head. Once we are inside, sunlight wanes at our backs, and our headlamps become our new sun. It’s much chillier here, and the air smells damp and musty—like rock, I suppose. I never thought about rock having a strong scent. It’s not an unpleasant one, though, and the cool air feels good in my lungs. Clean. Uncomplicated. Much like our path. The tunnel is wide enough for the two of us to walk side by side, and the ceiling is several feet over our heads. Veins of color thread through the rock walls—marble, Lennon guesses—and though the floor is rock, it’s better than walking outside.

“This isn’t so bad,” I say, letting my headlamp bounce around the walls.

“I told you.”

We soon come to another tunnel. Two, actually: one to our left, one to our right. They’re both about the same width as the one in which we walk.

“What now?” I ask.

“You don’t need to whisper, Zorie.”

“Everything echoes in here.”

“Echo, echo, echo,” Lennon says in his deep voice, cupping his hand around his mouth. “If an echo bounces off the walls of a deserted cave in the middle of the woods, does anyone hear it?”

“Are you finished?”

“For now.” Lennon unhooks his black compass from the belt loop of his jeans and flips it open. “We need to head south. Seems like this is the maze part I was telling you about.”

“This isn’t going to be like the hedge maze in The Shining, is it?” I ask.

“God, I hope so. I love that movie,” Lennon says. “Did you know that in the book, there’s an army of topiary animals that come to life?”

“Please don’t talk about that while we’re in the middle of a dark cavern in the middle of the wilderness where no one can come to our rescue,” I say. “And no ghost stories, for the love of Pete. Did your survivalist teacher really tell you that story? Wait. Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I should tell ghost stories for a living,” he says. “That was fun. Until the bear. Well, that was fun too. Until the fight.” The bright beam from his headlight shines in my face. “Too soon?”

I hold up a hand to block the light. “Can you not do that?”

He turns his head away to beam light in front of us. “Sorry.”

“I’m not sad about Brett, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I tell him.

“Good. He’s not worth your tears. Though, for the record, you have terrible taste in guys,” Lennon says, shining his light back to the compass in his hands.