Trapped (5 page)

Our eyes meet and hold for a moment...I don’t know what I see there, but it’s not something I want to stay and think about. I stand and brush out my skirt, mumbling about how I need to get back to the girls. He only nods, eyes still solemnly studying me as his lips keep up the smile. I quickly turn to go.

“Hey Champ?” His voice stops me, and I turn back to see his smile fading. “Everyone handles it differently...the trauma of being trapped down here. I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you.”

The words themselves are nice and
well-meaning, but his tone is hard, almost threatening.

I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you.

I nod once, sharply, and turn to hurry back down the tunnel.

I’m worried, all right. And I know he sees it.

Chapter 3 – Suspicion

“Ouch, Emily! You’re pulling too tight!”

Michelle tries to squirm away from me, but I hold her in place. I’m determined to work out all the tangles in her hair.

“I’m almost done, Michelle. Suzanne had to have her hair brushed too, you know.”
She squirms a little harder.

“B
ut we don’t even have a brush!”

“I forgot to pack one when we left for Denver – for a
math competition
,” I emphasize, as if logic will help. When it comes to brushing Michelle’s hair – or doing anything to it, for that matter – chaos always rules the day.

“You remember what I said?” I ask, hoping to distract her.

“No fighting,” she grunts, still trying to resist me. “No yelling. Watch out for your sister. And if we hear any funny noises or see any rocks fall, run straight back to the car.”

“Good girl,” I say, though her actions belie my compliment. Michelle pulls even harder as I drag my fingers through the last of her curls,
and then quickly snap a ponytail holder in place. My work done, I release her, and she tugs her baseball cap on in a huff before following Suzanne down toward the middle of the tunnel, where most of the other children have started playing games.

I pause before standing, watching my sisters as they go. Though they’re twins, Michelle and Suzanne are completely different. Michelle, with her confident attitude, is much more of a
tom boy. She’s dressed in her now day-old outfit of jeans and a baggy t-shirt, her tennis shoes dirty as she clomps over rocks and broken concrete. Suzanne’s ballet flats are much less practical, but much cleaner, matching the state of her white and purple sundress from yesterday. They love picking out their own outfits, expressing themselves differently in every way possible.

I should know. I’m the one that gets them ready every day.

I stand and walk back to our car, pulling down the passenger-side mirror to see what I can do to my own hair. I try to untangle the long blond strands with my fingers but quickly give up, instead tying it in my standard side-braid over my shoulder. I rub gingerly at the circles under my brown eyes, at the pale hue of my cheeks, but there’s nothing to be done there.

Standing again, I tuck my white blouse more firmly into my pencil skirt, straightening out the black tank top I’m wearing underneath. My stomach rumbles under the waistband of my skirt, and I say a silent prayer that we won’t be down here too much longer. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday morning; my nerves for the competition had made eating lunch or snacks impossible, and then dinner of course was forestalled by the cave-in. Since the girls finished off the last granola bar this morning, we’re completely out of food.

My stomach rumbles again, and I think of Chris’s jokes from last night. Cans of cokes in his car? Mounds of food? “I wish,” I whisper, patting my stomach. Even that hideous sandwich he described is beginning to sound good.

But it’s not just hunger that’s making me think of Chris. I’d woken up this morning feeling even more uneasy about him. On my walk back to the car last night, I’d felt his eyes on me until I rounded the curve of the tunnel, disappearing from his si
ght. Maybe I’m just paranoid—we
are
trapped in a caved-in tunnel, a situation far more stressful than ten Math League bonus rounds combined. And I’m not the type of person to handle stress well…I’ve proven that
much. My fear is probably just manifesting against Chris. And against the plumbers.

I set off to follow the girls. In the narrow strip of tunnel, they can’t go very far away, and
their laughter as they play with the Rodriguez kids echoes happily as I walk. I take a calming breath, trying to believe everything is going to be fine.

“Emily, come here a sec.” My mom’s voice stops me, and I turn to see her sitting with Mrs. Potts on the back of the Expedition, the rear hatch pulled up to give them some shelter from the lights overhead.

I walk over, looking warily at the large bottle of water Mrs. Potts is holding.


“Em
ily, Amelia here received a free bottle of water from the Governor. Did we get one?”


I look into her eyes, struggling against what I should say. “Yeah, yeah we did. You, umm,
you didn’t see it in our car?”


She shakes her head, her eyebrows knitting. “How much is left? Bring it here.”


I retrieve the bottle quickly, taking a big gulp before I return to the Expedition. The twins had had some this morning, but I’d resisted, not knowing how long it would be before we would have any more.

“Look at that! Emily, half the bottle’s gone!”
I shrug at my mom, placing the bottle in her expectant hand
.
“Well, Amelia, will this do? It’s all I have right now.”
I turn to look at the large woman, her plump arms folded beneath her breasts.

“Alright,
Mary, but only because I like you.”


I watch in astonishment as my mom passes her the last of our water, receiving a small
package in return that she quickly unwraps.

“A
poptart!”

I stare down at the sugary piece of bread in my mom’s hand, struggling to understand. She shrugs at me and takes a bite, then stands and walks back to our car.

“Mom, you can’t be serious,” I say, following closely on her heels.

“What, Emily? We have two young girls with us. If we run out of water, someone here will help us out. But food is a pretty rare commodity.”

She climbs across to the driver’s side of the car, leans the seat back, and takes another bite.

“What about the girls? They’ll be hungry again soon.”

“They had snacks this morning. We’ll be rescued in a few hours, a day at the most, Amelia was saying. The twins will be fine till then with what they ate.”

I’m too astonished to even acknowledge her about-face from yesterday’s conviction that we’d be dead in a day or two. She’s traded our water, our survival, for a bit of petty sugared bread. And she couldn’t care less about how the twins would manage.

I recognize defeat when I see it. Still, I seethe inside as I try to figure out what to do. “Can…can I have a bite, then?”

She looks at me,
then measures the poptart with longing eyes. She knows I haven’t eaten. “Sure,” she says, breaking off a large chunk of what’s left for me.

I take it greedily, then turn and walk off. Raising it up to my lips, I take the tiniest bite I can manage, letting the sugary syrup fill my taste buds before swallowing slowly. I scratch my teeth against the edge again, taking a few more crumbs, before resolutely folding the rest into my palm.

“Suzanne! Michelle! Come here a sec,” I say when I reach the middle of the tunnel, pulling them to the side. The three Rodriguez kids and two Potts kids seem to be playing some form of football with a small rock. I try not to worry about what damage a bad throw could cause.

The twins’ eyes go round as they watch me unfold my hand. Holding the piece of
poptart up, I gently break it in two, making the pieces as even as possible. They down it in a single swallow, and look at me for more.

“Th
at’s all I have for now. Just…just try not to run around too much, okay girls? We’re out of water.”

Michelle swallows audibly, and I hear Suzanne’s stomach rumble. Sweet girls that they are, though, they don’t complain, turning instead to rejoin their companions.

Placing my hand to my own stomach, I try to rub out the hunger pains. I can only hope Mrs. Potts is right. Still, it’s going to be a long few hours.

The middle of the tunnel seems to be the social gathering place for everyone. A slab from the ceiling had fallen on one side, creating a bench of sorts that Hannah Avery and Mrs. Rodriguez are currently occupying. The plumbing truck is only about twenty feet away, and the workmen found some folding chairs to bring out, a deck of cards keeping them occupied. The hikers are trying to pitch their tent a little bit further away, struggling to force it in place on top of the pavement. Even Mr. Simon Tara is nearby, sitting on the hood of his truck as he watches the children run around.

Chris, however, seems to be keeping his distance from the rest of us. I’m okay with that.

Suddenly one of the workmen whoops, rushing to the front of the truck to open the door and climb in. We all stare curiously as he turns up the radio, a newscaster’s voice washing over the sudden silence.

“
...scientists have measured an air pocket in the middle of the tunnel nearly a quarter of a mile long, where the strong steel beams in the center must have held off the cave-in. It is suspected that as many as a dozen cars may have survived the landslide in this air pocket, and the first drilling attempts are to be made today
.”

The entire tunnel erupts into cheers, the workmen clapping hands as they shout above the noise. The children all start jumping up and down, and the brothers tear down their progress on the tent in their excitement.

“We’re saved!” Hannah Avery’s hands shake as she hugs Mrs. Rodriguez, who says something about
Dios
in Spanish.

“Finally!” one of the guys in coveralls says. “Phil I thought you said the other day that they’d know almost from the beginning! I was
startin’ to think we’d have to wait down here for days!”

“Don’t know what took ‘
em so long,” Phil grins, “but it’s happening just like I said. We’ll be out in—“

“
Because of the precarious nature of the landslide, the drilling teams are moving as slowly as possible. Both for the safety of the volunteers and that of any potential survivors, they don’t want to risk causing any further damage. It may be another seven to eight days before the rescue team can get through to the air pocket.
”

The tunnel goes silent. We listen, tension building as the newscaster finishes her report. Then the volume is turned solemnly down as that prediction settles over us.
An entire week.
My eyes meet those of my fellow survivors before settling on the rock-strewn pavement. A week, at the very least, with only the supplies we have down here, and the faith that nothing else bad will happen. A week, with a precarious electricity and ventilation system keeping us alive. With a few mumbled cuss words, the hikers pick back up their tent, resolutely trying to set it up again. The children resume their game, ignorant of the news we just received. I trace the faint sugary taste of poptart on my lips...wondering how long we can go without food or water.

“We’re dead.” I can only hear Hannah Avery’s soft whisper because of the sudden
silence in the cave. I’m grateful my mom and Mrs. Potts are far away, so their hysterics couldn’t scare the children.

Mrs. Rodriguez stands, I guess to go find her husband. I quickly move to her place on the rock-bench next to Hannah, my knees feeling suddenly weak.

“We’re dead,” she whispers again, eyes wide behind her broken glasses. A single tear rolls down her pale cheek as she turns to me, her voice shaking. “We don’t have enough water to last that long. Not to mention food...I know the human body can go a while without food, but doesn’t it do weird things to the brain? It doesn’t matter. We won’t last that long anyway.”

“It will be okay,” I say, my eyes darting to the girls. They’ve stopped playing, turning to listen to our conversation. I manage a smile for them.

“I...I never go to Denver,” Hannah continues. “I d-don’t have a very b-busy life. I just thought I’d go to the political convention there, do something different for the weekend, for once. Why didn’t I j-just stay home? I’m a librarian, for crying out loud! I-I don’t know what possessed me to go and try something new, only to get t-trapped down here!”

I try to quiet her, but her voice rises as the tears stream down. “I don’t
want
adventure. I don’t want to be here! I
shouldn’t
be here! I-I’m not that type of person! I—“

Her voice breaks down as she buries her head in her han
ds, sobbing softly next to me. Although I barely know her, I raise a comforting hand to her back, just as I do with the twins when they have a problem. Hannah seems to only cry harder, though, making the rest of the children stop in their game.

“Don’t worry,” I say to them, forcing another smile. Hannah’s sobs grow even louder.

“Shh,” I say, as comfortingly as I can. I motion to the children to ignore us, and after a few minutes, Hannah calms down enough to sit up. Her face red and puffy from crying, she takes off her glasses and wipes the one good lens on her sweater, replacing the wire brim high on her nose. Her hands absently smooth over her hair, tucking a few stray strands into her bun.

“Was the convention fun, at least?” I say after a while, hoping to distract her from crying again. The tunnel seems to have resumed its normal activity level, with the children playing loudly and the workmen’s conversation in the background.

Chris has joined the gathering place, I realize; he must have walked up sometime during Hannah Avery’s hysterics. The workmen’s leader, Phil, has stood up, and he’s laughing at something Chris is saying. Putting a hand on his shoulder, the older man shakes him playfully. Chris laughs in return, like it’s an exchange they’ve been through multiple times.