Blind Descent

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"Yeah?" A

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"What?" she demanded, mildly irritated. As the word fell from her lips she realized who was doing the talking. Crabbiness vanished, replaced by a relief so powerful it bordered on euphoria. She scooted over to Frieda, wrapped mummylike in the coffin-shaped Stokes. "Welcome back," she said. Frieda struggled feebly. Picking at the knots in the bandages, A

Frieda tried to lift her head and moaned. The helmet and cervical collar kept her from moving much, but the effort had caused her head to hurt.

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"What's wrong with me?" Worry colored her words, but Frieda sounded calm, in control. A

Fussing with bandages and buckles, she told Frieda all she knew of her injuries. She was careful to relate nothing of the speculation surrounding the accident. Frieda's mind would still be vulnerable, open to suggestion. When she finished, she forced herself to stop fiddling with Frieda's packaging. The woman was stable. A

Frieda blinked up through the clear Plexiglas safety screen on the helmet they'd fitted her with. Seeing her friend's discomfort, A

"Thanks," Frieda said. "Let me sit up."

"Better not."

"Shit. I feel like such an idiot. I'm fine. If my leg wasn't broken, I could walk out of here. I'm tempted to call the whole circus off and crawl out. It's been done."

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"It's not your ankle," A

Frieda snorted, but there was a thread of laughter in the rude sound. A good sign.

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"Last night you woke up and talked to me," A

Frieda thought for so long that A

"No," Frieda said finally. Her voice was strained as if the effort of remembering had exacerbated the pain in her head. "I had zillions of dreams. All bad. Not nightmare quality, just the can't-find-your-keys show-up-at-work-naked variety. On and on. Every time I'd think I was awake and could stop, something bizarre would happen and I'd realize I was back in the dreams." She reached for the water bottle and A

"You said 'It wasn't an accident.' Was that part of a dream?" A

"Did I?" Frieda asked. A

"It's okay," A

"I remember all of us splitting up to follow a handful of leads. I remember going down a crack in the breakdown on the cavern floor. Maybe I heard something?"

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"I must have been looking up." Frieda fingered the bruise on her temple. "Shit," she said again. "Maybe I saw something. I think I saw something. Somebody's hand. That might have been what I meant. I remember I saw a hand above me on a big fucking rock. Get thee behind me, Hodags."

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"Did you see the hand before the rock hit you in the head or after?" A

"I don't know."

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"Gloved," Frieda replied with certainty. "Damn."

"Don't push," A

"You won't go away, will you?" Frieda asked. Both women heard the fear in her voice. Frieda didn't approve of it. "No big deal," she said. "It's probably all bullshit. Scrambled brains."

"Probably," A

"Why?" Frieda sounded stubborn.

"So nobody will put me to work."

Frieda tried to laugh, but it came out as a moan.

"Hey, is that Frieda talking?" Sondra McCarty was five yards off, pulling her lean frame up onto a rock. "Oscar said to come back and see if you needed relieving or anything."

If someone wanted Frieda dead, then comatose was surely the next best thing. Till A

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