a whole flock or herd or—
“What do you call—”
“A colony. It’s a colony of bats.”
She scooted down the wall, returning to the solid stone ground.
As they made their way around a sharp turn, Ria’s helmet hit the wall with a hard thunk. “Whoa. Watch your head.”
“Yes,” he said. “I have been.”
The path turned slippery as they headed onward. The unfamiliar shoes added to her uncertain steps. She held her hands out to both sides, using the increasingly rugged stone walls to keep from sliding downhill into him.
“Are you okay?” He sounded out of breath.
“I think so.”
“Yes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
A few minutes later he stopped.
“Leo calls this section ‘baby time.’ We’ll have to crawl.” He took off his helmet, wiped his forehead, then used its light to illuminate a low, narrow opening. “Or we could turn around and head back.”
“Not if there’s more to see.”
“There’s always more to see.” On his knees, he disappeared.
Ria bent down and peeked into the tunnel. She could see the glow from his helmet, and the shadow shape of him crawling. She took a deep breath and followed.
The ground was rough, and hard on her hands and knees. Her helmet kept slipping. Walking, she’d been able to pace herself, but she had no idea how to take bigger crawl-steps to keep up. Her reach only went so far. A vague sense of worry settled in her mouth, her stomach, the back of her throat.
She heard Cotton panting, as well as occasional scrapes against the wall. Ahead, their lights crisscrossed and overlapped, bumping up and down. The result was dizzying, but maybe that was as much from the exertion and earthy smells as anything else. Her heart pounded and her jaw ached from gritting her teeth. “How much farther?”
“Depends where we’re going.”
This was a mistake. She shouldn’t be here. This was a certifiable unnecessary risk. Danger crowded in, like the too-close walls. Fear made it hard to breathe.
“Stop! I’m done.”
“Keep moving.”
“No! I need to get out of here.” She twisted and strained against the rock wall. “There’s not enough room to turn around.”
“That’s why we have to go forward.” His voice had moved farther away.
“I want to go back.”
“Keep moving.”
“Damn, Cotton. You aren’t listening!”
“I hear you. You want to turn around. That’s not possible until you reach the end of the tunnel.”
Now she was back to thinking about Esther. Her disappearance had terrified Ria. She’d slept between Mom and Dad for months. She hadn’t wanted to play outside anymore. There’d been too many orange-vested strangers everywhere, searching all over town.
Eventually, the hunt had slowed down. Ria started diving for Benny. Exhausted from the workouts, she’d moved back to her own bed. She spent the summer at the pool under his careful watch. In the fall, she went back to school and Cotton was there. He’d grown several inches in every direction. Basically, he was the same boy she’d always known. Sometimes it was hard to believe anything bad had ever happened.
Until now. Now it felt real again.
“Please, Cotton.” Stupid tears.
“Count to twenty,” he said, his voice maddeningly stuck in neutral.
She took a deep breath and counted, first in her head, then out loud. “Three . . . four . . . five . . .”
Counting was good. It was simple and predictable. By the time she got to seven, her breathing felt more even. She kept her head down, not wanting to see the walls and ceiling too close. She wasn’t sure how he fit in here. The idea of the walls pressing on his back and head made her squirm and feel light-headed again. The urge to stretch and move felt painful, inescapable. But, at the count of eighteen, he said, “We made it.”
He stood, and she, right behind him, scrambled up, happy to get off her knees. She could feel the space of the room even without fully seeing it. The walls were far enough apart that her light strained to reach them. “Wow,” she said, and the word disappeared into the shadows.
“Is this better?”
“Much. But, damn. That sucked.”
“Claustrophobia is a common side effect of caving.”
“Sorry I yelled.”
“Fear can look like anger.”
She studied his face, looking sideways so as not to shine her light in his eyes. “Don’t you worry about getting stuck?”
“If I can fit in one way, I can get out. It’s a matter of measurable space.”
It made sense, and yet, she wasn’t convinced. It was one thing to know it, another to believe it. “Are we going to have to