by Tom Abrahams
Nikki zipped up her pack and heaved it onto her back.
“That man gives me hope,” said Jackie, watching him walk away.
Nikki checked her Glock and adjusted it against the small of her back. “How so?”
“He helped us,” said Jackie. “In a world where every stranger seems to be out for himself at the expense of others, he took a risk. He saved my kids.”
“I guess,” said Nikki. “Let’s get going. These jerks put us behind.”
Jackie adjusted the pack on her back. “We’ll be fine.”
If she only believed it…
CHAPTER 18
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2020, 2:47 PM CST
TAYLOR, TEXAS
Kenny snuck a peek around the corner and slid back into hiding next to his father. “Is that building eight?” he asked. “It looks like there’s an eight next to the door.”
Rick peered past the edge of the concrete wall that gave them cover. “I think it is. Good eyes.”
They’d successfully crossed the camp towards its southern edge. At times blending in with other prisoners, at times ducking for cover, they’d managed to move within a matter of minutes. They couldn’t know how long they’d have before the unconscious, ungagged soldier would awaken and have the presence of mind to call for help.
Once that happened, they’d be screwed, so they moved as swiftly as possible. Reggie and Rick had helped Mumphrey together, each of them draping an arm across their shoulders and carrying him like a wounded soldier from a battlefield.
Mumphrey was in and out of consciousness. Blood dripped from his bright red lips, leaving an intermittent trail of their path across the camp. He occasionally mumbled or coughed. Otherwise, he was fading.
Rick eyed the others in the group. “We move fast, but we walk. Running will call attention to us. Once we get there, we get inside and regroup.”
“What if there are soldiers in there?” asked Candace.
“Reggie and I are armed. We do what we have to do.”
“They’re American soldiers,” she said. “We can’t just—”
“I know who they are,” Rick cut in. “But thinking that way got Gus and Karen killed. It got Mumphrey beaten to a pulp. We have to do what we have to do. It’s them or us. Damned if I let it be us.”
Candace nodded. “Okay.”
Rick took Mumphrey’s arm, draped it across his shoulder, and held the old man’s wrist. With the gun tucked in the front of his waistband, he took his other hand and held it around Mumphrey’s back. When he adjusted his grip, Mumphrey lifted his head and turned toward Rick.
“Hey,” he said, barely above a whisper, “I do appreciate you. You didn’t have to let me tag along. Like I said—”
“Save your energy, Mumphrey,” said Rick. “I know you’re thankful. I’m thankful to have you.”
Mumphrey smiled and lowered his head. He closed his eyes and pressed tears from the corners. They leaked down the sides of his face, mixing with the stain of blood on his stubbled chin.
“All right,” Rick said to the group. “Ready?”
A chorus of subdued acknowledgements told Rick it was time. “Let’s go.”
Rick leaned forward and, together with Reggie, led Mumphrey at a brisk pace across an open courtyard. To their left was a small encampment of a dozen people huddled around a tent. They were sitting on the ground in clusters of two and three each, not paying attention to anything outside their own conversations. To their right was what Rick supposed was the mess hall. There was a long line of people waiting to go inside the building. Opposite them, others filtered out one at a time carrying small bags or pieces of fruit. Guards were positioned at both the entrance and exit, controlling the traffic. They either didn’t notice or chose to ignore Rick and his companions.
They were halfway to their destination when a sharp pain exploded in Rick’s lower back, sending jolts of electricity down his leg and into his side. His lower back was on the verge of seizing, but he ignored the tension and pushed forward toward building eight.
Kenny had hustled to his left side. He was moving his legs twice as fast as the adults to keep pace, but he was doing it. He looked up at Rick, his eyebrows knitted with concern.
“You okay, Dad?” he asked. “You need help?”
Rick adjusted his hold on Mumphrey. “Thanks, I’m good. Why don’t you move ahead of us and check the door? Knock. See if they let you in.”
Kenny’s eyes brightened. “Okay,” he said and sped up. He was on the verge of running but maintained a fast walk. He quickly reached the front of the building and paused at the entrance, looking back at Rick.
Rick nodded at him and Kenny knocked on the door. He stood there dancing in place, like a kid having to go to the bathroom, and knocked again.
“What are you going to do if they open it and let him in?” asked Reggie. “He’s a kid.”
“Exactly,” huffed Rick. “He’s a kid. They won’t suspect anything. I just sent him there to see if the place is empty.”
“Huh,” said Reggie. “Good idea.”
Kenny had knocked again by the time they’d reached building eight. He was still dancing in place. “Nobody’s here, Dad.”
“I know,” Rick said. “You gotta go?”
“No,” said Kenny. “I’m just anxious.”
Rick loosened his hold on Mumphrey. Reggie held the ailing man upright while Rick tried the door. It was unlocked. He shouldered it open and hustled the group inside. He closed it but left it unlocked. Before he saw the contents of the space, he could smell it. Freshly cut wood spiced with the faintest hint of pine.
He turned around and saw palettes of rectangular coffins. The boxes were identical to the ones he and Kenny had seen the involuntary undertakers put into the ground.
Reggie helped Mumphrey to a chair and sat him down gently. “Coffins?” he asked. “I don’t understand. Why are there so many coffins?”
“People keep dying,” said Kenny. “My dad and I saw men putting them in the ground at the edge of the woods outside the camp. There were big holes. Deep holes.”
Mumphrey raised his head and chuckled through what had become a gargling cough. “I’m not dead. I’m still here.”
“What are we doing?” asked Candace. “What is this?”
Rick held up a finger. “Give me a minute.” He walked from the group toward the rows of open pine boxes. Each of them had a lid leaning against its side. At the back of the room next to a rolling bay door were four that were closed. Rick wove his way through the collection to the closed boxes and lifted one of the lids.
The scent of pine was immediately replaced with the foul odor of rot. Inside the box was the stiffened body of an overweight middle-aged man. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was open. His blue-tinged skin looked almost cartoonish. Rick stared at the corpse for a moment before shutting the lid. He stepped sideways to another closed box and found a body inside that one too. He looked up from the coffin, recognized the disgust on the adults’ faces, but ignored it as he revealed his escape plan.
“We get in the coffins and pretend like we’re dead,” said Rick, crossing the large room back to his friends. “They’ll come and move us, drop us in the ground, and leave us there overnight. Once the sun goes down, we climb out and head back to Gus’s ranch.”
Reggie frowned. “You’re kidding, right? Climb into coffins and let them bury us alive?”
“They won’t bury us,” Kenny said. “We heard the men say they’re leaving the graves open until they fill them. They’re not putting the dirt back in the holes until tomorrow.”
Reggie looked at Kenny then Rick. “Seriously? This is your big rescue plan? You break in here to help us escape in coffins?”
Rick nodded. “That’s my plan.”
“God help us,” said Lana.
“I don’t think I can get into one of those boxes,” said Candace. “I’d freak.”
“We don’t have time to debate this,” Rick said firmly. “They’re goi
ng to come looking for us any minute now. If we’re standing around talking about it, they’ll find us. They’ll lock us up or execute us. I’m getting in a box. You want to do something else, be my guest.”
Kenny shrugged. “I’m getting in a box.”
Mumphrey raised his trembling hand. “I might as well get a head start on this dying thing. I’m in.”
“You’re not dying, Mumphrey,” Rick insisted. “Once we get out of here, we’ll get back to Gus’s place. He’s got medicine and all kinds of first aid there. We’ll get you fixed up.”
“Like I said,” said Mumphrey, “I’ll get a head start. Drop me in one of them boxes.”
Rick rolled his eyes and helped Mumphrey to his feet. He led him across the room, careful not to trip on the rows of empty coffins as they moved to those closest to the ones already occupied. Mumphrey climbed into the box as if getting into a bathtub and lay down.
“This ain’t so bad,” he said. “Almost comforting.”
“Try not to cough if you can help it,” said Rick. “That’ll give you away.”
“I’ll try,” said Mumphrey. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. “Shut me in.”
Rick lifted the lid and slid it atop the box. It settled in the carved grooves along the edges. “Can you breathe?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” came the muffled response.
“Just try to conserve air,” Rick said.
“Kenny, you and I are last. Anyone else?”
Candace exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the roots. “Me,” she said. “What choice do I have?”
One by one, Rick helped the group into their coffins. He was last and found one next to Kenny. He climbed into the box and lifted the lid on top of it, using the tips of his fingers to maneuver the lid into the grooves. It settled in place with a thump and Rick was in the dark.
He lay there for a few minutes figuring now would be a good a time as any to take a nap. The exhaustion overtook his aching body and he drifted off to sleep. When he awoke, the casket was shaking, rattling from the vibrations of a loud rumble.
At first, Rick forgot where he was. His pulse quickened and he tensed. He reached out blindly trying to grab onto something. His hands found the pine, scraping across its smooth-hewn edges. Before he pushed on the casket lid, he remembered where he was. Once he’d caught his breath, he realized he must be in the back of the military truck on his way to the gravesite.
He had no concept of how long he’d been asleep nor any knowledge of whether any or all of the others were with him. His initial fear was replaced with anxiety and nervousness with not knowing if he’d made the right decision.
He strained his ears to listen for any clues. The rumbling of the truck’s engine and the knocking of his casket against something next to it was all he could hear. Then both stopped. A squeal told him the driver had applied the brakes. A moment later his body jerked as someone moved the coffin. He felt the friction of the box sliding against something underneath his back and pressed his boots against the box frame to brace himself as the coffin rolled to one side. Outside the box, men grunted.
“All right,” one of the men said. “Let’s lower this one in.”
Another voice, coming from beneath Rick’s casket, called up to the pallbearers. “How many you got this time?”
“Eight. This will be it for the day. We do another haul in the morning and you can fill in the graves then.”
“Leave ’em open overnight?”
“Yeah. They’re not going anywhere.”
The blood rushed to Rick’s head as the coffin tipped diagonally. His feet were a good two feet above his head. Gradually they evened out and Rick’s body shook with the rattle of hitting bottom.
Sweat stung his eyes and he squeezed them shut to ease the perspiration elsewhere. It didn’t work, so he blew from the top corner of his mouth. All that did was move the sweat into his eye. A wave of panic washed over him as he considered how long he’d have to wait in the box, in a hole six feet deep in the earth.
To distract himself, he paid attention to the grunts and complaints of the men moving the caskets. Then he thought about the others. He counted again in his head. There were six of them: Candace, Reggie, Lana, Mumphrey, Kenny, and himself. That meant that two of the arriving caskets did contain dead bodies. Rick hoped none of his group was left behind. He also prayed Kenny was still asleep and that Mumphrey was able to suppress his cough.
Rather than worry about something he couldn’t control, he focused on his own breathing. He inhaled slowly through his nose, held it for a count of three, and exhaled. Each time he completed a breath, he counted, adding one each time. He reached six hundred and fifty by the time his coffin rattled with the unmistakable grind and scrape of something set on top of it. Rick’s breathing quickened but he worked hard to suppress it until he was sure the men had finished unloading the eight caskets.
“That’ll do it,” said one of the men. “You can grab a ride in the back of the truck and we’ll take you back to camp, or you can walk. Up to you.”
“We’ll ride.”
Less than a minute later the truck whined and rumbled when its engine started. It was loud at first, but soon enough the noise faded until Rick couldn’t hear it anymore. Certain it was safe, he pressed lightly on the lid. It didn’t move.
He pressed harder and raised his knees against the lid for additional leverage. Nothing. The wood was giving at the edges, but there was no moving it from the inset grooves at the top of the box. He was stuck. They hadset another casket on top of him.
Rick’s heart rate immediately quickened, thumping against his neck and in his temples. Sweat bloomed in the space between his chin and neck, under his arms, and in the small of his back. His breathing was irregular and impossible to regulate with short, controlled breaths. The casket instantly felt smaller, tighter, and as if it were shrinking.
Rick knocked on the lid with the top of his fists. He couldn’t move his arms enough to gain the needed force for anything more than that. He kept knocking five, ten, fifteen times, before he stopped and listened for a response. There was nothing.
Was he the only one of the group they’d transported?
Had there been so many bodies that the rest of the group was still in building eight?
How many caskets were on top of him?
He’d been the first moved from the truck as far as he could tell. He could very well be at the bottom of one of the graves underneath several other pine boxes. While Rick wanted to scream, he couldn’t be sure the wrong person wouldn’t hear him. He called out loudly enough for anyone alive in the hole to hear him. The box swallowed his voice as he spoke.
“Hey,” he said. “Anybody there?”
Nothing.
A little louder this time. “Hey! Kenny? Reggie? Mumphrey? Anyone there?”
All he heard in response was his own panicked breathing. “Anyone? I can’t get out.”
Rick turned his head as much as he could to one side. He still couldn’t hear anything. He extended his legs and quickly pulled them back, banging his knees into the casket lid, accomplishing nothing but bruising his kneecaps.
“Help!” he yelled, no longer worried about whether or not soldiers heard his calls. He wanted out of the box. “Help!”
He was screaming for someone, anyone, to free him from the casket. His throat burned from the strain of yelling. He was drenched in sweat; his eyes stung; his clothes were constrictive. If he could have, he’d have ripped them off. He kept yelling for help, his calls increasingly laced with the warble of a man panicked and on the verge of a breakdown.
Just when he thought he might explode from the claustrophobia, he heard a noise. It was another voice.
It was Reggie. It sounded like Reggie. It was probably Reggie. Hopefully it was Reggie.
Please be Reggie, Rick thought.
“Rick?” he called. “I hear you down there. Hang on.”
“Reggie?” he croaked hoarsely
.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m coming for you. I think you’re two or three boxes down.”
“Kenny okay?”
“Yeah,” Reggie said. “He’s fine. He’s standing up top. The women are good too.”
Rick sighed with relief. Still, anxiety coursed through his body like an army of fire ants. His skin itched; his eyes burned; his throat ached.
He tried breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. He was mimicking what he remembered from the Lamaze classes he and Karen had taken together when she was pregnant with Kenny.
Karen. He still couldn’t reconcile her death. The woman who’d given herself unconditionally to him, only to suffer his infidelities and his diminishing interest in her love. He deserved to be buried alive, to die alone in the dark, thinking of her. She’d deserved so much better.
“Bang on the box, Rick,” said Reggie. “I think I’m almost there.”
Rick used the backs of his fists to pound on the underside of the lid. “You hear me?” he called out against the scratchy pain in his throat.
“Yep,” said Reggie. “One more box.”
Rick could hear him now. A loud scraping dragged across the outside of the lid. Reggie grunted and cursed, struggling to move the last of the boxes from atop Rick’s would-be tomb. At last, a crack of dim, orange-hued light peeked from one side of the box.
Unable to wait for Reggie to lift the top, Rick asked him to move and he used his knees to bump the lid from its grooved resting place. It took three tries, but he dislodged it and the cool rush of outside air filled the box.
His eyes adjusted to the light and Rick saw Reggie standing above him, offering him a hand. Rick reached up and pulled himself out of the box with Reggie’s help.
Rick ran his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Thanks. I panicked. I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”
“I’m not gonna lie,” said Reggie, “you’re down here. I had to move three coffins to get to you. We were all in the other hole.”
Rick stepped out of his coffin and, standing on one next to his, he replaced the lid on his box. “Everybody’s out?”
