THE TUNNEL
Gayne C. Young
www.severedpress.com
Copyright 2019 by Gayne C. Young
1.
“His face looks like hamburger meat. His nose has been ripped from his face. Ears shredded off. Eyes pulled…no, gouged from their sockets. Half his fingers are gone…”
Jeff Hunter stood from the destroyed figure that lay in a dried puddle of blood upon a plastic tarp on the floor in the center of the converted barn. The air smelled of blood and death, dust, and farm machinery. “Rival cartel didn’t do this. A chainsaw sure as hell couldn’t have done this. This was something else.”
“So, you believe him? That he and his men were attacked by…by monsters?!” Miguel scoffed in anger.
He flew across the room to the metal folding chair where Julio sat. The poor man’s face was painted in dried blood and streaks of sweat and filth. He trembled in fear and in anticipation of what would surely be the torturous death that awaited him. “What did you say they were? The things that killed everyone but you? Twelve of my best diggers? Albino apes? Ghost apes?”
“Monkeys,” Julio mumbled. He swallowed then offered in broken English, “They to have tails.”
“Tails?! Are you being a smart ass?!” Miguel exploded.
“No, jefe,” Julio assured Don Miguel. “No. I to promise. I just wanna…wanna to tell to you the truth.”
“The truth?” Miguel countered. “You should have started with that. Trust me. Things would have been much easier if you had.”
Miguel looked to the two huge sicarios that stood patiently against the wall. Juan and Arturo resembled NFL linebackers. Each was a mass of muscle and intimidation. They had grown up in the Acuña Cartel. It was in their blood, they’d seen and done it all, and had no problem doing such. And they enjoyed topping the previous actions of others and themselves in terms of pain and notoriety.
Juan and Arturo stepped forward then halted when Hunter raised his hand in a commanding gesture.
Hunter walked to the chair where Julio sat in terror and knelt on the sweat-stained packed earth floor before him. He looked at Julio then directed Juan to bring him a bottle of water. Juan looked to Miguel for approval and when it was given retrieved a bottle of water. He gave it to Hunter who opened it and gave it to Julio, who drank furiously.
“When’s the last time you ate?” Hunter asked.
Julio thought for a moment then replied in a frightened voice, “Yesterday.”
Hunter nodded and once more looked to Juan. Miguel saw what was coming and nodded for Juan to retrieve food for the frightened man.
Hunter stood and opened a metal chair in front of Julio and sat. He leaned forward and spoke.
“Here’s how I operate,” Hunter began, his voice calm and direct. “I look to see what I can do to help the people I work with. And in your case, that’s helping you get set up in the States. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Julio nodded. “I very much want this.”
“I know,” Hunter assured him. “You’ve got a wife and two kids back in Tijuana and you took this job for Mr. Alvarado to make some money so you can get you and your family over into Texas.”
Julio nodded and stuttered, “San Antonio. San Antonio is where. We have family…the relatives there.”
“Good,” Hunter continued, his voice calm but authoritative. “That’s a fantastic dream. To give your family something better is what every man wants in life.”
“Yes,” Julio agreed. “I want daughters go good schools. Maybe to college one day. They very smart. Work very hard.”
“Julio, I can make that happen. Actually, it’s Mr. Alvarado that can make that happen. He has plenty of resources to see that your dreams become realities. All I need…”
“What you need?” Julio eagerly interrupted. “What you…what do Don Alvarado need? I promise it. I promise.”
“I know,” Hunter took control of the conversation once more. “I need you to tell me what happened then help me to prove that that’s what actually happened.”
Fear returned to Julio’s face.
Hunter’s easy manner had put Julio somewhat at ease but once more his head was flooded with the image of violence and pain that awaited him. His brother had gotten off easy dying the way he did. What the two sicarios staring at him in anger could and probably would do to him would be a far worse and a much slower death than the fate that had claimed his brother.
And the others.
Julio swallowed and asked in a timid voice, “Prove?”
Hunter shook his head. “No, the proof comes after the telling. Tell me what happened.”
“I is…am,” Julio stuttered in fear. Tears welled in his eyes.
“Julio, relax. Just tell me what happened. Take your time.”
“I is afraid you no to believe ‘cause I no can believe and I live it.”
“That’s fine. That’s where the proof comes in. You tell me what happened then help me find a way to prove it. But that’s later, okay? Now is the telling. Just start at the beginning.”
Juan returned with a plate of food. He placed it on a table and Julio looked in that direction. When he caught Juan’s stare, Julio lowered his head and swallowed. He wiped his eyes and gave Hunter his full attention once again.
“My brother was …he working jackhammer,” Julio began.
“Your brother Ernesto, right?
“Yes. He older. He drilling the wall and it cave in. All. There was nothing on other side of rock. He fall forward. I help him up and we see that he cut into big cave. Very big.”
“How big?” Hunter interrupted.
“Very,” Julio promised. “Our lights no hit other side. Roof maybe three story. I and others never see nothing like it. We all stop to look inside. It smell very bad. Air is wet. We talk about what to do then…”
Tears welled forth and spilled from Julio’s eyes and down his cheeks. He wiped his face and looked to what was left of his brother lying on the tarp. He looked back to Hunter and wiped his eyes again.
“Then they come,” Julio promised. “White flashes. They jump on all. One jump on Ernesto. He fall back on me. I trapped underneath. It tear him apart. Screaming and yelling. I see men die and be eat.”
Hunter nodded in understanding then asked, “What did they look like? The things that attacked you?”
“They white. All white. Look like…” Julio paused in thought. “I don’t know English. Look like babuino.”
“Babuino?” Hunter asked. He looked to Miguel for a definition.
“Babuino means baboon. It means baboon,” Miguel scoffed in anger. “And you better get him to the proving part of this bull shit story ASAP because my patience is wearing thin. Very thin.”
Hunter ignored his employer and turned back toward Julio.
“They looked like baboons? White baboons?”
“Yes.”
“How’d you get away? If they were killing everyone?”
“They attack. Go back in cave. I stay under Ernesto long time. Drag him back. To bury him.”
Julio wiped the tears that trailed down his face.
“Okay.” Hunter nodded. “I believe you, Julio. But how do we prove this? How can you prove that everyone in that tunnel but you was killed by white baboons?”
“Ernesto kill one.”
“What?” Hunter asked in disbelief.
Miguel came closer.
“Ernesto stab one with screwdriver,” Julio said matter-of-factly. “It on him. He stab many times. It fall dead. Ernesto try to stand but he no get up.”
“There’s one of these things down there? In the tunnel? A dead one?”
“Yes.”
“Baboons!” Miguel exploded. He directed his attention toward Hunter and barked, “Why are you enter
taining him?”
Hunter stood. He started to speak but Miguel cut him off.
“What happened was someone tunneled in from the other side,” Miguel theorized. “Thinking they could take control of what we’ve started. Someone from the Gulf or Baja Cartels. They’ve been trying to cut into our territory for years.”
Hunter stood motionless.
Silent.
Miguel took these actions as disagreement on Hunter’s part.
“Baboons? Really?” Miguel ridiculed. “You’re smarter than that.”
“Julio says there’s proof,” Hunter calmly stated. “Me and my team are going to have to go down there regardless to check things out…”
“When?” Miguel demanded.
“Day after tomorrow…”
“Why not today? Or tomorrow?” Miguel continued.
“This is right up my boy Taylor’s alley. He saw more tunnel action in Afghanistan than anyone left alive. I want him in on this. Regardless of what’s down there.”
“Taylor?” Miguel asked in shock. “You’ve been trying to get him onboard for over a year.”
“The trying part’s over.” Hunter smiled. “This morning, we move on to the getting part.”
2.
Jarrett Taylor found it hard not to dwell on the past.
But it was almost impossible not to when you’re reminded of it on a constant basis.
When every day brings letters, emails, phone calls, summons, bills, threats of lawsuits, and more to remind you of that past.
Taylor’s look at his past always began with his divorce.
With visual memories of his wife of more than a decade telling him she was leaving him before he shipped out for his second tour in Afghanistan.
“You love them more than you love us! More than you love me and more than you love Avery,” she’d screamed in the middle of explaining her reasons for wanting out of their marriage and life together.
What them was she talking about, Taylor wondered.
The enemy?
His men?
The people he was supposed to be aiding?
He never got an answer.
Taylor was in the middle of his third and final tour when he got the call to come home.
That his baby girl was sick.
Astrocytomas.
The doctors tried cutting it out of her.
Cut into his baby girl’s brain.
But it didn’t take.
She was dead in under six months.
Five months since Avery’s death and he was still getting notices of failure to pay child support.
Child support.
That was a funny one.
How could you pay child support on a dead child?
And yet the notices kept coming.
So too did the notices from hospitals and collection agencies, the promises of legal action against him from those entities, and the calls from his ex-wife who constantly blamed him for all that had befallen her.
It was never-ending.
And then Hunter called.
Made his way through all the other callers to finally get to Taylor.
To ask him to reconsider his offer.
To promise him financial salvation, the offer of a new life and the return to a tightknit group of friends—no, to the family—that he’d lost.
This time, Taylor agreed.
Why not?
He had nothing else in life.
Nothing that he cared about or that gave him a feeling of belonging.
Or of hope.
It was time to start over.
To begin anew.
Taylor tried to put all this out of his mind and instead focus on the day before him.
He had put what little furniture and few items of value he had in a storage unit outside of Austin then sold his truck to the owner of the facility’s son. The kid was nice enough and even agreed to drive Taylor to the airport in exchange for some gas money.
The kid had tried to get Taylor to buy him some beer as well, but Taylor laughed and said that he didn’t want his last act in the United States for a long time to come to be breaking the law by providing booze to a minor.
“I had to ask,” the 19-year-old explained with a chuckle.
“You did,” Taylor countered.
Taylor was dropped at the Austin Executive Airport at noon.
Hunter arrived in a private jet twenty minutes later.
“Look at you, you sonuva bitch!” Hunter exploded in laughter at the sight of Taylor.
Hunter shook his old friend’s hand then pulled him into a bear hug and slapped him on the back. He pulled back and smiled and gave his friend the once-over.
“Looking pretty good there, Captain.” Hunter laughed.
“Thank you, Colonel.” Taylor smiled for the first time in a very long time.
“A little more around the middle and quite a bit of gray on the sides…”
“I could say the same of you,” Taylor rebuked in jest.
Hunter continued laughing.
“Yep. That’s what happens when you get as old as us.” Hunter looked to the floor next to Taylor. “That all you got? One bag?”
“Do I need more?”
“You will. But we’ll take care of that later. Come on. Let’s get the hell outta here.”
3.
Angel Lòpez thought building a border wall was one of the dumbest ideas he’d ever heard.
He gladly took the job of building it though.
Money was money after all.
His problem with the wall was that it was incomplete.
That it was only going to be built in sections.
Ten miles here.
Two miles there.
A hundred miles of no wall.
Several border lakes with no barrier between Texas and Mexico.
The fact that he and his crew were cutting roads where there had previously been nothing but thousands upon thousands of acres of impenetrable scrub brush was another factor Angel thought stupid. Why give people determined to enter the U.S. at any cost a road through nowhere to do so?
Sorry for the wall you had to climb over or tunnel under.
Here’s a road to civilization to make it easier for you once you overcome that slight obstacle.
The way Angel saw it, he and his crew were providing illegals more opportunities to enter the States than they were doing anything else.
But Angel’s company wasn’t given a contract so Angel could offer advice on border protection.
The company was given a contract to assist in the building of the wall.
The work was dull as hell, hotter than hell, and located out in the middle of hell. Angel and his nine-man crew had to camp in the bush and only rarely drove the 110 miles back into town for supplies. They’d work this way until the 10-mile stretch of wall they were building was complete. So far, they had set only a mile of upright steel posts. It would take them another three months to complete that task alone. Who knew how long it’d take to actually set the wall after that.
Angel walked along the rocky earth that baked under the relentless Texas sun toward the excavator-mounted hydraulic jackhammer that sat idling. He looked to the operator of the machinery for indication of why the hammering had stopped but Carlos offered nothing in the way of visual explanation.
“Why’d you stop?” Angel yelled over the rock-concert-level loudness of the machinery idling in place.
Carlos tapped his ear protection in response.
Angel pulled his hand across his throat in a “cut it” motion and Carlos obliged by powering down the excavator he sat within. Angel climbed onto the treads and leaned into the open cab.
“Why’d you stop?” Angel asked again.
“Feels funny,” Carlos said, gesturing to the ground before him.
“What feels funny? The hammer acting up?”
“No,” Carlos replied, this time pointing at the ground. “The rock. It’s different.”
“So what?” Angel argued
. “Punch it out.”
“Telling ya, man, it feels different,” Carlos explained. “Last mile’s been the same hard-ass rock. This hole started the same. Three feet down it’s all…just different. Feels weird.”
“Rock feels different,” Angel scoffed. “Who cares? Come on, man. Punch it out.”
“You the boss,” Carlos said, nodding.
Carlos cranked the excavator back to life and Angel jumped from the treads and walked toward the hole Carlos had started. Angel looked into the massive gash and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned and walked away. He turned back when he heard the jackhammer’s change in sound then watched in horror as the ground around the striking hammer gave way.
Carlos threw the excavator in reverse and gunned it back and away from the imploding earth. Angel watched in disbelief as rock and gravel, dirt and debris fell inward, leaving a Suburban-sized sinkhole.
Angel turned to Carlos and motioned for him to continue backing away from the hole. Angel’s crew jumped from Bobcat track loaders, sprung from pickup beds, scrambled from the shade, and rushed to the edge of the hole. Carlos killed the excavator and rushed to join them.
“Don’t get too close,” Angel warned, gesturing for the men to back away.
“Told you that shit felt different,” Carlos barked.
“How deep is that thing?” a worker named Antonio wondered aloud.
Marco pulled the cell phone from his pocket and used it as a flashlight to peer into the void. “Shit’s deep!”
“Don’t get too close,” Angel warned again.
Antonio left and returned with a flashlight. He stood at the edge of the sinkhole and shined the beam downward.
“That’s real deep,” Antonio detailed. “Like, walk around inside of there deep.”
“Yeah, we’re done for the day,” Carlos exclaimed.
“What?” Angel questioned.
“I ain’t driving over that, some big-ass cavern,” Carlos explained. “And I sure ain’t gonna jackhammer into it. Start a bigger cave-in.”
Angel wiped the growing sweat from his brow in thought.
Carlos was right.
Angel would have to call the company for guidance. They’d have a team of geologists and engineers come survey the area, debate what they’d found, then debate how to proceed. In the meantime, Angel and his crew would get paid to sit around and wait.
The Tunnel Page 1
