She was able to stand, semi-crouched, without her head touching the stone ceiling. The floor was littered with beer cans, broken glass, and large flat stones. The chamber narrowed immediately, turning into a twisting keyhole-shaped passage. There was only one way to go, so she stooped to enter the passage and followed its undulating course through the hillside. The curved walls were ribbed like washboards and the thin layer of mud on the floor was disturbed by numerous footprints of those who had gone before. And one of those sets of prints, she now felt certain, was Jarrell’s. She had gone about a hundred yards when the passage began to narrow even further, becoming nothing more than a vertical slit that curved away into darkness. She called out to Jarrell, and her voice again sounded eerie to her own ears, echoing faintly in the darkness ahead. She turned sideways, held her flashlight pointed into the fissure, and worked her body forward. Her ankles twisted on the stones along the floor, and she could hear dripping water as she slithered between the damp limestone surfaces.
