Heads bowed in unison. Seth was reminded of the old saying that there are no atheists in foxholes. He stood apart from the group, head unbowed.

Morgen began with the Twenty-third Psalm: “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

She maketh, Zoe thought silently. She leadeth; She restoreth; She leadeth; for Her name’s sake.

The priest’s voice grew in intensity as he recited the psalm. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

In the dimly lit corridor beneath the mountain, there was a murmuring of quiet “amens” from all but Seth, who remained silent.

Then, taking the rough, dark mountain bread and a canteen of water, Morgen broke bread and said the Eucharist. Seth stood aloof. Afterward they all silently consumed the remaining bread and water. Then, like paratroopers nearing the drop zone, they wrapped themselves in personal thoughts of their own mortality.

Seth and Zoe stood with their arms around each other. He felt her warmth and her love and wished that he could recapture the spiritual certainty that had now failed him.

Finally, without prompting, for they had discussed things many times and to do so again would be to procrastinate, Richard Stehr stepped into the passageway, followed by Gunther, then Seth, Zoe, Father Morgen, and finally, George Stratton.

“I love you,” Zoe told Seth as he stepped into the passageway.

“I love you too, kid,” he said, then kissed her. Reluctantly, he turned and followed Gunther’s gnarled but strong body down the narrow corridor.

They had been walking for less than a minute when the sounds of running water filled the passageway.

“What’s that?” Seth asked Gunther.

“An underground stream,” Gunther replied without breaking stride. ‘I’ve listened to it for years now. It used to scare me.” He paused as if searching for the words to describe his feelings. “Now, it’s like an old friend.”

Seth felt less sanguine about the noise and the rumbling beneath his feet, both of which increased as they continued. The tunnel crackled with an ozone of emotions—mostly fear—that bound them all and seemed to propel them faster and faster.

They had walked for another ten minutes when finally Richard’s flashlight illuminated a white wall at the end of the passageway. There seemed to be a fist-sized hole in the middle of it.

“That is the very end,” Gunther yelled. The roaring of the water was now so loud he had to shout to be heard for more than a few feet. “It’s only about six inches thick.” As the rest of the party approached, Gunther asked Seth to hand him the shovel that was tied to the back of the Austrian’s pack.