Authors: Carrie Grant
Trapped (9 page)
After a few more minutes I shrug off my thoughts, tu
rning to the girls instead. It must be their bedtime by now. And I have my responsibilities. I call them over and take their hands, walking resolutely toward the western end.
“Emily…when do you think we’ll be able to have dinner again?” Suzanne asks
.
I shake my head. Their dinner is one of my responsibilities, and I’m completely failing them.
“The rescue isn’t going to be for a while, Suzanne, so we have to wait until then.”
“I’m hungry now,” Michelle says. Not a whine…just a sad statement.
“I know.” I open the back door and they climb inside – Suzanne, smoothing her dress as she lays down, Michelle taking off her cap to rest it on the floor.
I pull their jackets over them, tucking them in as best I can. “You girls are being so good and brave. Just remember, no matter how hungry you get, we’re going to make it through all this. And when we do, I’ll make us a nice, huge dinner.”
They smile at the thought. “Emily, I can’t believe I’m gonna say this…” Michelle pauses for breath, waiting for my reaction. “But I miss vegetables.”
“I wish I had a flower,” I mumble, looking down at the drawing in my hands. No more math equations or inquisitive sketches of the tunnel. I’ve been reduced to this.
“No, Emily, you have to draw the swirl in the middle!” Suzanne is coaching me in a game of ‘Mash,’ which will – through the divine powers of pencil, paper, and
chance – tell me whether Chris likes me or not.
“Don’t count as you swirl!” Michelle admonishes, watching my pencil. I loop the point around until I fill up the center box, then pull away so the girls can count up my results.
“She did eight swirls – start counting, Suzanne.” Their small fingers trace around the outside of my box, crossing out different possibilities between me and Chris. Fortunately, we’re not supposed to live in a shack. Sadly, we’re going to miss out on the mansion as well.
“And you’re going to have twelve kids!” Suzanne says excitedly, working on the paper again.
Today marks the four-day anniversary of the tunnel collapsing. That is today’s only significance. Although we’ve all managed to get by on the food and water we have in the tunnel, boredom is still a persistent enemy. I managed to finish
Political Parties and Pervasive Persuasion
, and I’ve joined back in on patty cake and hot potato. I’ve played every rock game under the sun with the girls in the past four days, as well as dozens of word games. I even managed to dig up a few extra sheets of paper out of the trunk so we can play paper games. I’ve spent at least a little bit of time chatting with every person in the tunnel, barring perhaps the workmen.
Sadly, though, my time with one person in particular has been limited.
I sigh, looking over my sisters’ heads down the tunnel. Chris had said that we needed to act normal, as if we didn’t know anything. Well, he’s gone above and beyond.
His laughter floats down the tunnel as he wins a
nother round of poker with the workmen. He’s joined their circle and hardly left, completely accepted into the fold by virtue of age and personality. Though he played with them only intermittently at first, ever since we came out of the ventilation system he’s been with them practically nonstop. He’s shared a couple of secret smiles with me, and talked to me once in the course of getting me and the girls some food. But other than that, it’s like our closeness, our sharing never existed.
Much less our kiss.
Okay. So he kissed my forehead. Still – that’s as close to a kiss as I’ve ever come. And
although I’m sure it was no big deal to him, it was a big deal to me.
And it did happen twice,
after all.
But that was it. Aside from a short conversation over
twinkies yesterday, there’s been nothing. Maybe that’s all there’s ever been?
I feel my face fall. That’s probably the case.
Hannah Avery was wrong.
I
was wrong. He couldn’t possibly–
“He loves you!” Suzanne shouts, and I put a hand over her mouth quickly.
“Not so loud!” I tell her, then turn quickly to study the paper. “Show me how you found out.”
Suzanne and Michelle walk me through the steps of ‘Mash,’ teaching me how to divine a certain boy’s feelings for me. Though it’s a bit more complicated than picking petals off of a flower, the results seem rather conclusive.
“He loves me,” I sigh before shaking my head sternly. “I’m being ridiculous.”
After the ventilation system, after we confessed what we knew, I thought maybe he was interested in me. But now it seems like he was only interested in gaining an ally, a friend.
An informant, even. We haven’t had any more private conversations, any more closeness. Much less midnight rendezvous.
I know why, of course. We can’t let anyone
know we know anything. We can’t hint that we might suspect anything. We can’t talk in private, for fear we’ll get caught. We can’t even whisper alone together, lest they suspect it’s about them.
Our very lives are at stake.
I know this. I do.
But the more he laughs with the workmen, the more I feel like our late night trip up to the ventilation system is nothing but a dream. And the more he ignores me, the more I wish to
go back to said dream.
I sigh, trying not to look longingly down the tunnel again. The reality is that I’m just not the type of girl Chris is into. I’m small, intelligent, and nerdy. I’m wearing a ‘Math League’ uniform. He’s tall, strong, handsome, and witty, with the star-crossed appeal of being both a bad boy mechanic and an ambitious scholar.
We’re allies here. We both had knowledge that the other needed. We’re the only ones who know what’s truly going on.
And that, sadly, is the only thing between us.
Still. I wish I had a flower.
“Emily, can we listen to the radio?” Michelle asks, setting the paper aside.
“The car battery is almost dead. I’m sorry, Michelle.”
“What about the other cars?” Suzanne asks. “There could be a new predilection about when the rescuers are coming.”
“Most of the other cars’ batteries are dead as well,” I say quietly. After that first
prediction
about the seven or eight day timeline, a couple of people had listened almost non-stop for further updates, but the predictions never got any shorter. Which means, unfortunately, that we still have at least another four days of this.
“Emily, do you think there’s any more food behind the rock?” Suzanne asks, flipping the paper over to draw.
“No…Chris will let us know when. How’s your stomach feeling? Any better from earlier?”
Suzanne rests her hands on her stomach, which is
still slightly bloated. “Yeah. He snuck me some dried carrot sticks, and that helped some.”
Both girls had gotten dizzy
this morning, and I’ve been worried about them. Though we’ve all had something to eat since the cave-in, and there’s still some water left from the cars, it’s clear that if we don’t get out of here soon we’re going to be facing malnutrition problems.
“Hey, why don’t we go check, anyway?” I ask the girls, and we get slowly to our feet. Though I’m sure there’s not going to be anything, it will at least give us something to hope for on the walk there.
The girls take my hands, and I try not to be too paranoid. Are their fingers much bonier than a few days ago? Are their muscles suffering?
We walk slowly, soon passing by the poker game.
Chris seems to have left the game for the moment, though his cards are still turned down on his lawn chair, waiting for him.
My eyes linger on his
chair, but one of the workmen – Henry, I think, with the ponytail – catches me. I move my eyes quickly and try to act normal, keeping my pace even with the girls.
We
walk past the plumbing truck and the town car. Bernard, and I would assume Governor Rosings, are in their usual closed-off positions. The Rodriguez family, though, has closed themselves off as well. Chris had snuck them some food earlier, he said, but they haven’t come out of their van all day.
We reach
the tumbled down rocks where Chris’s car used to be – and where his hiding place for food is, now – and I’m surprised to see him there. I’m even more surprised to see who he’s talking to, and I pull the girls up short.
“It’s fine, Mr. Tara.
Trust me. They’re good guys. We’ll be out of here soon –“
“You don’t understand,” the old
man mumbles before turning to look at me and my sisters. He doesn’t say anything else to Chris; just spits some more tobacco juice on the ground before walking slowly back to his truck.
Chris’s blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment it looks as if he’s going to
confide in me. But then his eyes shift focus, landing on the girls, and he starts pulling some things out of his pockets.
“I got some stuff for you two,” he says gently, bending down to meet them. They rush up, taking the bits of corn chips from his hands.
I step closer as well. “What was Simon Tara talking about, Chris?” I ask quietly.
He hesitates for a moment,
and then shakes his head.
He’s done sharing secrets with me.
“I better get back – I only took a bathroom break,” he says, standing again. I keep my eyes from shifting to the spot designated for ‘Men’ behind Simon Tara’s truck, versus the ‘Women’s’ corner on the other side of the cave.
Chris bends down to examine my sisters.
“You guys doing okay?”
The girls nod vehemently, their mouths full for the moment with crushed chips. I just stare at him.
“Chris, what was he asking you about?”
I search his eyes, but he just shakes his head. My flicker of doubt about him flames back to life.
They’re good guys
, he just told Simon Tara.
Trust me
.
Could I have been wrong to confide in him? Could I have shared my secrets…with the enemy?
Chris reads every thought in my eyes.
“Don’t do that, Emily,” he says, rubbing the back of his finger across my cheek.
“You know what we talked about. You know
me
. We’re playing the only cards we have, until this is all over,” he whispers, sliding something into my hand. “Just keep trusting me.”
I feel the cool aluminum against my palm, and tuck the pilfered item under my shirt. It’s bulky as we make our way back to our car, and I have to keep my arms crossed over my middle to conceal it. The girls and I walk slowly, passing the poker game well after Chris has gotten resettled. He raises the corner of his mouth up just slightly as we pass – the
only acknowledgement he’ll give me now in front of the plumbers.
We get back to the car,
which is empty while my mom is visiting again with Mrs. Potts. I climb into the passenger seat as the girls start another round of hot potato on the pavement outside. I gingerly pull out the aluminum can, sliding my finger under the tab to open it as quietly as possible. It lets out a soft, refreshing hiss, noticeable only to me and my aching taste buds. And as I raise the red can to take my first sip, I can’t help but sigh in extreme contentment, for more than one reason.
Maybe I can
keep trusting Chris, keep playing his game of silence and secrets.
And m
aybe, just maybe, this coke says more than a flower petal ever could.
“I’m so hungry,” my mom says, walking back to our car. She’s finished her daily talk with Mrs. Potts, I guess.
“Surely we have to have something in here,” she snaps.
I move from my seat so she can climb through. “Nothing, Mom.”
She glares at me, settling into the driver’s seat. “I’m never traveling without a snack pack again. That’s what Amelia does for her kids – always has a large lunch box with crackers and cookies and things in the car. I don’t know why you never thought of that.”
“I don’t know why either,” I mumble, sitting back down.
I can’t
really tell what time it is, or what day it is, as my mom closes her eyes – for the night? Or just for a nap? Or does it even matter? With our car now dead, and most people’s cell phones dead, everyone who didn’t think to wear a watch has just about lost the ability to tell time down here. And with all of us adjusting to near-constant hunger, we’ve just about lost the inclination as well.
The girls are holding up okay. They’re off playing with the other kids again.
The plumbers are doing okay as well. They’re laughing and snacking and generally enjoying themselves and their card games. And Chris’s company, too.
The other adults aren’t doing so well. We’re hungry, tired, and cranky. The Rodriguez parents are still in their car
, though their kids made it out to play today. Hannah Avery hasn’t left her car lately, either, though.
And I…I’m doing
all right, I guess. I haven’t had anything in me since yesterday’s coke – which was incredibly luxurious, down to the last drop. I just wish I could find something more substantial.
I haven’t left the car for a while, either.
I feel tired, more tired than I’ve ever been. Usually I’m full of energy – I wake up, get the girls up, get ready, get the girls ready. At school I speed through the day, doing bits of homework and reading in between classes. Then it’s time for Math League practice, then I’m back with the girls. Cook dinner, get ready for bed. Get the girls ready for bed.
Alt
hough my weekdays were hectic, the weekends were always much nicer. Our mom typically had to be out and about showing houses, so the girls and I would take long walks in the woods, sometimes going out to the lake with a picnic. Often Becca would come over – who the girls love, of course. She’d help us bake cookies or bring over rented movies.
One time, we even hung out with Tim. He’d met my sisters through math competitions, and the girls felt fairly comfortable around him.
A few Saturdays ago, when my mom was still off with a client, he came over and offered to take us to a movie.
It was a rare treat for us – without a car
, I’m generally housebound. And for the girls, the lure of a new Disney movie was almost more than they could handle.
He’d paid for everything, though I’d insisted it wasn’t a date.
Of course not,
Tim had replied, smiling as he purchased us all cokes.
When we go on a date, Emily, it’s just going to be you and me.
I’d tried to warn him off, telling him that I wasn’t allowed to date. But as one-on-one tutoring sessions and movies with my sisters didn’t count, he’d still found ways to spend time with me.
I sigh, wondering about him. Is he worried about me now? Probably. After the disappointment my whole team felt at the math competition, they would have chewed on their
anger for a couple of days. But they’re all good people – when I didn’t show up to school on Monday, they would have worried.
What day is it, anyway?
Our fifth day in the tunnel? Does that make it Tuesday?
How much homework will I have to make up when I get back?
Why am I worried about homework, when there’s a chance I won’t even make it back?
Becca
would be worried about me, at least. She of all people would have known how terrified I’d be to be alone on stage, answering those questions. I’m a Hannah Avery type, preferring to stay behind the scenes, to work hard and get my job done. To lead a quiet, ordinary life. To avoid adventures.
I’m certainly not a Chris type. He sits with the plumbers, laughing at their jokes, carefully avoiding any suspicion. Flirting with danger.
Whereas Tim – honest, sweet Tim – would be much more cautious. Thinking, calculating, plotting the best course of action. Staying behind the scenes with me, safely away from all threats. Tim only participated in things when he knew his odds, his probability of success. He never would have risked getting caught. In fact, if he had suspected anything down here, he probably wouldn’t have even investigated the ventilation system, not if it could risk raising a red flag to anyone. He’d sit tight, wait it all out in his car. Like me.
“If we get out of here,” my mom says
after a while, her eyes still closed, “I’m never getting inside a car again.”
I can’t help but laugh, and she opens one eye at me, smiling a little. “You and the girls will be on your own. I’m going pure-pedestrian.”
The image of my mom walking around Colorado to show houses is too much for us, and we share a rare moment of laughter. We don’t often laugh together. She’s always busy with work, or with projects, or with her own wants and needs. The girls have been mine to take care of, ever since our dad split all those years ago. I’ve never minded – they’re everything to me. But it certainly hasn’t made me any closer to my mom.
“I’ll be driving soon, though. I’m almost sixteen,” I say, relaxing against my seat.
My mom nods, closing her eyes again. “That will give me even more reason to stay off the road.”
We laugh again
. Although I’ve gotten a lot better at driving over the past year, my lessons had started off quite rocky. My mom would get in the car, buckle up tightly, and say a number of prayers before we even got started. By the end of each lesson she would have moved on to cuss words. After a few months, though, I’d gotten the hang of it. She might have even had me drive home from Denver, had she not been so frustrated. And in such a hurry to leave.
E
ventually my mom drifts off to sleep, and I hope to follow suit. The lack of food is making everyone exhausted. Though my mom has gotten a few things from Mrs. Potts and Chris has given some food to me, it’s not nearly enough to keep us going. But we have at least three, maybe four more days of this. With my head pounding and my stomach hollow, I’m just not sure how well that’s going to go for me.
With nothing else to do
I close my eyes as well, but the sound of raised voices makes me sit up abruptly.
My mom meets my eyes, and we both scramble out of the car, following the others quickly to the middle of the tunnel.
Kevin and Jason, the hikers, are standing with the group of poker players, fingers pointing angrily to the back of the plumbing truck. They’re shouting furiously as we approach, demanding the plumbers share some of their food.
I watch as
Phil stands up, his lawn chair crashing to the pavement behind him, his eyes pure menace as he calmly crosses his arms over his chest. One of the guys in coveralls stands as well, and then another.
“We’re starving over there!” Kevin shouts
at them. “You have to share something. We know you have stuff back there!”
“
We ain’t got nothing!” The third guy in coveralls stands up – Henry, I think. “And we certainly ain’t gotta share it!” He pushes Kevin, knocking him back a few steps.
“Don’t you touch him!
” Jason leaps into the middle, landing a punch on Henry’s jaw. Another guy in coveralls grabs Jason, holding him back to receive some blows to the chest.
Then the five workmen and the two hikers start brawling, with Chris caught somewhere in the middle of it. Rock poker chips are flying, hitting
the men, hitting the windshield of the truck, breaking glass.
My mom grips my arm, her hand shaking as she points. The children had been playing there, right where the men are fighting.
And the girls – the girls are too close.
They’re going to get trampled.
Adrenaline kicks in, and I’m running, pushing past the others, my feet tripping over rocks as I yell at the girls. They’re too close to the action, squeezing each other’s hands, trying to back away from the powerful men who don’t see them.
One of the hikers charges a guy in coveralls. They’re knocked to the ground, with Suzanne beneath them.
“Suzie!” I dive in, sheltering her with my body. Something – a boot, I think – hits the side of my face.
Hard.
“Stop! Watch out!” A strong voice above me is yelling frantically, and I shelter Suzie tighter. My face is killing me, but I manage to open my eyes again, looking for Michelle.
“Come on,
Suze,” I get out, trying to push her away from the fracas. Something else hits my shoulder, and I’m knocked to the ground again.
“Go!” I see Michelle, squatted behind the rock bench, watching the action in tears, and I push Suzanne towards her. She stumbles to the rock, crawling behind it. Safe.
I struggle to get to my knees but my arm gives out. There are feet all around me, shouts and snarls filling my ears.
“Emily, get—“
I feel something yank my braid, feel something hard crash into my head.
And then I feel…nothing.