“Vickie?”
The frantic sound of her father's cries immediately snapped Vickie from her grogginess. She propped herself up with her arms, her back aching from the landing. A dull pain emanated from her forehead despite that it was the back of her head that had slammed into the ground.
“I'm down here!” she cried. “I can't see you – that thing is in the way!”
“Can you move?”
“I think so. Just a sec!” She slowly got to her feet, her back fighting her as she straightened herself. Aside from the pain that concentrated at her shoulder blades she felt fine. Her legs itched terribly! She took a few steps to distance herself from the void, the fabric of her jeans terrorizing her legs with each movement. Scratching them didn't help much, mostly increasing the itching and her need to claw at them. Was it a spinal cord injury? Wouldn't that result in pain and numbness? She had no trouble walking, at least.
“I see you!” Dave shouted, though no relief could be heard in his voice. “You stay right there! I'm on my way down.” He slid down the rope and looked just as good as any professional. His eyes carefully studied his surroundings, focusing on everything but Vickie.
She rushed to his side just as he hit the bottom, his feet firmly planted on a slab of stone that had fallen from the cavern walls long, long ago.
“Where are you hurt?” He grasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. It was that look again and her stomach churned violently.
“Mostly in my back,” she reached her arm around and tapped Dave on the spot where it hurt the most. “Right there, but it's nothing too bad. I also managed to hurt my forehead a bit, I guess.”
“How'd you hurt both your forehead and your back?”
“It's all kind of a blur. I have no idea what all happened,” she replied. She shrugged her shoulders only to feel the pain well up. Wincing she relaxed them.
Dave gave her a quizzical look. “But you're fine otherwise?”
“Yeah. My legs itch like crazy, but I don't think that means anything.”
“Let's get outta here. I've got your bag for you. Do you need me to carry you?”
“No, I'm really fine,” Vickie protested. “I can carry my backpack, too.”
“That's okay,” her father answered, slinging both backpacks over his shoulders with ease.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “I know how much you love this, and I just went and messed it all up.”
“You don't have to be sorry. I'm just glad you're not hurt.” He placed a firm hand on her shoulder. “I'm not leaving because of you. I'm leaving because I don't trust that thing.”
“It pulled me, Dad. It was like someone increased the gravity ten fold, or something.”
Dave didn't give a reply; his eyes were focused on the black disk that hovered in the air. Putting an arm around his daughter, the two of them headed back to the entrance.
It was a quiet trip, and although the climbing bits made her shoulders scream, she said nothing of it. The fall had done a number on her and a trip to the chiropractor would be in definite order, but complaining about it would do nothing but slow them down.
The darkness crept back, the humidity rising as the dampness clung to their clothes once again. Her legs continued to itch, making every step, every movement a nightmare. She'd never experienced anything quite like that sensation, and it wasn't localized in just one spot, either; it spread all the way from her ankles to her hips, stopping only at her waist, as though her pant-line was the cut-off.
It was a welcomed sight when the tangle of branches and jungle finally returned to view. The slight, familiar breeze greeted their soaked faces and caressed their weary bodies. In the weariness of her mind, Vickie hoped that if she were to collapse the wind would cradle her body.
Without any longer rest than a water break, the march through the jungle and back to the hotel began. If her legs itched before they felt on fire now. The weeds and stringy branches slapped against them, the whipping sensation bringing on an itchiness that was impossible to take her mind from. Several times she stopped to scratch at them, her father running his fingers along her spine.
“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked every time. When Vickie gave her standard 'no' answer, he would say some variation of, “It feels straight. I don't get it.”
After nearly two hours of hiking and a half hour taxi ride, they were finally able to check back into La Manindo's Hotel. For a jungle hotel it looked completely modern. The building itself was four stories high, it's entrance adorned with paintings of monkeys, lemurs, panthers, and other animals. The floors were green and blue carpet, the walls made of bamboo, perfectly imitating the jungle atmosphere, minus the heat and dense vegetation.
The receptionist was a man who resembled a beetle. Despite the fact that her father was fluent in Portuguese, the man insisted on English, which he spoke with a lisp that he'd picked up from a travel agent who once interviewed him.
Their rooms were on the top floor – a poor choice when you spend your days climbing around in caves. It was a quaint little thing, sporting a king-sized bed, boxy little television set, a corded phone, and a bathroom with shower. Dropping everything on the floor, both of them took a seat on the bed.
“I want to make sure your circulation is all right in your legs,” Dave said.
Vickie slid her fingers gently beneath her pant leg and hesitated. She already knew something wasn't right; her fingers hadn't touched flesh. Holding her breath, she slowly drew them up. Both let out an audible gasp. Vickie's legs were downright hairy.