The Underworld - Part 5

I don’t know at what point it was that I noticed the temperature change. It had crept up on me, a realization that the insidious chill had become a visceral heat. Since we had descended (days ago?), I knew in my head that it was cold here – very cold. But adrenaline had kept it from entering my core. Sure, my hands and feet were completely numb, but this was disconnected and didn’t bother me in the least. Slowly, though this chill was replaced with a pleasant enveloping warmth, and then a more oppressive heat. We were still crawling along on our bellies, Rachel in front now, sweating and grinding. We took a few breaks, and it seemed like we were moving upwards again – maybe that was part of the struggle. The tunnel had twisted and turned and if once I had some sense of position, that was completely gone now.

There was a different sound now, too – an insistent low pitch rumble, gradually increasing in volume as we moved forward. It had become loud to the point that I couldn’t hear Rachel’s breathing or voice at all now, and it was only her shaking her muddy boot in my face that I could tell that she was signaling me now to move up. The tunnel was still narrow and low, but there was just enough space for me to drag myself up next to her, if I left my skateboard and pressed my body along hers. Then I could see what had her attention.

I had never seen a dragon before in person, but certainly had seen plenty of drawings and pictures. There was no doubt in my mind that this creature before us was exactly that, breathing fire from its angry maw. Larger than anything I could have imagined, its closest legs were firmly planted to the earth not more than two feet ahead of us. The iron grill of its teeth gaped in a few places, with orange red flames occasionally spitting out in our directions. Two bulbous eyes were suspended like glass fixtures above the cavernous inferno. Hypnotized, we stared into its raging belly - it belched incessant heat at us, and any further progress forward inconceivable.

"Oh, Roy – it’s a dragon," she whispered directly into my ear. I broke my stare and craned my head down to look at her. Tears were streaming from her green eyes, shimmering bright diamonds in the flames. "Did you ever think?"

"No," I whispered back, acutely aware again of the closeness of her flesh and the heat radiating back from her body pressed into mine. "Rachel - it’s amazing."

"Roy, my Roy," her eyes came back to me and fixed with my own. "I’m so happy I’m with you for this."

The kiss lasted forever – all the repressed emotion and passion, the frustrated desire of years of wanting and love. My head and my heart were swimming, overwhelmed by the insistence of her tongue through my lips. The heat now all consuming – never realized until this moment. Together – truly, finally – Rachel and Roy – never to be separated again. Yet, somehow, painfully - the kiss lasted only a moment. When I opened my eyes from it, she was gone. But I was not alone.

The beast was still there, and the heat that had just been passion was now just suffocating fire. Staring again into gaping jaws, I couldn’t breath and I knew then it was coming for me. Had it already consumed her? Panic consumed me, and I scratched and scraped backwards blindly through the gloom, fully expecting any moment my scrawny body to be engulfed with flames. My torch flew from my hand in my panicked retreat. Panting, I collided with a soft form as I came back to a bend in the corridor.

"Huh?"

"Rachel? Is that you?" Hope and terror simultaneously filled my mind.

"Chad?"

"It’s Roy," the fear was dissipating, though my heart slipped a notch. "It’s me, Rachel."

"Where are we? Roy? I think I fell asleep."

"I don’t know, we’re underground I think. Do you remember?" I hesitated. "There was a dragon."

"Oh God, you’re right, there was a dragon. So fuckin’ hot, I’ve never been that hot in my life. Wait – what’s that noise?"

We sat, listening. She found her flashlight and switched it on. There was still the proximal sound of the dragon’s rumbling breathing and the red glow coming from the direction of its lair. But underlying was another noise – wavering, dancing. Musical. I couldn’t place it, but it sounded like something I once knew. Déjà vu washed over me and I searched my memory to place it – it could be the secret to the way out of this place. It could be the difference in our survival.

"I think it’s music," she ventured. "If there are dragons here, maybe there are elves, too."

"Elves?" Maybe that was what I was trying to remember. The notes were fleeting, always just beyond a definitive grasp.

"Come on – let’s go!" She was already off again, and I had no more opportunity to ruminate. Crawling off down another passage, I struggled back to my knees to follow. I thought we had wheels before, something to make it easier to move down here. I couldn’t place it though and Rachel was already out of sight, with the blackness consuming me again, alone.

"Wait! I can’t see!" I followed as fast as I could but quickly reached a tight intersection of what felt like three crawlways, without a clue as to which way she had gone. It was a little cooler here now, and I listened again. Music – squeaking, halting – beckoned from the right. Without real consideration, I rushed forward on my knees with my hands extended in front of me, hoping against another fall or monster in the pitch.

After a few minutes, the music was clearer and voices were discernible, even laughter? I caught a flickering of light in front of me and hurried toward it. Another larger cavern opened in front of me and my blindness gave way to splashes of color from the walls.

Elves – dancing elves – could it be? A green haired form spun by me, whistling notes from a pipe clutched in its hands. And there she was – my Rachel – laughing, radiant, shimmering – dancing with it. Arms around its waist, spinning away and back in an awkward cadence to the haunting notes. Initially transfixed, I didn’t feel the presence of the darker form next to me, until its clammy hand gripped my neck. The troll’s black face loomed not two inches before me, the sour smell of whiskey on its breath. A scream escaped my lips and I struggled backwards, flailing my arms to push it away.

"Roy, Roy – what’s wrong?" a voice I knew, didn’t sound like a troll’s. "It’s me, Eddie. Man, dude – you’re trippin’."

Hold on to it, hold on to it. My sanity – it’s still there, I think – don’t let go. I struggled - revulsion and confusion slowly and deliberately replaced with recognition, orientation. Under the school, we crawled under the school – weeks ago, maybe. But we’re in Spring Lake, Michigan. This creature is Eddie, not some fuckin’ Lord of the Rings creation that’s trying to kill me. But the music – the elves, there were still dancing, but that thing looked a little more like something I knew. Crazy green hair, and maybe not a flute – maybe a harmonica. Around us on the walls were painted scenes of adventure: depicting noble young knights and a red haired maiden exploring the depths of the underworld, doing battle with monsters and plundering a dragon’s treasure. Yet, déjà vu also hit me looking at these images.

The spinning figures collapsed in a heap in the middle of the room, breathless. The elf called out to me.

"Roy boy – good of you to make it. We’re under the art room! I hoisted some supplies and brought them back down so we could leave a detailed account of our exploration for future generations of Lakers! Yo – Eddie, toss Roy the bottle – he looks a little parched."

Chad, of course it was him. There are no such things as elves, right? Part of me wanted him so much to be an elf – why I’m not sure. But in my gut something turned over, and wished that he would be a mythical fleeting creature and not this old friend of mine who I was now so angry and resentful at. Rachel was lying against his supine chest, panting and I had to turn away.

"Here man," Eddie thrust a brown pint bottle at me. I pulled open my clenched jaw, and took a small sip - the familiar burning bite of Seagram’s whiskey met my tongue, which I noticed for the first time to be dry as spun cotton. I took another longer pull. "Look, Roy – my ankle’s good as new."

He was pointing his flashlight at his foot, now barefoot and his ankle swollen and deformed to at least twice its normal size. Even in the paltry light, the skin had a dark blue hue that was clearly not right. Yet he was hobbling around, and started his own little jig as Chad resumed his harmonica serenade. This time I recognized the tune – the Grateful Dead’s "Fire on the Mountain."

Time passed, and we devoured the chocolate bars and finished the pint. This was not a bad place at all for a little hangout. I must have dozed off again to Chad’s renditions of various Phish and Dead songs. Rachel was shaking my shoulder gently.

"Roy – wake up. We gotta go – it’s almost 3AM."

It took me only a minute this time to reorient – we were still underground. And very cold now, beyond shivering even. My fingers weren’t even numb anymore – just painful, and I slapped these dead stumps against my thighs trying to restore some circulation.

Rachel had found another trapdoor with a workable ladder just fifty feet away. Eddie could hobble on his own now, and we gathered what remained of our stuff and pushed the empty paint cans into the corner.

"For future generations, huh?" I admired the artwork on the walls – Chad really had a way with a brush. Artists get all the chicks.

"Much better than just leaving our initials," Eddie agreed.

I took Eddie’s flashlight and led the way back to the ladder. It was slightly drier here, less risk of slipping on wet iron. I pressed my head against the trapdoor and then my right palm with it. I couldn’t feel the stone, but the flashlight told me I was in the right place. At first no movement despite my straining, and I was about to give up and go back down to look for an alternative. Then the faintest of creeks, a whush sound and the most blinding bright light I have ever seen.