Pete was giving orders like a master sergeant, and the other guys obeyed like privates. If he was trying to scare Buck out of his wits, he was doing a pretty good job of it, Buck decided, but he wasn’t about to let Pete know.
Still, after they yanked him out of the cab, he tried to make a run for it, but Ethan dived for his legs and brought him down. All Buck got out of that were a bruised chin and a twisted arm.
Pete had one hand on the back of his neck now, and was pushing him toward a bare spot in the underbrush, about as wide as a card table. It was bordered on one side by the base of a rocky cliff that blocked out what was left of the afternoon sun, weeds on the others. The bare place itself was covered with a six-inch-high wooden frame, with boards nailed across the top, and a yellow DANGER, KEEP OUT sign nailed to a wooden post at one side.
“Nobody’s allowed in the Pit, man!” said Isaac. “You know what happened to those frat boys….”
“So they got kicked out of their fraternity,” said Pete. “We’re not a fraternity. Hold him while I get the hammer.”
Pete made his way back to the pickup, opened the truck’s toolbox, and returned with a builder’s hammer. There was already a small space between two of the boards, and Buck watched as Pete inserted the hammer’s head in the narrow opening and yanked up the end of a board. It took several minutes, but the first wide board came off, then the second, leaving a rectangular opening about a foot wide.
“Now,” said Pete, “the rope…”
“Llllllet me alone,” Buck said, and hated the tremor in his voice. “You’ve already ggggggot me all the way up here.” As though he even knew where he was. He’d heard about the Pit but had never been there. They weren’t going to hang him, were they? Was Pete really that crazy mad?
But while the other boys held his arms and legs, Pete looped the rope under Buck’s arms and around his chest and tied a knot.
“Stop it!” Buck yelled, twisting and kicking, but they wrestled him down and held him.
“Now, you guys hold the rope, and, Ethan, help me lower him through the hole.”
Well, he was going to make it as hard as he could for them, Buck decided, and lived up to his name, bucking and kicking. He was gratified to hear Pete’s teeth click together once when his head collided with Pete’s chin.
Despite his struggling, he was pushed to the edge of the opening and Pete buckled his knees from behind so that he sat down. And then, with the other three boys holding the rope, Pete pushed him over the side. Scraping the wood planks as he fell, Buck found himself dangling, his body turning this way and that, over the dark of the Pit.
Instinctively he reached up and gripped the remaining boards on each side.
“Oh, no!” said Pete. “Lower him another foot, guys.”
Buck felt the rope slacken and then, when Pete stepped on his fingers, Buck let go. Five feet down, all he could see now was the rectangle of light above him and Pete’s face leering at him.
He was immediately engulfed in a damp earth smell, and could make out nothing at all below him. He had only heard rumors about the fraternity guys holding a party down there. Whether it was rocky at the bottom or flat, whether it had fissures or drop-offs, he didn’t know.
“What do you wwwwant from me, anyway?” he called up. If Pete asked for an apology, could he do it? Could he not do it? Could he say he was sorry for all the work they’d put in on the duck blind without saying he was sorry he and Mel had torn it down? Because he wasn’t.
But Pete wanted something else, and his face seemed to fill the whole rectangle at the top.
“Repeat after me, creep. ‘I…am…a…stupid…weirdo.’ Without stuttering. Every time you stutter, we lower you a foot.”
Buck heard Ethan laugh.
Never.
“Come on, Buck-o. Time’s a’wastin’. We’re trying to help you! You can do it. ‘I…am…a…stupid…weirdo.’ ”
Silence.
“Lower him,” Pete instructed the others, and with a sudden jerk, Buck found himself a foot lower, the rectangle of light above him growing smaller.
“Whas a’matter, Buck-o? You shaking so hard you can’t talk?” Pete reached down and gave the rope a little jerk.
Buck pressed his lips together tightly. If Katie were watching, she’d probably say, Buck, don’t be stubborn! Say it! Say anything! No way. His anger was even stronger than his fear.
Pete was bluffing; he felt sure of it. Frightened as he was, Buck knew they couldn’t hold on forever, and Pete was anxious to get back. They’d have to pull him up.
“Okay, how about ‘I’m a stinkin’ creep.’ Come on, Buck-o. Don’t make me angry. Say it. Try not to stutter now. ‘I’m a stinkin’ creep.’ ”
And Buck couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, you are,” he said.
“Lower him another foot! No, two feet,” Pete said.
And the rope jerked some more.
Two feet, three feet, then four…
“Help me hold the freakin’ rope!” Ethan bellowed.
“It’s going! There isn’t any more!” shouted Rod.
“Hold it! Hold it…!”
Buck was falling, jerkily falling, and a moment later, he hit a muddy surface, one leg twisting under him, his arm scraping a rock.
“You dropped him, you jerks!” Pete yelped.
“There wasn’t enough rope!” Isaac yelled back. “You kept saying ‘lower him.’ What’d ya expect?”
There was a lot of scuffling from above; then four faces crowded over the rectangle.
“Buck?” called Rod.
“Shut up. Just get a flashlight. Check the toolbox,” Pete said. “What the heck…?”
Buck tentatively pulled his leg out from under him and rubbed along his shin. Then, without shifting his body more, he felt the surface all around him to see how much room he had to move. Rock and mud. After that he lay on his stomach, his arms outstretched, and gingerly explored some more. Crawl space, as far as he could reach in all directions, except for rock wall at one side. No drop-off.
The sound of feet on the boards above. Then the beam of a flashlight caught him in the face, and he estimated that he was about fifteen feet down.
“Hey, Buck,” called Ethan.
Buck refused to answer. Rubbed his ankle.
“You okay?” asked Rod.
No answer.
“What are we going to do, Pete? Get another rope and make some kind of ladder?” Rod asked.
“You kidding? I’ve got to get Dad’s truck back before he gets home,” said Pete. “Buck’s okay. Give the little creep time to think about what he’s done. We’ll come back tomorrow with…I dunno. Something.”
“Leave him here all night?” Rod asked.
“You got a better plan? What else are we going to do? You guys dropped the rope, not me.” Pete’s voice sounded angry. He knelt down and addressed Buck. “Here’s the story, and you better listen: you decided to ride out to the Pit and look it over. But you were fooling around and fell in, see? You tell anybody we had anything to do with it, and you are going to be one sorry mess. Got it?”
Again, Buck refused to answer.
“Okay. Play it your way, and maybe we won’t come back at all. Let’s go, guys. I mean, we’ve got to hustle.”
The square of light grew bright again as the boys moved away. But then Rod leaned down and said, “Buck. Catch.” And the flashlight came tumbling down, landing at Buck’s feet.
“Come on!” Pete was yelling.
The slam of the truck’s door, then the other. The sound of the engine starting up, backing up, then the rattle as the truck made its way over bumpy ground, back toward the dirt road some distance away. And finally, there was no sound at all but a distant chirp of insects in the field above.
Buck felt a momentary wave of panic. Maybe he should have obeyed Pete. What were words, after all? Wasn’t he used to people calling him names sometimes when he stuttered?
What if they didn’t come back tomorrow? Couldn’t, for s
ome reason? What if Pete couldn’t get the truck again, and the longer it went on, the police looking, the more frightened they were to say anything? They’d left his bike—he’d heard it clatter right beside the platform above, so in the unlikely event that someone would come looking for him here—the boards lying to one side—they’d figure this was where he was.
What would happen when he didn’t come home tonight? His folks would be frantic. He hugged himself with his arms. He had to think. The last person who had seen him was Katie, who had offered him M&Ms….
And then he remembered the headlamp.
Buck turned the flashlight on, but the battery was weak and the light went on and off. Quickly, he propped it beside him at an angle to shine on his lap, and then carefully, very carefully, he unzipped his jacket pocket for the batteries….Little packets of M&Ms slid out with them onto the rock, and Buck put the candy back inside and zipped the pocket up again. Then he took out the headlamp from his other pocket. Would it even work now, after his tumble down into the gulley and being squished on the floor of the truck? There were no cracks that he could see, though it had been bent slightly to one side. He secured it between his thighs.
Using what little light he had from the flashlight, he opened the package of batteries and took out two, then pried open the back of the headlamp and slid them in place.
Lifting the harness strap, he slid it over his helmet like a headband. And when it was adjusted and the headlamp was secure, Buck reached up and turned the switch.
Instantly the walls of the Pit became the muted browns and beiges and white layers of a fairly large cavity—the size of a large living room with a fifteen-foot ceiling. The flat surface where he was sitting was itself not much wider than an elevator, but the rest of the space was filled with ridges and ledges, with an enormous rock slide filling one corner. There were initials carved into a large rock just ahead of him, a couple of empty beer cans, a cigarette wrapper on the ground, and the smoky smudge where a bonfire had been.
Any other time, Buck would have been delirious with excitement to explore, but right now, all he could think about was home, and if they were watching for him at the table. They’d probably call Nat’s house, wondering if Nat had seen him. Mel might even call Jacob, and…Oh, man. Jacob’s “Get out” still rang in his ears.
And of course, there was no note on his pillow giving any hint of where he might be, not that it would help this time, if there were.
His first thought was to check for his cell phone in his back pocket. Mom had chewed him out the last time he was late for dinner, so he’d been making a point of keeping it in a back pocket no matter where he went. But he already knew what it would say: no service. If there had been, he could have dialed 911 and told them where he was. No, actually, the first call he would have made would have been to David: u won’t believe where I am!!!!!
He couldn’t believe it either. Slowly he turned himself around, and this time he took in everything—the tumble of rocks in one corner, the dark crevasse above it; the various colors of limestone layering the walls. A few large rocks littered the floor, like furniture; one had initials carved into it, with the fraternity insignia (the evidence that had gotten them busted). Buck also made out a dark stream of water—so dark it was easy to overlook—that flowed from behind a huge boulder and silently disappeared again into a wide slot in the wall six yards away.
He reached down and rubbed his ankle, relieved to find that by changing positions, it felt better. He didn’t think he had sprained it when he fell. It wasn’t the pain that bothered him but the humiliation he’d felt, dangling there like a worm on the end of a line. And Pete’s ugly face above him—all four of them—taunting.
Say it! “I am a stupid weirdo.”
Well, no freaking way was he going to say that. Still…
He stuck his cell phone back in his pants pocket, then thought better of it and put it in one of the zippered pockets of his jacket. At least he could see what time it was on his cell, but it was no help right now.
He knew he’d feel less panicky, and warmer, if he moved around—pretended he’d been exploring this on his own and did what he’d do then. Except that he had no knee pads with him, no arm pads, no gloves, no canteen, no tape, and no food, other than three small packets of M&Ms. And, of course, Pete’s rope, though he saw no way he could use it now. At least he was still wearing his bicycle helmet, and best of all, he had the headlamp.
The Pit was drafty, which meant there were holes and leaks, letting air through somewhere. A chilly spot to spend the night, which was probably why the frat boys had built a fire.
Buck got to his feet and tested the mound of rocks to see if it was stable. Nothing moved or jiggled, so he carefully began to crawl, foothold by foothold, toward the dark, cavernous shadow at the top, and found that it was only three feet deep. A frat boy had obviously climbed up there too, because he’d left a cap at the back, like a flag.
No bats here, clinging to the high ceiling. Mold and moss, making the rocks slippery underfoot. Finally he climbed down, leaving the fraternity cap behind, out of respect for the guy who had been here first.
He took out his cell again and checked the time. Seven past six. The family would be gathering for dinner, and he imagined that at this point, his mom would be more annoyed with him than angry.
Gramps would probably say, “Let’s go on,” before he bowed his head, and—referring to the food before him—would say, as always, “…bless it to nourish our good. Amen.”
Buck tried not to think about food, however. The big ham sandwich he’d had for lunch and the strawberry milk shakes Katie made had filled his stomach, but now he was definitely hungry. If Pukeman didn’t get back here with another rope until tomorrow night, those little packets of M&Ms were going to have to be rationed out slowly.
He turned off the headlamp to save the batteries and felt around for one of the little M&M packets, slipping it out of his pocket. Then, without opening it, he tried to count the number of candies by pressing down on them through the wrapper. Were there eight? Ten? They kept sliding away from his thumb and forefinger and he was probably counting some of them twice. Ten at the most. If Pete came back the same time tomorrow afternoon in his dad’s truck, that would be about twenty-two hours from now. So if he had thirty M&Ms, the most he could eat was one an hour. Buck left the packet in his pocket and zipped it up again.
He turned on the headlamp and crawled over to the quietly moving stream, wishing he had a stick to test the depth. He directed the beam straight down into the water and saw the sharp decline of the rock beneath, that quickly turned the water from clear to black, and he was glad he had not fallen or rolled into that when the rope dropped.
Buck wondered what cavers would do with the Pit if they got permission from the county to explore it. Have a cave diver go under the rock to see where the stream led?
He followed the wall along its rough circumference, crawling around boulders, climbing over ridges, shining his headlamp into every possible opening. So thoroughly did he inspect and explore that when he checked his cell phone again for the time, he was amazed to find it was after eight. But he wasn’t tired. He had to memorize everything he found so he could describe it to David.
Buck had squeezed into an especially tight corner to investigate a small dark area in the rocky wall near the floor. He got down on his knees and felt around, and then, detecting a hole, took off the headlamp and lay on his side, body bent at a right angle. Carefully, he trained the light directly into the hole. The drafty passage was open as far as he could see and—on ahead—was much larger than the opening. It could lead almost anywhere, perhaps a drop-off or a dead end. Or—and his heart raced with excitement—other galleries, even bigger than this one. Could he possibly, possibly¸ fit himself through this hole?
He took off his helmet and pushed it into the hole to see how many inches of clearance he had. A few. But enough for his shoulders? If he really scrunched? Think! he told himself. What
would David say?
David, he was sure, would say no. He was positive that David himself wouldn’t try it. But people did know that Buck was here. Eventually someone would come, and Buck didn’t want it to be before he’d had a chance to explore a little. He decided to take a chance.
He went back to the center of the Pit and, picking up Pete’s rope, tied one end around his ankle and let it drag. Then he opened a packet of M&Ms and allowed himself one piece, just to quiet his nerves. Finally, he crawled back behind the boulder and lay down on his side again, contorted his body into a right angle, and, pushing his headlamp and helmet in ahead of him, slowly, carefully inched his way into the opening, arms first. Then his head, turned sideways, his ear scraping along the cold rock.
Buck concentrated on curving his shoulders inward, one at a time, as close to his chest as he could get them, requiring the smallest possible space. Moving like a centipede through the narrow opening, he felt it sharp and unforgiving all around. But then…then…his shoulders were free and he was able to drag his hips, his knees, and finally his feet in after him.
Just as his headlamp had shown, the passage was getting wider, though he had to crawl some distance before he could raise his head more than a few inches. But finally he was able to sit up, his back against the wall, and he could almost stretch his legs out in front of him.
Buck put on the helmet and headlamp again, and treated himself to one more M&M, wishing that he had water. If he found any dripping down the rocks, he would drink it, because water filtered through the ground, the rocks, the sand, and into a cave was usually, he’d read, safe to drink.
He trained his headlamp on the area around him, debating which way to go. There was no clear passage—rocks and boulders protruded at odd angles no matter which direction he went—but there was one possibility that seemed more open than the others, a higher ceiling than the rest, though the terrain itself looked rougher and more jagged than the ten or twelve yards he’d traveled so far. Go for it, he told himself, and he had just maneuvered around a corner when he thought he heard someone calling his name. He slowly sat back down.
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