A Boy Called Duct Tape (12 page)

Although a shaft of daylight poured into the Hotel Lobby from above, the room stayed in shadows and I clicked on my flashlight. The rocky walls came together at one end of the chamber to form the dim shape of a tunnel, which led out of the smallish cavern.

“Everything okay?” Kiki called out from above. “Should we come down?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But you and Pia take it easy. It’s steep—and slick.”

Kiki and Pia made their way down the gritty heap.

It was Monroe’s theory that the entrance to the cave had once been wide, but sediment washing down the mountain over the many decades had sealed it until his heavyweight body sank through the gravel and clay barrier.

“Mother Cave,” Monroe said. “Where roof, ceiling, and floor merge into a forbidding portrait of the unknown. Smell that air.” He took a deep breath. “Pure. Sweet. Delicate. It is perfume to my nose. I am forever locked in a love affair with Mother Cave, and I make no excuses for it.” He sighed, and said, “Dig out the warm clothes.”

Dressed in shorts and T-shirts, we dug through our backpacks, removing the clothes that would give us a measure of warmth in the cool, 56-degree air. Coveralls. Thermal long johns. Wool shirts. Wool socks. Gloves. Sock hats.

Kiki and Pia discovered that the tunnel leading out of the Hotel Lobby made an excellent changing room, and they ducked into it, giggling and laughing like girls getting ready for their first date. Monroe and I claimed adjacent Hotel Lobby corners and slipped into the heavier clothes.

Monroe then distributed the headlamps he had been carrying in one of his backpacks. We pulled our knit caps down over our ears and fitted the headlamps over the caps.

“The batteries are good for three days,” he said. “Heaven help us if we need them for longer than that.”

I’ll second that
, I thought.

Monroe’s deep-set eyes found each of us in the light from his headlamp. “I will say it only once. Treat Mother Cave with respect. Show her some dignity,” he cautioned. “If you don’t, she’ll reach out and bite you where it hurts.”

“We’ll treat her with respect, Mr. Huff,” Pia pledged.

“The darkness will play tricks with your mind,” Monroe said. “You’ll see things that don’t exist. Hear sounds that have no voice. Feel things against your body that aren’t real.” He turned his head, swinging his headlamp down the tunnel leading out of the Hotel Lobby. “Don’t hurry the process. Allow Mother Cave to come to you.”

Pia, Kiki, and I nodded.

“Are we ready then?” he asked.

“Ready!” Kiki and Pia said.

“Ready!” I said, trying to keep pace with my legs, which were speed-walking toward the tunnel leading out of the cave.

The rocky burrow funneling out of the Hotel Lobby began wide and tall—twelve feet across and eight high—and we made good time for the first few minutes, the shafts of light from our headlamps whitewashing the darkness, our arms swinging at our sides. We were on a treasure hunt. It didn’t get any cooler than that.

At a place where the ceiling was low, Monroe stopped and lit it with his headlamp. “Look at this,” he said. “Smoke stains.” Parts of the ceiling were smudged in black.

“What made them?” Kiki asked, her own lamp sweeping over the dark blotches.

“Torches.”

I could feel the corners of my mouth arcing into a grin. We weren’t the first ones to hike the cave.

“Okay, but
who
made them?” Kiki asked, her eyes turned toward the ceiling.

“Maybe James Gang torches, sugar plum,” Monroe said with a wicked grin, turning his lamp toward Kiki.

“Mr. Huff,” Kiki said, her head swiveling around. “My name is Kiki Flores. You may call me Flores, Ms. Flores, or Kiki, but I would appreciate it if you would refrain from calling me
sugar
plum
.”

“Whoa!” Monroe exclaimed, his deep-set eyes popping wide. “I’ve been put in my place.” Then he said, “
Kiki
it is.”

“Thank you,” Kiki said, her icy glare melting a little.

We continued down the tunnel, the ceiling black from the long-ago torches. When the tunnel made a sharp turn to the left, Monroe stopped and removed a canister of matches from his coveralls pocket.

“We know the old gal has an entrance,” Monroe said. “Let’s find out if she has an exit.”

He opened the canister and withdrew a wooden match, striking it on the underside of the container. The match burst into a bright yellow flame, and for a moment the tiny glowing finger of fire rose straight up toward the ceiling. But then a subtle, unseen current of air bent the flame.

“Aha!” Monroe cried. “She has an exit. That’s good to know.”

“Why is that good to know?” Pia asked.

“It means we won’t suffocate, sweet pea.”

Pia straightened her four-foot two-inch frame. “Mr. Huff,” she began, aiming her headlamp on his face. “My name is Pia Perez. You may call me Perez, Ms. Perez, or Pia, but I would appreciate it if you would refrat … refruit … quit calling me
sweet
pea
.”

Monroe burst into laughter. “Whoa! Reprimanded a second time!” In a loud voice he said, “
Pia
it is!”

Monroe’s voice echoed back at us.

“Thank you.”

We pushed on, our breath making frosty balloons in the cold, damp air.

The walls and ceiling of the wide, airy tunnel were sculpted smooth by the water that had once flowed there. When the tunnel narrowed and the ceiling lowered, we were forced to shuffle along single file in a stooped position, duck-walking over long slabs of broken rock.

“These slabs used to be part of the ceiling,” Monroe called back to us. “It’s a sign the old gal is dying.”

The tunnel soon came to a dead-end at a wall of rubble. An opening at its base was no larger than a beach ball.

“How the heck did anyone squeeze through something that small?” I asked.

We gathered around the small opening.

“I’m guessing this tunnel was once open all the way,” Monroe said. “The old lady is falling apart.”

“Now what?” Kiki asked.

Monroe looked at Pia with a devilish grin. “We push sweet pea—uh, that is, we push
Pia
through the hole.”

“No way!” Pia squawked.

Monroe gave a long, hearty laugh. “Just kidding, Pia!”

Monroe removed his two backpacks—he had one slung over each shoulder—got down on his knees, and shined the beam from his headlamp into the dark hole.

“Can you see anything?” I asked, looking over Monroe’s shoulder.

“Not much,” he said, pulling a coiled length of rope from his equipment pack. He unfurled the coil, and tied one end around his ankle. “I’m going in,” he announced.

I was puzzled. “What’s the rope for?”

“Pablo Perez!” Monroe bellowed. “Do I have to explain everything?”

“Yes,” I said. “You forget. We’re rookies at this.”

Monroe had not been wearing gloves, but now he put them on. “You do not have to remind me of that bothersome fact.”

The Caveman snorted, dropped to the tunnel floor on his belly, and began worming his way into the narrow opening.

“If I get stuck, pull me out,” he called back to us. “If I make it to the other side, I’ll pull everything through—backpacks first, kids second.”

Grunting and groaning, Monroe squirmed into the hole and was soon out of sight. Inch by inch, then foot by foot, the coil of rope snaked into the burrow behind him.

I don’t know why, but I had a nervous stomach. I caught myself chewing on my lower lip. I glanced at Pia. She was gnawing on the knuckle of her thumb. Kiki seemed more relaxed. She was sitting on her backpack and taking a slug of water.

Twenty feet or so of the rope had disappeared into the mysterious burrow before it stopped. I leaned down and shined my headlamp into the hole. The skin-tight tunnel was black, and I yelled into it. “Monroe! What’d you find?”

Silence.

“Monroe!”

Pia dropped to her knees at my right side and shined her headlamp into the hole. “Mr. Huff!”

More silence.

“Where is he?” Kiki asked, squatting at my left side.

In the next instant, a cold-blooded scream of pain sliced through the black hole, and the three of us sprang away from the opening as if we had been hit by lightning.

“Pablo …?” Pia said in a frightened whisper.

“W-W-What was that?” Kiki gasped, her face as pale as the beam from her headlamp.

“D-D-Don’t … know,” I stammered, a heaviness in my chest making it hard to breathe. I tried to collect myself, and cautiously crawled to the opening of the hole again, training my light down the tunnel. I cleared the fear from my throat, and in a loud voice I yelled, “Monroe!”

The echo came back to us.

Dead silence.

“Monroe!”

The hairs on the back of my neck were stiff.

“Monroe!”

Nothing.

Then, from the other end of the hole, there came a faint snicker. It grew into an outpouring of laughter.

“Monroe Huff!” I shouted. “That wasn’t even funny!”

Monroe called out to us through the narrow passage. “I have to do that at least once just to get it out of my system.”

“That idiot,” Kiki hissed.

“Send the backpacks through!” Monroe shouted between hiccups of laughter.

Kiki dropped to her knees and screamed into the burrow. “Don’t do that again, Monroe! You about gave us a heart attack!”

The Caveman promised that his jokes were over, and one by one I tied the backpacks to the nylon rope, and Monroe pulled them to the other side. I made certain to keep enough rope on my end of the tunnel so I could pull the rope back through for the next backpack.

After the last bundle had been transferred, Monroe yelled, “Send someone through!”

“I’ll go first,” I said. “I don’t want either of you over there alone with Monroe.”

“Why?” Pia asked.

“I just have a bad feeling.” For some reason I didn’t totally trust Monroe Huff.

“What kind of
bad
feeling
?” Kiki asked.

“I’m not … not sure.”

There’s something about Monroe, but I can’t put my finger on it.

I put on my gloves, dropped to my stomach, and began wiggling my way through the tunnel, the rope in my hand.

I had never experienced claustrophobia, but after squirming several feet into the hole I sensed the walls pressing in on my shoulders, the ceiling pushing down on my back. I was soon wedged so tightly in the hole that I couldn’t draw a full breath, and a sudden wave of panic sloshed through my mind.

Relax.

I remembered Monroe’s comment from the night before. “Caves have tiny crawl spaces so tight that a man inflicted with the disease of claustrophobia finds himself screaming forgiveness for some long-ago sin.”

All I could move were my fingers and toes, and I could feel a scream growing inside me. I was certain it was just a matter of seconds before I recalled some long-ago sin.

“Pull!” I shouted to Monroe, tightening my gloves around the rope. I felt the tug of the rope and I squirmed forward a few inches.

I wondered how Monroe had made it through. He was much bigger than me—by at least 80 pounds—and he had crawled to the other side without the benefit of someone pulling him.

“Again!” I yelled, alarm coming through in my voice.

I jerked forward.

As I drew near Monroe’s headlamp, the wave of terror passed, and in a few seconds, Monroe pulling all the way, I crawled out the other side, a quiet sigh of relief passing over my lips.

“You okay, Pablo?”

“Yeah, fine,” I said, gulping air and climbing to my feet. “I just hope …” I cleared the lingering panic from my head. “I just hope that’s the last hole we have to crawl through.”

I surveyed my new surroundings. It was a small chamber connected to two passageways. They forked off at 45-degree angles. I couldn’t remember the map showing the fork.

But first things first, and I dropped to my knees next to Monroe and yelled down the crawl space. “Send Pia through!”

From the other end came Kiki’s voice. It was no more than a murmur, and I strained to hear my cousin’s words.

I poked my head into the tunnel. “What’d you say, Kiki?”

Her choked words spiraled feebly down the black hole. “I said we have … company.”

“Pablo, there’s a really big bear in here,” Pia said from the other end of the narrow tunnel, her words sounding frightened and distant.

Crouched beside me near the black hole, Monroe’s eyes flashed alarm. “The bear smells our food!”

Turning back to the tunnel, desperation in my voice, I shouted, “Pia! Kiki! Blow your whistles! Scare it away!”

“No!” Monroe cried, pushing me aside. “That’ll just make—”

That’ll just make the bear mad, is what Monroe wanted to say, but his warning was muffled by the deafening shrill of whistles. The head-splitting screech echoed throughout the cave like a hundred smoke alarms. In the next moment the whistles quieted and a thunderous growl erupted from the hole like a cannon shot.

Kiki’s frantic voice spilled out of the hole, “Pia’s coming through! Pull!”

Monroe and I grabbed a section of rope and began pulling. Hand over hand we heaved the taut rope, the bear’s rumbling snarls booming through the cave. Pia’s faint squeals signaled her approach, and in a few seconds she was safely through the tunnel.

“You have to save Kiki,” Pia gasped, crawling out of the hole, her face looking somehow older than her nine years. “You just have to, Pablo!”

From the other end of the tunnel Kiki uttered such a bloodcurdling shriek that I thought it might be her last. I pictured the bear tearing her into edible bites.

Another thunderous growl, a softer snarl, and then silence.

My heart was banging so hard in my chest I thought it might blow up.

“Oh, Pablo …” Pia whispered, sitting on the cave floor beside the hole, her hands laced together in a prayer-like fist.

“Kiki!” I yelled.

More silence.

Then, from the other end of the tunnel, Kiki screamed. “Pull!”

Monroe and I again gripped a piece of rope and pulled. My fingers tightening around the rope, I felt a great tug on my arms. The rope tightened, but wouldn’t give.