They all sorely needed the rest break.
"We'll stop here," Painter said, and sank to his butt, exhausted.
After escaping the mud, he had led them to the end of the lava tube. It had dumped them into a growing maze of tunnels, chutes, rock falls, and blind alleys. For the past half hour, Painter kept trying to climb upward, hoping for the best, but each time, they were eventually driven back deeper.
Needing to collect himself and think, he called for a stop in this small cavern. He searched around. Tunnels branched off in three different directions.
Where now?
Painter stared at his mud-coated companions. Hank let the others take turns sipping from his CamelBak water pouch. Kowalski had already drained his, and Painter had lost his pack to that Amazon woman. They kept hearing water but could never find its location. Dehydration, more than anything, threatened them. If the chill didn't kill them, the lack of water would.
How long could they keep this up?
Hank looked one step away from collapsing as he sat next to his dog. Kowalski fared little better. He sweated like a racehorse, losing pints of water every few minutes. Even Jordan looked hollow-eyed and lost.
Painter knew that what was weighing them all down, making every step harder, was the futility of their situation. He felt doubly crushed. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Kai's face as she was dragged away, hear her sobbing cries.
Was she even still alive?
That worry plagued another. Jordan had voiced similar questions as they hiked, never straying far from that same fear. The two had apparently grown close.
Jordan leaned his head back against the wall, too tired to move. Painter studied him, suddenly recognizing how truly young he was. Jordan had held up as well as any man, but he was still barely out of boyhood.
As Painter stared, he noted the youth's small cowlick-really just a few hairs sticking up-bend ever so slightly, quivering. Jordan scratched his head, perhaps feeling it, too.
It took Painter a few extra moments to realize the truth.
That's the answer...
He sprang up, shedding his exhaustion like so much dead skin. "There's a breeze blowing through here," he said. "It's faint, but it's here."
Kowalski opened one eye. "So?"
"This is a breathing cavern system. And it's still breathing ."
Hank's eyes widened, the dullness fading. He lifted a damp hand, trying to feel that faint breath.
Painter explained. "Just because one blowhole got plugged, that doesn't mean they all did. By following the direction of this breeze, it should lead us to a way out."
Kowalski slapped a palm on his thigh and stood. "Then what are we waiting for? Once we're out of here, I'm looking for the nearest watering hole. And for once in my damned life, I really mean water ."
With renewed hope, they set off.
But not before Kowalski made an addendum to that last statement. "Of course, just to be clear, that doesn't mean I would turn down a cold beer if someone offered."
The hike from this point on was no less strenuous or frustrating than what came before, but hope now buoyed their spirits, kept them moving forward. They tested each crossroads with a small match from Hank's backpack, watching the direction of the smoke. The breeze grew stronger and stronger over the next two hours, which only encouraged them to move faster.
"We must be near the surface," Hank said, and sucked on the blue plastic tube to his CamelBak. From the forlorn gurgle as he sucked, he was empty.
They needed to find the way out.
Painter checked his watch.