Beneath
Norine Lydecker looked up at the towering spires of the medieval cathedral through the viewfinder of her digital camera and pressed the shutter release button.
"Not another picture?" Brent, her husband, asked. "If I didn't know you better, I'd swear you were planning on boring all our friends and relatives to death with several hundred photographs of our honeymoon trip to the British Isles."
"There's nothing even remotely boring about these wonderful old structures. Back home in Massachusetts, we're impressed with the Fairbanks House because it dates back to the 1630s, yet here's a church that's been standing more than a thousand years. It's survived the Reformation, the British Civil Wars, the Restoration and two world wars. I'd say that's worthy of a few photographs."
"Snap away, my love," her husband said with an affectionate laugh. "I suppose having married a history teacher, I'll have to get used to your attraction to antiquity."
While his wife continued to photograph the centuries-old house of worship, Brent Lydecker observed the dark clouds that were gathering on the horizon.
"Looks like there's a storm approaching," he said to the bus driver who had driven them from one tourist attraction to another since the couple arrived in London earlier in the week.
Meanwhile, the tour guide, a humorous chap who hailed from Dublin, was inside the church answering questions from the group of Americans in his charge.
"The weather forecast didn't mention anything about rain," the driver replied. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and it'll blow over. Either way, we'll stay here another fifteen minutes and then head to the next town on our tour."
"Fifteen minutes?" Norine echoed. "I'd better hurry up if I want to get some pictures of the inside of this place."
Brent, who had been in and out of museums, castles and old homes since arriving in England, opted to remain outside while his wife examined the interior of the cathedral. Of the nineteen other people on their tour, fourteen were inside; the others were content with seeing the church's exterior.
Ten minutes later, as Brent was looking at his watch, he heard an ominous rumbling sound. At first, he attributed it to distant thunder, but then he felt a reverberation in the ground below him. Before he could call out to his wife, the earth violently shifted beneath him, and the towering cathedral came crashing down.
* * *
After the geological upheaval ended and everything was still again, Brent, the bus driver and the other five tourists who'd remained outside the church looked at each other helplessly.
"What the hell was that?" Vernon Hinds, a middle-aged life insurance agent from Philadelphia, asked.
"It felt like an earthquake," replied Claire LaNeve, a young woman from New Jersey. "I didn't realize England was prone to earthquakes."
"We've had a number of them throughout the British Isles," the bus driver explained. "England, Scotland, Wales; there was even one in Ireland in 2012."
When his head cleared, Brent was the first person to rush to the ruined church. Within moments he was joined by his fellow tourists, all of whom were eager to find loved ones who had been inside when the quake hit.
"Norine!" he shouted, his eyes frantically scanning the rubble for signs of life.
Meanwhile, the bus driver returned to the coach and tried to summon help on the radio. When he had no luck, he tried his cell phone. That, too, was dead, as were the phones of the five tourists.
"I'm going to drive to the next town," he announced. "Going through this debris could take days or possibly weeks. We need machines that can lift the heavy weight, and we'll need medical personnel to treat the survivors."
"While you're gone, we'll continue trying to clear away the rubble by hand," Vernon added.
The driver got behind the wheel of the bus, put the key in the ignition and attempted to start the engine. However, like the radio and mobile phone, the engine was dead.
"I don't understand it!" he exclaimed. "I've got plenty of petrol, and the battery is fully charged. Oh, well! It looks like I'm going to have to make the journey on foot. Let me just grab a bottle of water, and I'll be on my way."
After sifting through rubble for more than three hours without a break, searchers had yet to locate any sign of the missing members of their tour group. It wasn't until another hour passed that the first body was discovered.
"Does anyone know who this is?" Claire asked softly.
"Yeah," Vernon replied, "I do. Her name was Regina Oswald. She and her husband were from Nebraska."
Brent, Vernon and the other two men who were outside the church when the quake hit lifted the battered body from the rubble and carried it over to where the bus was parked. Russ Hadden, a soldier originally from North Carolina who was currently stationed in Germany, covered the woman's face with his jacket.
"Hopefully the driver will return soon," Vernon began, "before we find more ...."
"And what if he doesn't come back?" Ethel Stark, the other female survivor, asked. "What if the town he was headed to was struck by the earthquake as well? Do you think anyone will care about a group of American tourists when their own homes have been hit and their own families' lives are in jeopardy?"
"Let's not think about what might be," Vernon wisely suggested. "Let's just stick to what we know for a fact. We know the bus driver went to look for help. Until we learn otherwise, we'll have to assume he's going to return. Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but as for me, I'm going to continue searching."
* * *
Seven more bodies were found; no one, as yet, had been found alive. With each grim discovery, Brent became more despondent. He had to find Norine, and he had to find her alive although, as each hour passed, the likelihood of that happening seemed smaller and smaller. Hope, like daylight, was fading fast.
"It doesn't seem as though the bus driver is coming back," Ethel said when the men returned from putting another body beside the bus. "Maybe one of us ought to go for help."
"Does anyone know where there's a town around here?" Vernon asked.
As he'd suspected, no one did.
"Anyone who goes for help will most likely get lost. Besides, it'll be dark soon. I suggest we stop searching for tonight, see what snacks we can find on the bus and then try to get some sleep. By morning, someone might show up, even if it's not the bus driver. I'm sure the government is aware that an earthquake struck this area. They're bound to come looking for us eventually."
Everyone, with the exception of Brent Lydecker, walked away from the former church and headed toward the bus.
"Brent, aren't you coming?" Claire asked.
"I can't. Not until I find my wife."
"You won't find anything in the dark," Vernon said.
"I won't give up."
Vernon, whose own wife was the fourth body recovered, nodded in sympathy and called, "Good luck to you. I hope you find her."
Brent continued sifting through broken beams, splintered wood, piles of stone and shards of stained glass. Nearly every muscle in his body ached. Not only was he exhausted, but he hadn't had anything to eat since his toast and coffee at breakfast. Still, he wouldn't stop. Until he found a body, we wouldn't give up hope that Norine was alive.
* * *
Brent worked through the night. When the morning sun peeped over the eastern horizon, he was still digging through debris. His hands bled from dozens of cuts and scrapes, and his eyes burned from dust and lack of sleep. The heartsick young man stubbornly ignored his injuries and kept searching. He was like an automaton that was fully wound and properly oiled.
Although he had cleared away a large area of rubble during the night, he found no human remains. When there was enough sunlight for him to see clearly, he realized he'd uncovered a storage area.
Damn it! he thought angrily. There wouldn't be any tourists in a storage room. All that work for nothing! All that precious time wasted!
He stood up and stretched, disgusted by his discovery. Suddenly, the ground below him gave way, and he feared another earthquake had struck. Moments later, however, he realized he had fallen through the floor, which had been weakened when the church collapsed.
Brent examined his new surroundings. Strange, ancient artifacts were littered on the bare earth beneath his feet. They were not Christian icons; they were from an older religion, a pagan faith that predated the Roman invasion of Britain.
It doesn't look like anyone's been down here in years, possibly centuries.
He was climbing up a pile of rubbish in an attempt to escape the underground chamber when he heard a low moan come from the darkness.
"Hello? Is someone down here?" he asked hopefully.
The moan came again, louder this time.
"Norine? Is that you?" he cried, turning toward the sound.
"Help ...."
The voice was so soft he couldn't tell if it was male or female.
"I'm coming," he called, making his way in the direction of the voice.
After several minutes of wandering through the darkness, Brent's hand touched something round and hard. His hand moved over the contours of the object, and he realized it was a human skull.
"Help ...."
Brent's heart sank. He was closer to the source of the cry, and he could clearly tell it was a man's voice. Still, he must help; he couldn't, in good conscience, abandon a person in need, even if it was to continue the search for his wife.
Crawling on his hands and knees and trying to avoid the centuries-old bones in the ancient catacombs in which he'd stumbled, Brent eventually found the injured man. With great physical effort and the help of a sturdy beam to give him leverage, he managed to push aside a large chunk of plaster that had the man trapped.
"Can you walk if I help you?"
"I don't ... know," the man replied, wincing in pain. "My leg ... I think it's crushed."
"I'd better try to get you out. I don't know when help will come."
The injured man put his arm around Brent's shoulder. Likewise, Brent put his arm around the man's waist and lifted. Thankfully, the man was fairly thin and small of stature. Still, it took more than an hour for the two men to emerge from the cavern and into the brightness of day.
"Over here!" Brent called as he stuck his head out of the dark chamber. "I've found someone alive."
The other survivors ran to offer their assistance.
"Is it your wife?" Vernon asked, unable to see the injured man from a distance.
"No. I haven't found her yet."
The injured man was carried to the bus and propped up against one of the tourist's duffel bags. The man screamed in pain as Claire LaNeve, who was a licensed nurse, examined him.
"There's not much I can do for you," she admitted. "You'll need to get to a hospital and have a doctor tend to your leg. Until help comes, just stay still and try to rest."
Claire then went into the bus and searched her bag. She returned moments later with two tablets and a bottle of water.
"Here, take these. It's only Ibuprofen, but it should help put a dent in the pain."
Meanwhile, Brent was eating what was left of a package of Cadbury buttons.
"Have you found anyone else?" he asked Vernon.
"Three more—all dead."
"As soon as I finish these chocolates, I'll return to the search."
"You need to sleep. You've been up all night, haven't you?"
"I'll sleep once I know what became of Norine. Still no bus driver, I take it?"
"No sign of anyone at all."
Claire joined the two men and told Brent, "There's a bag of pretzels on the bus, if you want some."
"Maybe later."
"That man you brought up ... do you know who he is?"
"No, why do you ask?"
"Because I don't remember him being on the bus."
"Come to think of it," Vernon added. "Neither do I."
"He's not one of our group then. So what?" Brent asked.
"There's no car in the parking lot, just the bus. How did he get here?"
"Walked, I assume. Or maybe someone dropped him off. What does it matter?"
"It doesn't, I suppose. It just seems odd his being here."
"Maybe he's a caretaker," Vernon offered. "I'm sure someone has to watch over the place."
Claire smiled, visibly relieved.
"That must be it. We'd better get back to work. We still have some people who are missing."
* * *
It was late afternoon, after yet another dead body was found, when Vernon and Claire took stock of the situation.
"There are only two people still unaccounted for," Claire announced. "Mrs. Tamsen, the retired bookkeeper from Ohio, and"—here, she turned away, not wanting to see the agony on Brent's face—"Norine."
"What do we do after we've found everyone?" Ethel asked. "No one's come looking for us yet. We've run out of food, and we have only a few bottles of water left."
"I can't speak for anyone else," Vernon replied, "but if we're still here tomorrow morning, I'm going to walk in the direction the bus driver took and hope to find a town."
"What good will that do?" Ethel argued. "The bus driver didn't have any success. If he had, he would have returned by now."
"Any number of things could have happened. Who knows? He might have had a heart attack along the way and never made it to town. Regardless of what happened to the driver, we have no food. If we hope to survive, we'll have to find something to eat."
"I'm going with you," Claire said.
The others agreed; only Brent refused to accompany them.
"I'm not leaving my wife behind—whether she's alive or dead."
"Well, if we make it to the town, and there's help available there, we'll send someone back for you," Vernon assured him.
Just as the sun was starting to set, Claire called for someone to help her move a large section of wall. Vernon, working nearby, came to her aid. Although both of them strained under the weight, they were able to lift the wall enough to see a human arm in the rubble beneath it.
"We've found someone," Vernon announced sadly.
"Who is it?" Brent asked anxiously. "Norine or Mrs. Tamsen?"
The newlywed rushed over to them and began pulling debris off the body—or rather bodies. Norine and Mrs. Tamsen were found together; neither was alive.
Brent fell onto his wife's corpse, sobbing. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms, kissing her face and professing his undying love. The others carried Mrs. Tamsen's remains back to the bus, leaving him to mourn in private.
"I'm going to try to get some sleep," Claire announced after checking on the injured man. "We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
The others followed her example. They soon fell asleep as Brent's crying continued, undiminished, in the distance.
* * *
"Are you sure you won't come with us?" Claire asked once more before she and the others set out to search for the nearest town.
"I won't leave her here alone. Besides, I don't think he's going to be able to make the trip," Brent replied, nodding his head toward the injured man.
"You take care. I'm leaving two bottles of water. Drink them sparingly; you don't know how long you'll be here."
"Thank you. And good luck—to all of you. I hope you make it."
"We'll send someone back if we do."
Brent watched in silence as his fellow tourists bade farewell to their own dead and took to the road.
"Brent," the injured man called softly.
"You're awake. How's the leg?"
"I'll live. You could have gone with them, you know."
"What's the use? What's out there for me without Norine?"
"Take comfort in the fact that she's in heaven now, and, in time, you'll see her again."
Brent laughed bitterly, and said, "I don't mean to disrespect your beliefs, but I'm an atheist. I don't believe in God."
"God exists," the injured man argued, "as do heaven and hell. I know it for a fact."
"If it gives you comfort to believe, go right ahead."
"The existence of God gives me no comfort, young man."
The lone survivor sat up, all pretense of being in pain gone.
"What would you be willing to do to have your beloved wife back?" he asked.
"Look, I don't want to be rude, but I haven't slept in two days. I'm in no mood for playing games."
"I'm serious," the man said, raising his voice in anger. "Would you be willing to give your left leg to have her breathe again?"
"Norine was the love of my life. I'd die for her. What would a leg matter?"
No sooner did Brent say these words than he felt excruciating pain. He grabbed his left leg and writhed in agony.
"Hush, darling."
Brent stared in wonder at the face above him.
"Norine?"
"Take deep breaths," his wife advised. "The pain will pass soon."
Reluctantly, Brent took his eyes from his wife's face and glanced at the lower half of his body. His left leg was missing from the knee down.
"What have you done ...?"
Brent turned to his right, but the injured man was gone.
"Where did he go?"
"Where did who go, darling?" Norine asked.
"The man with the crushed foot. He was here a minute ago."
"There wasn't anyone there. And you're the one who had a crushed foot. Surely, you remember. You lost the lower part of your left leg in the earthquake."
"No. I wasn't harmed. I was standing outside ...."
Norine put her hand on her husband's forehead.
"You feel cool, so you don't have a fever. Maybe you bumped your head when the church came down."
"But I was outside with the bus driver."
"I was the one outside. I went back to the bus to get a fresh battery for my camera. You were inside the church when the earthquake struck. It wasn't until the following day that we found you. Your leg was crushed and nearly severed from your body. Claire LaNeve, the nurse from New Jersey, cut the remaining tendon and then cauterized and sutured the wound. She and the other survivors went to find help. I stayed here to watch over you."
"None of what you're saying is how I remember it."
"You were unconscious the whole time. You only came to a few moments ago."
"Could I have imagined everything that I thought happened over the last two days? I guess that makes a lot more sense than my having agreed to give an injured man my leg in exchange for having you brought back to life."
Norine laughed, a sound that made Brent's heart burst with joy.
"You think you made a deal with the devil to bring me back to life? You must have hit your head!"
"Who said anything about the devil? But you're right; I must have hit my head. Still, I've got you, and I couldn't ask for anything else."
"Except maybe a prosthetic limb?" his wife teased.
"Only if you want me to dance with you at our fiftieth wedding anniversary."
"We'll get you a new leg before then. I promise."
* * *
Before the sun went down, an ambulance arrived. Claire, Vernon and the other survivors had made it to the nearest town and sent back help, just as they'd promised. Brent was taken to a hospital where the doctor claimed his leg was healing remarkably well.
The following week the newlyweds boarded a plane at Heathrow Airport, anxious to return to America. While in the air, they learned that after the earthquake there were a series of natural disasters that occurred around the world: a hurricane on the Gulf Coast, another tsunami in Thailand and a volcanic eruption in China. Added to these so-called "acts of God," there was a mine cave-in in West Virginia, a terrorist attack in the Middle East, an oil spill in the Pacific Ocean, a raging forest fire in Wyoming and another school shooting in Texas.
Somewhere in the back of Brent's mind, he felt a twinge of remorse.
Who or what was that man I helped climb up to the surface from the chamber beneath the church? Was it Satan? Am I responsible for all these dreadful events? he wondered.
He looked at his wife, seated beside him on the plane. The memory—real or imagined—of Norine's body lying crushed amidst the debris of the church chased the guilt away. She was alive, and they had their whole lives ahead of them!
Norine smiled when Brent squeezed her hand. Then she turned away and looked out the window at the billowy clouds. The demon who inhabited the young woman's body did not want him to see the fiery red glow in her eyes.
The devil once tried to tempt Salem by offering him -- you guessed it! Godiva chocolate.
