“Clearly,” she says, “you have quite a hard head.”
“Quite.” Despite myself, I struggle not to smirk.
I feel her hand brush my forehead before her fingers frame the gash, pushing on it so the edges pinch closer together. “Sorry.” It’s whispered so softly, I’m not sure I really heard it. She blows on it again, and then I feel her fingers bend so she can stretch something across the wound. It stings under the tape, but I don’t mind. I like the sharp sensation. It’s grounding, like pinching yourself.
When I open my eyes, I find I’m looking into hers. For a long moment, neither of us moves, and then she’s up, brushing at the seat of her cotton shorts before she turns away from me, ever the skittish doe.
She’s facing the new, larger rubble pile, one hand to her forehead as if she’s shading her eyes from sun.
“Do you have a plan for where to start, or shall I come up with one?”
I get up—my joints have started aching—and stand by her. My gaze travels from her wavy hair down to her bare legs before resting where it should be: on the rock pile.
“If I push it from the bottom, I’m not sure what happens at the top. How much more might fall in when we make more space.” I touch the bandage tapped to my head. “Only one way to find out. I can kick the rocks there at the middle.” I gesture midway up the pile’s height. “Everything will fall against that wall up there if I kick that way. If there’s more up top, we’ll see how much more.”
“We keep doing that until it stops pouring in, and we see sunlight?” She looks worried.
“That’s the plan.”
Until we see sunlight or the withdrawal finally gets me. I’m not telling her that, though.
* * *
Finley
I watch the Carnegie as he examines our new, mammoth rock pile. I believe he hurt his shoulder when the stones fell on him last time. He’s not moving his right arm quite freely as he runs his hand along the pile. He moves slowly and carefully, his shadow falling at odd angles on the walls as the battery-powered lantern flickers, mimicking a flame.
I’m holding my breath when he turns to me.
“I’m going to give it a good shove. See what happens. You ready, partner?” He gives me a smile that’s likely meant to reassure, and I gnaw my lip.
“Surely it will work. There can’t be too much up there…”
One of his cheeks lifts in something that looks like a twitch, though I think it may be his attempt to smile again. “Step back for me, Siren. Far back as you can.”
For him.
I do as he asks, backing up to the sleeping bags. I grab the lantern; this time, if I have to rush back toward the stream, it’s coming with me. As he looks back at me, I call, “Do be careful!”
“Always.”
Then he kicks the rubble pile. The cave rumbles, and as he dives out of the way, more rocks come crashing in from above. As the dust settles, I see him tilt his head toward the ceiling.
“Still blocked. Take two,” he calls.
I hug myself as I watch him move nimbly sideways, throwing his long leg out for a kick. When nothing happens, he kicks again, and that does the job; more rocks clatter to the floor in an ever-growing sea. They stop falling, and he stands again, looking up. When he’s still for a moment, I hurry to join him.
“What is—”
He reaches his arms above his head, and I look up to see my first glimpse of the cave’s mouth. It’s small, as I assumed—perhaps one meter at most—and as I blink at it, I realize that I’m looking at a paler stone. There’s a large, pale gray rock blocking our exit. The Carnegie positions himself below it, pushing upward with both palms, his biceps bulging as he strains against it…but to no avail.
My stomach somersaults.
He grits out a swear word.
“Sailor,” I murmur—but he hears and flashes a quick smile.
“Fucking boulder.” He pushes again, and I can see his chest pump with exertion.