Patterns Unfamiliar

It’s pitch black. Darker than pitch, not even the faintest glimmer of light anywhere. James blinks, opens his eyes wide, blinks again, arms outstretched as he moves toward the sound of Lewis’ grumbling and hesitant footfalls. It makes no difference. Eyes open or shut all he can see is the same unending blackness; as if there is no light left in the universe. Which is ridiculous, it’s just that his eyes haven’t adjusted to the split-second change from harsh overhead fluorescents to nothing. It’s just that they’re in a windowless underground tunnel and the lights have gone out.