Page 149 of Mazywood

But that was speculation about a future he might not have. Depending on what happened inside this cavern—or what he would see—he might never have a future. Yesterday’s version of him was long dead, and he didn’t want to imagine who he might be tomorrow—if he lived through this day.

Johnny thought of his last video call with his high school friend Brian, who’d been waiting out his tour in Afghanistan by playing with a stray dog and composing songs on his guitar. Johnny had asked him how it felt knowing that he might get blown up any day, and Brian had said his job was to protect his friends. Then he’d shrugged and said, I’m ready.

Back then, Johnny had thought it was bravado. Not anymore. When you had to face it, you got ready. That had been the secret all along.

Moving at a snail’s pace on the narrow surface, he scooted back to the edge to peer down at Sharise, who was looking anxiously upward. She clapped her helmet with relief when she saw him reappear, although her shattered face didn’t look like she would smile again. The child Sharise had been yesterday was dead now too.

But, God, please let Sharise and Imani have a tomorrow. Let them live to become new.

“Hey, I found the hole,” he whisper-called. “Just like you said. I’m sure of it.”

Sharise’s palms slipped from the top of her helmet to cover her mouth, probably to stanch a sob. The outcome they had both prayed for was also the most terrifying. Her shoulders shook. He wished he had time to comfort her or even think of how, but comfort was long behind them.

“Sharise… I need you to go to the tree.”

Sharise didn’t answer or move, a statue vowing to Speak No Evil. He heard her sniffle.

“You guided me up here… and I didn’t fall. We did that. But the rest is up to me.”

“But I can—”

“You can stay safe,” he said. “That’s all that’s left, honey.”

This time, he heard the sob she was trying so hard not to burden him with. The sound of his daughter weeping—mourning all of them—wrung Johnny’s stomach. He felt like a ghost watching his own funeral; past his own pain, but boiling in hers.

“We can’t all be here,” he said. “Someone has to get away. Just… in case.” Sharise had seen enough of his movies to know what a Final Girl looked like, even if she never expected to be one. Everyone ended up in their own personal horror movie eventually. He’d been preparing for this day with every script he wrote, without ever knowing it.

If he lived, he would write a movie about today.

Instead of crying harder, Sharise lowered her hands from her mouth.

“Then… not the tree,” Sharise said, her voice thin but steady. “I’ll head back while you’re in there—like you wanted to. I see the ski pole. I’ll walk back and drive that Jeep to town. I’ll find it, Dad. I’ll get help. I promise.”

If she didn’t get lost, she might be in McCloud within an hour.

Only one hour might separate them from rescue and civilization, but Johnny felt like he was on the sands of the moon. He could not spend another hour wondering if Imani and Tasha were alive. They might not have another hour. None of them might.

“Yes,” Johnny said. “Go. We’ll be waiting.” Hot breath almost swallowed his words.

“Love you, Dad,” Sharise whisper-mouthed.

“Love you more. We’ll be okay.”

Sharise turned away first, knowing that he would yearn to see her walking back toward safety in her new ski jacket. He would sustain himself with the memory of her jacket in Bruins blue, easy to spot from a distance. (She was only fooling herself if she thought she was going anywhere except UCLA, he thought, craving normalcy.) After ten yards, as promised, Sharise picked up the ski pole and waved it toward him. He waved back.

Good. She had gear. She had a weapon. She could find her way to safety, he convinced himself. He refused to entertain any other scenarios. Nothing else was possible.

Johnny turned back toward the cavern’s mouth—an agonized pose in brittle basalt, as if the stone were moaning.

The opening was dark, but daylight showed him that he wouldn’t need a rope to climb in. A tall mound of sharp, brown-gray rocks and boulders lay spilled inside the cavern entrance as if a colossus had punched his way through from outside. Less than five feet to the sandy floor. Johnny steadied himself with one arm on the mouth’s wall as he ducked to climb in and sink his boots against loose, craggy stones. As he expected, his boots slid, but the stones were packed enough to keep him from sliding far. He stayed upright.

Johnny jumped the last foot to solid ground, noting that his thump was louder than expected. The sound of his arrival echoed in the chambers right and left, amplified. He smelled the dust he’d stirred up, like a burnt match head tingling in his nostrils.

He readied his rifle, expecting a response to his intrusion. He only heard his breathing, but he smelled the monster’s settled stink here. He was in the right place.

But he couldn’t see a damn thing beyond the light from the gap. He angled his cell phone toward the light. His battery was still at sixty percent, he read through the cracked screen. No signal, of course. But after a couple of tries, he was able to trigger the flashlight icon.

His phone flashlight seemed obnoxiously bright when he flicked it on at home, but in nature it was a toy. He’d hoped to light up the interior passageways and see if the monster was hiding in his path, but he could barely see a few steps ahead with his flashlight trained to the cavern’s rock-littered floor.