Have We Been Here Before?
by Sydney Lee
A drop of water fell from a stalactite above Jennings, landing perfectly between his crew cut hair and khaki collar. He flinched as the droplet rolled down his neck.
“What is it?” Walters called out in front of him, redirecting his flashlight from the cave walls to Jennings.
“Nothing, don’t worry about it. Just a bit of water,” Jennings yelled back.
“Hell, you reacted like your whole damn foot was falling off.”
“I'm fine. Sound just travels more down here. Keep going.”
Walters brought his flashlight back to the front and continued walking. Jennings trailed behind him, trying to mimic his partner's movements. His own light had died a while back. Something rattled inside the backpack that he wore, filling the limestone walls with a metallic clang that both men had grown to despise.
Jennings tried to suppress the burning sensation in his hands. His palms felt hot and scathed, like they had been skinned across a rough surface—he had no explanation as to why. Walters stepped in an especially large puddle, notifying Jennings to move a few inches to the left as they proceeded. The splash left the pant leg of Walters’ jumpsuit soaked. The khaki color around his foot faded into a muddled brown that Jennings could see whenever Walters took a step toward the flashlight. How impractical, Jennings thought, questioning the uniform that he also wore. His jumpsuit was identical aside from his nametag. He reached up and traced the embroidered “Jennings” on his chest.
The tunnel stood about nine feet tall with a relatively flat terrain. Walters took the lead and Jennings followed. He didn’t mind though, as he found it much more interesting to enjoy the walk rather than worry about navigation. The brilliant white walls intrigued Jennings as he fought the urge to reach out and touch them, just for a moment, to confirm if they were as smooth as they appeared. He knew better though, both men did, that any contact with the limestone would leave destructive oils and dirt behind, ruining the formation.
Walters began to whistle. Before, Jennings had been trying to figure out what was missing from the cave. The absence of sunlight was obvious, but the darkness felt normal to him already. His eyes had adjusted to a point where the flashlight seemed out of place. The cave was quiet too, although not completely silent, with water dripping from the ceilings constantly. The ground remained solid beneath them aside from the occasional puddle. Walters continued to whistle a low, mournful tune and it hit Jennings as to what was missing. The wind he realized, or the apparent lack of it. The sound it made as it traveled through his ears was completely gone. The air fell stagnant in the cave.
“Cut it out. I hate that tune,” Jennings called to Walters.
“What, why?”
“I've heard it a thousand times, it got old after a while.”
“Whatever. What else are we supposed to do though?”
“I dunno, get to know each other?”
Walters seemed amused by this answer and stopped his questioning. Jennings thought about it, trying to decide if there was anything left about his longtime partner to learn.
The two returned to an empty silence. Water dripped rapidly, as if the cave ceilings held up a reservoir. Jennings became aware of how impossibly wet his socks were. It felt like he was standing in a puddle although his boots were tied tightly around his ankles. The whistling had ceased, but Jennings could not get the tune out of his head. He couldn’t think of the name or where he heard it before. It felt as if it belonged in the cave; it made sense to be there, and Jennings heard each note as he stepped carefully around the indents in the ground. The cave continued to whistle in Jennings’ head.
“We still have quite a ways to go,” Walters began, beckoning towards the tunnel. “This is where it gets tricky.”
The passage reached a sharp decline. The cave ceiling lowered and the ground became uneven, covered in the jagged, pointed edges of stalagmites. There was no doubt the two men would have to crouch, possibly even sit down and slide some of the way. The limestone appeared to be dirty, covered in small, hand-sized smudges. Jennings recognized the discoloring immediately as formational damage from being touched. Whoever had been in the passage before had likely leaned on the wall for support. The sheer amount of deterioration suggested that a dozen people had been there before, likely more. Walters appeared unphased by their discovery.
“How are we supposed to get down there?” Jennings remarked, unable to see how deep the new passage went.
“How are we supposed to get down there?” Jennings remarked, unable to see how deep the new passage went.
“Slowly,” Walters mocked, laughing at himself in one, quick burst.
“Screw that, man. I'm serious.”
“I’m serious too. Not too slow, though, I don’t want to be here forever.”
“It’s too steep. You have a rope or something?”
“No. I checked.”
“There was one in your bag. I’m sure of it.”
“Even if there was, we don’t need it here. Come on, just be careful.” Walters took the first steps down, widening his stance for balance. Jennings had no direct light, left with the faded beams that fell around Walters’s shadow. He thought back to the contents of the backpacks, limp on their shoulders, and swore to himself that he packed a rope.
Jennings turned to the side and inched downward. He felt ridiculous, sliding down the incline as if he were on a surfboard. He knew that no one could see him, not even Walters, who was too preoccupied with remaining upright. He imagined his partner’s brow furrowed with concentration, his mouth slightly agape, breathing in gently as if too much oxygen would knock him over.
“This was probably carved out by flooding. And lots of it, too,” Walters commented after an especially strained grunt,
“What?” Jennings couldn’t think of anything else to say, too focused on his footing.
“This passage. The way it branches off from everything else, I bet it was eroded away by a flood or something.” After a moment, Walters took Jennings’ silence as an objection. “How else could you explain this?”
“Shit, I don’t know. Focus on where you’re going.”
“It’s kinda like a waterslide,” Walters grinned.
“Yeah, a waterslide where you break your back if you fall.” And you will fall, he wanted to add on.
“I hope not. It hurts like hell already.” He left it at that.
Jennings felt similar pain in his legs; they were abnormally sore for the amount of time he had been moving. He was hungry too, although he already checked his backpack for food and found nothing. He questioned the point of the supply packs in the first place. They carried no rope, and despite the brand-new battery, his flashlight had died as soon as he needed it. And that damn rattling, Jennings thought as he adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, trying to pin the source of the noise down.
A deafening, echoey crash scared Jennings more than the cry of pain that followed. Walters tripped over something in the darkness, clutching his side at Jennings’ feet. The flashlight rolled away from them, stopping a couple of yards down where the passage evidently plateaued. He groaned and tried to say something.
“Did you hit your head?” Jennings faltered, trying his best to find Walters in the darkness. He could roughly see the outline of his body sprawled on the ground.
“No, just here,” Walters stammered, forcing each word out with a labored breath.
“I can’t see you! What did you hit?”
“Above my hip.” Walters let out a gravelly, pained cough. “Just give me a second, I’m fine.”
“Take your time, it's alright,” Jennings reassured. He felt uneasy though; they had stopped moving for too long.
“Hell, I don’t even know what I slipped on. Damn water or something.” Walters attempted to move again, sitting up slowly with one hand still gripping his ribcage. “It’ll bruise for sure.”
“I bet. That’ll hurt like hell in a few hours.”
“It hurts now, asshole.”
Jennings couldn’t help but laugh, knowing now his partner would be alright. He extended his arm as Walters started to get up. He must have missed it in the darkness, because as Walters stood, he clutched onto the wall for support. Jennings saw his figure against the white limestone. He winced, imagining his hands on the unobstructed rock. He said nothing though, as Walters had been through enough, and all he wanted was to keep moving.
“What are you waiting for?” Walters attempted a joke, coughing between his words. “We’re getting closer. Keep moving.” He hobbled as he walked, slower than before.
They reached where the flashlight had fallen. The beam pointed outward at an angle, and before Walters could pick it up, Jennings recognized the glare of a body of water. The men watched as a cavern unfolded in front of them. The light barely reached the arched ceiling, about two stories high, but Jennings could still make out the tremendous stalagmites that pointed down toward the water. Some were as big as him; most seemed bigger. Walters moved again, this time pointing the light to the back of the cavern, where it trailed off into pitch blackness. It was impossible to tell how far back it went.
The light returned to the ground in front of the men. For a stagnant body of water, the surface moved rapidly. The sound of dripping water returned to Jennings as he realized the source of the movement. Ripples overlapped each other confusedly, causing each circle to stop and fade out before they could be completed.
Walters scouted the bank of the water, searching for a dry path, while Jennings stood in place. He was fascinated by the water, depthless and inky. He had never seen a lake in darkness like this—missing the reflections of the moon and stars. He wondered what color it actually was, if it would stain his skin gray when he touched it. Jennings aligned his feet with the edge of the water and peered over. He could not see his own reflection, if he had one at all. He brought his hand to his face and felt around to make sure everything was still there: two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. He smiled and saw nothing in the water. He extended the smile to an exaggerated expression, testing to see if that would stir a reflection. The surface of the water revealed nothing to him.
As he heard Walters approach, Jennings conducted a final check of his face for what he had forgotten—eyebrows, two of them, right where they belonged above his eyes. They felt plastered to his forehead, rigidly caked in sweat. He had no idea what his eyebrows looked like and kept feeling them for confirmation. He couldn’t remember his face too well either. The distantly-lit water offered him nothing. I’ve been here too damn long, he thought, as his partner finally arrived.
“Did you pack your swim trunks?” Walters said.
“Don’t even joke about that. How deep do you think it is?”
Without skipping a beat, Walters reached into the water. He brought his arm back up a moment later, his hand full of pebbles and fragments of rock. He held his soaked sleeve up to the light.
“About this deep, I’d say.” Walters dropped the contents of his hand back into the water. He coughed again, trying to hide the fact that he was holding his side with discomfort. Jennings winced with each outburst. He did not know how much farther Walters could go.
“It might not be like that all the way out.”
“We will turn around if it gets too deep.” Jennings surrendered the light back to his partner and took his first steps into the water. He knew it would be cold, yet the freezing sensation around his ankles still came as a surprise. His pant legs stuck to his shins as he continued deeper into the lake. The water level reached his knees before long, farther up than Walters’ arm test suggested. Jennings replayed his reassurance in his head, we will turn around if it gets too deep. He wanted to believe that, although he couldn’t picture any scenario where they would turn around. They hadn’t considered it when Walters fell. They were already too deep.
The water reached its highest point around Jennings’ waist. He measured their distance to dry land by how much the water level went down. He assumed it to be symmetrical, with the deepest point falling in the middle.
“We’re almost out,” Walters called, although Jennings had already predicted it. The water returned to his ankles. They reached the shore, the smallest of small victories, when the flashlight began to dim. It flickered once, then twice, before shutting off completely.
“God damnit!” Jennings exclaimed, the anger in his voice reaching every edge of the cavern. He imagined the stalactites above him trembling as he yelled, as if they would fall if he was loud enough. “The whole damn batch was defective! We put in fresh batteries this morning!”
“Calm down for a minute, we can think of something,” Walters said.
Everything was louder now that it was completely dark. Jennings heard a slamming noise as Walters hit the flashlight against the palm of his hand. Miraculously, the light came back on, dimmer than before but bright as a bonfire as far as the men were concerned. Jennings read the expression on his partner's face. The exhaustion had gotten to him—he was breathing heavily, holding his ribcage with both hands now.
“Hey, what’s happening?”
“I need to sit down, that's all. Just for a minute.”
“Does it hurt? You said you were fine, why didn’t you say anything?” Jennings found himself yelling, disturbing the monstrous stalactites again.
“Just a minute,” Walters grumbled as he sat, practically collapsing against a gray wall.
“It’s alright. Take your time. We can’t keep going like this.”
“A minute, that’s all.” His voice was shallow and slurred.
The flashlight rested on his lap, the faded beam revealing a faint silhouette of their surroundings.
“Hey, you better turn that off. We’ll need it later,” Jennings said. The flashlight clicked off swiftly and the men were left in darkness. Jennings wondered if it would turn back on when they tried again.
The cavern was completely dark. If not for Walters’ heavy breathing, Jennings would have no other indication that he was there. He decided to lie down as well, placing the useless backpack beneath his head as a pillow. Inexplicably, he began to whistle the tune from earlier. The nameless song filled the cavern as Jennings failed to remember where he learned it. He felt impossibly comfortable. He had no memory of sleeping on a cold, rugged surface like the cave ground before; somehow, it felt natural—familiar even. He kind of liked it. Walters did not seem to mind either, though he had much more to worry about. He was still breathing, probably asleep by now, and that was enough for Jennings to relax.
Time passed, Jennings did not know how much, enough for everything but his socks to dry. His throat felt sore from whistling on a loop for so long.
“We should probably get moving again,” Jennings spoke to the darkness.
“Hm,” Walters responded, stirring from his sleep.
“How do you feel?”
“Just fine. How long have we been like this?”
“Dunno. I lost count. But if you can make it, we should really go.” Jennings stood up.
“I've never been better. I could keep going for years.” Walters turned the flashlight back on and stood up. He moved a bit faster now. Jennings considered taking the lead but Walters continued on as if nothing was wrong. He walked with confidence; Jennings had to jog to keep up. He didn’t bother looking ahead now, instead focusing on the back of Walters’ head. It bobbed up and down as he moved, like an unsecured balloon. Jennings found himself matching that movement, long strides for down and shorter steps for up. He created a rhythm, one that ended when Walters came to a stop.
“What now?” Jennings refused to look up.
“You’re not gonna like it,”
“Another lake?” Jennings asked. He realized the absurdity of his question, as a few steps forward would reveal their next obstacle. The men had reached a cliff ledge. Jennings couldn’t help but laugh.
“Cut that out for a second,” Walters interrupted. “I don’t believe it.” Jennings thought it was a trick at first, an allusion his mind created to calm him down. A thick twine rope reached over the cliff edge, anchored tightly to the wall. “Thank whatever god you believe in. Someone is looking out for us.”
Jennings said nothing. He doubted that the rope was real, even as Walters tugged on it a couple of times to test out its security.
“I’ll go first and then call up when I reach the bottom. That's when you’ll go,” Walters instructed.
“I don’t like this.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Something’s telling me we shouldn’t go back here. Like we should know better by now.” Jennings felt his voice waver.
“How could you know that?” Walters questioned.
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’m going. Wait ‘till I’m all the way down, and then follow.” Walters gripped the rope and slid over the edge, leaving the flashlight propped up for Jennings to find his way. The rope swung sporadically for a moment under the strain of his weight. It became still as the sound of Walters’ rappelling stopped. There was no indication that he ever reached the ground.
Jennings waited for his call, although he knew it was useless, as no one else was there with him anymore. He was alone now. Gripping the rope tightly, he felt the thick twine strands dig into his hands and prick his fingers. His damn socks were still wet.