Death is Forever

absorbed light and gave it back from unexpected quarters, where wet stone reflected flame. The sound of falling water came distantly. Nearby was a steady dripping, sliding, gliding rush of rivulets that was like a tremulous sigh expanding through the cave’s endless night.
    The limestone was alive with water.
    “What’s that?” she asked, spotting the candy tin in Cole’s hand for the first time.
    “Something Abe left.”
    “Is it empty?”
    “No.”
    “Is it diamonds?” she asked eagerly.
    Cole pried the lid from the candy tin. “No. But in a cave, it’s more valuable than diamonds. Matches.”
    There was a folded piece of paper inside, riding atop a nest of loose wooden matches and waterproof containers holding more matches.
    “Take it,” he said. “Like everything else that Abe left behind, it’s yours.”
    Gently she removed the paper and opened it. The faded, elegant lines of Abe’s handwriting took shape in the flickering candle flames.
    Granddaughter:

    If you got this far, you’re more my blood than
    Bridget’s. She hated the Kimberley. Said it was fit only for felons and black boys.
    But it was me she loved, not my brother. It was my child she bore.
    Mistress of lies.
    Damn her.

    Drink holy, child of my dreams.
    Know where the black swan goes.
    Touch God’s own jewel box.
    Feel the cold stone locks.

    Goodbye, grandchild of deceit, blood of my blood, bone of my bone. Don’t stay too long. You’ll swallow black and drown.
    “Looks like you were right,” Erin said, glancing up from the paper. “Bridget was carrying Abe’s child when she married my grandfather.”
    Cole grunted. Working in darkness, he bent and started sorting through the rucksack, removing everything but the small flashlight. “Like he said, ‘Queen of Lies.’”
    “‘Damn their hot cries,’” Erin added quietly. She folded the paper and put it back in the tin. “He wasn’t a forgiving sort, was he?”
    “Would you have been?”
    “So far, so good,” she said with a shrug.
    She removed a waterproof container of matches, checked its contents, and stuck the container in the pocket of her shorts.
    “Does that mean you’ve forgiven Hans?” Cole asked as he took the shotgun and propped it against a rock near the entrance.
    “It means I’ve forgiven myself for being stupid and trusting the wrong person.” She closed the tin and set it on the floor. “I don’t think old Abe got that far. I think he drank a river of beer rather than face himself.”
    Cole’s pale eyes flashed in the candlelight as he turned toward her. “What about me? Have you forgiven me for not closing my hand and crushing Lai’s throat?”
    “You’re asking the wrong person.” Erin scooped up several fat candles and stuffed them in her other pocket.
    “What does that mean?”
    “You should be asking yourself, not me.”
    For the space of several breaths there was no sound in the cave but that of water seeping through cracks in cold stone.
    Cole shrugged the rucksack into place and turned away.
    The sound of his footsteps grating over stone blended with the distant murmurings of water. He worked over the familiar carbide lamps, then tried lighting one. To his surprise, it worked. A clean flame burned steadily, multiplied many times by the mirrored dish. He closed the tempered glass shield, protecting the flame.
    He snuffed out his candle and tried another lamp. It didn’t work. Neither did the third. The fourth one did. He took off his bush hat, strapped one of the miners’ helmet lamps on, and walked over to Erin with the other helmet light burning in his hand.
    She learned real fast not to look directly at either light.
    “Take off your hat,” he said.
    She did, waited while he strapped the helmet on, and then turned her head. The helmet wobbled wildly.
    “Too big,” he said. He adjusted the webbing of straps. “Try again.”
    This time the helmet stayed in place.
    “Stay at least ten feet behind me,” he said. “No point in both of us falling through the same hole.”
    Her eyes narrowed. She hesitated before blowing out her candle. “Are you trying to frighten me into staying here?”
    “No. I’m simply telling you the truth. We could be walking on limestone that’s as thick as a mountain or as thin as summer ice. There’s no way of knowing until the floor either gives way or it doesn’t.”
    Uneasily she looked down at the ground beneath her feet. It was uneven and felt as solid as the stone it