Tunnels 02, Deeper

instantly, falling back into the damp sand. His mouth burned and his throat contracted. He started to cough and then retched. If he'd had any food in his stomach, he would have been violently sick. No, it was no good, it was brine, it was salt water. Even if he was able to force some of it down, he knew it would finish him off.
    He listened to the lethargic slap of the water and then rose unsteadily to his feet, debating whether he should go back into the lava tubes. But he couldn't bring himself to do that -- not after all the hours he'd already spent in them. Besides, there wasn't the remotest chance he'd find his way back to the Great Plain, and even if, by some miracle, he did survive the journey, what would be waiting for him there? A Styx reception party? No, he had no choice but to follow the edge of the water, its sound continually playing on his mind and making his thirst even more agonizing.
    Although the sand was level, it shifted under his every step, sapping what little energy he had left as he plodded laboriously across it. He could no longer think straight. He tried to focus. How big was the body of water? Was he simply tracking around its shores, going in one big circle? He tried to tell himself it didn't feel that way -- he was pretty sure he was traveling in a straight line.
    But with each step, he fell further and further into a state of numb despondency. With a long, drawn-out sigh, he sank down onto the sand and seized a handful of it, thinking he might never get up again. One day far in the future, someone would discover his remains, a dried-out cadaver in the lonely darkness. How ironic: He would die of thirst curled up next to a subterranean sea. Maybe his bones would be picked bare by scavengers, his ribs sticking up from the sand, like a camel's skeleton in the desert. He shivered at the thought.

    * * * * *

    Will didn't know how long he'd remained there, beaten and drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. Several times he told himself to get back on his feet and walk again. But he was just too tired to resume his aimless wandering.
    He nestled his head in the sand and turned to face the direction that he knew he should be taking. He blinked several times, his eyelids rasping against his dry eyeballs, and happened to glance behind him.
    He could have sworn he saw the faintest glimmer of light. His vision playing tricks on him again. But he continued to stare at the spot. And saw it for the second time: a tiny, indistinct flash. He scrambled up and began to stumble toward it, leaving the sandy shore behind him as he scrabbled across the rattling pebbles. He tripped and went sprawling. Got up. Swore at himself because he was disoriented. And caught another fleeting glimpse of it. The light.
    This was not something his tired brain was conjuring up -- it was real, and he was so close. Yes, it might be a Styx, but he was past caring. He needed light like an asphyxiated man needs air.
    More carefully, he crept up the gravel bank. He could see that the irregular flashes were emanating from a lava tube, its mouth clearly outlined by them. And though the light seemed to flicker in intensity, as he came nearer he could see that there was a constant illumination within the tube itself. He reached the opening, treading softly, until he was able to peer around the corner.
    He saw shapes without form, shades without color. It took the most immense effort for him to remember how to use his eyes. He had to keep telling himself that what was before him was not just some hollow manifestation of his own making. Rapidly blinking, he struggled to bring his two lines of sight together and force the click-clack vacillation of the images to come to rest. They fused and made a distance, something certain...
    "PIG!" he croaked. "YOU BEAUTIFUL PIG!"
    "Wha--?" Chester cried, sitting up with fright and spitting the food from his mouth. "Who--?"
    Will could see again. His eyes feasted on the light, luxuriating in everything before him. Not fifteen feet away sat Chester, with a lantern in his hand and his rucksack open between his legs. He'd been helping himself to some food, stuffing it unceremoniously into his mouth, and clearly too preoccupied to hear Will's approach.
    Will lurched toward his friend, beyond overjoyed. He half fell, half sat by Chester, who was gawping at him as if he'd seen a ghost. Will snatched the lantern from him and clasped it in his hands.
    "Thank God," Will repeated several times in a cracked