Trapped (20 page)

Chris jerks his eyes open, the blue flashing straight to the Governor. “I said, f—“

He never gets to finish. Bernard steps forward, kicking him hard in the stomach.

Chris lets out a low moan, clutching his mid-section. He’s gagging, struggling for breath, fighting against the pain. The girls’ eyes are shocked and wide with fear, and I know I must look the same. My body is urging me forward, my heart begging me to go protect him. But I’m powerless to help. The only thing keeping Chris alive for the moment is the plumbers’ belief that he knows where I am, their hope that he’ll reveal my location. I can’t show myself and ruin Chris’s advantage – it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

But it’s a secret he’s dying to protect.

Still, I edge closer. Chris is struggling to breathe, and Bernard looks ready to deliver another harsh blow. But then Chris’s eyes open…and he looks straight at me. No emotions flash across his face, no surprise, or recognition. He quickly averts his eyes, closing them as he struggles once more to stand.

“Help him up, Bernard.”

Strong hands lift Chris bodily, and the Governor walks over to stand directly in front of him. “Where is she? I won’t give you another chance.”

Chris’s breath comes in heavy wheezes, and I can hear him struggling. “Those idiots you hired walked right past us four times.
They never saw us…never even knew we were that close—“

“Tell me w
here.”

“I…I won’t…”

“You will. You will, or I’m going to keep letting Bernard kick you around. And then I’ll tell him to do the same to one of those little girls. He won’t mind.”

The group is silent, Chris most of all. The moment stretches, and Bernard steps forward.

“She’s in the ventilation system,” Chris says, his voice cracking. “We climbed up the cross beams on the western side. All the way to the top. Lying up there, you can’t see anything from the ground.”

The
Governor shifts backward, satisfied. Turning to Phil, he says, “Can you handle things from here? Bernard and I were
supposed
to be resting in my car.”

“Yes,
Governor Rosings,” Phil says softly.

“Everything else is set up? Ready to go?”

“Yes,” Phil’s voice is even quieter.

“Good. Don’t forget to move the other one, then,”
Governor Rosings says before walking swiftly away, Bernard following him.

Phil speaks
quickly to a few of the others, choosing Bob and Terry to go with him to look for me. “And make sure our good friend Chris is ready to go join the others…we’ll take care of the old man’s body while we’re up there getting the girl.”

Henry laughs his satisfaction as the other three depart
, opening the door to the cab of the truck briefly and closing it again. He makes a snapping sound with some object, the noise almost lost in the growing wail of the drill, before walking slowly toward Chris.

“What
d’ya think, Doug? Do we wait and see if he’ll follow our instructions like a good boy? Or should we handle him here, same way as the old man?” Henry snaps the object again. It’s a length of rope, I realize numbly.

“
I think neither,” Chris says, stepping away from the railing. He stumbles but catches himself. Then his lungs wheeze on a heavy gulp of air, his back straightening against the pain in his chest and leg.

Henry
laughs and moves in, working the long stretch of rope in his hands. He has it held out in front of him, angling to wrap it around Chris’s neck. But Chris dodges him, landing a punch to his jaw. Henry groans, stepping back for a moment before attacking. Chris ducks a punch, sending Henry sprawling behind him with an elbow to the back.

Doug helps
Henry up, coming after Chris as well. Although Doug has been more hesitant about violence than the others, he’s still on the plumbers’ team.

Doug lands a blow on Chris’s already aching ribs and he doubles over, thrown back when Henry knees him in the face.  I see his hands fumbling at his pocket – he’s trying to draw out the mirror shard, I realize.

No time to think. Rolling out from under the truck, I stand up, shocking Henry and Doug. They’re stock still for barely a second, but it’s long enough for Chris to act. Fitting the shard into his palm again, he jams it into Henry’s back.

“Ah!” Henry cries out, col
lapsing to the ground in a crumpled heap. Blood is flowing freely from the gray coverall material on his back, the mirror shard sticking most of the way in. Doug turns immediately on Chris, letting out a sharp yell. Chris punches him in the stomach, following through with a cut to the jaw, but Doug barely stops.

Looking around me, I search fr
antically for a weapon. Henry had dropped his rope on the pavement. I have no idea what to do with that, but there’s nothing else, just bits of rock and broken concrete…

I duck down, searching the debris for a
good-sized rock. A kickball-sized rock. Finding one slightly larger than my fist, I wrap my fingers around its bulk, testing the heavy weight for a moment.

Chris and Doug are going at it, dancing all over the pavement as they punch and duck. Chris feints to the left, then swings to the right, hitting Doug square on the jaw again. Doug recovers, kicking at Chris’s bleeding leg, slamming him into the side of the truck.

Chris is bent over, trying to regain his footing, but Doug is already on him, punching, kneeing, kicking – trying to bring him down. I hear the girls whimper, hear Chris moan under the onslaught. I move in, raising the rock above my head with both hands. Using all my strength, I bring it down on the back of Doug’s head with a sickening crack.

He collapses immediately, and Chris scrambles back up. He looks at me from one eye, breathing heavily.

“Hell of a job, Champ,” he says between breaths, rubbing at his chest. His eyes close again as he leans heavily against the truck, his face pulled tight in a grimace of pain. “It’s all that…all that upper body strength.”

He can’t catch his breath, his lungs pulling in air
with painful gasps. I move to his side immediately, taking some of his weight on my shoulders just before his right leg collapses.

“Chris…I don’t know how many bruises and scrapes your body can handle,” I
say, trying to move him. I’m not sure where to go, but I know we can’t stay here. It won’t take Phil and the others long to realize I’m not still up in the ventilation system, but when they do, they’ll be back.

“Girls, come out now
.” They scramble out from under the truck, their dirty cheeks streaked with tears.

“Chris…
are you okay?” Suzanne asks.

He only manages to grunt something.

“He’ll be fine, Suzie,” I say quickly. “We just…we need to move him. We need to find somewhere safe—“

Chris collapses
completely, and I can’t support him. We fall to the ground, landing hard on the pavement, my knees and elbows taking most of our weight. I roll Chris onto his back, shaking him frantically. His head lolls to the side, but his eyes won’t open.

I struggle against a wave of panic. Chris has passed out
, with only me for protection… and we’re in the worst place we could possibly be when the rest of the plumbers return.

Heart racing, m
y eyes scan over Chris, his face and lips unbelievably pale compared to his dark hair and eyebrows. The gash on his leg is wide open, the blood flowing freely now. Fear and adrenaline pump through me.

“Michelle, Suzanne,” I say,
struggling to keep my voice steady. “I need something to tie off his leg. Look around – we need to find some kind of cord, or bandage, or…”

My
eyes fall on Henry’s rope. Moving quickly, I bring the length back to Chris, trembling as I realize that this rope was used to end Simon Tara’s life. It’s going to save Chris’s – it has to.

I hurry to
tie a knot around his right thigh, just above the gash from the mirror. My hands are shaking as I pull the rope, making it as tight as I can. Although the blood flow decreases, he’s still losing too much. I press my fingers against the wound, applying pressure directly. His jeans are soaked through with blood.

“Holy Christ!” The pressure on Chris’s leg makes him shoot into a sitting position, but the pain in his ribs has him
falling back down.

“I’m sorry, Chris,” I say, pressing harder. I know I
need to keep the pressure on, need to elevate his leg, apply a bandage. But it’s a choice now between the risk from blood loss and the risk from the plumbers’ return. We have to move him. Now.

“
It’s going to hurt,” I tell him loudly, wiping my bloody hands on my skirt. “But we have to go.” He nods, grinding his teeth as I pull him back into a sitting position. His face grows even paler.

“
Girls, I’m going to need your help here!” I yell, lifting my eyes to find my sisters. They’re kneeling down a few yards away, looking at the ground.

The girls stand and turn
to me. “Do you need more rope?” Michelle asks.

“No, I…” my voice trails off. “Girls…what is that?”

Suzanne and Michelle are holding part of a long gray cord that seems to extend out from under the front of the truck, over to the side of the tunnel, then back down to the western side. It’s not a normal electrical cord – slightly thinner, it blends in well with the rocks and bits of concrete it’s been shoved under.

Chris, more attentive now, is looking carefully at the cord, following its progress down the tunnel. “They taped it to the
railing. What are they planning with that?”

“
It doesn’t matter. We’ve got to get out of here,” I tell him, standing quickly.

I call the
girls over and they help me with Chris. In slow, agonizing movements, we manage to get him up on his good leg. “We should go to the eastern side,” I say, trying to turn him. “Be as close as we can to the rescuers when they get here.”

“No,” he says, grunting as he tries to take a step. “We need to…we need to see where that cord leads.”

I hesitate a moment before fitting myself under Chris’s right shoulder, hugging him close to my side. He leans on me heavily as we walk, never taking his eyes from the faint form of the cord as it progresses down the tunnel.

The girls walk silently behind us as w
e move across the center area, the concrete bench. I eye the hole in the ceiling, but the plumbers haven’t come back yet.

I can just barely see my mom’s car and Mrs. Potts’s car, where all the adults are waiting out the rescue. Closest to us is Kevin and Jason’s car. Their
tent is gone now, their gear packed up once more and tied to the car’s roof. Chris leads us around the side of the car, stopping at the railing to examine the cord.

“They
taped it under the bottom rail, hiding it from view,” he says, hobbling away from me. He bends down, wincing as he holds a hand tightly to his ribs. I kneel as well, motioning for the girls to hide behind the shield of the car.

He’s studying something
on the other side of the railing, and I peek back over the hikers’ car at the stillness of the tunnel. The bore is so loud now, it’s like I’ve lost my sense of hearing – I can only use my eyes to tell when the plumbers coming. I watch the large hole in the center of the tunnel before cautiously looking up above us. Thankfully there are no holes that could give the plumbers a direct view of our hiding place.

“Emily,” Chris
says loudly, catching my attention. His eyes flicker nervously to my sisters, as if he doesn’t want to expose them to any further horrors. But now’s not the time to hold back. “I don’t know exactly what this is,” he says, lifting up his hand to reveal a small black metallic box. ”But I don’t think it’s good news for us.”

The gray cord he’d been tracing is attached to the side, with more cord extending further toward the western
end of the tunnel. Small and solid-colored, the black box seems harmless enough. Except for the small, blinking red light on the front.

“It has something to do with electric pulses,” Chris says, examining the cords like he would an old
carburetor. “A generator of sorts, something that can send heavy currents down the length of the cords attached. It’s heavy…real heavy. Whatever it does, it would make the vibrations from that tunnel bore seem like nothing.”

I swallow, knowing instinctively what it is that Chris has found.
Something dangerous, something…explosive. Something like what was used to destroy either side of the tunnel just over a week ago.

“Champ...I think it’s their backup plan.
”

Chapter 18
– “ESCAPE”

“Emily…they’re dropping back down,” Chris says tiredly. He closes his blue eyes for a moment as he struggles to find strength for what we know is coming. Taking a deep breath, he turns back to the black box in his hands. We have no idea how to diffuse it, whether yanking off the cords on either side would be safe or deadly. We’re almost desperate enough to try either way.

I peek cautiously over the side of Kevin and Jason’s car.
I don’t see anyone for a moment. And then slowly one of the plumbers drops down from the edge of the hole in the ceiling. Another one follows, and then the third.

I shrink back down,
putting my back against the cold metal of the car. I strain my ears as I wait for them to walk around the side of their truck, to discover what has happened. It’s barely a moment later when we hear the shout, just audible over the groan of the tunnel bore. They know we’re missing, now. And they know we injured – perhaps even killed – two of their own.

I brush the strands of blond hair from my
face. “I have to do something,” I say quietly. But the words are lost in the high drones echoing down the tunnel.

I look to Chris
. His eyes are bent in anxiety and frustration, his body tense as his fingers tighten around the black box. He looks so frail and tired, his skin impossibly pale in the bright light. It had taken everything in him to get over here, and he’s collapsed again, his body almost too weak to move – the last bit of his energy focused entirely on the black box. The girls are on either side of him, watching anxiously as his fingers trace the outer shell of the box. I stare at the three of them for a long time, wishing for something, anything, that could save us.

But there’s nothing.

Here, now…t
here’s just…there’s just me. I’m the only thing standing between the plumbers and the rescue team – between our deaths and our chance at life.

My mind calculates quickly.
They’ll be searching for us by now, but there’s nowhere for us to hide this time. They’ll check the other side of the tunnel first, probably, since we’d logically seek to be closer to the rescue team. When they don’t find us, they’ll double back to look for us on the western side. Once they know where we are for sure, that will be it. They’ll proceed with their plan to blow up this side of the tunnel.

We need to move again, to hide
, to delay them.

I turn to Chris, my eyes tracing over his
pale, weak form. We can’t go anywhere.

“Hey
hey hey!” I barely hear the shout above the shriek of the drill, but whoever it is, he’s close. I lift my eyes a mere inch above the car. Bob is pointing excitedly at the ground, calling Phil and Terry to him. Bernard jogs up to the group as well.

I follow Bob’s pointing finger
. There’s a smattering of dots on the pavement, a long dark streak, then more red drops of blood. All pointing to our direction.

A
drenaline pumps through me, the cold wash of nerves and terror sharpening my focus. My head spins as I calculate variables. Point A: the bomb is set, the final trap laid to bury everyone on the western side of the tunnel. Point B: Bernard and the plumbers are moving quickly to our location. Point C: the detonator is with the Governor, also on the eastern side. Point D: he’ll pull the trigger just as soon as the others confirm we’re here, which means we have only seconds – a minute maybe – to act. Point E: We don’t know how to diffuse the bomb. Our only hope, somehow, is to get to the detonator.

Point F: I think I know how.

My eyes meet Chris’s. He heard the shouts as well. The girls are huddled next to him – Michelle with her knees drawn up under her chin, Suzanne clinging to his arm. I hesitate for a brief moment before launching to my feet. I can’t think about their safety, about saving Chris. I have only one shot to end this, and the clock is ticking.

The plumbers give another yell when they see me, but I’m already moving.
I pull open the passenger door of Kevin and Jason’s car. Although the windshield was shattered from the cave-in, the front is clean enough – and the keys are there, right on the dashboard.

Praying that
the hikers hadn’t drained the car’s battery, I grab the keys and scramble over to the driver’s seat. My mom’s lessons had prepared me well for driving under pressure. I can do this.

I start the ignition, jerking the wheel to the left
as soon as it catches. I’m able to make a tight U-turn, bringing me face-to-face with Bernard, Terry, Bob, and Phil. They’re stunned, standing stock still near the blood spatters on the pavement. Guns hang loosely in their hands.

I rev the
engine, speeding up as I straighten the wheel. They’re in my path, but I don’t slow down. The plumbers’ eyes widen as they start sprinting down the tunnel, away from me. But Bernard coolly narrows his gaze and takes a calm step to the side. He raises his gun.

I sink down in my seat as I press harder on the gas pedal. A bullet shatters the driver’s window, a cascade of glass raining down over me. But I press on, sitting up
again once I’m past Bernard. I’m gaining on the plumbers, but they dive off to the sides of the road. I keep going, moving faster as I race toward the Governor.

The tunnel is radiating with the noise and vi
brations from the tunnel bore, and the Governor can’t hear my approach. He’s reclining against the town car, perched close to the American flag above the rear window. He shifts his gaze from the eastern end of the tunnel to the west. At first he doesn’t move, doesn’t register the car speeding toward him. And then his face pales, his mouth opening as he watches.

T
hen he, too, starts running.

But
I’m faster. I push down on the gas pedal, my grip on the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white. The Governor lengthens his stride, his suit jacket flapping as he pumps his arms. I don’t slow down. I’m nearly upon him as he approaches the eastern end, with nowhere to go. I slam on the brakes, but the car careens forward. The Governor turns and backs away as far as he can, squeezing himself against the rocks. The tires skid on the pavement, screeching to a halt only a foot away from him. He’s trapped now. Trapped between me and the edge of the tunnel.

The Governor’s
face hardens as he raises the detonator.

I put the car in
drive, moving it forward just an inch.

Our eyes lock, the lights overhead impossibly bright as we face each other down. We’re at a standstill. With all of my loved ones on the western side, he knows I’m at his mercy, should he decide to detonate the bomb. But if he does that – he knows
I can crush him.

“Drop it!” I scream frantically. With the front windshield gone, my voice carries over the sound of the
drill.

“
Back away from me!” His face pales as he studies me, his eyes tracing over the hard steel of the car that had nearly crushed him. That may
still
crush him. Fury contorts his face into a snarl, the skin on his neck reddening in blotchy patches. “Get back!” he screams again. But I don’t move.

The Governor’s
hand shakes as he holds the detonator out beside him. I keep my face passive, unyielding. After a long moment he bends and starts to lower the detonator. But then his eyes shift to something behind me.

I duck just in time to avoid a bullet as it whizzes through my headrest.
It goes straight through the open windshield, blasting into the rock wall behind the Governor.

“Give it up,
girl!” the Governor screams. Another bullet crashes through the car. The others are getting closer.

My ears are rin
ging from the gunshots, but they clear enough for me to hear the clatter of footsteps. The driver-side door is yanked open, but I crawl across and out the passenger side. I’m racing around the front, struggling to get to the Governor, but someone grabs me from behind. It’s Bernard, and I shriek at him, tearing my fingernails on his arms as I try to claw my way free.

“Shut up!” the Governor says, walking quickly up to me.
“I said
shut up
!”

I don’t see the blow coming when he slaps me hard across the face. My head
is thrust to the side, my ears ringing as Bernard holds me up.

They clear enough for me to hear the Governor’s ragged breaths, suddenly so loud. He raises two fingers to my chin, turning me to face him again.

“You gave me more trouble than I ever could have dreamed, girl,” he says, breathing deeply. He runs a meticulous hand over his suit jacket, straightening the lapels. He slides the button into place, fixes the cuffs of his sleeves.

His eyes glint when he looks back up at me.
Anger colors his face. “You shouldn’t have.”

I see it coming this time as he
raises his hand into a fist, delivering an even harder blow. My whole upper body is turned to the side by the impact, but Bernard won’t let me collapse. Jerking a hand to my hair, he forces me to face Rosings again. My ears are drumming, my cheek and jaw burning with the pain. The Governor stares at me for a long moment, his eyes glazing over with animosity. With more than that. With… insanity.

He can’t seem to stop himself as he raises a fist again, delivering another blow to my jaw. I feel blood well up in my
mouth, feel the pain reverberate through my head and neck. He follows it with a punch to my stomach, maybe two more, the jabbing pain taking my breath away. My knees are weak, my body aching from the skillful blows. Bernard keeps me standing, forces me to look back toward the Governor.

With a final snarl he turns and walks away, tightening his tie as he walks
. Near the front of the car he bends down briefly, picking up the detonator he must have dropped.

Fear spikes through me, and I would have collapsed if not for Bernard. But when the governor stands and raises the detonator, I start fighting. I lift my legs, kicking back against Bernard. I’m yelling, screaming, as I struggle to break free.
But his fingers only dig more tightly into my arms, crushing them against my sides. The Governor marches up to me, raising a hand again.

“How do we get her to the western end
, sir?” Phil asks from behind him.

The Governor
pauses, then growls in frustration. He grabs the gun from Phil’s hand and levels it at me. “Start walking!” he barks, and Bernard finally lets go.

My body aches, and my face stings as I stare back at the Governor. I don’t move.

“Walk!” he yells.

I shake my head slightly, my feet planted.
There are no uncertain variables here…only two possible outcomes. If I walk, he’ll detonate the western side – I may be far enough back to live through it, but no one else will.

And if I stay, he’ll kill me.

The Governor’s finger tightens on the trigger. That’s what he desperately wants to do.

“Start walking!” he screams, his hand shaking from holding back. I keep my feet still.

He raises the detonator. “I’ll kill you here or over there. I don’t give a damn!”

My feet stay planted. I take a long, slow breath as he steps forward, pressing the
cold barrel of the gun to my forehead.

“You’re too late,” a soft voice says from down the tunnel. I shift my eyes, past the Governor, past the plumbers, past the car…to see…to see Chris.

Chris and the rest of the tunnel survivors.

He’s leaning almost entirely on Mr.
Rodriguez, his breath coming in labored gasps. His face is swollen and bruised, his jeans completely covered with blood down the length of his right leg. Behind him my Mom is gripping my sisters tightly, sheltering them from view. Mrs. Rodriguez and Mrs. Potts follow her lead and tuck the younger ones in the back. Kevin and Jason are standing close to Chris, arms crossed and faces dark. And Hannah Avery is standing toward the front as well, her hair free from her bun as she glowers at the plumbers.

Everything is perfectly
still for a moment, so still that I can hear the quiet tumble of a boulder from behind me. I don’t know how long it’s been since the drill had stopped, but I realize that the tunnel has been quiet now for several minutes. My ears register the faint sounds of the electricity overhead, of footsteps coming from somewhere. And then the quiet call of an unfamiliar voice.

“Team 1, Team 2
, we’ve broken through! I see them!”

A flood of people in brown and gray uniforms come
rushing into the tunnel, clamoring through a large hole where Chris’s car used to be. The Governor looks stunned. I know I do as well.

Especially when one of the uniformed workers puts handcuffs on the Governor.

A fight breaks out as more uniformed workers surround
the plumbers. Phil is struggling to get free, but more and more of the uniforms move in to stop him. I edge away, watching warily as Bernard fights to break out from the group. He’s moving toward the Governor, his arm reaching out for the detonator.

But one of the uniformed officers tackles Bernard, knocking the detonator free from the Governor’s hands. It tumbles out of the fight and I scoop it up, carrying it safely away.