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They understood nothing. That was not claustrophobia. That was logic, survival instinct, an IQ test. A
Lisa looked up with limpid gray eyes, the tails of her braids brushing A
"No," A
Again the acceptance. Again the total lack of understanding. Apparently idiosyncratic behaviors were not cause for comment in the caving community.
"You'll want it tight," Timmy said. "Once you get your weight on it things loosen up considerably."
A
Letting Timmy and Lisa tell her things she knew, dress her as if she were a baby, she contributed little. Much of her brain was given over to a jumble of dangerous thoughts, dangerous because a preoccupied climber can very easily become a dead climber. A moment's inattention, an unclosed D-ring, an improperly threaded rack, an unlocked carabiner, and suddenly the whole house of cards-and the climber- comes tumbling down.
A
"It's good," A
"Climbing I'm comfortable with," A
The three of them were in a largish room outside the chief of resource management's office in a building down the hill from Oscar's office. It was of the same soft-hued native stone as the other buildings. The inside was clean and open with a beautiful old fireplace filling one wall. The grate was cold, seldom, if ever, used. The air was warmed to a uniform seventy degrees by modern methods. A
Drama queen, A
"How much do you know?" Timmy asked.
"Pretend I don't know anything and you'll be pretty close," A
His ma
"Three sources of light," he intoned. "Light is more important than food or water. Your headlamp." He pointed with a long pale digit that looked well suited to a creature living deep underground. He waited. Apparently he wouldn't continue the lecture without classroom participation, so A
"With spare batteries and bulbs. A flashlight." He pointed to a neat blue Maglite, brand-new and jewel-toned. "And what's your third source?" The tinted lenses winked at A
"A candle?" she ventured, thinking of Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher.
That was the wrong answer Timmy had been fishing for. "Anachronism," he said triumphantly. "A candle in Lechuguilla is akin to a firefly in a whale's gullet, charming but not illuminating."
"We carried candles for years," Lisa volunteered. "When we switched out we noticed neither one of us had thought to bring matches." She laughed, a high whiffling sound. Her husband was not amused.
"Third source: another flashlight. More batteries." He stowed the lot away in the bottom of the pack.
A
"Just what it says," Timmy replied. "You pack it in, you pack it out."
"There's one urine dump near the permanent camp on the way out," Lisa added helpfully. "If you need to you can dump it there."
"Don't use it," Timmy said. "Pack it out."
From her brief exposure to caving literature, A
"Number two," Lisa said.
A
"Feces," Timmy said succinctly. A
"Burrito bags," Lisa said, and A
Caving, deep, serious caving, was begi
Things moved quickly, and for that A
The ceiling of clouds had fractured. An ever-widening strip of blue pried open by the last rays of the sun shone on the western horizon. Rain and the season had leached the desert of color, leaving a palette of gray to be painted by the sunset. Drops of water clinging to the catclaw and sotol soaked up the light and refracted it in glittering facets of gold. The stones and black-fingered brush dripped with molten finery. Faint rainbows bent over the desert, where rain still fell through veils of light.
A