But I dug. I dug like a drug-crazed mole. By the first evening I’d dug an entry pit so I could work. Tomorrow I’d start on the actual tunnel under the foundation. I was glad this was an older house and not built on a slab like the newer ones.
The next day I was digging when dirt started trickling down from above. I didn’t pay much attention other than to curse under my breath and brush the dirt out of my face. Then, as I stuck the shovel into a lighter-colored layer of dirt, it all caved in and covered both my arms and the shovel. Shit.
I tried to pull my arms out, but couldn’t. I panicked and pulled harder. I couldn’t budge them. Was I to die in this tunnel, trapped like a rabbit in a box trap, never to be found?
Fuck no! I calmed myself down, which wasn’t easy. I ain’t no meditation guru or nothin’, but I did it. Then I started to work my left hand, which was closest to me. The dirt around it gave some and I made a space that let me release the shovel. With some more wiggling I worked my left hand free. Whew. I was sweating like a water hose running full blast. Fear will do that to you. That I already knew.
I used my left hand to dig my right arm free, and then both hands to recover the shovel. I had a spare shovel, but there was no reason to waste this one.
I crawled out of the tunnel and lay down. There wasn’t room to sit up. Damn greedy bastards that built this house were too cheap to use a few dollars more in materials to make a good crawlspace.
One of Dad’s friends was a plumber. He was small and skinny, even shorter than Dad. I used to listen to his stories about having to dig a trench under every damn house in the neighborhood to get to the pipes. Man, he could tell a good story when he was drinking, which he and Dad always were.
I wasn’t sure if I should believe his stories back then, but now I figured he was telling the truth. This house was really low-set, just like the one we’d lived in.
I filled in the tunnel and started another one. The location wasn’t as good, but it’d have to do. This time I fetched a crap-ton of boards before I started digging and shored the tunnel as I dug. I wasn’t sure if the boards were strong enough, but they sure made me feel safer.
I had to cut the boards precisely and wedge them into place with hand-pressure only. Using a hammer would have given me away.
Four days later, I was ready to dig the tunnel exit. I waited until after I heard one of the men piss off of the front porch and go back inside. I wasn’t sure who he was but he pissed about the same time every night. I reckon he had a weak bladder.
I began digging upward. It was only two feet to the surface. My exit hole came out in the clump of bushes almost where I wanted it. I dragged the dirt back under the house a bucketful at a time, and then shored up my exit hole so it wouldn’t cave in if it rained. I also put a few green branches over the hole. I knew I’d have to renew the branches every few days before the leaves turned brown and gave my tunnel away.
I think the jerky I brought with me was going bad cause suddenly my belly felt like somebody slammed it from inside with a sledge hammer. I knew that feeling. I shucked out of my jeans and underwear as quick as a D.C. Hooker, whatever that was. My Dad said it was fast though.
So, there I was, crawling half-naked, dragging my dick in the dirt, and clenching my ass, trying to get to the latrine hole I’d dug before my butt exploded. I made it. Mostly. Something was dripping off of the floor above me as I emptied into the latrine hole like a smelly water-jet. Maybe I hadn’t been as successful as I thought.
It smelled so bad I nearly puked. I was glad I’d dug the latrine hole directly under the bathroom. I sure needed that now to hide the smell.
During my third butt explosion, I heard somebody walking around above me.
“Damn, Tolliver. This place smells like shit.”
“It’s a fucking bathroom, Jake.” That was Tolliver. “What do you expect?”
“Shit man, we need to steal a woman and get her to clean this place up.”
“That’s a good idea. I think we could all use some pussy too.”
“Yeah.”
I heard them laughing as their footsteps faded. The last thing I heard was Tolliver, “Man, that does stink.”
That night I used the escape tunnel and almost ran to the creek, stopping only once for an empty shit in the bushes. My belly still ached as I bathed in the creek. Then I washed all of my clothes, including my socks and boots.
I went back to camp and laid-up for a few days until I felt better. Then I killed a deer and made a new batch of jerky. Re-provisioned, I went back to Tolliver’s house. It still stank but I crawled underneath anyway, after refreshing the branches over the tunnel escape hatch.
Now it was time to install my recon ports, holes drilled in the floor so I could peer into the living room to see who was where. That part of my plan went well. I drilled the holes at an angle right through some hard knots, so they wouldn’t be as noticeable.
I spent the next two days spying on the men. I figured out their schedule, and where each one liked to sit. Tolliver had a spot next to the fireplace in an old wooden rocker. It rained all day both days, not unheard of this time of year.
Then I started cutting the hatch into the floor above me. I chose a spot in the corner of the room, under a table. The table sat on a rug, which was ideal. Once the hole was cut, no one was likely to step into it. Of course, I’d have to cut my way through the rug, but that was no problem.
I drilled corner holes with the brace and bit. I thought I’d be able to use the ratchet on the brace, but it made too much noise. So I did it the slow way.
Then I greased my saws and began cutting the hatch. It was slow because I could only push about an inch of the saw blade into the rug. Any more and I’d disturb the rug so much it might be noticed.
But it worked, even though my arms felt like they wanted to fall off by the time I was done.
I carefully lowered the cutout piece to the ground.
I stopped there and slept all night long, as far away from the latrine as I could get. Even though I covered it with dirt, it still stank. Shit, I was glad no one in school knew about that. They’d have called me stink ass for sure.
The next evening, after the men were asleep, a storm raced through, with thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. I began cutting through the carpet with a single edged razor blade, glad the sound of the storm would cover any noises I might make. About every two inches, I placed a stitch to hold everything in place. I was done before morning.
It was time.
I waited, crawling from recon port to recon port to keep watch. After supper, the men assumed their usual places. They were talking about going out to steal more food, booze, and several women the next morning.
I had to act before morning, maybe even with all of the men in the room. I couldn’t let Tolliver do what he did to my mom and sisters to any other women or girls.
When Tolliver said something about turning in early, I knew it was time.
I slit the threads, whipped the rug down through the hole, and stood, pushing the table out of the way.
“What the…” Tolliver said as I drew and loosed an arrow at his throat. Before I saw where the arrow struck, I loosed another at the man sitting next to him.
I was shocked to realize that my shot at Tolliver missed, only breaking the skin on his neck. The other man collapsed on the floor, making a horrible retching sound and grabbing at the fletching partially protruding from his throat.
Tolliver was drawing a pistol and standing at the same time. He was moving sideways as I loosed another arrow. My arrow struck his gun arm. He screamed and fell to the floor. I loosed three more arrows at three other men, not looking to see where they landed, ducked down through the hatch and made for the escape tunnel.
I heard one of the men holler, “He’s under the house. Jake, cover the crawlspace entry.”
I made it to the pit at the tunnel entrance just as the men above began shooting through the floor. I stuck my feet in the hole and realized it was fu
ll of water. Shit. All that damned rain. I hadn’t thought of that.
As bullets slapped through the floorboards near me, I ditched my bow and arrows, ducked under water, and crawled into the submerged tunnel. I had no idea if I could hold my breath long enough, but I’d die for sure if I didn’t try.
Chapter 29
I crawled head first into the tunnel, hoping that the rain hadn’t collapsed my shoring. Or even worse, that wet mud hadn’t flowed into the tunnel through the cracks in the shoring and left an impassable mass of sticky dark-brown mud. If that had happened, I was dead. It was just as simple as that.
My life depended on how good a job I’d done with the shoring, shoring put together by fit alone without a single nail. I remembered my fifth-grade teacher talking about ancient Rome. She said that when a Roman engineer built a stone arch, he was forced to stand under it as the supports were removed. I reckoned I was in the same boat, but I still didn’t want to be an engineer, especially not in Italy, even if I survived.
I crawled forward as quickly as I could manage. It was dark. Not the dark under the night sky, not even the dark in a shallow cave. It was as dark as in a deep cavern somewhere. It was all I could do not to panic.
I kept holding my breath and crawling with my eyes closed, knowing I had ten feet to go. Why had I made the tunnel so damn long anyway?
My lungs began to hurt and the urge to take a breath was growing stronger. Shit, why hadn’t I practiced holding my breath under water?
I kept scrabbling forward on my elbows and knees. Soon it took every bit of my willpower not to take a breath. I thought about King. What would he do. Why, he’d keep trying, of course. Never ever quit. Words of wisdom to live by, or to die by. Right now all that mattered was not quitting.
I found the exit hole and stood, involuntarily taking a small breath just before my head broke the surface. I stood there choking and coughing, knowing I should run.
“There he is.” A man shouted as bullets began to tear the bushes around me to pieces. I ran.
As I ran, I reached for the holstered pistol on my belt. It was gone. I reached for the waistband pistol in the small of my back It was gone too. Shit.
I struggled to remove the pistol from the pocket of my soaking wet jeans. It took me twenty paces, but I got it out. I turned, pointed it at three men following me, and pulled the trigger, hoping it would work and not blow up in my hand because the barrel was packed with mud. Son of a bitch, it fired. I emptied it at the men following as they scattered, then I ran like a cheetah with a lit rocket stuck in his ass.
I eluded the men and ran into the woods. I used the last light to find the rock overhang where I’d camped when Mom kicked me out.
I was scared but I was mad too. Somehow I had to end Tolliver before he and his men could do anything bad to any more women.
In the fading light, I cut some arrow shafts and a sapling from which to make a bow. All I had to work with was a knife. That would have to do.
I wondered why I hadn’t stashed several bows and a shit-load of arrows before I attacked Tolliver? Dumb-ass that I was, I never thought I’d need them.
I’d been at work for maybe an hour when something big and black dashed into camp, knocked me over, and licked my face. It was Sackett.
“Man, am I glad to see you, Sackett,” I said as he licked my face, once licking me right on my open mouth. I never thought I’d ever share tongue with a dog, but it didn’t faze me. I was too glad to see Sackett again.
After a while, me and Sackett kind of calmed down and he lay near my feet as I continued working, every so often tossing a few more pine knots on the fire for better light.
I spent most of my time on the arrows. I’d discovered that the arrow was more important than the bow. I made some good arrow shafts, bending them straight over the fire and scraping them smooth with my knife. I quickly chipped out a few crude chert arrowheads, not much more than pointed flakes, and carved nocks into the arrow shafts.
I bound the points into notches and tied them in with some sinew I carried in my pocket. I didn’t have time to let the sinew dry, but it held well enough. For fletching, I used duct tape like I had seen done in an online video once. The duct tape, along with some other stuff, I carried in a small bag around my neck.
I roughly shaped the bow and carved in the string grooves. I strung it once and shot each of the arrows once into soft mud. They flew well. I was careful not to get the bow too close to the fire because I didn’t want it to dry out and break. After that I tuned the bow by scraping the belly with my knife until it bent evenly over its entire length.
Damned if the bow and arrows didn’t work well. The bow was stronger than I was used to but not so strong it was a problem. And the arrows flew straight. It would do until the bow dried out and cracked, but that wouldn’t be for a few days or even a week.
I also cleaned my pocket pistol and stashed it in a safe place. I didn’t have any more cartridges for it, so I didn’t see any point in continuing to carry it.
In the morning I was going after Tolliver again. I figured he’d think I’d be gone for quite a while, like last time, if not for good. I was betting he would still be wearing his bulletproof vest though.
That got me to thinking, so I packed what little I had and, with Sackett on my heels, went back to town. I wanted a bulletproof vest too.
A cop had lived a block down the road from us. His house was now one of the empty ones. I figured all of the vests at the police department were stolen already, but maybe, with luck, his was in his house. I knew he hadn’t been on duty when the lights went out.
The cop’s house was empty. I went through the back door and made my way through the house by match-light. It seemed wasteful to use my matches up so quickly so I looked for a lighter. I found one in a kitchen drawer. It was one of the really long ones like people use to light BBQ grills.
The lighter gave off more light then the matches and made it easier to search the house. I went through the bedrooms first. The first two bedrooms just contained stuff I didn’t need right now. In the third bedroom, the one with the queen-sized bed, I found a small pistol in a drawer. It was another .22 caliber Beretta with the tip up barrel. The magazine was full and there was a cartridge in the chamber. I made sure the safety was on and put it in my pants pocket.
I found a bulletproof vest hanging in the back of the closet. It smelled stale. I studied it and figured out how to adjust the straps. Then I put it on. With the straps tightened all the way, it fit fairly well, although it was still kind of loose. The damn thing was heavy and had some kind of plates in pockets on the front and back. I started to take them out, but figured they were supposed to be there, so I left them in place.
Other than a box of kitchen matches, the gun, and the vest, there was nothing else I needed. Come daylight I was gonna kill me a Tolliver. This time I didn’t even think about running away.
I waited in some bushes within easy bowshot of the front door of Tolliver’s house. Sackett was waiting behind the house next door, out of sight and away from any flying bullets. When, after an hour, Tolliver didn’t appear, I yelled. “Tolliver come out and face me.”
“Kid, is that you?” Tolliver hollered back.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Shit Kid. You got grit. I’ll give you that.”
“Tolliver. Come out here. I’m gonna kill you.”
“What, with a bow and arrow? I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, with an arrow.”
“You’ve tried that three times now Kid and you failed all three times.”
“Fourth time’s the charm.”
“Yeah, right. Fuck you Kid.”
I saw a rifle barrel protrude through an open window beside the front door. Tolliver or one of his men was looking for me hoping to get a shot. I sent an arrow through the open window and heard a scream. Bullseye! The rifle clattered to the floor. I hoped it was Tolliver I hit.
No such luck. Tolliver hollered, “Kid, I’m gonna ki
ll you.”
“Come on then,” I shouted back. “Unless you’re a coward?”
“Why you little son of a bitch!” The door slammed open and Tolliver stepped through with a black rifle. He didn’t even raise it to his shoulder before he began firing. I dropped to the ground as bullets slammed through the leaves above me.
I rolled on my back, and holding my bow above me and horizontal to the ground, I loosed an arrow at Tolliver. My arrow struck his thigh. He screamed and dropped his rifle. As he turned I could see the fletching sticking out of his leg on the front, and most of the rest of the arrow sticking out the back. I stood and loosed another arrow as he staggered into the doorway.
My arrow struck him in the other thigh and he fell into the doorway still screaming in pain. He managed to drag himself through the doorway before I could loose another arrow.
I had three arrows left.
“Hey kid.”
That wasn’t Tolliver.
“Yeah.”
“My name is Barry.”
“Yeah, so.”
“I don’t want no part of this.”
“So leave then.”
“That’s just what I’m fixing to do.”
“No you’re not.” Tolliver screamed, his voice breaking.
“Yeah Tolliver, I am.”
“You son of a bitch…”
“I got the drop on you Tolliver. Either I’m leaving or I’m going to kill you right here and now.”
“He’s mine,” I hollered. “You can go.”
“Okay, I’m gonna do that. I’m the guy in jeans and the green shirt.”
“Okay,” I said. “No guns. Leave yours behind.”
“I can’t do that Kid. Tolliver will kill me as soon as I put it down.”
I thought about it for a bit. “Okay, come on then, but if you point that gun toward me, I’ll put an arrow into your throat.”
“Okay, Kid. I’m coming. But before I do, I’d like to know your name.”
EMP (Book 3): 12 Years Old and Alone Page 22
