The air from inside the hatch smelled of death. Not of fresh death, but the kind of musty decay that comes when no memories remain and names have been forgotten. When no one is left to care, and all that's left is the dry dust of old bones. Old death.
Not really a good sign.
Jack could see no end to the darkness and no way of getting down to it to find the end. There was a ladder, but it had long since rusted and snapped off just a few rungs down. Useless.
He glanced over his shoulder at Hurley, who's chubby face had gone near white in his panic. 'The numbers are bad...' What numbers? What in God's name had be been talking about?
Jack shared a brief glance with Kate before turning back to Locke. He could barely stand to even look at the man anymore...Boone was a sacrifice the island demanded kept playing through his mind, over and over again, leaving a wave of quiet fury in its wake. But for now, he'd have to swallow the anger, bitter and bloody though it was.
"Any suggestions?" Jack asked tonelessly, turning his gaze back to the dark, yawning obstacle that laid before them.