The Stranger at the End of My Rope

How it begins

Malik Sen recognized the voice before the headlamp found the face.

"I thought they'd send someone else," Hugh Ren said.

Water moved somewhere below them in the dark. Malik kept his light pointed at the rock rather than the man's eyes.

"They sent the person who knew this passage."

Hugh sat on a narrow shelf with one boot braced against the wall. His spare light was dead. The main one pulsed weakly, making the distance between them appear to change.

Malik had imagined meeting him again in a room with windows. There would have been chairs, witnesses, enough air for the things he'd rehearsed saying.

Instead he assessed Hugh's position, asked the necessary questions, and radioed the team outside.

Professional habits were useful. They gave anger somewhere to stand while the rest of him worked.

"Can you move your right leg?"

"Yes. Slowly."

"Then slowly is fine."

He heard Hugh breathe out. Somewhere beyond the shelf, a pebble fell, struck twice, and disappeared into a silence that made both men wait.

Malik looked upward. The narrow entrance they'd come through had shed a fresh line of pale dust.

"Don't move yet," he said.

The sound that followed was not loud. Later, he would remember that most clearly. A soft grinding, almost domestic, as though someone were shifting a heavy chair in the room above.

Then stone struck stone behind him, and the route back became a wall.

Hugh shut his eyes.

Malik checked the radio. The signal broke into fragments, returned, broke again. He gave their position twice and waited for confirmation.

Only then did he turn toward the man on the shelf.

"We're still here," he said.

Hugh opened his eyes. "There's something I should have told you."

"There usually is," Malik said. "This time, you'll have to stay for the answer."