Beneath Page 8

  “What type of boat?” Don asked.

  Loren seemed startled by the question, but some of the tension lifted from her sloe eyes.

  “A Bertram. 28’,” she hesitated. “It belonged to my boyfriend.”

  Don tipped his head. “A reliable boat. What happened after that?”

  Still uncomfortable, she kept her gaze averted as she recited in a monotone voice.

  “I had a life jacket on, but it wasn’t fastened and somehow in my panic it came loose. I could see Toshio, my boyfriend, swimming towards me. He had his vest on. But these jeans, and my shoes, they started to drag me under. It seemed the more I struggled to stay afloat, the less I could. I went under and resurfaced several times, but the last time some sort of current snagged me. It was like being on a waterslide…only, underwater.”

  Solemn nods were unanimous. To this group the observation was not outlandish.

  Loren tipped her head forward so that the veil of black hair could conceal one eye. The other almond one searched their faces, reading their unvoiced question.

  “I never saw Toshio again.”

  It was a flat declaration. She offered no more.

  “There have been similar reports,” Frederic spoke up. “Victims who had each other in sight, but only one was drawn into the plunging current. The channel is a narrow one.”

  “And yet my whole family made it down,” Don observed.

  “But, not your boat,” Frederic was quick to retort. “At least we haven’t found it yet. All we found was one cooler.”

  “A cooler,” Jill slammed her palms on the table and half rose. “Where?” She sliced a look at Stella. “Sprite!”

  Stella’s lips lifted at her friend’s sudden enthusiasm. Leave it to Jill to find something exciting about this sunken tomb.

  “We think it’s yours,” Frederic smiled, pleased. “We did not open it out of respect,” he continued. “But as you can imagine, we are scavengers down here. If it washes up in our pools, we claim it. Take your dinner for example,” he nodded as Margie rose and headed for the lopsided counter on the edge of the bistro circle. She turned around with two large bowls and beamed at the guests.

  “A treat for tonight. Baked beans and corn.”

  A growl rumbled deep in Stella’s core. Colin slanted a glance at her abdomen and she felt her cheeks heat up. His eyes rose to hers.

  “And here I thought you were looking forward to tube worms,” he whispered.

  Maturity be damned, she stuck her tongue out at him. He chuckled and reached for the spoon at his setting. He picked it up and examined the tarnished surface.

  “It’s safe,” Frederic encouraged. “All our utensils are cleaned immediately after each meal. You’ll begin to pick up on the schedule around here. Everyone takes turns with daily tasks.”

  He raised a blond eyebrow waiting for someone to challenge the term. No one did.

  “We try to establish the length of a given day,” he explained. “We adhere to strict meal times and not too long after dinner is when we sleep. A proper night’s rest if you will, which ends at the ring of the bell.” He lifted a long finger and pointed down the rope-lined walkway.

  Stella hadn’t noticed it on the walk in, but there was a brass bell, its veneer dull and green, hanging from a pole impaled in the side of the copper peak that housed Frederic’s quarters and the crow’s nest.

  “The bell will ring again to signify the start of a new day.”

  “Who rings it, and how do they determine when to do so?” Stella asked, intrigued.

  “It’s usually the first person up, but if someone thinks they have slept fitfully or woke unnaturally early they will stay in and await the next person to rise to take on the task.”

  “Honestly,” Etienne reached for the chipped ceramic bowl, “Sarah and I have fallen into such a routine over time, one of us will usually ring the morning bell.”

  He scooped some beans into his own bowl and handed it to Stella.

  “These look–” normal “–decent.”

  “We have a pretty extensive supply of canned goods. Expiration dates are merely suggestions. We’ve found cans dating back into the forties, and they’ve still been good,” Etienne remarked. “Some might lose a little of their flavor, but our taste buds have tamed over the years.”

  Stella plopped a spoonful of beans onto her plate and then passed the ceramic bowl on to Colin. His finger touched hers in the process. Such a fleeting contact and yet so warm.

  Stella was about to test the beans, but she noticed everyone sitting with their arms at their sides. She set her spoon down and glanced around expectantly. Once Loren had filled her plate there was a momentary silence and then Etienne’s head lifted.

  “We would like to wish a warm welcome to our new residents, and a speedy recovery to Mrs. Wexler. I know everything is coming as such a shock to you, but soon you will settle in and grow accustomed to the routine. Dig in.”

  Dig in wouldn’t have been the term Stella chose, but she grabbed a single bean on the end of her spoon and tentatively touched it to her lips. There was no odor. A brief lance of her tongue offered very little taste. She watched Jill shovel a mouthful in, satisfied when her friend didn’t spew it. Swallowing the single bean whole, there was a tepid semblance of familiarity–a hint of bacon.

  “We even have a holiday here,” Margie piped in with enthusiasm.

  “Christmas?” Jill perked up.

  “No,” Margie’s smile skated, “but, close. We celebrate New Year’s Day. Our version of a year, at least. At each ring of the night bell Frederic marks a day in his books, and as we start approaching 365 marks we start our preparations.”

  “It’s quite an event,” Jordan Connover stated. “You know,” he leaned in and winked at Don, “we do have alcohol down here.”

  Stella focused on her beans. These people were delusional. But, then again, what else could they do down here? The choices were to either stay in this dungeon or face immediate death if they tried to escape.

  “Did anyone ever try to swim out of here?”

  The words were out before she could check them. She glanced up from her beans to see the slack-jawed expressions. For a moment there was nothing but a chilling silence interrupted only by the trickling sound of the waterfall–a chilling weep.

  CHAPTER 8

  Frederic steepled his fingers together atop the table. He exchanged a look with Etienne and then took a deep breath.

  “There have been others here–” he nodded solemnly “–others who felt emboldened.”

  Stella leaned forward in anticipation.

  “We are blessed down here with a rare chemical environment that generates oxygen. The clash of the underwater vents with the cold ocean water–the extensive cave system with minerals that seem to extract the carbon dioxide–the runoff of boiling water from the vent which feeds this freshwater stream. We have learned how to catch our own food when flotsam fails us.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Don cut in. “You’ve built a downright Utopia here.”

  The sarcasm was acknowledged with a twitch of Frederic’s eyelid, but he continued. “It is a Utopia in that it has allowed us to sustain life.” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to his hands, “But there were a couple survivors–they didn’t adapt as well, physically. They exhibited signs of hypercapnia–carbon dioxide build up. Disorientation. Anger.”

  “What happened to them?” Colin probed.

  Frederic glanced at Etienne. It might have been imperceptible, but Stella noticed Etienne’s assenting nod.

  “There was an entrepreneur whose yacht had capsized. He was irate from the moment he washed up in the cave. The situation here only worsened that. He tried to make demands–demands that we show him the way back to the surface. When we explained there was no such exit, he switched tactics and offered us a huge payout once we made it to the surface. When that didn’t work he charged back to the pool and dove in.”

  Stella’s spoon paused in mid-air.

  �
�Did he come back up?” she whispered.

  “Part of him,” Frederic murmured.

  He noticed Stella’s raised eyebrow and elaborated in a soft voice. “The next day a human arm surfaced in the pool. We recognized the Rolex on the wrist.”

  The spoon lowered. Stella pushed back the beans.

  “Shark.” Don guessed, still eating.

  “Most likely,” Etienne agreed amiably. “We’ve caught a few in here. You’ll find some harpoons lying near the cave pool. If you happen to see something edible make an appearance, please give a stab at it.”

  Jill looked horrified. She dropped her spoon and clutched her arms about her.

  Stella knew Jill wasn’t much of a meat-eater. It was probably why she had that cheerleader perfect body.

  Etienne caught Jill’s reaction. “We’re not desperate for food. We have a huge stockpile.” He shoveled in a mouthful of corn and spoke while chewing, “But if a fish does swim by, it’s a nice change of diet.”

  Oh my! Did Jill think they would harpoon a person if they surfaced?

  Stella stared around the table.

  Would they?

  Another awkward silence ensued until Colin spoke up.

  “I understand that all the wreckage we see in here washed up in your cave, but how did you move it? Some of these pieces are exceptionally large. How did you transport the fuselage of that old plane? There is no crane.”

  Etienne scratched beneath the rim of his knit hat. It dislodged a curly tuft of gray/black hair.

  “What you see here didn’t happen quickly. Initially it was just Fred and me. We moved what we could and then started laying out a rope hauling system. One thing we have plenty of is rope,” he added with a grin.

  “What about Sarah?” Stella asked.

  Etienne frowned. “Well, she’s a woman. It was hard work, and she was busy narrowing down the medical and food supplies.”

  That was all it took for Stella to form her opinion of Etienne. If someone told her she needed to lift a plane in order to survive, she would do it.

  “But we eventually had help,” Etienne grinned across the table at Jordan.

  Jordan Connover crossed his arms, looking smug.

  “So, in answer to your question. Many makeshift pulleys and lots of patience,” Frederic explained. “We’ve worked hard as a team to make this place a home. Maybe someday a miracle will happen. Maybe a reliable deep sea exploration crew will discover us and will be able to extract us safely, but clearly we can’t wait around for that. We’ve been able to make a comfortable world for ourselves.”

  “Surely there are risks down here. Life-threatening obstacles.” Don tipped his head back and searched the vaulted ceiling.

  Etienne’s thick eyebrows raised. “Well, of course. We suspect an earthquake created this cave system. And an earthquake can destroy it just as easily.”

  Jill rose on the other side of the table. She picked up her bowl and spoon and turned towards Margie, mumbling, “Is there somewhere I can wash these up?”

  Margie’s eyes rounded and her lips plumped in sympathy.

  “Loren and I will take care of all of this for tonight. Maybe we can meet tomorrow and go over some of the chores around here.”

  “Sounds swell,” Jill replied indifferently. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go see my mother now.” She tucked her chin down and added, “It was nice to meet you all.”

  It was the catalyst to break up the welcome reception. Stella quickly rose, which brought Colin to his feet. They each muttered their adieus while Don climbed off the bench and mutely accepted their well-wishes for his wife’s swift recovery.

  As the Wexlers made their way to the infirmary, Stella hesitated before the storage container that was deemed her cabin. Colin lingered while his sister and father continued on.

  “Are you okay?”

  The concern in that deep timbre comforted her.

  “Okay?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a forced grin.

  After a quick perusal of their environment, Colin mirrored her smile. “Okay, stupid question.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured. “I just–well, you guys need some private time with your mom. I’ll go try and close my eyes for a few minutes.” She shrugged. “Maybe when I open them we’ll all be back on the STARKISSED.”

  Dark green eyes softened. His wide shoulders relaxed. “Maybe,” he agreed.

  Stella was startled when he lifted his hand and dusted under her chin with his knuckle. Surprised himself, Colin dropped his arm. “You call.” His voice was husky. “If you need anything–you call.”

  Stella swallowed down a lump in her throat. “Your cell?”

  Under the torchlight his smile was beguiling.

  “Just shout, Stel. I think I’ll hear you in this place.”

  Stella hugged her arms tight about her. “Okay. You’ll send Jill into this–” she glanced at the weird building, “–cabin?”

  “Yeah, I’ll remind her which is hers. Dad and I will be next-door shortly.”

  Stella nodded, grateful that she wasn’t in this bizarre drama alone. For a moment they stood side by side silently surveying the sunken abyss.

  “What have we gotten ourselves into, Col?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know. But we’re going to find out. Dinner was charming, but it felt like a show.”

  Stella turned, staring up at him. “Right?” She was glad he picked up on it too. “Something is off here. They’re not telling us everything.”

  “Tomorrow–” he frowned, “–heh, whatever tomorrow is. Anyway, I’m going to search this place. See what else I can find.”

  “Take me with you,” she tested. “I want to learn more. I saw a notepad and pen on the desk in our cabin. I can write–an article–” Her hand flailed uselessly. “I know it’s silly, writing an article that will never go anywhere.”

  “But it will exercise that mind of yours,” Colin stated with a hike of his lip.

  “Yes.” Fortunately it was too dark for him to see her blush.

  “Okay.” He hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the glowing windows of the plane. “I better catch up with them.”

  “I hope your mom is doing better,” Stella wished sincerely.

  “Thanks,” he nodded. “Good night, Stel.”

  Good night she called after the retreating shadow.

  Rooted before the tarnished storage container, Stella felt so incredibly alone. She looked up at the vaulted roof of the cave. The black recessed dome represented an eternal night. A starless crown. Sun would never bathe these peaks. It would never again touch her skin. She stretched her arm out before her. Her skin held its tan for a long time, while Jill’s fair complexion turned rosy at sea and lily white back on land.

  Stella turned towards her doorway. A single torch was mounted in the dark patch of copper dust that served as a front yard. Before the wall of corrugated metal sat a deck chair. She considered sitting there, but the cave was now eerily silent. All signs of life, minus the flickering torches were gone. She could not even hear the hushed conversation of the Wexlers in the nearby infirmary.

  Unsettled, she crept into the circular wheelhouse at the front of the container. Light flickered through the empty window frames. Somehow being inside made her feel slightly safer. She stepped up to the desk and pulled back the wobbly chair, expecting the stool to cave in under her weight. It was resilient, though. A shadowy reflection of herself caught her attention. With the surge and lapse of the flame outside, her face would be visible for a second and then morph into a stark silhouette.

  Stella reached for the notebook sitting on the corner of the desk. She flipped it open and found no written text, just virgin sheets of paper–a temptation too powerful to reckon with. Beside it was a ballpoint pen. A traditional BIC with a blue plastic cap. She held the clear plastic tube up towards the window and saw a black line running half-way up it. Pulling off the cap she tried a couple of test marks on the very last page of the notebook. It
took several attempts before ink started to flow.

  The seat groaned as her weight shifted. Rolling the pen back and forth with her fingers, she listened to it click over the nicked surface. Outside, came the distant sound of water falling. It was as intrusive as a trickling faucet.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  That was the first sound to wake her on the STARKISSED. A persistent series of drops landing on the small galley counter. A few minutes later she emerged into a maelstrom.

  Closing her eyes, she sought to block everything out. It wasn’t much darker behind her eyelids.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  She opened the hardbound notebook to the first page, picked up the pen and wrote one word.

  BENEATH

  Stella jolted and nearly fell on her head as she struggled out of the hammock she had rigged.

  “What the hell?” Jill sat up on the ground beneath her.

  Stumbling through the dark trailer, her blonde hair mussed in a cyclone, Jill thrust her hands up over her ears. Stooping to peer through the pilothouse windows, she cast an appalled look back at Stella.

  “It’s that damn bell. That tall freak is ringing it.”

  Stella took a quick inventory of the inhabitants of this cave and concluded that the tall freak must be Frederic. Standing on one leg, she untangled her other from the twisted hammock and joined Jill. Frederic released the rope and the bell fell silent, but echoes reverberated outside for a few seconds.

  “Damn, I had just fallen asleep,” Jill griped as she tried to finger comb her hair.

  “Me too,” Stella muttered.

  Last night she had waited until Jill returned to ask about her mother. The situation there was unchanged, and sounded grim. Jill tended to get cranky when things fell out of her control. Even now Stella could read the agitation on her friend’s heart-shaped face.

  “Do you buy any of this?” she asked. “I mean, come on. This place is ridonk.”

  That it is.

  “It’s a mystery, all right.”

  Jill cocked her head and noticed the open notepad. “Working on your essay already?”