Marcus Phoenix's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

Ten steps down, the light died. Marcus stopped where the daylight slit above him closed to nothing. He pulled out his flashlight and swept it across the walls. The beam showed wet stone, then a wall of black beyond. The batteries fluttered and dimmed. He shook the light. It steadied, but only for a moment. He could not map what he could not see, and one weak beam would not carry him to the den. He turned around and climbed back into the daylight. The walk to Cabin 4 took the last of the afternoon. He needed fire that would last, not a beam that begged for batteries. Inside, he emptied his pack onto the floor. He found rags, a tin of lamp oil, and a coil of wire. He cut three stout branches from the porch rail. He wrapped each head in oiled rag and bound it tight with wire. When he was done, three torches leaned against the wall like a rough little rack. He soaked their heads a second time so they would burn slow. He rested until dark, then slept in bursts. Twice he woke to scratching at the door. The latch rattled. He did not open it. By dawn the sounds were gone and the tracks in the mud outside led back toward the stone. He returned to the cut with the torches strapped across his pack. He struck a match at the mouth and lit the first one. The flame caught and held, throwing orange light down the shaft. This time the dark gave way. He counted his steps and marked the wall with chalk at each turn. The passage dropped, curved, then widened. Cold air pushed against his face. His torch showed him the floor, the walls, the low ceiling, and he drew each stretch in his notebook as he went. The tunnel opened into a vast space. Marcus raised the torch and stopped. Roots thick as his leg hung from the ceiling. They twisted down into a hollow floor of packed dirt. Above the roots, faint light leaked through a gap where a great oak stood rooted in the earth. Ink-dark leaves shifted far overhead. He had climbed down under a tree, and the tree's belly was the creature's home. Bones lay scattered near the far wall. Long feet had pressed the dirt in every direction. Marcus knelt and drew the hollow. He marked the roots, the bones, the gap of light, the tunnel behind him. His map now reached the den itself. The torch had beaten the dark and given him the room. Then his light found the far side of the hollow. A second tunnel opened there, and a third beside it. The dragging tracks split and ran into both. He had found the lair, but the creature had more than one way out. And one of those ways, he now saw, climbed back toward the cabins.