A Boy Called Duct Tape (17 page)

“What is it?” I asked, seeing the alarm on Monroe’s face.

“Shhh!” Monroe said, tilting his head and listening, a flash of panic in his eyes.

I didn’t hear a thing.

Monroe’s face twisted into a faint smile, and he said in a calm voice, “Awww, damnit!”

“What did you—?”

I never got all the words out because Monroe shouted, “Follow me!” He scooped up Pia. “Flood!” He bolted down the tunnel.

A dim roar filled the rocky hallway, and grew louder each second.

I turned and directed my headlamp up the tunnel. What I saw sent a spear of horror through me. A ferocious wall of water was rushing toward us.

“Pablo … !” Kiki wailed, her headlamp lighting the fast-moving wave.

“Run!” Monroe screamed over his shoulder. “Run!”

Slipping and sliding on the moist cave floor, Kiki and I turned and ran, scampering to keep up.

Monroe threw another shout over his shoulder. “Hurry!”

The wall of water was only seconds away from gobbling us up when the corridor funneled into a tiny chamber not much larger than a coat closet. A narrow balcony overlooked the small hollow from a height of three feet or so, and we scrambled onto the ledge at the very moment the deafening rush of water poured into the cave. The torrent filled the chamber within seconds, surging in and out of the tiny dugout at an incredible speed.

“Big rain up top!” Monroe shouted above the roar.

“So much for your weather forecast!” I yelled.

In the next few seconds the churn of the flashflood subsided, the foaming whitecaps settled down, and the water flowed through the chamber as smooth and gentle as James Creek.

“Thank you, Mr. Huff,” Pia said through teary eyes.

“My pleasure, Pia,” Monroe said, setting her down on the ledge next to me.

Pia turned toward me. “Pablo, I can feel my heart—”.

“Me, too, Pia,” I interrupted.

“Is it over?” Kiki asked, her light on Monroe.

Before Monroe could answer, another roar filled our ears, and a second rush of water lurched violently into the chamber.

“Hold on!” Monroe warned, the level of the underground flood lapping at the ledge where we stood.

We made a human chain with our hands.

“If worse comes to worst, use your backpacks as lifejackets!” Monroe yelled. “They’re waterproof and they float!”

I had a sick feeling. I hoped worse
didn’t
come to worst. Pia could master swimming in Harper’s Hole, but she was no match for a raging flood. And I didn’t know if Kiki was a good swimmer or not. I decided she probably was.

“And keep your heads raised!” Monroe shouted. “Don’t get your headlamps wet!”

Following Monroe’s example, we removed our backpacks, slipped our arms through the straps, and then held the packs at our chests as the swell of water swept over the ledge to the tops of our ankles. The dirty-brown water was icy cold.

“Stay close to me, Pia!” I shouted.

In the next moment the swirling water was at our knees, its undercurrent pulling at us with a thousand sticky hands. When Pia’s spindly body started to slip away, I grabbed her in an awkward hug.

A gummy mass of tree limbs and weeds floated pass.

I glanced at Monroe, the non-swimmer. There was something in Monroe’s eyes that I had not seen before—a muddled mix of fear and doubt.

The fury of the flood intensified and a third angry wall of water poured into the cave, sweeping over us like a giant tsunami. Pia shrieked as the raging blast of water snatched her from my grip and into the powerful current. I lunged for my sister in the spotty darkness, throwing myself into the flood, but the explosion of water separated us like fragile sticks of driftwood.

Choking on a mouthful of foul-tasting water, I screamed Pia’s name. When there was no reply, I screamed it again. No answer.

The frigid onrush had snatched the lamp and knit cap from my head and turned me onto my back. I fumbled with my backpack in the darkness, searching for my flashlight. I found it and flipped it on, holding it above the surface of the cold, fast-moving water, my backpack at my chest.

I tried to turn myself in the direction I’d last seen Pia, but the water’s muscle was too strong, and I was swept down the tunnel backward, my flashlight aimed uselessly at the ceiling.

“Pia!”

Nothing for several long seconds, then Pia’s desperate cry. “Pablo, help me!”

The tunnel floor was suddenly beneath me, snapping at my duct-taped sneakers, and I managed to turn myself over. The beam from my flashlight brightened the churning waters ahead. I saw Pia. She was only a few feet away, rushing toward the black unknown.

Kicking and digging at the water, I closed the distance between Pia and me, then reached out and snared one strap of her backpack.

“Don’t let go!” Pia begged.

“I won’t!” I cried.

Pia and I were locked together in the inky muck that moved like a hungry black snake through its underground burrow. I aimed my flashlight down the rocky shaft. Ahead, the tunnel forked—the freezing water split down two separate underground passages.

The current spit us down the right fork.

The cold floodwaters held Pia and me prisoner for more than 10 minutes before delivering us into a huge teepee-like chamber. The roof angled in from all sides and came together at a point high above. The current had slowed to a crawl, and I stood up and shined my flashlight on our new surroundings.

I waded out of the hip-deep water and onto a rocky beach, Pia in tow. Her backpack still at her chest, Pia struggled through the water the last few feet and onto the broad limestone shore. She shook her backpack loose and collapsed beside it. She was shivering like crazy.

My backpack hanging from one hand, I stood on the shore shaking from the cold and watching the slow-moving floodwaters pass through the belly of the chamber. I couldn’t remember ever being so cold. Monroe had said the air temperature inside the cave was 56 degrees. It felt colder. Much colder.

My teeth were rattling in my mouth and my muscles were in the grip of one long tremor. Every movement required superhuman strength. I knew I had to warm Pia and me before hypothermia set in, and there was no time to lose. Ten seconds would grow into 30 and 30 into a minute and a minute into five and eventually we would die.

“Cold, Pablo,” Pia whispered, looking up at me, a curtain of hair falling across her face. Her lips were purple and the corners of her mouth were quivering.

“Hang on, Pia,” I gasped.

Unsure of what to do next—my brain was spinning like a spring tornado—I noticed a heap of debris floating into the cavern. When I lit it with my flashlight I could see that it wasn’t debris at all. It was Kiki! Her head, turned away from me, was resting on her backpack, which was flat against her chest. She lay motionless in the slow-moving water, her legs beneath her. I shouted her name, but she didn’t move.

I waded hurriedly out to Kiki, took hold of one strap of her backpack, and towed her out of the water and onto the rocky shelf. Removing her backpack and taking her by the arms, I laid Kiki on her back beside Pia. Unconscious, Kiki was alive, but each shallow breath made a wheezy, watery sound.

“Kiki …” Pia whispered.

The image of a Jamesville firewoman visiting my 6th grade class the year before took shape in my head. The firewoman had given a demonstration of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, and I dropped to my knees, pinched Kiki’s nose shut, and then placed my mouth over hers. I pushed out two quick, deep breaths.

Kiki’s chest rose immediately. She gagged on the water in her lungs, and then jettisoned a mouthful. I quickly rolled Kiki onto her side and she vomited a second swallow of water. In the next moment, her breathing returned in ragged spurts.

“Kiki’s alive,” Pia murmured.

Kiki coughed up another small gulp of water, and her breathing returned to normal. Her breaths were faint, but even. I knelt beside Kiki watching her breath go in and out.

Her eyes drooping, Kiki looked up at me. “Pablo ….”

“You’re safe,” I said.

Kiki sucked in a small swallow of air, gave a faint smile, and her eyes fell back into unconsciousness.

The cold had found a home in my body, and it was difficult for me to think clearly. The word
hypothermia
continued to blink inside my head like a neon sign, and I knew I had to somehow warm the three of us.

But how?
It was me against the freezing darkness.

A gloomy headline in the
Jamesville Times
flashed before my eyes:

THREE MISSING YOUTHS FEARED DEAD

Ten feet to my left, in the cavern wall, was a small, raised opening about the size of a refrigerator door. The opening was carved into the rock face a few feet off the floor. Shaking with each small step, I shuffled over to the opening and shined my flashlight into it. It was a cave-within-a-cave, extended 20 feet or so, and would accommodate a person standing. Best of all, it was dry.

I crawled inside to investigate. The beam from my flashlight revealed dozens of bones scattered about the floor, and for a few moments I just stood there frozen stiff. Several human skulls were mixed in with the skeletal remains. The bones were everywhere.

“The graveyard,” I muttered, recalling the spot on the treasure map.

I swept the small cave with my light. One of the skulls still wore what had once been a fancy headdress. The red band of cloth surrounding the skull was in shreds, and the yellow and blue feathers were tattered beyond repair. The strange-looking feathers were not from any flying creature I had ever seen. Perhaps they were from an extinct bird. The charred remains of a long-ago fire were heaped in the middle of the chamber.

As I viewed the ancient graveyard, something shifted inside my head. The prehistoric civilization that had once roamed the halls and rooms of Bear Mountain had supplied me with the solution of how best to warm Pia and Kiki.

I would burn the bones.

But first a question had to be answered. It was a long shot, but the blackened leftovers of the fire in the center of the dugout gave me hope. I crawled back outside, glimpsed Pia and Kiki—they were half-dead, but safe—then gathered up my backpack, and slithered back into the cave-within-a-cave.

I removed the canister of matches from my backpack. I lit a match and held it up to the ceiling. “Please …” I whispered. The tiny flame came alive in the cold, damp air, flickering to the left, and then to the right before leaping toward the roof.

The cave had a chimney!

“Thank you, Mother Cave,” I said, raising the match closer to the ceiling. A thin crevice sliced across the stony roof—a natural chimney.

I fished around inside my backpack and found a small can of Sterno, one of the items Monroe had suggested we bring. I opened the can and lit it. The jellied alcohol produced an immediate flame, and I arranged a handful of bones around it. They must have been moist, because they sputtered and hissed, but in a few minutes the bones dried and the fire was burning brightly. I added more bones to the flames, and then went outside for Pia and Kiki.

Brushing her face with my hand, I said, “Kiki, can you walk?”

Kiki’s eyes blinked opened. “Pablo,” she moaned, looking up at me, her lips shriveled, her face blue with cold. “What …?”

“Don’t talk,” I said, taking her under the arms and heaving Kiki to her feet. Her legs were like spaghetti, and I had to work hard to keep her upright. I helped her over the lip and into the small cave-within-a-cave. Once inside, I laid her beside the fire.

I returned for Pia. Lying on the cold stone floor in a fetal position, Pia had wrapped her arms around her quaking body in an attempt to stay warm. Her eyes were open and looked almost delirious. I guided her over the rim and into the tiny cavern, and laid her beside the fire.

I made one final trip outside to gather up the backpacks.

I next removed the girls’ space blankets from their packs, stretched them out near the fire, and helped them onto the metallic sheets. I rested their heads on their backpacks. Kiki was asleep within seconds.

Another idea came to me, and after the fire had gained some strength I removed the space blanket from my own pack, attached one end to a ragged row of sharp rocks above the entrance, and draped it over the narrow opening. The temperature inside the small den rose at once.

Pia’s eyes were open and staring at me groggily, but her mind seemed to be floating in a blurry world of twilight.

“It’s going to be okay, Pia,” I said, kneeling beside her and taking her hand.

Pia managed a small smile, her eyes fluttered shut, and she drifted off to sleep.

Dizzy with sleep myself, I added more fuel to the fire, then crawled to the rear of the cave and sat with my back against the wall. The wall was smooth and felt good against my back. I hugged my knees to my chest, drew in my shoulders, and closed my eyes.

My eyes popped open and I awoke with a frightened jerk 15 minutes later. I was totally disoriented. I’d dreamed again. This time it was the flood. Pia and Kiki had been swept away right before my eyes.

I glanced at the dwindling bone fire and everything came into focus. The sleep clearing from my brain, I remembered that no one had drowned. Pia and Kiki were safe. They were lying a few feet away sleeping peacefully.

I was warm except for my sneakered feet. They had a numb, wooden feeling, and I wiggled my toes inside the cocoon of duct tape. That helped.

There was a smell in the air that made me think Monroe was near. But I soon realized it was only the cave I smelled. I couldn’t help but wonder if Monroe had drowned in the flood.

The fire had burned down to a few charred bits, and I added more bones to it, and then crawled over to where Pia and Kiki were sleeping. Pia was curled up in a ball, one arm looped through the strap of her backpack. Kiki was sleeping on her side, her backpack under her head. I rubbed Pia’s wool shirtsleeve between my fingers. It was almost dry. So was Kiki’s.

A strip of duct tape had pulled loose from one of my sneakers, and I ripped it off and dug through my backpack for the roll I’d packed. I made the repairs, and then checked Pia’s duct-taped sneakers. They were wet but still holding together.