This week’s challenge had us choose one from a series of beautiful photos of impossible places.

I don’t know how much light I’ve got left. But there’s plenty of air.

I can’t tell if the light I’m seeing nearby is reflected from my lamp or from another natural source. It’s enough to see by. And my God, this place is huge. Bigger than any sonar readings could have told us. Bigger than anybody imagined.

I’m still not sure why they brought me along. All the geologists and professional explorers and local experts, and then there was me. I’ve always found caves and mines fascinating, but from a historical standpoint, as indicators of what humanity needs them for and how it uses the tools it can create or is presented with, never from a rock formation or shale composition standpoint. I consider it a cruel irony that it was me who fell through the loose rocks above into this chamber below.

They’ve gone to get more rope to try and get me out of here. The camp is a few hours away. I guess that gives me time to explore, provided I don’t wander too far.

I think my leg might be broken.

It won’t hold my weight very well and it’s extremely painful to move it, let alone try to stand on it. I found some painkillers in my pack, and I have a good supply of drinking water. I’m going to see what I can do to cobble together a splint.

Hobbling is not the most expedient way of getting around, but I did discover something down here. Something that will change human history forever.

Under the calcification and fallen rocks, there are man-made structures down here. I’ve discovered what appear to be massive load-bearing columns, like support beams, all through this cavern. I can’t even begin to guess at the age of this stonework. Centuries? Millennia? I’m no scientist and have no equipment to measure such a thing.

All I know is that it bears further investigation. My watch tells me it’ll be a few more hours before the party returns. I’ll take a few minutes to rest, have a drink of water and perhaps another round of painkillers, and see what I can find.

This is becoming more and more impossible as I go on.

There are carvings in some of the structures. From what I can tell, mostly by shining light through the calcification, they resemble Scandinavian runes in passing. I say ‘in passing’ because we are pretty far from any Scandinavian countries. And while I am no expert, as I’ve only examined original Norse ruins and documents in passing, I have to say that many of these symbols are entirely unfamiliar to me. I will sketch what I can before I return to where I fell in.

I don’t know if it’s the painkillers or something in the air or if I’m simply going mad.

But I’m hearing things down here. Sounds that I am not myself making.

Checking my watch, the party should have returned by now. They need to return soon. I cannot get out on my own.

My light is beginning to fade, and unless my eyes are playing tricks, some of the other light is also shifting. It’s as if a shadow is moving somewhere beneath me.

And then there’s sound.

God help me, it sounds like drums.

Drums.

Drums in the deep.

To meet the latest Terribleminds Flash Fiction Challenge, the dice of destiny have chosen: Post-Apocalyptic Horror, A Nevada brothel and Talking animals.

They’ve been gone a long time.

I’ve got my back to the wall as I sit facing the door. The beaded curtain on the inside of the doorframe catches some of the light from the lamps we moved in here. The subtle mood lighting of the room hadn’t been enough, and since it was the easiest room to secure, it had kind of become our base of operations. The lack of a back way out still bothered me, but a look at my leg was a good reminder that a back way wouldn’t do me much good right now.

It wasn’t a bite, thank God. I’d fallen during our last food run a week ago. Something was probably broken. Lori, a nursing school student before this all happened, had done what she could for the swelling and set the leg so I wouldn’t make things worse. I felt terrible, like a burden, but both Lori and Amber assured me that I was doing fine, and considering how hard I’d been going just to get us here, maybe some time off of my feet would be good for me.

I get a little more worried every day, though. No sign of other survivors, no National Guard, no radio updates, nothing. My watch is one of those self-winding models, and I give my wrist a shake and check it now and again. It’s been hours. They wanted to scope out a store a bit further out, see if they could find fresh medical supplies along with the usual food and water. I’d shown them both how to use handguns a couple weeks ago. They’ll be fine. Probably. Maybe.

Pearl’s cat opens one eye. This had been Pearl’s place, according to the sign out front. Lori hadn’t been terribly keen on holing up here, maybe because she thought I had something not related to survival on my mind. She’s pretty and all, but she has a kid out there somewhere, and I promised her I’d help her find the child and her dad, if they’re still out here somewhere. I wasn’t sure how Lori would get along with Amber when we found the call girl huddled under one of the beds, but so far they seem okay together. And I haven’t made any moves on either of them. Not yet, anyway. There’s a time and a place, and this isn’t the time, really.

The cat gets up and dismounts from the pile of clothes she’d been dozing on. I’m sitting with my back to the wall, rifle across my lap. For about the thousandth time I take a mental inventory: Four rounds in the rifle, eight more in my pocket, a full clip in the 9 mil and another in my pocket. I take my hand from the rifle’s lever and pick up the bottle of water. It’s almost empty. I may have to limp out and get another one soon. I haven’t heard the outside door or any glass breaking, so it’s likely safe in the rest of the cathouse. Probably. Maybe.

“You’re all going to die, you know.”

I look down at the cat. Long, black, and lean, she’s got large yellow eyes and a swishing tail. She’s pleasant enough, but I’ve never heard her speak before. Her voice is low, scratchy, like Kathleen Turner with a sore throat.

“Come again?”

“You heard me.” She sits herself down and start bathing herself. “You can only keep scavenging for so long. You’re either going to have to move on or start rationing more. And you’re hungry as it is.”

My stomach growls. I briefly entertain the notion of making kitty stew, then lean my head back against the wall. I’m just tired. My mind’s playing tricks. I check my forehead with the back of my hand. Do I have a fever? Hard to tell. Pearl kept the place well insulated to make her guests more comfortable. It can get pretty warm in here when we get our little propane stove going. I find myself remembering the last time I was making dinner, and Amber got so warm she took off her sweatshirt.

“Males are all alike.”

I smile. “That’s proof that you’re just a hallucination. Or at least the talking is.”

“For all you know, cats are psychic.”

“Fair point, but you could have told us we’re doomed at any time. Why wait until I’m alone?”

“Maybe I can only speak to certain humans. Or maybe I just like making your life difficult.”

She does have a tendency to bat at my face at night for my attention, when she’s hungry or something. “Could also be that you’re jealous of the attention I give to the two non-cat females in here.”

“Oh, yes. I can resist it no longer. You’ve uncovered my shameful desire. Take me, take me now.” She yawns to punctuate her sarcasm.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not into beastiali-”

The sound of Pearl’s front door coming open jolts me upright. The cat turns towards the door to the back room and then darts behind the pile of clothes. I pick up the rifle from my lap. Four rounds in the rifle, eight more in my pocket, a full clip in the 9 mil and another in my pocket. The handgun, formerly a cop’s sidearm, is within easy reach of my right hand if I have no time to reload, or worse, the rifle jams. I think of Amber, again, this time standing behind her to shoot at cans in the back alley.

Keep your eye on your target, aim carefully, take a deep breath, and hold it when you squeeze the trigger.

She’s a decent shot, and the memory of her leaning into me is a nice one. I put it from my mind, though, as I hear shuffling in the hall. I put the rifle’s butt against my shoulder, and line up the sights.

The door handle rattles. My leg aches. I take a deep breath, and hold it.