by Rick Mofina
“It’s the most horrible thing you can imagine.”
“I don’t care.”
“We’ll never make it back if they see us.”
“But you made it back.”
“I haven’t been the same since. I wish to god I hadn’t seen it!”
“Take me Jackson, I’m begging you. I have to find my mother!”
Jackson gave Ty’s request consideration then stared at the group.
“You know we’re all doomed anyway. You all know that.” He looked around to the others before reaching a decision and staring at Ty. “All right, I’ll take you there.”
They left the great cavern by another smoothed, torch-lit tunnel which extended a short distance to an intersection of tunnels.
Jackson looked to the low ceiling studying the rugged formation to get his bearings.
“This way.”
They travelled less than fifty yards in the gloomy light before Jackson stopped and turned to the right side wall, which bore a narrow fissure running from the wall’s top to its bottom.
“This is the way in.”
“But it’s not a proper entrance, it’s only inches wide.”
“Turn sideways, breathe in and squeeze your way through. This is a short cut to the final area. It widens after we get in but it’s dangerous. There’s no light. The darkness is absolute.
“The terrain is deadly. You could fall down a shaft. It twists and turns for about the length of a football field. Eventually, we’ll hear them and have some light. Then we’ll see them. Are you sure you still want to continue?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I think I can remember the safe way in. So hang on to my clothing, never ever let go and do not make a sound!”
Ty followed Jackson’s lead, sucked in air and scraped through the fissure. After a few short uneven steps, the last glimmer of light was swallowed by deep black. The sound of dripping water, the cold wet dampness of the jagged walls on his fingertips as he felt his way, the clutch of Jackson’s shirt in one hand, was all Ty had.
The darkness was complete.
He was totally blind in the total dark.
Ty thrust his free hand to within an inch of his eyes and saw nothing. With each step he tried to blindly feel the ground with his feet. He staggered along, banging and bloodying his knees against unseen rocks. At times the ground under him failed and he stumbled. At other times, sharp formations speared him.
How will we ever find our way back? Was this a mistake?
Ty began chanting the incantation.
Jackson progressed, slowly, steadily, and after some fifteen minutes, maybe it was more, Ty heard faint, distant sounds.
As they kept moving, Ty concentrated on chanting the incantation.
The sounds in the tunnel evolved into voices, along with clanking, thudding and a mechanized grinding. It evoked the noise of a construction site. Not long after that the blackness yielded to weak light and a confusing maze of narrow passage ways, of which there were upwards of ten possibilities from which to choose.
Jackson pointed to striations, faded but specific patterned markings, running along one wall of one of the narrow corridors, then drew his mouth to Ty’s ear and whispered.
“If anything happens, this marked way, is the only path in, and the only path out.”
They moved on and the light grew stronger.
Jackson guided them to a gently curving ridge which overlooked a great cavern, lit with torches and roaring with industry. Immediately below were huge metal dumpsters of sand, water and other material. Humans were toiling under the watch of guards, adding the materials into grumbling mixers making concrete.
The noise was deafening.
Ty and Jackson moved stealthily along the edge of the cavern using the ridge to conceal them. Above the noise, Ty heard what he thought were cries for help. The next section consisted of rows of square wooden formworks, supporting steel mesh, each about the size of a large dresser. A long conveyor system ran along one side of each row, parallel to a network of catwalks.
Here, guards oversaw the work of humans pouring concrete into each formwork. Ty felt the small hairs on the back of his neck rise as he realized what happened next. A live human, a man, was lowered by a rope into the formwork, struggling, pleading in vain for mercy as a huge stream of concrete cascaded over him, burying him sealing him alive!
Unable to believe his eyes Ty gasped for breath.
Jackson led him deeper into the work area to a vast expanse with precisely ordered rows of concrete blocks, maybe a hundred, each about the size of a large refrigerator, uniform in size and shape. The noise of hammers against steel chisels echoed as they reached a section where the large blocks were split, cracked open like eggs, particles crumbling, revealing dust-covered human figures, frozen solid in concrete; solidified in death positions, their faces death masks of agony, terror, fear, and horror.
Ty thought of the exhibit he’d seen of the victims of ancient Pompeii, Italy, when Mount Vesuvius erupted.
“I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“This is your mother’s fate, Ty!” Jackson whispered. “This is our fate, to become human gargoyles! It’s a reversal!”
“NO!”
Ty’s protest rose over the noise of the activity causing guards to look in their direction. Jackson pulled Ty down, out of sight, but a sharp-eyed guard glimpsed their shadows.
“Someone’s escaping! Over there!”
Ty’s arm nearly left his body when Jackson yanked him from the area, moving rapidly back the way they’d come. They moved as fast as they could. Guards were in pursuit, yelling alerts ahead to other guards, but their shouts were countered by the noise. Still, some guards heard and moving quickly to block their path of escape.
“Up!” Jackson said to Ty and started climbing a stairway to the catwalk network.
“They’ll see us up there!”
“They’ve already seen us, it’s our only chance!”
Mounting the stairs, they ran down a narrow catwalk that appeared clear, all the way out of the section, while a few feet below were the wooden formworks and the conveyor system. Work continued with humans screaming while being dropped into the formworks as the concrete is poured over them.
As Ty and Jackson raced along the network, guards shouted and pointed. Out of nowhere, a large one, his toothless face a web of tattoos, materialized on their catwalk. He blocked any means of escape by standing directly in front of Ty, who, at the last moment, dropped to all fours and rushed right between the guard’s legs.
Jackson was not as fast.
The guard seized him by his wrists, twisting him. As Jackson struggled a second guard grabbed his legs and in a heartbeat they hurled Jackson into a formwork. Ty heard his scream in the moment before the rush of concrete silenced him.
Ty rushed from the catwalk, down to the side, to the ridge, passed the torch-lit area of the grumbling mixers. With a posse of guards gaining on him, Ty ran wildly along the curving ridge to the labyrinthian area with its ten possibilities to the one true exit. His panicked eyes strained to find the striations to guide him.
Ty welcomed the growing darkness, as if it were a rescue blanket, and used the glow of the guard’s torches to guide him deeper and faster along the passage way. He chanted the incantation while behind him he heard the guards shouting and cursing as they tried to pinpoint the correct corridor.
Their confusion allowed Ty to escape.
He squeezed out the exit and ran down the tunnel.
28
Tears streamed down Ty’s face for his mother, for Jackson, for the human race.
His heart nearly burst through his chest as he made his way back to the Pit and the chamber, expecting that guards would be searching for him.
I have to find a way out of here!
In the chamber he searched for Lou, the Coast Guard guy, asking one person then another.
“Please, help me find, Lou!”
Ty moved along th
e terraced sections, searching for Lou.
“Kid! Over here!”
Ty hurried to him.
“Did you get in, kid?”
“It was terrible! They’re turning humans in gargoyles!”
“My god! What about Jackson?”
“He didn’t make it!” Ty shook his head nearly sobbing, scanning the area. A surge of anger rolled through him. “I have to get out of here! We can’t let them win! I can stop this!”
Suddenly Ty focused on the chimney.
“You’ve got to help me, Lou! We’ll all die if I stay, but if I can find a way out, I can stop this!”
“Kid, you’re delirious! You’re not making any sense!”
“I need you to help me, Lou! Come with me!”
Ty travelled down the slopes of the terrace, carefully making his way through the waves of afflicted people until he reached the base of the chimney and its two large iron doors.
It stood quiet in the foreboding gray light.
Ty studied it, realizing that a chimney would lead to the outside world but the chimney doors were shut tight with padlocks.
“There’s no way out,” Lou said. “The strongest among us tried.”
“There has to be a way!”
“This was part of the old furnace, under the coal house of the old hospital. This chimney connects straight up to the existing chimney.”
Ty walked around the base inspecting the chimney’s structure. At either bottom end of the base were small, curved metal doors each about a yard in length but only about ten inches tall. They were sealed with a metal slide that was locked.
“Those look like some kind of openings for air flow when they fire up the furnace. They open into the chimney,” Lou said.
Ty saw a small collection of powder around the worn frame. He ran his fingers over the sandy surface. It was crumbling. He found a rock and began tapping, then hammering at the brick frame that supported the flue. Little by little he could chip parts away.
The mechanism shifted ever so slightly.
“This is loose!” Ty said. “If we worked at it we could remove the entire thing. I could squeeze through!”
Lou found a rock and began hammering too.
Together they jabbed, scraped and pounded at the brick work. More and more it began to chip, crack and crumble. Gradually, they succeeded in removing it all from the framework. It took all of their strength but they were able to shim-shake the entire assembly out.
Shafts of brilliant light spilled into the chamber.
Ty dropped down, stuck his head and shoulders through the hole, looked up and was nearly blinded by a small circle of brilliant sky.
“What do you think? Is there a way out?” Lou asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You’re the only one strong enough and small enough to squeeze through that flue. Can you get out?”
“Maybe.”
After a slow combination of blinking and squinting, Ty’s hope rose when he saw metal rungs embedded in the brick forming a maintenance ladder that disappeared to a dizzying height skyward.
Ty’s gut tightened.
For him, the chimney top was as reachable as a distant star.
29
Anxiety tore through Ty as he looked up at the rungs of the ladder rising into eternity.
“Son, I can hear guards approaching!” Lou said. “This is our only chance and you’re our only hope. Can you do it?”
Ty had broken out in a cold sweat.
Staring up into the light, he thought of his mother, his father and Ella. There was no turning back. Ty reached deep inside himself until he found the strength to stand up and grip the first rung.
“I’m going right now,” he said. “Get someone to help you replace the mechanism.”
The rough edges of the ancient rusted steel pricked at his palms and fingers as he tightened his hold. He placed his foot on the first rung then started: handgrip, footstep and lift. Looking only at the rungs before him, he repeated the process, climbing with a steady rhythm.
Hearing the echo of his own breathing tugged at his nerves.
Keep going. Don’t look down.
Time had loosened some of the rungs and he took care to test each one before applying his full weight. He ascended to a great height and was doing fine until he raised his head to check the remaining distance.
Suddenly the rung under his feet gave way and his body dropped.
Ty held on for his life, moving his feet in a running motion against the bricks until they reached the higher rung. The blood rush in his ears was deafening. His acrophobia took over. His stomach churned and the world started spinning.
He steadied himself, took several long, deep breaths, slowing his heartbeat while blinking away the sweat trickling into his eyes.
Take it easy. You have to do this. You have no choice.
After a moment, he continued with caution, his senses heightened.
Handgrip, footstep, climb.
He repeated the process, testing each rung.
Eventually he came to a ledge that collared the chimney. It was crowned with grass that had crept through cracks in the bricks. Light pierced a small door frame. While the rungs of the ladder continued forever up the chimney, he’d reached the point where the lower chimney connected to the old coal house chimney.
The small door led to freedom.
If he could get through the door he wouldn’t have to climb to the top. Ty tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge. The ledge was about a foot wide, enough room for Ty to slam his weight against the steel door. It rattled but wouldn’t open.
Thinking hard so he wouldn’t lose hope, Ty reached for the closest and loosest steel rung. He started pulling and rocking it in place, watching stone crumble as, bit by bit, he loosened it until he’d wrenched it free.
With loud clanging, he smashed the rung against the door’s hinges. He’d loosened the hardware enough so that when he slammed his shoulder against it, the door yielded a few inches. Ty wedged the steel rung into the gap. Placing both feet on the rung, he used every ounce of strength he had to force the door open.
The seam of light around the door frame widened a few inches.
Gritting his teeth, Ty strained against the door, forcing it to open a few more precious inches until the gap was large enough for him to insert his shoulder, then his head. Scraping through, he stepped into the brilliant sunshine.
Freedom!
He was out! He’d escaped the Pit!
Exhausted and exhilarated, Ty fell back against the chimney and slid to the ground. Tears came to his eyes as he let them adjust to the light. While waiting, he withdrew his goggles and the rune incantation with Lotta’s notes. The page was worn with creases, but everything was intact.
Ty then focused on his surroundings. He was in a cemetery of crumbling buildings, choked with overgrowth. The wild brush and trees had created a jungle of vines that had swallowed the remains of old medical buildings, making for an eerie, lost world.
I’ve got to get off this island.
Ty got up, found a branch and used it to hack his way through the weeds. The air was alive with birdsong and the flutter of wings as he came to the shore of the East River. Manhattan’s skyline stood far to the south.
Too far.
The Bronx beckoned. It was much closer. Ty guessed it was maybe a quarter mile across the river. He considered swimming to it but abandoned the idea.
Too risky.
He walked along the shoreline, coming to a dilapidated dock and several decaying out buildings. One building was a storage shed filled with debris and rotting boxes of wires, tools, hardware and plumbing. One wall had ladders, another had what Ty needed.
A small green rowboat.
Relief and joy rolled through him.
Time had blistered and peeled the paint on the boat. Its dried bottom was veined with cracks, making Ty wary of its seaworthiness as he hefted it from its hooks to the ground. He scanned the building, finding two age-wo
rn oars, then a discarded empty paint pail. He’d need the pail for bailing if the boat leaked. He set the oars and pail in the boat and used the frayed length of rope that was its mooring line to pull it to the water.
Ty knew how to use a canoe and rowboat from his time at summer camp near Lake Placid two years ago. His concern was whether this rotting tub would get him across the river. The loud grating of stones against the hull underscored his worry as he dragged the craft into the water to a depth of some three feet.
Ty climbed in and inspected the planks of the hull.
A little water had bubbled in but that was okay, he’d learned that older boats leak a bit when the wood softens. Ty stood and walked up and down the boat, which was less than twelve feet, watching for leakage. Water was collecting in the bottom but it didn’t appear to be too bad, so he cast off.
As the boat glided, he set the oar pins into the oarlocks, set his course for the shortest distance on the Bronx side and began rowing.
The river was relatively calm. The screech of seagulls bid him farewell. The pins squeaked a bit, and the hardware knocked as Ty rowed, leaning forward, raising the oars, slipping them into the water and pulling, again with the same steady rhythm he’d used to climb out of the chimney.
Ty thought of nothing but rowing as the island grew smaller behind him. It was going well, he was about two thirds of the way across when the small aches that had started in his back and neck grew sharper and the skin on his hands turned a little raw. For some reason the rowing seemed to be getting harder, as if the boat was getting heavier. That’s when Ty felt the dampness at his feet change to water as the paint pail swished against the hull.
Oh my God! Oh no! How did I miss this!
The thin sheet of water that had seeped into the boat had risen some six inches!
Ty stopped rowing and began bailing as fast as he could, while glancing at the shore of the Bronx. It was about the length of a football field away. Ty bailed and bailed.
It was no use.
Panicked, he resumed rowing, plunging the oars deep into the water. Now the boat seemed unwilling to move.
