The Hole

The Hole

The blinking red light confirmed what I already knew. The food was gone, and there wasn't enough water to spare for drinking. When was the last time it didn’t hurt to swallow? I used to make fun of Mom for taking showers every day. I’d give anything to feel cold water again!

Anything but follow the others into the hole. Greg said he didn’t know how it got there. Sally acted like it was a toy and threw all kinds of junk into it. And Jane was… Jane. Stupid. Bossy. Jane. Jane the fearless. Jane the glorious. Take charge, Jane. Jane was the first one to go.

She packed a bag and climbed down without a care in the world. And when she didn’t come back a week later, Greg, being the stupid sheep he is, decided to follow. He’s always liked her. I’m surprised he didn’t climb down immediately. That was a good way to score some points when they reached the bottom.

Sally and I tried to make it work. “Just because we haven’t been hit with a blood fountain or heard screams, Doesn’t mean they didn’t die painfully!”

I liked Sally. We talked about books and movies all the time. She wasn’t into video games, though. But mention a creepypasta, and she’d gush for hours. She didn’t say goodbye. I woke up to find our cabin a mess. Sally took most of the food and bottled water.

But she left me some jerky, and we had an old well. I just had to find a way to reach it without getting any ash on me. It would have been fine if it rained. I had buckets and solar panels. And before the Internet went out, I binged on survival videos. I tried to order a boar spear, but the grid went offline three days after I received a tracking number. Knowing my luck, the spear either burned up in a plane crash or is making someone else feel safer. Maybe it fell near some boar? That would be ironic. A weapon falling among the animals it’s supposed to kill.

I refused to believe I was the only one left. Humanity was too vast to be wiped out completely. We breed too quickly. We adapt. We are the dominant species!

But that doesn’t matter. You can’t hunt when there are no animals around. Solar panels are useless if they’re covered in ash. And there’s no point in living if you’re only postponing the inevitable. This isn’t living. I’m not even surviving. There’s nothing to do! And damn it, I just want this to end!

I hate the hole. It’s right there. Mocking me. It took my friends. Or what passed as friends.

Maybe it ate them. Maybe there’s a monster down there, and it's waiting for me to be too weak to fight back before climbing up to finish me off. I’m not stupid.

I was never an athlete, but I know how to climb. So did the others. Jane said she could do anything in heels. And Sally only had a pair of scuffed-up tennis shoes when it happened. I looked at the blinking light as it attempted to bathe the room in feeble red. It was a nice enough cabin when Greg bought it. Hardwood floors, a big fireplace in the living room, two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen we never used. Greg always considered himself to be an outdoorsman. He bought a fishing pole and talked about getting a kayak.

This was supposed to be a camping trip. No one believed the reports about falling airplanes and strange weather patterns. Fake news was the norm. But no one said anything about holes showing up. Greg swore it wasn’t here when he bought the cabin. He promised it wasn’t a prank.

“Come on, guys. This is way too much work for me. Do you really think I have the time to dig a hole in my shiny new basement?”

Of course, we didn’t think that. There wasn’t time to think. The air smelled musty, and stepping into the cabin made it worse. But we couldn’t risk going outside because the ash started falling. And it burns. Not enough to set anything on fire yet, but Jane kept complaining about her skin being itchy after she checked the well.

Sally had to help her in the shower that night. She never told me what happened to Jane’s skin. But it must have been bad because standing under the shower for over an hour didn’t stop the itching. Jane was the last one to take a shower. Maybe that’s why she climbed down first.

The itching wouldn’t stop, and things kept getting worse. Our main source of power died before we could safely finish the perishables. I remember reading a story where the main character kept his milk in a river.

“We could put it in the tub? Keep it submerged? It’s worth a try, right?” They hadn’t thought so. It was better to finish eating the deli meats before it spoiled. It was better to chug the milk. Who needs glasses among friends? No one cares about swapping spit or germs among friends.

“I’m telling you, ok? The military or police will get everything back up and running in a week. Maybe we can’t leave yet, but there’s no way this ash thing will last.”

Jane was wrong. It’s lasted so long that I can’t remember the date. When was the last time I crossed the room? My bladder used to kick in the second I woke up, but when was the last time I went to the bathroom? Why did I start sleeping next to the hole?!

I hated it when my little brother slept on the couch in the living room. He had a perfectly good bed in his room. And it's his own fault it got hot because he refused to turn off most of his electronics. Is he still alive? Did he get home safely? Why didn’t Mom blow up my phone that first night?

The hole never changed. We couldn’t feel a breeze or draft or whatever you call it when it’s coming from a place underground. But it led somewhere. And the others have a head start…if they’re still alive. Can I even stand anymore? Isn’t there a term for limbs or muscles that stop working from lack of use? Is my body eating itself to stay alive? I never cared much about science or losing weight. Fads never appealed to me. The body needs energy to survive. And I haven’t given it anything in so long!

I wished Sally had asked me to come with her. We were the nerds of our group. We agreed to work together. But it’s not like she promised to die with me. And isn’t a slim chance better than none? The jerky tasted like sandpaper when I finished it.

Every day I waited. Hoping for something to happen. I knew the others weren’t coming back. They went into the hole to escape the ash. They went into the hole to avoid starving to death with me. They preferred the hole to me. And I can’t blame them. We might have eaten each other if they stayed.

Isn’t there a special rule that forgives you for eating someone if you’re starving to death? Maybe they ate each other. Maybe they’re waiting for me to climb down so they can eat me. Maybe they’re trapped, hoping I’ll come with supplies and rescue them… or die with them.

I don’t want to be alone anymore. The hole is where I left it. It stares at me. Taunting me. Calling me. Come down, it says. You’re dying. There’s no point in staying here alone. What’s the worst thing that can happen now? I slip and break my neck? I can’t eat wood. I hate the hole!

All those stories about people boiling their shoes to survive didn’t know what they were doing. It takes more energy to chew an old shoe than whatever scrap of nutrients you might get if you can swallow it. But even that sounds better than lying here waiting to die. I don’t want to be alone.

The hole is the first thing I see whenever I open my eyes. It's inches from my fingertips. I could stretch my arm out and let it hang above the abyss. No one would blame me for letting myself fall. I haven’t heard anything to suggest life still existed outside the cabin.

And if the insects are gone, what chance do I have? Cockroaches and Twinkies are supposed to survive nuclear fallout. How have I survived when cockroaches haven’t? If the hole has an opinion about my mental ramblings, it doesn’t share. The others might not have been mentally stable when they climbed down.

Why should I be any different? Why should I try so hard to survive up here? Something better could be waiting a few feet away. I don’t even need to climb. I don’t have anything to carry, thanks to the others. Maybe I will thank them for that. I’d never even dream about going near the hole if I still had options.

Let someone else deal with the backlash of saving the world. I’m not a hero. I just wanted to hang out with people who didn’t piss me off daily, in a cabin, surrounded by nature and good times. Maybe howl at the moon and get drunk. We’ve never failed to make things interesting. At least the world didn’t end when I was at work. I can’t imagine trying to survive with my boss.

I can’t stand. But I can crawl. The floorboards feel good against my skin.

It’s good that Greg didn’t pick a cabin that uses cement for its basement. But the hole might not have appeared here otherwise. My hands find the hole's edge, and I use it to tug myself closer. The air feels cooler inside it. That’s nice. I must have knocked off a rock because something moved in the hole.

Echoes wrap around me as I give myself a final push and let the hole take me. The cold air blowing past me feels good. Darkness soon envelops me, but I can still hear and smell. And it’s the smell that worries me!

Maybe I’ll land on their corpses. That would be an ironic way to end things. We can rot together. While the ash continues to build up around the cabin. Something scraped against my leg, but it was not enough to stop my fall.

Or maybe, I won’t land at all.