Out in the stifling heat, Moffitt poked his way up the hillside, using a sturdy tree branch as a walking cane.

He picked his way up the slope, grateful that his ankle was not sprained after all, only a little wrenched. The going was slow, and his steps tender, but at least he could walk.

The last moments before the cave-in kept playing in his head. The picture of young Hitch's face, frozen in horror haunted him. He pushed them away, trying to focus on his mission.

"Of all the unlucky things to happen," he groused under his breath. His brows furrowed with worry. That Hitchcock seemed to be a magnet for misfortune.

Moffitt wasn't convinced he would find what he was looking for out here; he wasn't even convinced Hitch could have survived such a heavy rockfall, he admitted to himself. But the idea of stopping was unthinkable. So, Jack gritted his teeth, ignored the clunky hand-radio banging on his hip bone, and pressed on.

The back of his neck began to burn under the murderous sun, and the hemp rope he carried from the jeep irritated it. His ankle screamed to take a rest. With every step, Jack's heart weighed more, and more, in his chest. Perhaps it was a pointless search, and he should go back in the tunnel. The very idea turned his stomach; to sit on his heels helpless, useless.

He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He made up his mind to give it all up and call Troy, when it caught his eye. A shallow depression in the ground, some 6 feet to the left in front of him.

Dropping the handkerchief in a fever of excitement, Moffitt hobbled toward his find.

There it was! A textbook example of a desert sinkhole. A patch of sand, roughly four feet in diameter, sunken below the level of surrounding sand by an inch or two. Evidently, the cave-in had collapsed enough roof in that spot it had nearly broken through the crust.

Using his cane, he began breaking through the thin layer.

It crumbled away with hardly any goading from Moffitt. All the dirt and rubble fell away into a black pit until he lost sight of it. He heard it hit the floor of the cave, he gauged an eight foot drop. Almost tentatively, afraid there might not be an answer, Moffitt called out,

"Hitch?...Hitch?"

"Sarge?!! Doc, it's me!!" The relief that coursed through Moffitt's body was almost dispelled by the panic in Hitch's voice.

"Of course it's you, Hitch, who else could it be?" Moffitt tried to soothe Hitch by making light of their situation. "Don't worry, we're going to get you out."

"Doc, get Sarge and Tully, and get OUT of here!" Moffitt took a step back, the desperation in that voice, a voice he held so close, unnerved him.

"We're not leaving you, Hitch. Tully and Troy are trying to get through the main tunnel-"

"It's no good, Doc," the voice almost broke, "you gotta get outta here!"

"We're not leaving." Moffitt emphasized each word. "Hitch! You must think straight. Why can't you come into the light? Are you hurt?"

"I'm stuck under some rubble. I don't think anything's broken, Doc. But my ribs are sore, and I'm getting dizzy. Please, Doc-" Moffitt cut in,

"What's your serial number?"

The voice answered with a short pause, "08725."

Moffitt knelt by the black hole, and unslung the rope from his shoulder.

"And when's your birthday?" With an even shorter pause, Hitch answered, correctly.

"Could you give Troy an accurate description of your situation if I send down a hand-radio and a flashlight?"

"You'll have to make sure they land to right of the hole," the voice drifted up to him.

Moffitt clipped his flashlight to the noose he'd fashioned in the rope, and cinched it around the chunky walkie-talkie.

"Alright, I'm sending them down."

He lowered the noose down into the hole. When he reached the bottom, he began gently swinging the bundle back and forth, in a widening pendulum. On the third, or fourth, swing, he felt something grab the walkie-talkie and pull the rope taut.

"I've got them, Doc!"

"Good man. Now make sure Troy gets an accurate report." He let the rope hang slack. Moffitt could feel a pull on the other end,

"Doc! Please don't leave, I don't want to be alone anymore."

A little confused, Moffitt answered he wouldn't.

He saw the beam of the flashlight as it hit the dirt wall beneath him, and search out its surroundings. It traveled out of his sight, and he waited. A sudden jerk on the rope in his hand grabbed his attention.

"Oh G--, no," the private whimpered quietly.

Moffitt heard the hand-radio crackle to life.