Trapped (4 page)

No, that’s not fair to them, I know. They’re not
that
heartless...they’re just that
mad
.

I try to get comfortable in the cramped quarters, and though my leg falls asleep a couple of times, I can’t. Eventually I get out and stretch, wondering how else I might pass the time... thinking, perhaps, that a walk would do me good.

Even though I’m still not sure the tunnel is stable, just getting out of the car lifts my spirits. All the other cars seem quiet, with one’s radio streaming slow jazz across the narrow confines of the tunnel. I walk quietly, careful not to kick around too many rocks as I make my way toward the eastern side. Two of the workmen are snoozing in the front of the truck, while the other three talk quietly in the space in the back. I can hear the rustle of plastic wrap, the pop of a soda can, and wonder how much they lucked up with to eat.

Mr. Simon Tara is snoring in the back of his truck, and the Governor’s driver is also asleep. The rear windows of his town car are tinted, and I can’t see if he’s following suit.

The mini-van, too, is quiet, and behind it I can see Chris’s prone figure as he’s sprawled out on the ground. He’s the only one without a car for shelter.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. He’s wiped the blood completely off of his face and forehead, and if I hadn’t seen him when we pulled him out of his car, I wouldn’t kn
ow how scraped up he’d gotten. It’s clear he hasn’t been able to sleep, either, and with the glaring lights overhead, I’m not surprised.

“H-hello,” I say, standing awkwardly. With his dark hair rumpled and his t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders, it’s pretty clear he’s not the type of guy I’d normally hang out with. Chris is nothing like Tim, too tan and muscular where Tim is pale and thin. And in my black pencil skirt and white blouse, school mascot blazing on my right shoulder, it’s probably pretty clear I’m not the type of girl he’d usually hang out with either.

I tuck a few strands of blond hair behind my ear, my hands fluttering briefly over my braid.

Chris notices the movement, notices me still standing. Notices the long path I took down the tunnel to get here. He seems to notice everything.

“Are the, umm, cuts on your legs doing okay?” I need to say something, right?

“Yeah, not too bad. You guys get a bottle of water from our elected official?” he asks. The way he says it, he sounds less than thankful
.


“Yes. You too?”


He nods, looking back toward the town car, then at the plumbing truck beyond it. “I guess no matter what, the guy won’t stop trying to earn votes.”


I laugh at his skepticism. “I’m just grateful. We were running out of water in my car.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking at the pile of rocks behind him. “Wish I could get to the case I had in there.”


I flush, but don’t say a
nything as he turns back to me.

“And the box of crackers.”

It sounds as if his stomach growls, but I’m not quite sure.

“And the bag of rich, delicious red apples I had.”


I think my stomach growls now, too.

“And this huge, foot-long roast beef and pastrami sandwich, smothered with Swiss
cheese and bar-b-que sauce, topped with lettuce, red onions, tomatoes, pickles, and jalapeños.”

“Not so sure I’d want that...”

“
And
the four-course meal sitting in my trunk – mounds and mounds of buttery rolls, with two different salad options, followed by filet mignon and lobster tails, then chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”

I laugh at his description, then sit down as both our stomachs roll with hunger
.


“And then, as if all that wasn’t enough, you’ll never guess what else I had.”


“Hmm?” I can’t help but smile.


“A twelve-pack of the most delicious, the most exquisitely chilled cans...of coca cola.”

I laugh loudly, the sound echoing down the tunnel before I put a hand over my mouth.

He’s smiling, his eyes glistening with laughter, our stomachs
rolling in hunger as we think about all the food he described.

“You’re a big Coke fan, huh?”

He nods solemnly. “If Pepsi was all we had to drink in this tunnel, I’d probably turn my nose up at it.”

I laugh again, quietly this time, and gaze back at the tumbled rocks where his car used to be. “If you really had a twelve-pack in there, I’d probably go dig it out myself.”

“Not interested in the cheesecake or roast beef sandwich, huh?”


“I’d never go back just for
food.
”


“Now of course, if I had bottles of coke in there instead of cans, it would hardly be worth it. There’s something about drinking a coke from a can, the way the tab makes that popping sound, that I just can’t get enough of.”

“You might ask the plumbers,” I say, my smile fading. “I think I heard them opening up a can as I walked by.”

He looks at me, then at the plumbing truck. The cargo space in the back would be large enough to stand up in – certainly room to supply five men with plenty of food and beverages for a number of days.

Although I’m sure it’s filled to the brim with plumbing equipment instead.

“Well, I suppose if I can get my hands on a can of coke out here, I’ll forgive you for totaling my car.” I recognize the tone in his voice now. He’s teasing me.

“Does your insurance cover that? ‘Totaled by landslide caused by girl’?”


“Only landslides caused by ‘cute girls’, so we’re good.”


My eyes meet his abruptly. It’s not something I’m used to hearing, and I smooth my skirt over my legs self-consciously. He’s leaning back on one arm, his knee propped up so he can rest the other on it, looking at me. His jeans are conspicuously dirty and torn, though I can tell they were well-worn before the cave-in. His dark brown hair is just a little too long – he has to swoop it to the side to free up his eyes…which are studying me again.

I can tell he’s gauging my reaction, wondering just how unprepared I was for a comment like that. If the Math League uniform doesn’t say it all, I’m sure my startled brown
eyes and open lips do. The difference in our ages and maturity levels feels almost tangible – though I know he’s not
that
much older, his casual body language and hooded eyes tell me he’s much, much more mature...in a variety of things.

I feel my cheeks flush, and after a moment he spares me by turning away. “Don’t let it worry you too much, Champ,” he says, and I don’t know if we’re talking about his car or his complement. “I was on my way to get a new one, anyway, and she’s
gorgeous
.”

He’s talking about another
girl
?


“Long, sleek lines.
Black as night. I’ll be able to take her top off in fifteen seconds flat.”

My mouth drops open. Definitely way more mature.

“I can’t wait to run my hand down her seat. So sexy.” He sighs, then looks back to me. “Of course, she’ll take a lot of work. A new engine, new paint job, updated interior. You know, pretty standard stuff.”

He looks like he’s waiting for me to comment, but I’m speechless.

“It’s a 1951 Chrysler New Yorker Hemi. I found one for a steal in Grand Junction. I was on my way to bring it back to my family’s shop – my dad paid for it for me as a graduation present of sorts, or maybe more of a ‘Right of Passage.’ If I can get her running again, she’s mine.”

“You...you’re talking about a car.”

He nods, looking forward again. “I’ve been working in the shop since I was fourteen, and I won’t miss that hunk of steel behind us you assisted to its end. In a few more days I’ll be driving a true classic...well, I will once I’m able to fix her up. I’ll probably be able to use the insurance money from my totaled car for new parts. You’ve got a way about you, Champ. That’s for sure.”

I feel my cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red, and I make myself busy brushing dirt from the hem of my skirt. “So...so you’re a mechanic. That’s...cool?”

He laughs at me. I’m not the type of person to use the word ‘cool’ on a regular basis.

“You got me pegged. Might have known from the beginning if I hadn’t left my studded leather jacket in the car. I’m a cussing, smoking, hard-balling mechanic. Maybe it’s my tattoos that gave me away.”

My eyes dart to his bare arms, suddenly expecting to see barbed wires or skulls or something. “I’m kidding!” he laughs, making me meet his eyes again. “My dad owns a shop. I’ve been working there to save up some money.”

“For...like...a motorcycle?”

“College!” he barely manages to get the word out before breaking down into laughter, the deep, hearty sound echoing down the cave.

He calms down enough to realize I’ve matched his smile, and he relaxes back against the rock wall. I feel comfortable enough to do the same, resting my lower back against a long boulder.

“What about you?” he asks. “Pretty much all I know about you is your name, and your astonishing car-demolishing skills.”

I glance over at him. “You forgot about my upper body strength. I
did
pull you out, after all.”

He reaches down to my wrist, lifting my slender arm for his inspection. “Nope, jury’s still out on that one.”

He sets my hand back down slowly, his thumb on top of my rapid pulse.

“You know what else I know?” he says, after a few silent moments. “Your sisters adore you, and you adore them. I saw it earlier, when we all met in the middle of the tunnel.”

I nod, my eyes shifting guiltily to the western side, and I wonder how long I’ve been gone.

“You know what else?” he asks quietly. “You’re a damn good mom to them, I think.”

I meet his eyes briefly before looking down. It’s a too-personal comment from someone I just met, but all the same…it surprises me. He’s observant, that much is clear. He watches everything and everyone in this tunnel. The only thing he seems to have missed is my reaction to his description of the Hemi-whatever. But then, he probably caught that, too.

His hand is still resting casually on mine, but I pull away, folding my hands neatly in my lap. His hand falls down to the pavement, but then he shifts to clasp both hands over his raised knee. He’s silent for a long while, thinking. Watching.

“So tell me, Champ, who are the ‘Bears’?”
I look back up at him.

“If you know my name, why am I still Champ?”


“You did pull me out of a cave-in. That deserves some kind of moniker.”


“Alright,” I mumble, uncomfortable. “Well, the Bears are my high school mascot.”

“And you’re wearing the polo because...”


“Because I was participating in a math competition in Denver.”


“A math competition.”


“Yes. We, umm, we didn’t win, so we’re done for the year now.”


“With math competitions.”


“Yes,” I sigh.

He breaks into what seems like a characteristic grin. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you? Getting back at me. But I’m not as gullible as you, Champ. There’s no way someone as pretty as you would be in a math team.”

“It’s ‘Math League,’ and it’s true.” Suddenly the last part of his sentence kicks in. “And I’m not...I’m...well...I like it. It’s fun. And with any luck, it will earn
me
enough money through scholarships to get to college.”

“Did you get any money through this last one?”


“Umm...no. It, well, it didn’t work out that way.”


“Next time, then,” he says, matter-of-factly. As if me destroying everyone’s chances this time
around isn’t a big deal at all.

“Yeah, next time,” I say quietly. Like there will ever be a next time.

“So she’s strong, responsible, and smart. A nice combination,” he says to the tunnel, thinking. “You know, Emily, you’re one of the few people trapped inside this tunnel who aren’t freaking out about it.”

His voice is quiet, and I turn to look at his profile.

“The women on the western side all seem pretty nervous, and the hikers almost lost it at first. The Rodriguez family has shed quite a few tears in that van of theirs. The Governor and his driver seem worried. Even grumpy Simon Tara was frightened there for a second.”

“You...you left out the workmen. In the plumbing truck, you know.”


“Yeah. Yeah I did.” His lips form a slight frown as he looks down the tunnel in silence.

I study his calm demeanor for a moment. “And you left out yourself.”


His eyes narrow just slightly, but the look is gone in an instant. “I’m always good under pressure,” he shrugs, his lips smiling again. “Maybe it’s my mechanic background.”


He’s teasing me again, but there’s something off about it, like there’s much more he’s thinking than saying. He’s trying to distract me, I realize. He doesn’t want me thinking too much about why he isn’t worried about our chances of survival in this tunnel – when
he
, the only one without a car to protect him, should be the most nervous of us all.