Chapter 2
Pain. Sharp. Clear. Slicing through every nerve in his body. Clark fought for breath even as the very act of breathing set his chest on fire. He desperately wanted to look for his father but couldn't. There simply wasn't enough strength in his body to keep his heart beating and move his head. Instead, he stared into the circle of sky above him and listened to his ragged breathing.
*Fifteen feet,* he guessed as he looked up at the stone and earth that rose straight over his head. *Ten feet from side to side. Earth cut away in a circular pattern like a whirlpool. Wet walls. Recent.* His brain worked on its own, his mind grasping at anything that might distract him from the agony that wracked his body.
A moan echoed through the pit and it took Clark a moment to realize that it was his. Never had the rocks affected him so badly. Never had he felt as if simply drawing breath would kill him.
*I want to pass out,* his brain told him. *Please, God, let me pass out.* A surge of pain knifed through him as if in answer.
The sauna incident had been bad, but this was ten times, twenty times worse than that. Clark moaned again, unable to hold it in. His father had saved him then. His father.
"Dad. Help me. Please." He couldn't tell if he'd spoken aloud or not.
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"Dad."
Something was calling him back from the darkness. Jonathan Kent groaned and fought his way out of the clinging webs that held his consciousness captive.
"Dad. You have to wake up."
The elder Kent's eyes fluttered and he raised an unsteady hand to his aching head.
"Dad. You have to wake up. Please."
Jonathan frowned. That weak, desperate voice couldn't belong to Clark. Could it? Somewhere in the back of his fuzzy mind, he realized that he'd heard that tone before. But where?
"Dad! Please. I need you."
With a supreme effort, Jonathan Kent forced himself into full wakefulness and opened his eyes. The blue Kansas sky beckoned from a hole above him. A hole? Then it all came crashing back. "Clark!" he yelled as he sat up, ignoring the blooming headache.
"Dad."
Jonathan blinked at the darkness and the spots that danced before his eyes and frantically searched the shadows for his son. Finally, he spotted a white blur amidst the dark surrounding him and crawled toward it, calling Clark's name as he went.
"Dad. Please help me."
"I'm coming Clark." Five more feet. Clark's features were becoming clearer.
"Wake up Dad. Please."
A confused Jonathan realized that his son was barely conscious. Flooded with dismay, he stood and stumbled the last few steps, falling heavily to his knees at Clark's side.
"Clark." He cupped Clark's face in his large hands. His boy was shivering but his skin was hot to the touch and slick with sweat, as if fever raged through him. *Impossible,* he reminded himself. *Clark doesn't get sick. The only thing that makes him sick . . . * The thought trailed off as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. Desperately, he looked around them, discovering to his horror that the floor was littered with meteor rocks.
"Oh my God," he breathed. "Come on Clark!" he patted Clark's hot face. "Come on son, talk to me."
Clark's eyes opened slowly. "Dad," he croaked weakly.
"It's gonna be okay, son. You're gonna be okay."
"Dad. I don't feel good. I feel sick."
"I know Clark. There are meteor rocks everywhere down here. Just keep still and save your strength."
"No. Not that. I feel . . . " But Clark didn't finish. His face turned white and he swallowed, hard.
Jonathan took one look at those, huge frightened eyes and swore. "Shit." He reached under Clark's shoulders and heaved his torso to the side. He held him there with one hand while the other supported Clark's head as he retched violently onto the floor, the water he'd consumed just a short time before coming up in a torrent.
"It's okay, Clark. It's alright. Gonna be alright." The litany left his mouth automatically as Clark's body continued to heave with the force of the spasms. After what seemed like a long time, the spasms ceased and he lifted Clark's head to rest against his chest. Jonathan pulled his shirt up and wiped his son's trembling lips.
"Cold. So cold." Clark mumbled as he began to shiver in earnest.
"Clark. Has this ever happened before? Like this?"
Clark shook his head, too terrified to speak. What was happening to him? The rocks were bad but it was never like this.
Jonathan continued to cradle his son as his eyes scanned the pit in desperation. It appeared that the majority of the meteor fragments were right around where Clark had fallen. The other side of the cavern, where he had landed, was relatively free of them. Also, the other side was in sunlight which would certainly be warmer than where they were now. It might not help much to move Clark over there, but it couldn't hurt either.
"Clark. I'm gonna move you over to the other side of this hole. It's sunny there. You'll be warm. Can you hang on while I do that?"
Again, Clark just nodded. Jonathan stood and leaned a moment against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to subside before he moved again. The headache was a leveling out into one vicious throb now. He could live with that. Standing was another matter. He was still overwhelmed with vertigo when ever he changed position.
"Dad?" Clark's worry was clear in his voice. "Dad, are you okay?"
"I'm okay," he lied. "Just taking a minute to figure out the best spot." He bent over and grabbed Clark under the arms. "I'm gonna drag you over, okay. Nice and easy."
A small cry of pain escaped his lips as his father began to pull him across the floor. He bit his lip against the 'Stop!' that threatened and clenched his hands into weak fists. Oh, God, but it hurt to be touched!
"Almost there, Clark. Almost there." He heard his dad's reassurances over the pounding in his ears. He couldn't see his father's face or the tears that streaked down his cheeks as he knowingly caused his son pain. These were easily the longest ten feet of Jonathan Kent's life and just when he thought he'd made a huge mistake, they were in bathed in sunlight and the floor was bare of debris.
"I'm gonna move these rocks as far away from you as I can," he explained as he lay Clark down and walked away. He picked up the sources of his son's anguish and piled them in a small crevasse under the wall farthest away from them. Then he covered them in what dirt and rock he could find. "There. That's done. Does that help any?" He turned around and the words faded away into silence as he took in the sunlit form of his son. It wasn't the dark bruises forming on Clark's face that erased the words from his tongue. Nor was it the deep gashes that turned his white tee-shirt red. No, what struck Jonathan Kent mute with horror was the long spike of glowing green rock protruding from Clark's left thigh.
