minutes later, they turned a corner, and the roar intensified. Ria could feel moisture in the air. Little bits of cool spray hit her face, her hands, the only parts of her exposed. Tiny droplets on Cotton’s eyelashes glowed in her helmet light.
“It must be close. The ground is slippery.”
As if to prove his point, he slid, crashing sideways against the rock. His helmet illuminated the wall and the black spray-painted words: Jerry loves Joey.
“I hate that,” said Leo. “It’s so Neanderthal.”
“Someone else was here.” Disappointed, she looked around, as if she expected Jerry and Joey to appear. She turned to Cotton. “Did you hit your head again?”
“I don’t know.” He stood up straighter, throwing his shoulders back. “I think I’m fine.”
Flutie said, “Well, except for the big dose of awkward to go with your bruises.”
“Let’s keep going.” Leo maneuvered his way in front. Ria stayed in back, behind Cotton and Flutie.
Around one more twist of the trail, they—all of them at once—finally and suddenly saw what made the thunderous roar. A waterfall. A real, honest-to-goodness, water-gushing, spray-streaming, water-falling waterfall.
It started up high, above Cotton’s head, at least twice his height. The water looked like it was being poured from the rock. The tremendous force of it formed a white and frothy wall pulsing and throbbing, surging and retreating. And loud. So loud. Each and every splish, splash, and whoosh echoed, making a roar of noise with no particular shape and border. Ria wished she could pause the sound a minute, just to catch her breath and take in the waterfall without feeling quite so overwhelmed. But maybe she was supposed to be overwhelmed.
“Where does the water go?”
“There’s a pocket in the rocks. I can hear the water under us. There’s a river below. There must be a whole other layer of cave down there.” Cotton was in observation mode. He’d already started taking measurements, making notes.
Leo and Flutie moved to the left side of the waterfall, holding out their hands, letting the water pour into them. Ria slipped off her shoes for a better feel for the terrain, then clambered over the rocks, trying to get another view, and to see if the sound wasn’t quite so intense on the other side.
There was an opening behind the waterfall, possibly leading to more cave. She couldn’t see much from where she stood. She saw a way to get there through a narrow, horizontal slit between the rocks. She called to Cotton, but her words were lost in the roar. He was busy studying something. The others might not fit this way, but she could take a quick peek and see if it was worth exploring. Flat, with her stomach against the rock, she moved feet-first backward, into the chasm. At the last second she realized her helmet wouldn’t fit while it was on her head. She took it off, pulled it through, and turned to see where she’d ended up.
Her foot slipped and the rest of her followed, down, down, sliding downward along the slick rocky wall, with a rush into a cold pool of froth.
The water gurgled and roiled, over her shoulders, into her mouth. A current, strong and whirling, pulled her still downward. It wasn’t enough that she’d slipped down this chimney-like space; the water pulled her even lower, under the surface. Panic hit, hard. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t yell for help, couldn’t think at all. She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t bear to lose her contacts, too. Her legs kicked reflexively, her arms reached for something, anything, but only found slick rock.
She was going to drown. The pull was too strong, too everywhere to think she could win this fight. There was no point struggling. Everything was over. Fear whispered, “Let go.”
Eyes still closed, she leaned back into the pillow of bubbles.
She didn’t sink.
The churning waves still raged against her arms and legs and spine, but floating near the surface, she bobbed instead of dragged. She’d lost her helmet in the fall, but when she squinted, peeking with one eye, the space glowed faintly, eerily—wherever it was, its bulb was still lit. As long as she stayed prone, she floated, slowly spinning and dipping, but able to breathe.
Her feet bumped against the wall. The surface felt nobby and craggy—climbable. She sat up in the water and immediately was thrust downward. Being vertical made for dangerous suction. She returned to her back-float position and braced her fingers against the slick walls behind her head. Carefully, slowly, desperately,