Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [38]
Then she repeated the process, minute after agonizing minute, creeping backward centimeters at a time through the darkness and the relentless tug of the icy water. Why, she wondered, wasn't Hobbes doing the same? Pulling himself forward, little by little?
By the time she reached the two lights, she realized why. He wasn't on the cave wall, but out toward the center of the channel. He must have found an obstruction to hold to, but he couldn't reach the wall. He was stranded. How was she going to reach him? Did he even know she was there? He must-if she could see his buddy lights, he could see hers. Clamping her hands around a small rock outcropping, she gradually extended her legs into the center of the channel, guiding them toward the buddy lights. And felt them touch a body. Then rubbed them on that body, trying to communicate, trying to get him to realize that he had to grab her legs. It didn't take long. She felt a hand around her ankle, then another, and suddenly the pressure on her was twice as strong, as Hobbes' body weight was pulling against her. Would this work? Could she possibly pull both of them out of this underwater tomb?
She had to get him toward the wall, where he could grab hold and help pull. She let the force of the current help her sweep her legs toward the wall, felt his body pulling on her legs, pulling so hard she wasn't sure she could hang on, felt one hand begin to slip-
And then the pressure on her legs was released. She turned around and saw the buddy lights behind her, against the wall. He had managed to find a hold.
And then the real struggle began. Pulling even herself against the flow of water was almost impossible. Her fingers were cold, nearly numb; they slipped against the wet rock. Desperately she scrabbled the wall to find a grip.
Slowly, impossibly, she pulled herself toward the mouth of the channel, imagining that it was slightly lighter there, that the water was gray, not black, and that the opening was only a few meters away and soon she'd be out of this hellhole, looking toward sunlight filtering down into the water, moving toward the surface and warmth.
But before she ever reached the gray, her hands found a corner. An edge. She was at the mouth. If she could turn the corner, she was out. She reached her right hand around the edge of the cave, pawing for a grip. She found nothing but sheer rockface.
She felt panic rise, felt her heart begin to pound, forced the feelings down. There had to be a way. She felt Hobbes behind her, bumping her feet, and knew they were very close to making it.
Holding her grip with her right hand, she twisted her body in the water so that she was pressed face-first against the wall. This way, she could extend her left arm higher than she'd been able to reach with her right, though it was in a more awkward position.
But with her left hand, she felt a blessed indentation, not much, but enough to dig her fingers into. Would it give her enough leverage to swing her body around and outside the cave? She paused for a few breaths before trying it. Gripping the indentation as hard as she could, she knifed forward in the water and pushed her body so it twisted out of the opening, staying flat against the wall on the outside. The current was weak there, and she could actually swim along the wall, away from the opening. She turned to see if Hobbes would follow. What seemed like minutes passed. She was numb from cold, and still faced a slow rise to the surface. Come on, Hobbes, she thought intensely, I did it, you can do it. She peered toward the dark gash from which she had safely emanated, willing him to appear.
And he did, rolling around the corner in much the same fashion she had, flattening himself against the wall until he had risen high enough to where the current was no longer a danger to them. They eyed