by John Purcell
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We didn’t encounter a single Ford Falcon on our way, nor did any seem to be following us. As for the security arrays, it didn’t much matter what they picked up now. Moto and I would be Outside before the GR could track us down.
We approached Blessed Savior from the back and crawled in through Bim’s tiny doorway. I restacked the cinderblocks directly in front of the manhole, screening it from view. Moto followed me down the ladder. I switched on the lights, then climbed back up and pulled the cover into place. With any luck, the manhole would remain a secret for another 24 hours.
According to Bim’s map, the maintenance tunnel ran south in a straight line for about half a mile. I couldn’t find a flashlight, or even a candle, anywhere in his workshop. I was forced to conclude that Bim made the trip in darkness.
We passed beneath the brick archway and started for the storm drain. The light from Bim’s workshop only illuminated the first 50 yards or so. By the time we were 200 yards in, my pupils were fully dilated and I still couldn’t see very well. Moto wasn’t having any trouble. Her eyes were designed for night vision.
As my eyesight faded away, I resigned myself to groping the wall. I inched my way along.
Suddenly, the inside of the tunnel exploded into rainbow colors and I could see clearly again. As I studied Moto and my own body and the tunnel walls and floor, I realized I was seeing the temperature of the objects around me. This was almost as detailed as normal eyesight. I hurried on my way.
The tunnel ended abruptly at a brick wall. At that point, the only direction to go was down, through a manhole embedded in the floor. As soon as I pulled the cover off, light came up from below and my rainbow world evaporated.
Moto and I descended 21 feet to the storm drain floor and found ourselves standing inside a cavernous, U-shaped tunnel. Massive brick archways supported the ceiling, stretching into the distance, east and west. The curved floor, a gigantic trough, was designed to carry huge quantities of water. This was obviously the main storm drain, into which all other drainpipes emptied. At the moment, though, the only water was a shallow stream meandering down the center of the trough.
Light from the surface filtered down through the storm grates here and there, but most of the storm drain was deep in shadow. Without a flashlight, it would have been difficult for Bim to see much of anything.
Evidence of his presence was easily found. He had rigged up a pulley, using electrical cables and a laundry basket, in order to haul things up to the maintenance tunnel. He’d also scavenged an old shopping cart for hauling things back through the storm drain. This was tethered to the bottom rung of the ladder with a leather belt.
According to Bim’s map, the drainpipe that led to the library was less than a mile to the west. I said, “Come on, Moto, this way.”
We took off at a run, down the center of the trough, but this resulted in a lot of splashing. Moto quickly discovered that she could avoid this by running in an S-pattern. She would run at an angle on the slope of the trough, then jump the water and run on the opposite slope, crisscrossing back and forth. I followed her example and we were soon averaging 28 mph.
When she realized how much momentum she had, Moto began running as high up the wall as possible, trying to run sideways. I didn’t attempt this myself, as I was following Bim’s map in my head. He had marked the smaller drainpipes that fed into the main pipe, as well as the ladders that led to the surface. I was counting these as we passed.
When we came to the right pipe, Moto zoomed past it and I called after her to stop. She obeyed my command, digging in her heels. Unfortunately, she was running sideways at the time, up near the ceiling. Momentum gone, she rolled downhill, landing with a splash in the center of the trough. She trotted back to where I stood, tail between her legs, looking embarrassed.
The drainpipe that led to the library was considerably larger than the others we’d passed. I was sure I’d be able to identify it on the way back.
As much as I wanted to see the library, it was more important to keep heading west, beyond the boundaries of Bim’s map, to find out where the storm drain let out.
We took off again, Moto running sideways as I counted the ladders and drainpipes. When we’d traveled about six miles, the storm drain began to angle sharply downward and we saw no more pipes or ladders. 200 yards later, it leveled out again and we could hear the sound of rushing water in the distance.
Moto and I slowed to a jog, uncertain of what lay ahead. There were no more ladders but we did pass a number of smaller drainpipes set into the walls. Inexplicably, the mouths of these tunnels were piled with large rocks.
As we continued down the storm drain, the roar of rushing water grew louder, and we soon found ourselves at the source of this sound. Joining the main tunnel from the north was another tunnel of equal size. An underground river was coursing out of it, filling the storm drain with roiling water. Some of it backed up to where Moto and I stood, but the bulk of the water rushed off to the west.
This presented a serious obstacle to tomorrow’s journey.
A sound like thunder came from behind and we turned to face a more immediate problem: an alligator was headed straight for us, moving very fast. It seemed much larger than any alligator I’d seen in photographs.
With the river preventing our retreat, the only choice was forward.
The alligator lunged at Moto, planning to make short work of her, but its jaws snapped empty air as Moto dodged sideways and shot past it to safety.
The alligator charged at me, opening its jaws again. I decided the best way past it was over it and launched myself through the air.
The alligator’s reflexes were swift. Thrusting upward with its front legs, it almost managed to nip me. When it discovered I was out of reach, it readied itself.
I somersaulted in the air and came down on my feet. The moment they touched ground, the alligator lashed its tail, knocking them out from under me. I landed on my side and rolled onto my back, backpack jabbing into my spine. The alligator lunged. Throwing myself forward to meet it, I got my arms around its snout before it could open its jaws.
This was the first step in alligator wrestling, that much I knew. I also knew that I should flip it over and rub its stomach, putting it to sleep. As the alligator whipped its head from side-to-side, trying to fling me off, I wondered how practical this procedure really was. I was just along for the ride, unable to plant my feet or do anything else of consequence, and letting go wasn’t likely to improve matters.
Something heavy landed on my back and an arm clamped my neck. Over my shoulder, I could see Moto tugging at the zipper on my backpack. She got it halfway open, reached in, and pulled out a shock wand. Then she jumped to the ground.
She pressed the wand against the alligator’s neck. No effect.
I said, “You have to turn it on! There’s a switch on the side! Push it forward!”
Moto found the switch and a red indicator light began to flash. She pressed the wand against the alligator’s neck again. Its whole body gave a jerk, and then it went right on thrashing its head.
“Its skin is too thick! Try inside its mouth!”
I released the alligator’s snout, sending myself tumbling across the floor. As I hopped to my feet, it opened its jaws wide and let out a bellow of victory.
Moto misunderstood my instructions. She jumped straight into the alligator’s mouth, jabbing the shock wand into its tongue. The alligator’s muscles convulsed and its jaws snapped shut, trapping her inside. It did a belly flop and lay still.
I dashed over and pried the alligator’s jaws apart. Moto jumped out, unharmed but dripping with saliva.
I took the shock wand from her and switched it off. “Good thinking, Moto, you saved my neck. Go rinse off and let’s get out of here.”
When Moto emerged
from the water, we hurried east, back toward the library. I was eager to get out of range of the alligator, who was only stunned. I stopped, however, to take a closer look at the piles of rocks I’d noticed on the way in.
I went over to the mouth of the drainpipe. The rocks were fairly large and required two hands to lift. As soon as I picked one up, its leathery texture gave it away. It wasn’t a rock at all. It was an alligator egg. They were all alligator eggs, hundreds of them. Their mother had been defending them.
