almost totally dark, just a faint fall of light from above. mathias is a dim shape on the floor of the shaft. stacy lands beside him--heavily, awkwardly--the glass from his shattered lamp crunching beneath her.
there's the rasp of a match, its flickering flame, then the stronger illumination of the lamp as stacy lights its wick. mathias lies on his back before her, silent now, motionless, his eyes shut. stacy bends toward him, whispers:
the oil lamp has begun to smoke, adding a haze to the light. stacy is beside mathias, holding his hand. she's still pressing jeff's shirt to her wound. the ring sounds again. mathias turns his head, peers toward the shaft cut into the dirt wall to his left: that's where it's coming from. stacy reaches to pick up the lamp, rises to her feet. another ring. jeff shouts down from above:
mathias and stacy are two dim shapes in the darkness. the windlass begins its creaking. a long beat, and then:
when the backboard comes within reach, stacy grabs it, pulling it to the-right, so that it will come to rest at mathias's side. but then, with three feet still to go, it jerks to a halt, almost toppling amy from her perch. a beat, and jeff's voice comes toward them from above:
amy is in a crouch. she keeps glancing toward the stone arch cut into the shaft's wall, and the passageway beyond it: the vine dangles from.the low ceiling, like streamers at a party. the creaking resumes, and amy looks up.