Ferryman Read online

  Ferryman

  Jonathon Wise

  Acknowledgment

  A hearty thanks goes out to the town of Madison, Indiana which enriched my life with many wonderful experiences.

  This book is dedicated to all those who carry the light through the dark times we sometimes find ourselves in.

  Chapter 1

  Even the brutal heat couldn’t still Clay’s nervous stomach as he stood staring at the rim of the sinkhole. Others had ventured off the trail. Peter and John were trying to find the best view of the shaft by checking various spots around the rim. But Clay didn’t need to look over the edge. He knew too well the abyss that waited below in the darkness. It was the bottomless pit that churned up his fears and doubts. Feelings that demanded he hold his ground. It was the same overwhelming fear that he gave into yesterday when he peered over the edge at the Cave of the Swallows. Even after he saw the parachutes open and heard the others yell victoriously as they drifted down that hellish 360 meter drop into the belly of the earth, he still had been unable to bring himself to take that solitary leap of faith.

  He took a deep breath and tried to picture the hillside as it would have looked before the quake hit. Yesterday he would have been staring at a simple dirt trail that zigzagged its way up the plateau to where the two Huastecan Indians grazed their cattle. But that was before last night. He would never forget the strange sensation of the ground pitching under his cot and then under his feet as he jumped up and ran out to join the others around the smoldering campfire. Almost as strange as the sensation, was how everyone reacted to it. There was no unbridled panic—only a general sense of awe. Even before they found out that the epicenter was located nearly 500 kilometers away in the coastal mountains southwest of Mexico City, no one acted as if they felt their life were in danger.

  He focused again on the forty-foot wide opening. After a moment of contemplation, he pulled the bandanna from his pocket and wiped the dust-laden sweat off his face. They were too far from the epicenter for the quake to actually open up the shaft, but not too far for it to fracture a relatively thin bed of limestone over the top of it. The trail would have buckled and then given way as several hundred tons of earth plunged into the void.

  He looked over his right shoulder at the two locals. The team was heading back to Aquismon when the two Indians flagged down Stein’s jeep. Stein must have called Alejandro on the squawk box because a second later he ran past on his way up to the front of the convoy. Alejandro knew enough of the local Mayan vernacular to understand what the Indians were shouting, and translate it into Spanish. Stein, whose Spanish and English were muddied by his own accent, then interpreted for the team. Stein could have slapped the Indians on the back and told them good luck with the find, but then it wasn’t in his nature to pass up such a rare opportunity.

  Clay turned further until he could see the dirt trail descending under the lush growth of the lower canopy. Stein and Alejandro had been gone for a good twenty minutes. Normally Stein wouldn’t have gone off without leaving a local guide behind. But normal protocol went out the window after the quake. It turned out that the other local guide hired for the expedition had family in Mexico City. When Felipe heard how extensive the devastation was over the radio, he jumped into one of the jeeps and headed back while it was still dark. Stein understood and took the loss in stride. Like every bump in the road that the expedition had come upon, he kept the situation in perspective. He sat the team down and informed everyone that the Mexican government would impose law to keep the airports and highways unimpeded for the relief efforts that would be coming from around the world. Until such time that the law was lifted, they would retrieve the rest of their supplies in Aquismon and hunker down at the airport in Tampico to wait it out.

  That of course was before the group abandoned the jeeps along the gravel road and followed the Indians up the trail. As soon as Stein saw the sinkhole, he swung around and told everyone to hold their ground and to maintain a safe distance of at least twenty meters. Then with a level of excitement that gave clue to the true adventurer in him, he grabbed Alejandro and the two ran down the trail toward the road.

  There was no mystery to what Stein had in mind. In the same manner that no one was surprised that first day when the rugged Norwegian stood before the team at the airport in Munich and said, “You…you’re not children. You’re not boys and girls. There are no room for children here. You are young man and woman. You come to be challenged and prove yourself victorious over your fears.” After an introductory speech like that, it was easy to figure that Stein was heading back to the jeeps to check on gear and rigging. After all, what is a high-adrenalin expedition all about if it’s not one to jump at the opportunity to explore something that’s possibly never been touched by another living soul.

  As Clay started to turn back to the sinkhole, he spotted one of the two Indians staring at him. It was never easy to guess the age of a local Indian. Appearance was influenced way too much by the location of the village. If the village was close to an industrialized area where the locals worked in manufacturing, then it added ten years to the lines in their faces. But in the villages that were farther out, places where farming and herding were the primary way of life, the locals could easily shed ten years. Clay would have guessed this man to be in his mid-fifties, which probably meant he was around sixty-five. But it wasn’t his age or the vibrant colors of his Teenek clothing that made Clay stop and stare. It was the way the man was looking at him. Not that it was threatening. In fact it was just the opposite. The Indian was looking at him the way Clay hoped his father would look at him some day. It was incredibly relaxing.

  The commotion of Stein’s return broke out to his right, but before Clay could look away the old man mouthed something to him. For a strange reason it felt deeply meaningful as if it were intended just for him. So much so, that even though neither spoke the other’s language, Clay still found himself mouthing out the words ‘The last day is coming’.

  “Komm!” Stein yelled out, as he strode up the dirt path while motioning to those who had wandered off the trail.

  The yell released Clay from his trance, and after a few blinks to clear his mind, he turned to see Alejandro cradling a small canister of oxygen in one arm while doing his best to keep up with Stein’s long stride.

  At the same time Clay felt the soft touch of Aliston’s hand against his left arm, Stein exuberantly spit out in his best English, “We have enough for one! Who shall it be?”

  Stein was asking for a volunteer to venture into the unknown. Peter and John ran back from the far side of the sinkhole, but quickly dropped to a more somber gait when they realized the gravity of the question Stein posed to the team.

  Clay sucked on the inside of his mouth until he had enough spit to swallow. Then as he started to lean forward, Aliston grabbed his arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

  There was a little shoving and jostling as everyone jokingly tried to get the one next to them to go for it. But no one was leaping at the chance to be the first to explore the sinkhole opened by the quake. Not even Peter, who up until then had been the first to volunteer for every adrenalin rush on this adventure.

  Clay ignored the others as he stared into Aliston’s eyes. The freckle faced Australian was the only one in the group that didn’t make him feel like a coward when he refused to bungee at the Huairou’s Qinglong Gorge in Beijing, or base-jump yesterday at the Sotano de las Golondrinas. Not that anyone actually said anything. And not that anyone actually looked at him any differently. But their actions couldn’t hide what they were really feeling deep down. Clay had too much practice sensing that same condemnation from his dad. Aliston though… she was different. He lost himself in her blue eyes as he slid his hand over hers. “I do,” drifted off his l
ips before he could stop it. It could have been a number of different factors pushing him past his acrophobia. Part of it might have been to spite his father. Then again, it could have been that even though he didn’t buy into that ‘being a man’ crap that his father kept shoveling on him, he still felt a need to prove that he could overcome his fears. There certainly was no shortage of reasons to explain his newfound courage. You could take your pick, though none hit the mark as good as the plain and simple truth. He just couldn’t bear to take a chance that his lack of participation might dull the admiration behind those beautiful blue eyes. A second later, he turned and got Stein’s attention. They had their volunteer.

  The team worked like cogs in a well-oiled machine as the sun slowly inched its way to mid-sky. Alejandro, Peter, and Justin hooked on safety lines and then set about anchoring a cantilevered tripod near the edge of the rim. While they completed the work up close, others carried rigging and carted the motorized winch up the trail from the jeeps. About an hour into it, Stein took Clay to the side and walked him through what was about to take place. First he explained how to read the oxygen content by the movement in a lighter’s flame. Next came a scheme of simple codes that Clay could click across the two-way mike to communicate topside while wearing the oxygen mask. Foremost, he made sure Clay understood that there was only twenty minutes of oxygen in the first aid tank.

  At ten to one, Clay stood in the full heat of the Mexican sun fully prepped for the motorized descent. His sweat-drenched shirt and shorts clung to his chest and thighs under the polyester straps of a full safety harness. The oxygen canister was rigged with a belt and slung around his neck to where it rested against his stomach. Stein’s personal two-way headset was fitted under the lighted spelunking helmet that they borrowed from Peter. And of course there were the Bic lighters. One was tightly clutched in his right hand. The other packed into the breast pocket of his shirt. The busy work of getting prepared had kept the thought of what he was about to do at bay. Now that it was time to put up, the tension seemed to suck every last drop of the moisture from of his throat and made it difficult to swallow.

  After toiling in the heat for nearly two hours, the team was surprisingly full of energy as it gathered around the winch some twenty meters from the mouth of the sinkhole. Clay bit down and pushed his way between them and then waited while Stein tethered his harness to the end of the coiled 500-meter steel extraction line that had been threaded through the pulley on the tripod.

  Peter walked over and slapped him on the back. “Hals—und Beinbruch!”

  Clay jumped and jerked his head around.

  Peter smiled and repeated in broken English, “Good luck!”

  Clay managed a nervous nod.

  There was no problem understanding John’s sendoff in the Queen’s English, or the meaning behind the handshakes offered by the brother and sister from San Paulo.

  His heart sank when he glanced over at Aliston and saw no movement. Instead of sending him off like the others, she kept her distance a few meters off the trail. He was still staring at her when Stein grabbed him by the harness and shook him once to check the fitting. The jostle brought Clay’s attention back to the matter at hand. After a quick tug on the harness to confirm the fit, he nervously began to re-check each clip one after the other.

  Stein grabbed Clay by the shoulders and seized the opportunity to psyche him up. “You be first! Something like this you never forget! You man now!”

  It didn’t take long for the psychology behind Stein’s ranting to prove fruitful. Clay started nodding his head as he pumped his fists and took two quick steps back to separate himself from the rest of the expedition. “I can do it,” he huffed to himself with determination.

  He remembered the challenges he had already beaten on the expedition. He had walked over hot coals and broken glass in the deep Thar Desert of Rajasthan, India. He had ridden the whitewater of the Royal Gorge in Colorado. “I can do this!” he vowed again, as he took two more steps backwards. Then he paused to look back one last time at the team standing around the winch. Instead of stopping when he saw Aliston, he kept searching until he found the old Indian standing a dozen meters behind the others. For some reason he felt that he would find courage in that fatherly face, but when he looked into the Indian’s eyes, the strength and warmth were gone. All that stood before him was an old Indian.

  Clay quickly swung around, preferring to face his deepest fear before he could read any meaning into the apathy of the old Indian’s face. As he dropped his head and slowly began to trudge forward, he kept thinking about what the Indian mouthed to him earlier. He didn’t know what the Indian meant by it, but it was something important. He was sure of it.

  The words were still rattling around in his head when he heard Stein’s command from twenty meters back. “Hold on! We pull in slack.” He was at the rim.

  The game plan was for him to continue staring at his feet while the winch reeled in the slack. But as he listened to the pant of his breath he slowly tilted his head up and looked forward. The first thing he saw was the dirt along the edge of the rim beginning to give way under the weight of his body. His white-knuckled tightened around the straps of the harness. With a startled gasp, he quickly shifted his attention to the different shades of limestone layered on the far side of the sinkhole. The view offered only a momentary diversion. What he really needed was to see that the shaft wasn’t that deep. The midday sun brought light to even the darkest of recesses. If it could reach the floor at Sotano de las Golondrinas, it would surely show him the bottom here. He forced a hard swallow and peered over the edge. His hope was to see a little circle lit up on the floor of the shaft by the sun. That’s not what he found. The shaft dwindled until it was completely devoured by the bottomless pit of darkness below. His knees started to buckle and his eyes began to rollback. “NO!” he huffed. He unclenched his fists and pulled in a deep breath. “I’m gonna do it!”

  Stein yelled, “Good! Now you must step off. The cantilever will swing you clear.”

  There was no turning back. He bit down to steady his lower jaw and closed his eyes. He would do it. With his heart pounding, he stuck his right foot out over the rim and let his weight fall forward. For one horrifying, weightless moment… there was nothing. Then the steel line snapped taut, the harness dug into his crotch and armpits, and he felt his weight swing out over the shaft.

  Chapter 2

  Bill moved rather quickly for a sixty-seven year old as he made his way from the kitchen to the television. There, without a care for what his son-in-law was watching, he flipped the rotary dial over to the 5:00 news.

  “What do you think you’re doing? I’m watching the game!” Chuck snapped, as he reared up to the edge of the sofa.

  “Another boy died this morning,” Bill answered matter-of-factly while waiting on the headline story.

  “So?”

  “Makes three of them. All of them were down in Mexico when they had that earthquake about a month ago.” Bill eased his old joints down next to Chuck and motioned with his head. “You go on now and watch the game in the kitchen with the girls.”

  Chuck got up and glanced at the swinging door to the kitchen. He could hear Becky and her mom laughing at the table as they recalled the worn out stories of when his wife was their little girl. There was no way he could watch the game on a nine-inch black and white amongst all that. He looked down and glared at the old, leather face of his father-in-law. But the old man was too interested in the story of some dead rich kid from North Carolina to care. “Hell with this,” Chuck mumbled as he turned toward the front door.

  He pushed the screen door open and stepped out on to the porch. After a fleeting thought of leaving his wife there, he grabbed the steel chain of the porch swing and plopped down in the middle of the green painted slats. To be completely honest—it felt kind of good to get mad, almost exciting.

  By the time the screen door popped open and Becky walked out with Bill and Gina, the staleness of his life h
ad returned. He pushed up and walked over to his wife. “Let’s go.”

  Becky shrugged him off. “I’m coming.”

  “Fine,” Chuck answered with little care as he headed down the steps.

  She turned back to her father and mother and gave them each a quick hug and a kiss before trotting down the steps and across the yard to where Chuck was waiting for her at the truck. “You two should never, ever, sit down and watch a baseball game together.”

  It was as if Chuck could feel the meat of his entire body suck in a little closer to his frame. “What game?”

  Becky got in and then waited for him to get to the other side. “Weren’t you guys watching the Reds?”

  He pulled in behind the wheel, shut the door, and then sat there staring down at his lap. Silence was just beginning to truly set in when he slowly shook his head and mumbled, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  He turned toward Becky, but before he could establish eye contact, it was her turn to look down. “Do what?”

  “Come here…” He glanced over at her parents who were watching their exchange from the porch. “I’m not coming here again.”

  Becky’s stare said it all. “Fine. If you don’t want to see my parents…far be it for me to make you.”

  “Good.”

  With the brief exchange out of the way, silence was the only thing that remained as Chuck put the truck in gear and backed out of the drive. Four blocks down they pulled up to the stop sign at SR 56. State Road 56, one of the many two-lane rural highways in southern Indiana, ran through Madison in the east, past Hanover and on out west to Scottsburg where it hooked up with the interstate. I-65 was the main artery between Indianapolis and Louisville.

  Chuck was waiting for an opening in the traffic when Becky spoke up unexpectedly. “You know I like being in the truck with you.” She paused and smiled in thought of some past memory. “Remember how we used to go driving together.”