The Tunnel

by Gayne C Young

  “Smells like shit down here!”

  Angel returned from his thoughts to see Antonio climbing into the newly developed hole.

  “Get outta there,” Angel barked in fear.

  “It’s cool,” Antonio offered. “The rocks fell like steps.”

  “Antonio! Get outta there,” Angel directed once more. “Worker’s comp won’t pay on accidents involving you being a dumbass.”

  “Dumbass? Ha!” Antonio laughed. “I’m an explorer.”

  Most of the crew laughed and all watched as Antonio lowered himself further into the hole.

  Antonio stepped down the jumble of rocks that led into what he discovered was a vast cavern. The rocks that had collapsed from Carlos’ hammering had fallen upon a spur that grew from the cavern floor. Antonio made his way down the rocks and then to the rise and then to the floor below. He exited the beam of light that shone through the hole now some 20 feet above him and into a world of complete darkness. The air was humid and smelled of animal, animal feces, and dampness. Antonio’s flashlight pierced the darkness to reveal a room the size of two soccer fields. Passages veered from this expanse in every direction. Stalactites hung from the ceiling and the floor was worn smooth from what Antonio guessed was from some kind of flooding.

  “Watch out for bats,” someone yelled from high above.

  Antonio trained his beam on the ceiling and into the maze of stalactites that grew from it.

  “Ain’t no bats down here,” he yelled back.

  Antonio stepped forward then paused when his right foot came down on something brittle.

  Something that snapped.

  He lowered his flashlight to find the ground before him littered with bones.

  There were bones of every size and every shape.

  Some were bleached dry by time and others that still bore the flesh of the animals they had once been.

  Antonio saw ribcages of small animals and the antlers of deer and the jawbones of javelina.

  A sudden chill ran up his spine and he scanned the cave in every direction, looking for some cause for his sudden fear.

  He thought he heard a low growl like that of an angry dog and he climbed the rise and up the rocks and out of the hole as fast as he could.

  “He’s back!” Carlos offered.

  Antonio saw that Carlos had a beer in his hand and he reached out and took it and downed it in record time.

  “Damn, man,” Carlos complained. “I just popped that.”

  “What’s down there?” Angel asked. He looked Antonio up and down then offered, “You look spooked.”

  Antonio dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand and said, “Ain’t nothing down there but a whole lotta cave.”

  4.

  “Everyone, this is Robert Wilson, owner of the ranch and our host for the week.”

  Robert nodded to Dr. Ken Cooke in thanks for his introduction then gestured for the group of a little more than a dozen college students to cease their applause. The group did as they asked and watched as the lean 65-year-old rancher held court from beneath the shade of a large mesquite tree. Despite the near hundred-degree temperature, Robert was the picture of vigor. He stood more than six feet tall, his tan skin barely wrinkled, and his jeans and long-sleeve shirt starched to rigid perfection. He removed his bleach-white straw cowboy hat in a gesture of hello to the females that gathered in the shade before him and addressed the crowd.

  “I thank y’all for coming,” Robert began, “‘n’ I hope it’s not too hot for y’all.”

  The crowd chuckled and Ken said over the crowd, “This is a strong bunch. And ready for some serious paleontology field work.”

  Robert nodded and smiled.

  “The TNT Ranch has been in my family for over five generations,” Robert began anew. “Our livelihood for most of that time has been cattle ‘n’ oil. My wife and daughter brought some organic vegetables, craft soaps, and bird watching retreats into the mix few years back but still our main bread ‘n’ butter comes from cattle ‘n’ oil.”

  Robert paused to take in his audience’s reaction then continued.

  “A lot’s changed down here on the border in the last 20 years. Illegals have always crossed through our ranch on their way up from the Rio Grande. Used to be just migrant workers and folks looking for better lives. Now they’s coming up to bring drugs ‘n’ to traffic humans. Seeing what we’ve seen and getting no real help from the government has led the family ‘n’ me to make the hard decision to move on.”

  A few in the audience dropped their faces in sadness while others raised theirs in anger at Robert’s plight.

  “But I’m hoping to show folks just how special this area is before I go,” Robert explained. “And to hopefully draw some high-interest money in the process. That’s where y’all come in, I guess.”

  Most in the audience smiled or laughed at Robert’s simplified explanation of their reasoning for being on the ranch.

  “As the story goes, it was my great grandfather that found the tusk my family now knows came from a Columbian mammoth. He found it just inside the sinkhole…” Robert waved his hands as if searching for the right word to grasp onto. “Cave-in, drop, pitfall trap, whatever ya call it but when he brought that tusk home, there was hell to pay. His daddy apparently chafed his hide and reminded him in no uncertain terms that the area wasn’t safe. He said he was lucky he didn’t fall in deeper ‘n’ become part of history like everything else down there.”

  Ken clapped his hands in laughter.

  “To my knowledge, no one has ever gone down further than what my great grandfather did that day,” Robert continued. “Y’all will be the first ‘n’ I hope you find enough treasures that some museum comes calling with a check big enough for me to relocate someplace safer.”

  Most of the audience laughed and smiled at Robert’s candor.

  “Based on what I’ve seen, from the surface anyway,” Ken interrupted, “it appears that the cave goes down at least thirty feet deeper from the first shelf and guys…it’s about the biggest bone pile I’ve ever seen!”

  “Good!” Robert exclaimed. “Hope y’all find some great stuff down there. But a word of warning…”

  Ken and the others looked to one another in confusion then back to Robert for explanation.

  “Not only has my family been on this ranch for five generations,” Robert explained, “but so too have the folks that have worked right along my family. More so, actually. Their families have been on the place far longer than mine and one thing they’ve always passed down through the ages was the stories of how that hole is haunted. How it leads to Hell. How it’s home to demons that take children. Monsters ‘n’ nightmares…”

  Robert grinned from ear to ear and continued.

  “I’ve never believed any of that Mexican voodoo ‘n’ ghost stories but thought I should warn y’all all the same.”

  Some in the crowd laughed at Robert’s warning.

  Others did not.

  5.

  “Your new clothes and supplies are being picked up as we speak,” Hunter explained as he ended the call on his satellite phone. He walked to the rear of the plane and pulled two Dos Equis beers from the cooler that sat next to the lavatory. He returned to his seat next to Taylor and handed him a beer. The two men clicked bottles and offered toasts and took a long pull on their drink.

  “Damn good,” Taylor offered. “Thanks. And thanks for this.”

  Hunter looked up and down the plane then back to Taylor.

  “What? The gear? Plane? Lack of a stewardess…”

  “Thanks for the chance to start over,” Taylor assured him.

  Hunter smiled. “Glad to have you back in life my friend. Damn glad. Just wish you’d joined me two years ago.”

  “Two and a half years ago,” Taylor corrected before shaking his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe it’s come to this though…”

  “To what?”

  “I appreciate your help,” Taylor assured his friend once more. �
��But I never thought I’d see the day I’d agree to work…”

  “For me?” Hunter laughed, trying to lighten his friend’s souring mood. “You did so before, if you recall. Little thing called the United States Army.”

  Taylor cracked a laugh and took another long pull on his beer.

  “You know what I mean…”

  “The Acuña Cartel?”

  “Christ, man, any cartel! Has life really beat me down so low…”

  “Taylor,” Hunter interrupted. “I told you. No. I promised you and promise you again. It’s no different than working for any other private security force. Hell, it’s damn near like working for the Army.”

  “No different?” Taylor scoffed. “I doubt that.”

  “You’re right,” Hunter countered. “It is different than working for the Army. We get paid an ass-load more, have less oversight…”

  “Torture people. Dissolve enemies in acid…”

  “I’ve never done anything like that,” Hunter argued. “No one on my team has ever done anything like that.”

  Taylor gave Hunter a long stare of disbelief.

  Hunter pulled on his beer and laughed.

  “Those are Juan’s jobs.”

  Taylor shook his head and tried not to laugh but did so anyway. He finished his beer then stood to collect another.

  “Damn,” Hunter commented. “Ya killed that fast enough.”

  “I’ve practiced a lot over the past year.”

  “Well, keep practicing.” Hunter gestured to the cooler with his half-empty beer. “What the hell. Get me one too.”

  Taylor retrieved the beers and sat. Hunter took one of the beers, popped the top off on his seat’s armrest, and began again.

  “I lead a security detail for Miguel Alvarado who just so happens to be a high-ranking official in the Acuña Cartel. He’s a businessman first and foremost. On his orders, my team and I have engaged members of the…let’s say…the competition. We do not deal drugs, sell drugs, torture, go Scarface on anyone with a chainsaw…”

  “Scarface anyone with a chainsaw!” Taylor laughed through a mouthful of beer.

  “Nope,” Hunter cracked up. “No Scarfacing.”

  “Really glad to hear that…”

  “Trust me, Taylor,” Hunter’s eyes promised. “I never steered you wrong and never will.”

  6.

  Tom watched Megan fumble with the small battery-operated air pump. It was supposed to easily lock tight into the valve of their shared air mattress, but Megan found the process anything but easy. She turned the pump on her face, closed her eyes, and let the pump blow air over her.

  “I can’t believe how hot it is in here,” she moaned from behind her newly discovered fan.

  “I told you,” Tom reminded her, “that we should blow up the mattress up outside of the tent…”

  “But then how do you get it in the tent,” Megan barked. “’Cause the mattress won’t fit through the door…”

  “Front tent flap…”

  “Whatever it’s called!” Megan barked even louder. “Who gives a shit what it’s called?! It’s just so freakin’ hot.”

  “Well, it is Texas,” Tom said, laughing.

  “Might as well be in Mexico,” Megan complained. “As close to it as we are. I could probably spit into the country from here.”

  “Way to build international relations,” Tom joked.

  “Shut up!” Megan laughed.

  Tom reached into the tent from his vantage point just outside the open front flap and pulled the mattress out. He gestured for Megan to follow and she crawled out of the tent and into the shade of the tree that sheltered their nylon home away from university. Megan stood and reluctantly turned off the pump blowing in her face and through her wavy dirty-blonde hair and put it in Tom’s waiting open hand.

  “Let me show you how it’s done.” Tom chuckled as he locked the pump into the mattress’ valve.

  “Just what I hoped to find at college,” Megan chided. “A man working on a doctorate that will earn him almost nothing and who can blow up air mattresses.”

  “Paleontologists have to know how to blow up air mattress ‘cause that’s all they can afford,” Tom played along. He turned on the pump and the queen-sized mattress slowly filled.

  Megan sat in one of the two camp chairs outside their tent and fanned herself with her hands. She paused this action for a moment then wiped her brow with a lime green bandana she brought from her pocket then drank the remainder of the water bottle that sat in the chair’s cup holder.

  “So ya think this is the big one?” she asked Tom. “The one that gets you on the map and into a museum or teaching at a college afterward?”

  “I’m hoping so,” Tom admitted. He turned from Megan to test the fullness of the mattress. It was about halfway filled. “Ken said it looks like there’s a whole lot of bones down there. We already know the pit holds the remains of at least one mammoth. It’d be great to find a few more.”

  “Whatcha think that rancher was talking about when he said the hole was haunted?”

  “He didn’t say it was haunted,” Tom corrected. “He said the people on the ranch before his family said it was haunted. And that they passed that story down through the generations.”

  “Uh huh,” Megan bemoaned. She hated how literal Tom could be sometimes.

  “And my guess is that those people were fairly uneducated, and they made up a story to explain something they couldn’t easily explain about the cave…”

  “How it’s filled with demons that steal kids?” Megan reminded Tom. “I don’t think you’d need much of an education to explain that one. Something that lives in the cave has taken children. That sounds like an explanation to me.”

  “Not demons,” Tom scoffed.

  “Not demons. No. But something. What do you think it was?”

  “We don’t know if the missing children part of the story is real or not,” Tom explained. “All we know is that there was a story told that warned kids to stay away from the cave…”

  “A story they’ve been telling for, like, five generations he said…”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s true. Or was true.”

  Tom tested the mattress once more and, finding it filled to his liking, turned off the air pump and removed it from the valve. He folded the mattress and shoved it into the tent.

  “There we go,” Tom announced.

  “You’re such a real man.” Megan laughed. “What would I do without you?”

  “Sleep on the rock-hard ground, I guess,” Tom replied, chuckling.

  He took his seat next to Megan and leaned in to kiss her. She playfully pushed him away saying she was too sweaty. Tom said he didn’t care but Megan kept him at bay.

  “So, what do you think could live in that cave?” Megan began again. “That could take kids?”

  “I told you, I don’t think that’s—”

  “Amuse me,” Megan scoffed.

  Tom thought for a moment then sighed and offered his thoughts.

  “Back that long ago. Cougar or bear. Maybe a jaguar…”

  “A jaguar?!” Megan scoffed. “In Texas?”

  “Yeah,” Tom assured her. “Texas has been home to lots of big cats. Prehistoric and in modern times.”

  Megan scanned the campsite as if looking for predators. Seeing only fellow college students setting up their campsites, she returned to Tom.

  “Modern times, like, now?” Megan asked.

  “Ranchers spot a jaguar every now and again over near Big Bend, but not around here. No,” Tom promised. “Listen, the only danger that can come from the cave is falling in or us not finding anything worthwhile in it.”

  Megan smiled and Tom took it as an invitation.

  “So…you wanna try out the air mattress? See how it holds up?” Tom asked.

  Megan rolled her eyes and said, “God no! It’s way too hot for anything like that.”

  7.

  Hunter spent the last 20 minutes of the short flight f
rom Austin to El Paso detailing the massacre in the tunnel to Taylor. Hunter explained the facts as he knew them. Thirteen Mexican laborers had been digging a tunnel large enough to drive a truck and trailer through from a nondescript ranch house in Mexico toward a nondescript ranch house in Texas. The tunnel was sparse with minimal supports, an unpaved road, and a string of lights that hung from the bare ceiling above. The crew worked slave labor hours for little pay but still took great pride in their work and did so diligently. During their relatively short time underground, the crew had dug a mile and a half of tunnel and only had another three-quarters of a mile before they would hit the Texas ranch that would serve as the exit point. A hundred or so yards past the Rio Grande and into the United States, the crew cut into a large cavern. Shortly thereafter, they were attacked by someone.

  Or something.

  Twelve of the 13 laborers were killed.

  “I’ve only seen one of the bodies,” Hunter explained. “And it was torn to hell. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Taylor’s stare demanded more details

  “Guy looked like he been through a meat grinder. Ears pulled off. His eyes gouged out of their sockets and his nose and most of his fingers gone.”

  Taylor furrowed his brow in question.

  “You said pulled off, like with rope or pliers?”

  “No. They look like someone went at them with a dammed cheese grater. Just went to town until they were all shredded off.”

  Taylor shook his head in disgust. He had seen the evil that men could do in Afghanistan. He had encountered children as young as eight that had been gang-raped, men and women branded on their faces or carved beyond recognition for crimes against their religion, and others interrogated by having the soles of their feet beaten with sticks or pipes or removed completely. They were scenes that haunted him to this day, and he couldn’t imagine how what Hunter was describing could be worse.

  “My boss thinks it was a rival cartel or gang,” Hunter continued. “That they tunneled in from the opposite side and ambushed our boys.”