Subterranean

Jason rolled onto his back. A buckle on his orange life jacket gouged his side. He squiggled into a more comfortable position, studying the world above him. The single lantern cast a splash of illumination toward the ceiling. Poking through the black mist, stalactites pointed down to the boat. Like they were pointing at him. Even as the boat drifted, the rocky spears seemed to bend and continue to accuse him, before finally disappearing into the smoke.

Jason sat up suddenly, rocking the boat. Wait a minute. They were anchored. The boat shouldn't be gliding past stalactites. They were moving! Drifting!

"Dr. Blakely!" Jason crawled across the bouncy floor to the doctor. "Something's wrong."

Blakely groaned and pushed back into his seat. "Now what, Jason? Did you see another fish?" He straightened his glasses, one lens of which had been knocked out sometime yesterday. He kept squinting the unprotected eye, almost like he was winking.

"Look up, Dr. Blakely! We're moving."

Sighing, Blakely craned his neck back, his lip cemented in a disapproving line. Then his expression jumped to a startled look, both eyes wide. "Damn, we are moving."

Blakely reached over the side and began hauling the anchor's line, tossing dripping loops of rope onto Jason's toes.

Jason nudged the slimy, smelly loops away with a scowl.

"Damn!" Blakely held up the frayed end of the rope. No anchor. "Looks like something chewed through it." He dropped the end of the rope and sat down by the rudder. "The current's strong here. We're moving at a fair clip."

"What are we going to do?"

Blakely crossed to the motor. "First, we need to find out where we're heading. Jason, go to the front and turn on the searchlamp."

Jason scooted to the prow of the boat, grabbed the handle of the lamp, thumbed the switch, and swung the beam forward. A thick blade of light shredded the darkness ahead. But the smoke fought it to a standstill. An endless shroud of oily mist blocked the light only yards from the prow.

"Jason, why don't you free those oars? We may need to paddle."

"Why? We could just use the motor."

Blakely shook his head. "There's not much gas in the engine. And with the smoke this thick, it would be suicide to go too fast. We could barrel right into something or into shore. And besides, if we're close to shore-and who the hell could tell in this pea soup?-I don't want to draw attention. So let's paddle."

Nodding, Jason locked the light in position and slipped to where the two plastic paddles were housed. As he was lifting one free of its berth, Blakely suddenly swore. Jason glanced up.

A wall of jagged rock raced toward them, stretching wide ahead of them. Black daggers jutted from the walls and water. The current was aiming their boat right for the thickest cluster of sharpened stone. Suddenly floating on big rubber balloons seemed a stupid way to travel.

Blakely yelled while he leaned his full weight on the rudder. "Boy, get on the right side and paddle like mad!"

Jason understood the danger and flew to the right side, lunging over the pontoon to plant his paddle. He pulled as his mother had once showed him while canoeing down the Colorado River. He dug deep with the blade of the paddle, making his strokes long and fast.

"We're not going to make it," Blakely yelled, each word louder than the last.

The note of panic in his voice was contagious. Jason's studied paddling grew frantic. He concentrated on the water he was churning. Still he kept listening, blood pounding in his ears, expecting to hear at any moment the rip of shredded pontoon.

His shoulders burned with the strain, but he kept digging with his paddle.

"We're turning!" Blakely's voice had an edge of hope.

Jason glanced over his shoulder. The boat was now running at an angle toward the wall, rather than straight. He continued pulling with his paddle. "Get the motor started!" he yelled.

"Not enough time. I don't dare let go of the rudder."

Jason had been on enough canoe trips to know that they weren't going to make it. Still he wrestled with his paddle. Then, through the smoke ahead, an opening appeared in the wall as their boat angled to the side. A wide black mouth. If they could aim for that, maybe they could miss the jagged wall.

Blakely saw it too. "It's our only chance."

Jason dug savagely. Luckily, the current aimed for the hole too. As he worked the paddle, the prow of the boat crept deeper into the current.

"Watch your head!" Blakely called out.

Jason ducked as a shelf of rocky overhang passed over the boat. They were about to hit the wall! He crouched low in the boat, anticipating the collision. But the strength of the flow suddenly grabbed the boat and pulled the prow around the bend and into the black tunnel.

"We did it," Jason said.

They glided smoothly into the tunnel. Jason crawled forward to the light at the prow. He swiveled it about, examining the walls. No rocky spars awaited to jab them. Instead the walls were glassy smooth.

"It looks safe," Blakely said. "This is the river that drains the lake. Luckily for us, the years of running water have polished these walls." His words echoed, giving them a hollow feeling.

The river carried the boat deeper into the tunnel. The light pierced the tunnel to a bend ahead. "Where does it go?" Jason asked.

"I don't know, and I don't think this is a good time to explore. Let's see if we can swing the boat around, and I'll get the motor running."

Jason passed Blakely a paddle and each took a side. Jason paddled forward while the doctor backpaddled. The boat began to turn on its axis just as the current passed around a bend in the tunnel. The river beyond the curve suddenly dropped at a steep slope. The increased speed of the flow ripped the prow of the boat forward again.

"Hang on, Jason!" Blakely said, as the boat was dragged toward the racing waters.

Jason swallowed hard, winding one hand into a rope handle. The boat plunged into the trough, accelerating rapidly. The prow's light bobbed across the churning waters. The sight ahead caused Jason to wrap a second hand into the rope.

The tunnel curved around a tight bend. The river swung in an arc up the side of the wall as it coursed around the turn, tilted at an impossible angle.

"Shit!" Blakely blurted, quickly wiping spray off of his glasses with the cuff of his shirt, then frantically grabbing his handle.

The boat shot into the curve, climbing high on the wall as they made the turn. Like riding some water slide down a sewer drain, Jason thought. He watched as Blakely's side of the boat tilted up over his head. The doctor struggled to maintain his seat, legs scrambling on the slick rubber floor. Jason cringed, praying the boat wouldn't flip.