SAFELY BURIED Chapter 31: You're Dead, Newsboy

The heavy plastic reminded me of a burial shroud as it passed over my face. I still had to get through the clay pots. I thought I heard footsteps in the tunnel. I was sure that Boofey would catch me. The lights would come on any minute. This time he’d stomp me to a bloody pulp. I reproached myself for not taking a swing at him when I had my chance a little while ago, when I was taking a leak. What a coward I was. But I could barely stand. My arms were all but dead. Still, I wished I had done something. I could have pissed in his face. If he killed me now, at least I wouldn’t die regretting that I hadn’t fought back.

Knock it off, Larrison. Don’t look back. Stop bellyaching. Look at the bright side—you got this far. Focus on the damn rocks. Save psychic energy. If you get caught, you get caught. You can’t control that, so why worry about it?

My heart pounded and my breath heaved as I squirmed between the clay pots. I tried to forget about time. I just shoved and pushed. Shoulder. Upper arm. Hip. Thigh. Knee. The arm felt wet. Was it sweat or blood? I kept hearing footsteps in the tunnel. Belatedly it occurred to me that the lights would come on before anyone came through the tunnel. So I didn’t have to worry about footsteps anymore. I forced my head between two large pots rather than go around either of them. I used an ear and cheek to push one aside. I squeezed through and tried to remember how many rows of pots there were. Like a deformed lizard, I wriggled on.

More pots.

Still more pots.

My head hit a rock.

I straightened myself out next to the string of stones and used my face to find a sharp or jagged edge that I could use to cut the rope. I wasn’t fussy. The first rough edge I found seemed as good as any. The next challenge was to get myself turned around so that the rock and rope would meet. I did my rollover stunt toward the last row of clay pots and then wriggled and jiggled myself backward to the rocks. I tried to match up the one I had found with the section of rope that stretched from my folded-back legs to my forearms. I began rubbing the rope against what I hoped was the rough edge. I kept tension on the rope by raising my arms and legs as much as I could.

It wasn’t easy. Without the wind, I broke out in a hot sweat as I rubbed and rubbed. The rope was thick, and as the minutes passed I began to doubt that I could cut through it. But I put myself in robot mode and kept on rubbing.

Time passed. Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? . . . I kept rubbing, kept trying to rub the same spot on the rope. I had no feeling in my arms. I wasn’t even sure they were moving anymore. . . .

The rope snapped.

For a moment I thought I was dreaming. I emptied my lungs of air that I didn’t know was in them. I stretched out my legs. The rope was still coiled tightly around my ankles, but now I could stretch out my legs and work them apart. The more I moved them, the looser the rope became. In a few minutes I had my feet untied. Then I went to work on the rope around my arms. I sat down and rubbed it against a rock behind my back. At the same time I tried to move my arms back and forth, up and down. It didn’t take forever, but it took quite a while. Finally I managed to sever it and jiggle my arms free.

My fingers felt like claws, my arms like lead. As I got up, a wave of dizziness made my head swim. I used the low ceiling to steady myself. I tried to shake the stiffness out of my arms one at a time. I rotated my shoulders and flexed my back. I hammered my legs with my fists.

I tried to decide what to do next. My brain seemed to have slowed down. Bright sparkles flashed in my head. I walked into a wilted marijuana stalk and kicked the clay pot. I felt my way through the grove of dead plants to the plastic curtain.

I did not know where I had seen the tools. On a ledge somewhere. I could feel my way along the wall. I needed a hammer or a wrench—some kind of weapon. Or should I head for the hole at the end of the cavern where the wind came from? Where was it coming from? Maybe all I had to do was walk into the wind until I found another way out from under the hill. I needed a flashlight. Maybe there was one with the tools. Or should I go back through the tunnel to the cellar? I’d have to feel my way in the dark. But maybe the Goofeys and Paula were gone. Maybe they went out for supper. I could just walk out the front door. If they were still in the house—if I heard them upstairs—I could turn on the lights and come back to the cavern. It’d be easy to find a hammer or something if the lights were on.

It took an effort of will to make up my mind. I started moving to the right, with my hand on the curtain. I knew it ended near the entrance to the tunnel, but I did not expect my head to bump into the ceiling only a few seconds later. If I had made up my mind sooner, I would have been halfway to the light switch by now.

I felt my way a few steps to the left and squeezed through the narrow opening. With my fingers on the conduit overhead, I walked slowly, bending, stooping, or crawling as the ceiling lowered. My head felt clearer now. The constant breeze blew up my pants legs and fanned the back of my head, pushing me forward. I moved as fast as I dared in the darkness.

Before I knew it I reached the dug-in steps under the furnace. I thought it should have taken much longer. Time must have speeded up. I wanted to think about that, but I made myself focus. I found the light switch and turned it on. The tunnel closed in around me. It seemed more cramped than I remembered. The walls were moving closer. I told myself my senses were out of whack.

Having made it so far so soon, I had a sense of invincibility. I was tempted to go straight up to the cellar and kitchen. Then all I’d have to do is get out the back door. If the Boofeys were there eating supper, I’d take them by surprise and make a dash for the door. Once outside, I could head for the cornfield.

I stopped myself. Too many things could go wrong. The door might be locked. Boofey might have his gun next to him. Caroline could probably outrun me. She was in shape, and I was sore all over. I stuck with my plan and went back to the cavern.

Among the tools on the ledge were a hammer, several screwdrivers, a maul, and what looked like the crowbar I had brought with me the day Caroline tripped me on the steps. There was also a long silver flashlight. I grabbed the crowbar and flashlight and went back through the tunnel. My luck was holding—no one came down to check on me. I poked my head up inside the furnace. The back of it was open. I took this to mean that one or more of the Boofeys were upstairs. I reasoned that they would have shut the furnace if they had planned on leaving the house; otherwise, they’d have left it open so they could get to the cave fast if they had to.

I heard voices in the kitchen. I turned on the flashlight and climbed into the furnace. I moved slowly and carefully to avoid banging the sides. I heard Paula say, “It needs cleaned.”

Caroline replied, “So clean it. What else have you got to do?”

“I did it the last time,” Paula snapped.

A third woman said, “Don’t fight. I’ll do it.” The voice was soft and low, but I recognized it as Edna Mae’s. So the gang’s all here, I said to myself.

“It ain’t your job,” Paula said.

A fist slammed the table and rattled the dishes. “Knock it off,” Boofey shouted. “You’re gettin’ on my nerves.”

“Everybody’s nervous,” Edna Mae said. “Let’s just calm down and relax.”

The room fell silent, except for the clink of knives and forks.

I panned the cellar with the flashlight. It was too bad there was no outside door—I’d be gone already. If I had a shovel, I could dig my way out. Yeah, right, maybe if I had a week. The clay felt like solid rock. If I could find a place to hide, the next time Boofey went down to the cave, I could make my break. Paula wouldn’t try to stop me, and I didn’t think her mother would either. I might have to deal with Caroline, but after what she did to me, I wouldn’t mind smashing her with the crowbar.

My heart raced. The lights in the cave were still on. As soon as Boofey discovered this, he might realize I was already in the cellar. Or he might think I got loose and turned them on so I could find a light and look for another way out of the cave. But more likely he’d think Paula had turned them on for me. On the other hand, Boofey might not be the first one to return to the cave. Anyone else would think he had left the lights on, not me. . . .

Forget it, Larrison. There’s no place to hide in the cellar, so it doesn’t matter what Boofey might think. Anyway, hiding’s lame. You gotta be proactive.

Edna Mae broke the silence in the kitchen: “So what are you going to do with him?”

No one answered her.

“Well, what?” Edna Mae insisted.

“I say we leave him tied up where he is,” Boofey answered. “By the time he gets loose—if he ever does—we’ll be long gone.”

Caroline said, “It’s too big a risk. He knows too much.”

“He don’t know nothing,” Paula said. “He thinks it’s all about marijuana.”

“You didn’t tell him anything, I hope,” Boofey said.

“Are you listening to me? I just said he don’t know a thing.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Caroline said, “he knows us! He can identify us, for Christ’s sake.”

“So what? It don’t matter if they can’t find us,” Paula said.

“We can’t take chances,” Boofey said. “If they know who we are, they might track us.”

“You said we’d be safe once we got out of the country.”

“I said we’d be safe from the police. Not from bounty hunters.”

A chair scraped back from the table, and Paula yelled, “You’re gonna get us all killed. Before it’s over, we’ll all be dead.”

“Not if we play our cards right,” Boofey said.

Caroline said, “If anybody gets us killed, it’ll be you. You’ve got to get over him. Get him out of your head.”

“Mind your own business,” Paula said.

“She’s the weak link,” Caroline said.

“Shut your damn face,” Paula told her.

Edna Mae said, “Paula, sit down. Eat your supper.”

“I ain’t hungry,” Paula said. “I’m going down to check on Phil.”

“No you’re not. Leave him be,” Boofey ordered.

“See what I mean,” Caroline said. “We’re at each other’s throats because of him. We have got to get rid of him. We’re wasting too much time fighting about him. We’ve got things to do.” There was a long pause. Then she said, “Walter! Are you listening? We’ve got things to do. We can’t keep screwing around.”

“I’m tryin’ to eat,” Boofey said.

“All right,” Caroline said with false calmness, “you keep trying to eat. I’ll take care of our problem right now.”

I heard two quick steps and a loud crash. It sounded like the back of a chair and the back of someone’s head hitting the floor. Paula must have pulled Caroline’s chair backward before she could get up. A flurry of bumps and thumps erupted. Chairs banged the table. Edna Mae screamed, “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Her words turned to gasps for breath. “Damn it, Walt, help me,” she cried.

Boofey laughed. “They’re like two alley cats. Let them tear each other’s eyes out.”

I thought about taking advantage of the melee to make a break for it. If I could open the cellar door and get into the laundry room without being seen, I could use the other door to get into the living room and make a dash for the front door. I started up the steps, but then someone went into the laundry room, and I went back down.

I heard water running in the laundry room. It sounded like a bucket being filled. Heavy footsteps plodded back to the kitchen. “This might cool them off,” Boofey said. Paula and Caroline squealed in anger when he emptied the bucket on them. A thin trickle came down through the floor.

Boofey and Edna Mae finally separated the wrestlers.

“Whose side are you on?” Caroline yelled at her husband.

“My side,” he replied.

“It’s all her fault,” Caroline said. “She’s the weak link.”

“Stinking bitch.” Paula yelled at her.

“You better hold on to her, Edna Mae, or I’ll break her skull.”

“Dry yourselves off,” Boofey said.

“She’s the weak link,” Caroline shouted at him. “She’s gonna screw everything up.”

Edna Mae said, “Paula is not weak. She’s stronger than any of us.”

“Bullshit,” Caroline said. “Let go of me, Walt. Damn it, let me go.”

“No more fightin’,” he said.

“Screw you.”

Her footsteps slapped through the water as she left the kitchen. Someone began picking up the fallen chairs. A moment later Caroline returned. She hadn’t had time to dry off. She walked quickly through the kitchen, and when she reached the laundry room, she said, “I’m going to solve our problem right now.” She opened the cellar door.

Paula cried out, “She’s got a gun. She’s gonna kill him!”

I got under the steps as Caroline started down.

Boofey yelled, “Stay here, hon. I’ll do it.”

Caroline did not stop. As she took her next step, I hooked the curved end of the crowbar around her ankle and yanked it backward. She pitched forward yelling, “Walt, it’s him!” She came down hard on the bottom steps and moaned in pain, but she did not black out.

I saw the .45 in her hand and made a dash for the furnace. The breeze was in my face. I thought a bullet nicked the heel of my shoe half a nanosecond before I heard the blast.

Walter nearly flew down the steps. “I’ll kill you, you bastard, I’ll kill you,” he yelled, but, gentleman that he was, he stopped to help his wife first.

“Get him,” she screamed. “Here, take the gun.”

I jumped down into the hole and twisted myself into the tunnel. I crouched and scrambled as fast as I could. I broke light bulbs with the crowbar as I ran, hoping the darkness would slow Boofey down. I heard him crash against the furnace as he came after me. I had to get around the first bend in the tunnel before he’d start shooting. I popped another energy-saving bulb, then another. A shot slammed into the wall in front of me just as I made the turn.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Boofey yelled. “You’re dead, newsboy.”

I felt like saying, “We’ll see about that, Goofy,” but why make him mad?

Breaking the bulbs did slow him down, but when I had to get on all fours, it was hard to crawl with a crowbar in one hand and a flashlight in the other, so I let go of the crowbar. I reached the last bulb in the tunnel and whacked it with the flashlight, but the cavern was all lit up. I thought about waiting for Boofey right here and smashing him in the face with the flashlight when he reached me. But he had a gun. I sprinted toward the low opening at the far end of the cave.

It felt like a surrealist dream as I ran across the slanted ripples through a stretched-out, narrowing egg. The egg seemed to get longer, and I seemed to move slower and slower. I began to panic. I was completely exposed in the cavern. Boofey would have a clear shot at me as soon as he got out of the tunnel. I had made the wrong move. I should have ambushed him. I should have clubbed him with the flashlight.

I glanced back and saw him squeezing out of the tunnel. I was about eight feet from the low opening. It looked like a mouth waiting to slurp me up. I dove at it as Boofey opened fire.