The Lurid Cave

The flaming rocks seemed to glow when the sun rose so harmoniously, casting light shadows stretching to the west. It was a barren valley, with only the rough, red sand and few lean weeds to fill it.
It was beautiful, but eerie as well. The absence of life made me feel isolated and disconsolate.
I fingered my canteen, ignoring how light it felt, and lifted it to my cracked lips. The water was warm and tasted like plastic– an aftertaste I had grown used to. I guessed I had a few gulps left. That was definitely not enough. If I didn’t get mauled to death before I reached civilization, then I would be sure to die of dehydration or hunger. But that unnerving thought didn’t slow me. I continued to limp and stumble across the rocks, occasionally tripping and sprawling across the sand and pulling myself up once again. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I had to keep in that direction.
Only when I plummeted over a small, flat cliff did I notice the fissure in the wall of unbreakable rock. I inhaled sharply–something felt broken; but I was irrepressible. I got to my feet and ran my hands over the narrow opening. It was roughly wide enough to slip my arm through, and long enough for a tall man to step through without stooping. There was a chilly draft flowing inside, soothing my blistered skin. I pressed my face against the rock, peering inside. My eyes were not accustomed to that darkness, but when I called inside, my cracked voice echoed around me. I guessed it was a small cave—if not, a big one. It was useless to me, but unless it had an unlimited supply of water, I had to move on. And then I heard it.
Drip, drip, drip. I came closer to the opening and listened for that scarce sound. There it was again; drip, drip, drip. Was it water? I doubted it... but what else could it be? I would soon be delirious with thirst. I could drink anything.
I began beating at the crumbly rock with my bruised hands, trying to crush it, to shatter it. When I made no luck, I took the switchblade from my belt and stabbed the rock, wanting desperately to make the opening big enough to crawl through. I needed shelter. I needed rest. And I needed water.
When the hole was nearly wide enough to put my head through, a low, admonishing voice spoke to me. “You don’t want to come in here.” Horripilation rose on my arms, like other times when my adrenaline began to rush. Did the voice come from inside this cave? Who was he? Did he have water? The only explanation I could give myself was that someone had water and he didn’t want to share. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I ignored his warning and continued to break the rock. After several minutes’ work, I could easily climb into it. Yet, when I slid my legs through, the deep voice spoke once again–irritable this time.
“If you come in here, sonny, you’ll be regretting it.”
Drip, drip, drip. The sound of liquid kept me from hesitating. I lowered myself into that dark, lurid room and followed my ears. I kept my hands stretched out blindly in front of me as I felt my way around the cold, damp cave. The walls felt like ragged granite—if I beat it too hard, my hands would surely bleed. The ground was of the same texture, and it was hard to keep myself from tripping.
I relied heavily on where the source of the dripping came from, and it eventually led me to a corner. The liquid was dripping down the wall into a little puddle. I got down on my hands and knees and lapped it up…but it didn’t taste like water. It was thick, and tasted of salt. Maybe it had picked up the taste from the minerals in the rock...? Behind me, the stranger omitted a low chuckle. His laughter bounced off the rock and stayed with me. What was so funny? Why was he laughing?
And then I recognized that flavor. I’d tasted it before, inside my mouth when my gums bled or a tooth was knocked out.
Blood.