SAFELY BURIED Chapter 32: Into the Wind

“Does it look like it?” he yelled at her. “He’s in there. Get me the flashlight.”

His face rose out of sight. I turned around and shimmied backward into the tunnel. The lowering space scraped my rear end. I was afraid I couldn’t go much farther. The entire weight of the hill seemed to press down on me. If Caroline had the shotgun with her, I could be dead any moment. With that thought in mind, I forced myself back even more, until most of my body was twisted around the bend in the tunnel. Only my eyes and forehead stuck out past the edge of the wall. I felt as if a snake had swallowed me and I could still see Boofey’s shoes through its open mouth.

“Where’d you put the flashlight?” Caroline said.

“I didn’t put it anywhere,” Boofey yelled angrily.

“I don’t see it. It’s not here.”

“Shit. The asshole must have it.”

Caroline’s legs appeared next to Boofey’s in front of the snake’s mouth. “It’ll be hard to get down here until we put some new light bulbs in the tunnel. Did he break them?”

“No. I broke ’em. Shit! Of course he broke them.”

“I’ll go upstairs and take a few out of the lamps.” Her legs disappeared.

“Bring me the shotgun and a box of shells,” Boofey said. “And see if you can find another flashlight somewhere.”

“I can’t carry everything.”

“Just get it!”

“All right already. Cool it. It’s not my fault he got loose.”

I crawled back toward the opening. I thought if Boofey moved away from it, I might be able to crawl out and take him on. I had the flashlight for a weapon. But before Caroline reached the other end of the cavern, Paula and Edna Mae appeared.

“What happened to the lights?” Edna Mae said.

“Her boyfriend busted them,” Caroline said.

“Shut up,” Paula snapped.

Here we go again, I told myself.

“Where are you going?” Edna Mae said.

Caroline disappeared into the tunnel.

“Where’s Phil?” Paula called to Uncle Walter.

“In there,” he said.

I had an odd perspective: Boofey’s baggy cuffs and shoes were in the foreground, while the miniature figures of Paula and her mother were far away, as if I were looking at them through the wrong end of a telescope.

“Is he okay?” Paula said, running forward.

Walter did not deign to answer.

“Did you shoot him?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“You bastard,” Paula said. “You ain’t my uncle no more.”

Edna Mae said, “We never signed on for this, Walter. We didn’t know there would be any killing.”

I moved closer to the opening, but not close enough to be seen.

Boofey growled, “I didn’t say I killed him. Caroline went to find a flashlight. Then we’ll see if he’s dead or alive.”

Paula shouted, “Phil! Are you all right?” When I didn’t answer, she said, “I’m going in there and find him.”

“The hell you are,” Boofey said. “You’re staying right here.”

“Take your hand off me,” Paula said. When he didn’t let go, she slapped him.

Boofey grabbed her by the neck and said, “It’s time you learned some respect, girl.” Then he smacked her on the side of the head. She cried in pain as she sprawled on the ground.

Edna Mae ran and knelt down beside her. “Damn it, Walter, what’s got into you? This has gone too far. It’s not worth it. I don’t care how much money we get. Paula and me are leaving right now.”

“You leave when I say you can leave, not a damn minute before.”

“You can’t keep us here,” Edna Mae said.

“Oh no?”

“I’m your sister, Walter, not your slave.”

He leveled a finger at her. “You’re in this till it’s over. Got it?”

Paula said, “You can go to hell.”

Caroline returned sooner than I expected. “I put a couple bulbs in,” she said. At least you can see a little in there now. I couldn’t find a flashlight, but here’s the gun.” She stopped and stared at Paula, who was just getting up. “What happened?”

“She mouthed off once too often,” Boofey said.

“Come on, get up, Paula,” Edna Mae said. “We’re gettin’ outta here.”

Boofey said, “You listen to me, Edna Mae, and listen good. If I have to, I’ll tie the both of you up till this is over with. I mean it.” He took the sawed-off shotgun from Caroline and broke it open to see if it was loaded.

Paula screamed. “Phil, run! He’s got a shotgun.”

She didn’t need to tell me. I was already scrambling back to the bend in the tunnel. I squeezed into the thin slit until I could hardly breathe. The two blasts were so loud I thought the roof would come down on me. Buckshot peppered the walls. I clawed my way a foot or two deeper into the darkness while Boofey reloaded. I was afraid he would angle the gun in from the left side of the opening and the buckshot would reach me around the bend on the right. I pushed with my feet to get a few more inches deeper into the tunnel.

The stone that was squashing me came to an end. I raised my head, then my shoulders. Boofey blasted away again, but the pellets sprayed harmlessly behind me. I dragged myself out of the slit and switched on the flashlight. A high chamber, much larger than the marijuana cave, expanded around me. Stalactites hung like thick icicles, and obese stalagmites reached up to join them. I pointed the light this way and that. Shadows fled up the walls or closed around me.

It was an eerie landscape, but I didn’t hang around to study it. I started across what looked like a petrified glacier pushing through the left side of the cavern. I had only one way to go, into the wind, and I dashed through the weird landscape before somebody would start shooting again. If someone did, it would be Caroline, because Walter was too thick to fit through the tunnel. But Caroline had no flashlight, so she wouldn’t be coming anytime soon.

The cavern narrowed, and the limestone floor cascaded into a vertical pit. The only thing that gave me the nerve to climb down in it was an empty Miller Lite can standing on a rock. Someone had done this before me, so I knew it could be done. Of course I might find the bones of the beer drinker at the bottom of the pit. I went down anyway.

In daylight it would have been an easy descent. With a flashlight it was a major challenge. I took my time, checking with the light before each move. There were lots of good handholds and footholds, and I made it down without breaking any bones. The biggest problem was the wind. It made my hands cold.

At the bottom, the cave was a low, broad, irregular opening that meandered through a field of boulders. Next, it slanted upward at an angle that was only slightly less steep than that of the pit. I stuck the flashlight in my belt to illuminate the face of the rock above me and began climbing. In about ten minutes the tunnel turned into a chute that resembled a waterslide and then leveled off again, more or less.

Other openings appeared as I crawled along. I poked the light inside them, but I stayed in what appeared to be the main tunnel. I didn’t want to get lost in a maze, and I figured that as long as I stayed on the main drag, I could always retrace my steps if I had to—unless the batteries in the flashlight died.

Don’t think about that, I said to myself. Just move. Faster.

Despite all the twists and turns, the wind still blew through the tunnel. I wondered how far I had come and where I was headed. I wondered if there were tunnels like this all through the knobs. The uneven terrain took a toll on my legs and back. Now and then I was able to stand, but most of the time I had to crouch or crawl. I squeezed between gray, white, creamy boulders and tripped on limestone ripples. The tunnel would drop, angle upward, bend back on itself. I had no sense of direction. I did not know if I was heading toward the far side of the hill or back toward the hollow. But the bias was definitely downward.

I stooped. I crawled. I squeezed through tight spaces. I climbed over rocks. I worried about the flashlight. What would I do if the batteries died? I would feel my way in the dark—what else could I do? I’d fall in a pit and break my skull. Without the light, I’d be dead in no time. I may have had a better chance of surviving if I had gone after Boofey and his wife in the marijuana cave. I should have waited for them to leave the cavern. I could have ambushed them in the cave or the cellar. At least then I would have had a chance. It was stupid to come in here. It was a deathtrap. I ought to turn around right now and go back, while the flashlight was still working.

The tunnel forked. It was purely a guess which way I should go. Maybe someone had blazed a trail. I searched the walls for a mark, a scratch. Nothing. I chose the passage on the right and scraped an arrow in the stone in case I had to backtrack, or if the tunnel looped around on itself without my realizing it.

I had a single-minded mission now: keep moving, and move fast, before the light quit. It was still bright, but how long would it last? Wherever I pointed it, a black shape seemed to duck behind a rock. Another fork divided in front of me. I made a guess and scratched an arrow on the wall. What difference did it make which way I went?

Suddenly I felt tired, as if the adrenaline that had been pumping through my veins just gave out. The strength drained out of my legs. I pressed ahead as if I had a deadline to make, but it got harder and harder to move. Then it occurred to me that I could stop if I wanted to. I could rest as long as I wanted, because I had nothing else to do. The Boofeys weren’t coming after me. I could switch off the flashlight and go to sleep. It would save the batteries. It was a simple realization, but it felt like a major discovery. I lay down and turned off the light. Absolute darkness covered me like a shroud. There was nothing but darkness. I reached up and touched the top of the tunnel to make sure it was still there. The smooth limestone felt like the lid of a coffin.

I did not think I’d be able to sleep, but a half-awake dream began playing. I was crawling through a rocky tunnel that came to a dead end, but when I turned around I saw another tunnel feeding into it. Then there were several tunnels feeding in, with others feeding into them. . . .

I jerked awake. I felt as though I had been asleep just a few minutes, but I was drenched in sweat and I had a splitting headache. My arms were stiff. The bones in my legs felt brittle. I tried to flex my fingers and toes. The joints were stiff, frozen, arthritic. I tried to raise my knees, but my ribs rebelled in pain. I felt as if I were slowly being pulled apart, stretched on a rack in utter darkness. I was still dreaming.

Were my eyes open or closed? I made a conscious effort to open them, to close them. It made no difference. Either way I saw nothing but nothingness. But I could feel. My back was sore. It was something. I hurt, therefore I am. The wind streamed past my ears. . . .

I felt for the flashlight, found it, felt for the switch. Had I fallen asleep again? Was I really awake? I was able to move. My head still ached. I turned on the light. I was still alive. Where there’s light, there’s life. I felt a burst of energy. At the same time I was hungry, starving. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in days.

I did not know which way to go. I remembered the arrows I had etched in the wall. There was one right next to me, pointing in what seemed like the wrong direction, but it was my arrow. I had to trust it. I began crawling again.

If I had been traveling in a straight line, I would have reached the other side of the hill by now. The distance from one side to the other was not great. I knew this from having climbed the hill. It was steep on both sides. The ridge was barely as wide as a one-lane road. But I had not traveled in a straight line. I had gone up and down and in every direction. All I could do was keep moving. Eventually, if I lived long enough, I’d cover every inch of the cave system. If there was another way out, I’d find it.

It was a good thing I was on my hands and knees. Had I been on my feet, in another second I might have fallen into the hole where the wind came from. Air rushed up from deep in the earth. I heard water falling far below, but all I could see with the flashlight were the smooth sides of a limestone shaft that was impossible for me to climb down.

I dropped a rock into the shaft, but the sound of the wind beating on my eardrums kept me from hearing it hit bottom. I dropped several more rocks. I tried covering one ear and holding my head out of the wind, but nothing worked. When I finally grasped that the wind was not going to be my ticket out of the cave, I was tempted to play a little poker and go all in by jumping into the shaft. If I got lucky and hit deep-enough water, maybe an underground river would carry me out of the cave. But more likely I’d break every bone in my body or end up drowning in the Meridian County aquifer.

Weirdly, as my hope of escape faded, I thought of Jodie. That hope too was fading. I stared into the hole. All I had to do was let myself go and the misery would end. I felt myself tipping forward. . . .

I pulled back. I was shaking all over. I couldn’t do it. Why not? What difference did it make if I died a quick death now or a slow one by starvation? It does make a difference, I said to myself. You’ve got to play the game out. Why? You just have to.

When I stopped shaking, I crawled around the edge of the shaft. The ledge was only a foot or so wide. Wouldn’t it be wonderfully ironic if I fell into the hole now that I had performed my puny existential act? It wasn’t to be. I made it to the other side of the shaft and kept on crawling. I felt like an insignificant bug in a meaningless universe.

The wind was gone. It was no longer in my face, and it was not at my back. I assumed it meant there was no outlet for the wind in this direction. Did the Garth house draw it the other way? Did the wind stop blowing whenever the furnace was closed? No, that was ridiculous. There must be another outlet somewhere back that way. I had been going the wrong way. I should have been moving with the wind at my back. There must be a place where it branches off.

I was about to turn around, but just then the flashlight picked up something shiny ahead of me. I scrabbled over loose rocks and found a wrapper from a Snickers bar. It was enough to keep me going.

The tunnel got smaller. I slithered on my belly. I was tearing my clothes to shreds. After a few yards I was able to crawl on all fours again. There were more forks, more dead ends. I scratched my arrows on the walls, and on one occasion it paid off when the tunnel I had chosen circled into itself and I found myself facing the arrow I had drawn a few minutes earlier.

Hours passed. I rested again, this time sitting with my back against a wall that was curved like a beach chair. In case I fell asleep again, I made a mental note to go left when I’d wake up. I did fall asleep, and this time I had no nightmares. When I woke up, I went left.

Some of the crevices were so narrow that I could barely squeeze through them. Other times they grew into small caverns, all curves and ripples like the marijuana cave. I wondered if anyone else knew about these caves. Wayne and Cheryl Garth probably had. Spelunkers would have a field day in here. If I ever got out, I’d have to write a feature about them. I’d have to get some photos of those stalactites and stalagmites. . . .

I was on my hands and knees. The roof of the tunnel sloped downward. I thought I might run out of room in this branch. It got so tight that I was afraid I might get wedged between the rocks. But the tunnel appeared to widen ahead, so I kept squeezing through. Then I caught a faint whiff of something bad. A dead animal? A dead litterbug?

The flashlight glimmered on something bright. I expected to find another beer can. I lay my head sideways and held the light in front of it. A noxious odor hit me in the face.

Several yards away I saw the bottom rims of several large yellow drums. I wondered if I was hallucinating. I squiggled through the opening. The drums stood close to the wall. If they had been any closer, I wouldn’t have been able to get into the cavern. I stood up and walked behind them, holding my breath. The cavern sloped upward and around a bend. It was filled with fifty-five-gallon drums, hundreds of them, at least. The cavern was longer and wider than Boofey’s torture chamber, and the drums disappeared like a river around the bend.

Most of the drums were gray or black. Some had stencilled markings on them. Others had labels. At a glance, they all looked rusty. The air reeked of chemicals. On one of the yellow drums near me, I saw the words Polychlorinated Biphenyls.

I was in a cave full of toxic chemicals—PCBs—and the drums were leaking.