The Lazarus Pit

Gillian went up the rock face like a lizard, but I had more trouble.  At the pull-up point, she reached down and helped me over the ledge.  We rested a minute, then started up the passage and across the piles of breakdown.  Gillian wore her dance slippers and skirted the rocks with ease.  My clodhoppers made me feel more clumsy.  At the top of the rock pile, Gillian headed directly for the opening to the crawlspace, flopped on her stomach, and vanished into the hole.  I followed without trepidation.  When I emerged, she was already shinnying down the line from Sibley’s anchor bolt.  My brighter battle lantern illuminated the floor of the Crystal Room beneath her.

“I don’t think I can make it without a rappel device,” I called.

“All right.  You just stay up there and watch,” she answered.

Her flashlight flickered in and out as she passed through the speleothem formations.  I followed her progress with the battle lantern, surprised that it would reach across the Crystal Room.  The ceiling lowered as she reached the far side.

“I’m at the pool now.  Can you see it?” Gillian ran her flash across the surface of the pool.  I could barely pick her out in the beam of my light.  She put her light on a rock and then leaned over to remove her shoes.  In a quick motion, she stripped off her leotard.

My light picked up her dim shape as she lowered herself into the pool and grabbed her light.  Then she disappeared.

Screaming her name, I watched as the glow of Gillian’s flashlight faded beneath the surface of the pool.  I looped the watertight battle lantern over my wrist and tried to clamber down the rock face, using the rope.  After several slips and near-falls, I reached the bottom.  By the time I had picked my way across the path of the Crystal Room’s floor, ten minutes had passed.  I sat at the edge of the pool to remove the cumbersome shoes, then shed my overalls and long johns.  I lowered myself into the pool and marveled that the light continued burning.

Swimming under the ledge, I discovered an underwater crawlspace.  After less than 30 seconds of holding my breath, the lantern revealed Gillian’s naked legs ahead.  I surfaced beside her, gasping for breath.  Her flashlight glowed weakly, its batteries on their last legs.

“Thought my torch was watertight,” she mumbled.  “Wasn’t. Thought there’d be another big crystal room.” Her voice was weak, almost a sob.  “There isn’t.”

My light revealed a very small low chamber.  Gillian and I lay on a short bench, almost a beach, above the pool.

“Are you OK?” I asked, rubbing her shoulders and neck.

“Guess so.  Hard to breathe.  I think the air’s bad in here.” She turned to look at me.  “There’s something in here.”

I directed my light to the far corner of the chamber, just at the end of the beach.  A lumpy form lay against the juncture of ceiling and wall.  I crawled up the beach and to the shape.  The remains of a skeleton, covered with rotting shreds of a wet suit, lay pinned by a huge rock jutting from the wall.  One outstretched arm covered a plastic emergency flask available in any military surplus store.  I gently removed the flask and examined it.  The initials “H.S.” were painted in red enamel on the outside.  Beneath the skeleton, a length of rope extended onto the beach.  I pulled at it gently and was amazed when it did not disintegrate, revealing about five feet of climbing line.

“Gil! It’s Hiram Sibley.  You’ve found his tomb.  But we’ve got to get out of here.  Can you swim?”

“Yeah, but I don’t… don’t know where.” Her voice was weak and incoherent.