Trapped (14 page)

And then he’d left.

My mom had never fully recovered, choosing instead to focus on her work and her own needs. The twins don’t even know our father, having met him only a handful of times in their short years. And I…I haven’t fully recovered either, I guess. Evenings of math games and Sudoku puzzles had faded quickly to yearly visits on my birthday, and then just birthday cards. This year I’d managed to make a shaky phone call to invite him to my Math League competitions, thinking he might want to see me, that he would be proud. He actually came to one a few weeks ago, and so I’d called him when we made the regional competition. We’d talked for a couple of minutes, but he made it clear he wasn’t interested in coming. Denver was even further out of the equation for my dad than it was for my mom.

I don’t think my mom ever forgave him…and she harbor
s some of that ill-will toward me. She wants me to dislike math. She wants me to always be responsible, to never avoid my obligations. And although I do my best, I don’t think I ever quite live up to her expectations of me.

And now…now she wants me to do something
awful
to provide for her, for the family.

“I can’t believe this,” I
whisper, my voice nearly breaking.

I let out a long,
angry breath through my closed teeth, directing some of that anger toward Chris. He could have clarified with the plumbers. He could have defended me. He could have done something,
said
something, so that this entire tunnel wouldn’t be thinking of me as a slut.

I
laugh sharply at the irony. I haven’t even kissed anyone!

But Chris didn’t defend me. H
e just let me have it, not really caring at all how it would affect me, how it would strain the already tight relationship between me and my mother. He’ll be free of me in a day, anyway, back with his real world girlfriend. Why
should
he care?

And yet he does seem to care. He protected
me and my sisters right from the beginning, getting us food and water. He protected
me
– first, from what he knew, then from what we both knew. He’s tried to protect us all, from the moment he understood what was really going on down here. And he acts like he cares about me so much sometimes. But is that it? Is it just an act?

I bury my face in my hands, try
ing to block out my concerns. My list of original worries A, B, C, D, and E has exploded to an entire alphabet’s worth. Solutions as simple as “Rescue” and “Escape” are no longer enough. Because even after we get out of this tunnel, even after we’re safe from physical danger, how am I ever going to be able to solve the pain in my heart?

“Well
ain’t this interesting.”

The words reach my ears, and I hesitate for a long moment before raising my eyes. Phil, Doug, and Henry are all standing there, just beyond the back of the mini-van. Standing there, taking in the obvious distance between
me and Chris. And they’re clearly not happy about it.

“We were
expectin’ you two to be wrapped up with each other,” Phil smirks, his eyes darkening. Henry is smiling as well, though Doug is clearly surprised. Were they…what, taking bets on our relationship? About whether or not they could catch us doing something?

Or is their interest more serious
…could they still suspicious of what we might know?

“He’s asleep,” I say quickly, darting my eyes over to Chris. He sits up slowly, taking stock of the situation. “I…I didn’t want to wake him.”

“Hey Emily,” Chris says groggily. I have a feeling it’s mostly for show when Chris wearily wipes his eyes, widening them to focus on the plumbers. Chris is always more alert than that.

“What are you doing over there? Why didn’t you wake me to say you were up?” Chris stands and walks slowly over to me, his voice filled with tender concern.

A flash of doubt flickers over Phil’s face. Doubt in his belief Chris was lying, or doubt that we’re now telling the truth?

“Another fight with my mom,” I shrug, my eyes darting between him and the workmen. It’s clearly not something we want them to stay and listen to. But they don’t move.

Leaning over the railing, Chris helps me stand, then lifts me over the railing and places me firmly at his side. Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he directs his question to Phil. “Can you guys give us a minute?”

Phil’s eyes narrow.
“You two don’t act much like a couple. When you’re not around us, that is.”

Chris’s voice is calm. “That’s a weird comment, Phil.”

“That’s a weird relationship, Chris.”

I feel Chris’s fingers tighten around my shoulder, drawing me in just a little closer.

“Why,” Phil smiles at us, “we hear all these things about what you two have been doin’, but I haven’t ever seen you do anything. Not even kiss.”

Henry practically leers at us, while Doug looks uncertain. Chris just looks angry, saying nothing.

“Go on, then. If you two are so cozy with each other, why don’t you show us a kiss?”

“I’m not kissing her in front of you guys,” Chris says, trying to ease back into a tight smile. “Come on Doug, Henry. You know that’s weird.”

Doug gives a hesitant laugh, but Henry keeps scowling.

             
“Show us,” Phil says, his voice lowering.

“I don’t know what this is,” Chris says. “But if you’re trying to ease your boredom or something, forget it. We’re not kissing just so you guys can watch.”

“I don’t think you have much a choice in the matter,” Phil says, placing his hands in his pockets. It’s a test of some sort. Some way to see if Chris knows his place.

And something tells me it’s important that we pass it.

Chris takes a deep breath, but I stop him. “It’s fine,” I whisper, turning to him. Rising up on my toes, I place a brief kiss on his lips, looking back down so I don’t have to meet anyone’s eyes.

Everyone is silent for a moment. Chris is the first to speak.

“There, Phil. Are you satisfied?”

“No. I mean a real kiss. I’m not going to believe some pansy of a kiss like that.”

I feel my cheeks flush, feel the anger reverberating through Chris. He takes a breath to say something, to object again. Then he lets it out slowly.

Phil is right. We don’t have a choice here.

Turning me to him, Chris crushes his lips against mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth as he raises a hand to clasp the base of my neck. His mouth widens, taking in more of mine, as his tongue darts across my lips, my teeth.

He breaks off abruptly, scowling deeply at Phi
l. “What you want to see now?” he baits him.

Phil is still smirking at us. “That’s it. Just a little proof that you haven’t been lying to us.”

With that the three plumbers turn and walk away. Chris’s hands are balled into fists at his side, every muscle tense. I’m worried for a moment that he might go after them. Placing a few fingers on his arm, I try to guide him back, but his focus stays on the forms of the retreating plumbers.

“Chris, it’s fine. It was just a kiss. Just…just don’t worry about it, okay?”

After a few more tense moments, he turns to me, his blue eyes burning with something I don’t quite understand. “Emily.”

“It’s really not a big deal. I mean, kisses happen every day. They probably have some Fibonacci sequence of occurrence or something, I mean –“

“Emily—“

“—
sure it might have been my first kiss, but I mean for you, I know—“

“
Em—“

“—
you’ve had tons of kisses before. Haven’t you? That much is obvious. I’m sure it wasn’t a big deal for you, either, just a common, everyday—“

“Emily, just stop talking.” I close my mouth, startled by Chris’s gruff tone.
He takes a long step toward me, closing the distance between us. One arm snakes around my back, the other caressing the skin on my neck.

Our eyes meet, and I feel my heart beat once. Twice.

And then he lowers his lips to mine.

No longer harsh, no longer gruff, his lips are warm and sweet, pressing gently against
my own. I feel him sigh into me, feel his lips part slightly, and mine do as well. His fingers reach under my braid, cradling the base of my head. His body is warm as it presses against me, as he pulls me to him.

I relish the feel of his lips.
Their slow urgency as he kisses me. His teeth nip lightly at my bottom lip, and I open my mouth further, letting his tongue in again. But this time he’s gentle, tracing my mouth lovingly, breathing into me. His arms tighten around me, one hand wrapping fully around my waist as he settles me into him. His lips are so strong, his tongue so smooth, that I feel a burning deep within me, my breath coming in long, deep gasps.

After a
while, he pulls back, his eyes hooded with tenderness and desire.

“
That
was our first kiss, Emily. Not that other one.”

I nod, trying to regain my senses. He’s still holding me, my chest pressed tightly against him. Stomach to stomach, thigh to thigh, we just stand there, staring into each other’s eyes.

He steps back, taking a deep, shuddering breath. I don’t know what to say, and it seems for once that he doesn’t either.

He just stands there, smiling slightly, before looking down and taking my hand. “Emily, I think you should know…I don’t have a girlfriend outside of this tunnel.”

My lips curve into a smile as well as I look down at our joined hands. It was just the right thing to say.

Chapter 1
4 – The Last Meal

“Hey, Emily?”

I stop
my reluctant walk to the sedan and turn back to Hannah Avery’s car, where she’s leaning out the driver’s side window.

“I, umm, well I just finished this book about the general election. It seems better than the rest, and I thought you might be interested in it…you know, to pass the time until the rescue team comes tomorrow.”

I study her eyes behind her broken glasses, the small smile curving her lips. I wasn’t sure what Hannah Avery would make of my updated relationship status with Chris, but she seems to accept it. She’s even offering me some support, I suppose, by lending me another book. She must have heard the fight earlier and what my mom and Mrs. Potts had implied, what they’d asked of me. Her car was just too close for her to miss it.

I flush a little, grateful for her offer – the support much more so than the book.

“It’s that good, huh?” I say, taking it from her.

She shrugs. “Better
than the rest at least, although that’s not saying much.” She smiles as she reaches up to tuck a few strands of hair back into her bun.

“Thank you for this,” I say quietly,
meaning it. She nods at me again, and then I turn to finish my slow route to the car.

I’d spe
nt the whole morning with Chris, but he’d eventually decided to test the waters by rejoining the poker game. Faced with the choice of being around either Phil or my mom again, I’d reluctantly decided to come back to the sedan.

My mom is awake
, though, and I worry she’s going to ask if I brought her any food. She stares at me for a long moment, taking in the flushed color of my cheeks and the blond strands falling from my braid. Her eyes drop down to my hands, empty except for the book. Then she turns her back on me, adjusting in her seat to stare out at the blocked western entrance.

Swallowing the heavy ache in my throat, I take a long, loud breath. I straighten
my shoulders and decide to ignore her, too, turning instead to slide into the back seat. The twins have already left to play in the middle of the tunnel with the other kids, so I have the back seat to myself. It takes a few minutes, but I manage to focus enough on my new book to start reading.

This
book is titled
The Electoral Landscape: A Survey of Potential Presidential Candidates.
I’m not sure how that could possibly be any more interesting than
Party Politics and Pervasive Persuasion
, but the cover art is at least a little better – a montage of faces molded into the outline of the White House. I study the collage for a few minutes, uneager to start reading. One of the faces I even recognize – it’s Governor Rosings. A cleaner, recently-shaved version of him, but I recognize his picture nonetheless.

I
open the book to the index, looking for the page number for Governor Rosings’s information. He’s toward the middle of the book, and I flip through rapidly. Though most candidates are discussed for at least a couple of pages, Governor Rosings received only a few paragraphs. I start reading:

John William Rosings, born to John Adams Rosings and Mary Rosings in Salt Lake City, Utah, is a potential candidate as well in the upcoming election for President. His ideologies fit cleanly into neither major party affiliation, and we predict he could only run as an Independent candidate. That said, any campaign for Governor Rosings would be something of a long shot. His extremist points of view and his odd political background make a successful campaign highly unlikely, short of some miraculous rise in media attention and public perception.

Governor
Rosings was recommended for public office by retiring Utah Governor Jim Bealing, a four-term Governor himself. During his time as Governor of Utah, Governor Rosings introduced several controversial bills, none of which were voted into action—

“Emily?”

I look up from my book to see the twins’ heads poking in my window.
Hair a mess from us skipping the morning brushing ritual, they’re looking at the book in my hands with interest.

“Why are you reading that?”

“Well, we still have another day to wait, girls.”

They both let out a long
sigh, their eyes dropping visibly.

“You
two feeling okay?” I ask, putting the book to the side.

“We’re just hungry,” Michelle says, resting her chin on the edge of my door.

“And thirsty,” Suzanne says, mirroring her sister’s action. “We’re out of water.”

I look around quickly, noting the empty McDonald’s cup in our mom’s cup holder.
My mom is staring resolutely out her window, not bothering to say anything about her having finished it off.

“Why don’t we go see if there’s some anywhere else, okay girls?”

They nod in unison, smiling a little as I stand and take their hands. We only have one day left, I have to remind myself when I feel their bony hands in mine. We’re so close to being free.

We walk carefully, avoiding the larger rocks as we go. The whole tunnel seems
more tense today. Maybe it’s just me, and my feelings from the scene Chris and I faced earlier. But it seems to be everyone. Without the children playing in the middle, the tunnel is eerily quiet and still. Kevin and Jason are just sitting in the opening of their tent, staring at the rest of us. Mrs. Potts and her two children are sitting in the back of their expedition. The poker players are unusually quiet, and Chris, we see immediately, is not sitting with them. Simon Tara’s truck is dead silent, as is the town car. And though I can see Mr. Rodriguez’s pale face from the driver’s seat of the mini-van, I can’t tell how the rest of his family is handling things.

Chris is sitting against the rock wall that his car is buried under, drumming his fingers rapidly on one raised knee. He doesn’t smile when the girls and I approach.

“Hey guys,” he says quietly, still drumming.

The girls find the
ir second wind, running the last few steps to him. He pulls aside the rock to bring out a full bottle of water, which they open eagerly, and a pack of cookies for them to split.

Still not smiling, Chris walks up to me.
Taking me in his arms, he rests his head on my shoulder, whispering quickly. “They know something. Emily…I don’t know how, but I’m sure they do. I played maybe two rounds with them and couldn’t take it. Phil just kept scowling. And Henry…Henry was actually smiling. I cashed out my poker chips and got as much stuff from them as I could. But it’s over… something’s wrong.”

I pull back, meeting his
eyes. “What do you think is going to happen, Chris?” I whisper. “Do they suspect us? Will they…will they try anything before the rescuers come?”

“I…I don’
t know, Emily. I just don’t know.”

We’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening from the minivan. Mr. Rodriguez steps out, walking quickly up to us.

“Chris,” he says, his accent light though his voice is heavy. “You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to, but do you have anything to spare? The water you gave us ran out yesterday, and my poor Rosa—“

“I know. Don’t worry about it, Mr. Rodriguez.” Pulling away from me, Chris be
nds back down to the rock hiding place, drawing out another bottle of water and a bag of pretzels. “Take these.”

Mr. Rodriguez thanks him, giving him a rapid handshake before hurrying back to
his family. I watch the interplay in silence, then study Chris for a moment.

“Just how many people have you been giving food?”
I ask him.

He shrugs. “
It’s no big deal. I was always good at poker. I played with the men that worked in my dad’s shop growing up. Cashing in my winnings for food worked really well for me, and the plumbers had plenty to spare.”

He bends to replace the rock hiding a few more traded items.
He’s embarrassed by it all, I realize.

“How many of us have you been helping?”

I almost laugh at how uncomfortable he looks. He could talk about the dangers of this tunnel all day
long, play a carefree game of poker with the very men who brought it down. But when it comes to discussing anything
nice
he’s done, he can’t seem to handle it.

He looks away from me, trying to avoid the question, but I just stand there, waiting. At last he sighs and m
anages a small smile for me. “Just about everyone except Mrs. Potts. And the Governor, of course. Both of them seemed to have lucked up with plenty of snacks in their cars to last them.”

“Hannah Avery? Kevin and Jason?”

“Yeah – though I haven’t given them anything in a few days. Mainly I’ve been worried about getting the younger ones some food to go on. And Mr. Tara, too, since he was so much older.” He turns away again, anxious at my attention.

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” I say, smiling
a little. The girls are sitting on the ground, divvying up the pack of cookies Chris gave them, and we watch in silence till they’re done.

“Simon Tara?” I ask quietly, suddenly wondering. “You gave him food before he passed away?”

He nods. “I guess that’s why he felt comfortable enough to tell me his suspicions. He saw me as something of an ally.”

“But why would he need food?” I whisper. “Remember what all they found in his truck?
Tons of crackers and water. Enough for everyone to get some.”

His eyebrows bend. “I hadn’t thought about that. I was so upset that day about his death, I hadn’t realized…but you’re right. There’s no way he had all that in his truck. He never would have accepted anything from me.”

“Then where did
all that stuff come from that the Governor passed out to everyone?”

“He couldn’t have had
that much
with him in his town car, could he?” Chris asks.

“Here you go Emily,” Suzanne says, lifting one open palm to me. They separated out the cookies – and saved some for me, it seems.

“You girls go ahead,” I tell them, though my stomach protests. I’ll be fine until tomorrow, I know. I have to be.

“You don’t eat much,” Michelle says, trying to get me to take them.

“It’s all right,” Chris says, moving back to the rock wall. “Emily and I are going to split this bag of chips.”

He pulls out a small bag of Cheetos, and the girls seem satisfied enough to finish off the rest of the cookies.

“Shouldn’t you save this?” I ask quietly as he tears open the bag. Digging in, he crunches a couple of the orangey puffs in his mouth with relish.

“I’m not sure there’s much of a point,” he says
solemnly, passing the bag to me.

The words sound ominous.
Like something of a ‘last meal’ statement. I can only hope he means since we’re being rescued tomorrow.