Page 45 of Fighting for Mallory

Water spray hit her face, and her bloody hands slipped. Mallory free-fell backward and landed with a terrible crunch onto a massive array of low-growing stalagmites. Her body went numb. Unable to move, too shocked to even scream, she feared she’d broken her back.

I’m sorry, Luca. I tried but I failed. I failed.

Imagining his grief when he found her broken, lifeless body caused tears to trickle from her eyes.

* * *

Luca hardly slept during the day and a half it took for Clayton Wemys to join them from overseas. In his dreams, the harvest moon grew bigger and brighter until it blocked out all light, including the sun. Then, an ominous darkness overtook the world. That’s when Luca knew that his and Mallory’s souls no longer occupied the same plane. He cried out her name and woke up drenched in sweat.

“Mallory,” he muttered. “Keep fighting. Don’t give up.”

He half expected an answer, but none came.

An employee of the mysterious company Maverick worked for dropped Clayton Wemys off at Detective Scope’s home shortly before noon. When the scientist was introduced to everyone, he reminded Luca of Clark Kent. Clayton wore black plastic framed glasses, khakis, and a pine-colored pullover. A lock of wavy hair fell down his forehead, and he emanated an innocent boy-next-door vibe. He spoke in a soft Tennessee twang.

“Nice to meet y’all. Maverick chatters all the time about his fancy Laguna Beach buddies.”

He winked at Maverick, and everyone laughed except Luca. It didn’t seem right to laugh, to eat, to even breathe while Mallory faced imminent death.

Clayton noticed his silence. “We’re gonna get your girl back, Luca. If she’s in the caves, I’ll find her. No one knows Tennessee caves better than I do. Now show me where Mallory last pinged your buddy Tex.”

They trooped into Scope’s den. Maverick pointed to an X on the map that indicated Mallory’s last known location. Clayton pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned.

“That can’t be right. We’re looking at a hillside. There’s nothing in that area. It’s prone to mudslides and flash floods. There are warning signs and chain link fences posted to keep people away.”

“So, you’re saying there isn’t a way into the cave system in that area. And we’re not even certain if Mallory has been taken into the caves.”

Clayton grinned. “I didn’t say that. Tell a kid like me I can’t go somewhere or do something, and I’ll dive right in to prove I can. There is a way into the cave system, but it’s dangerous due to the unstable ground.”

“Then we start there.”

“After I review the plan, we’ll go in tomorrow after sunset.”

“Why not tonight?” Luca couldn’t hide his impatience.

“Because I’ve just spent the past twenty-two hours on planes, and I’m as tired as a huntin’ dog chasin’ a fox. I need to have my wits about me if I’m leading a search and rescue team into those caves. Any place nearby where I can rest my head and get something good to eat?”

“Right here,” Scope replied. “My wife is the best cook this side of the Mississippi. She’ll fix you up with some fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. Everyone has been camping out in the living room, my kids’ bedrooms. Wherever there’s room for a pillow and a sleeping bag.”

Clayton patted his flat stomach. “I could use some good, downhome cookin’.”

With a full house, Mrs. Scope had been cooking all morning. The aroma of fried chicken, crispy and golden on the outside, lightly browned biscuits, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a huge pot of fresh green beans seasoned with bacon wafted through the house. In spite of the gravity of the situation that brought them together, their hearts grew lighter as the group set the long, cherrywood table in the formal dining room for the large midday meal the “Westerners” weren’t used to eating. When the food was placed at various points on the table, the Scopes and their guests seated themselves on comfortable high-backed, off-white cushioned chairs. Mr. Scope asked everyone to join hands in prayer. He beseeched the good Lord to give them guidance and patience in their search for their loved one who had been taken from them. As Luca added his own, “Amen,” to the chorus echoing around the table, he crossed himself.

Clayton Wemys possessed the gift of storytelling, which he claimed he inherited from his paternal grandparents. “Ain’t no one could tell a story better ‘n my grandma and grandpa,” he declared, slipping back into old speech patterns his “citified” and “educated” parents tried to beat out of him. “I don’t mean that literally ‘a course. Mama and Daddy used subtler means of correction than taking a switch to our backsides. They just withheld the one thing my brothers and sisters wanted the most.”

Mrs. Scopes smiled. “What was that?”

“For me? My freedom. Granddaddy always used to say I was born with the spirit of Huckleberry Finn. Couldn’t keep me indoors or shoes on my feet. Wanna know what’s both good and bad about growin’ up in a small, backwater town of twelve hundred?”

“Everyone knows your business?” Hutch guessed.

“Yup. And tattles on you, too.”

During their meal that ended with warm slices of homemade apple pie topped with scoops of vanilla ice cream, Clayton entertained them with stories about that “troublesome Wemys boy.”

“First time I got lost in the caves I created a full-scale panic. The whole town went into mourning for me. I guess they assumed I was a goner. After the cops and fire and rescue found me, I was treated like a prodigal son, given the best treats everywhere I went. Two more times, and I was no longer the prodigal son. I was the boy who cried wolf.”

Clayton paused as he swallowed a forkful of pie and ice cream. “No offense to my grandma and mama, but this pie is delicious, Mrs. Scope.”

---