Trapped
Authors: Carrie Grant
© 2014
Carrie Grant
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, are purely coincidental.
Dedication
For my sisters.
“I hate driving through this tunnel.”
My
mom drums her long red nails on the steering wheel as she settles her mouth into a frown. Michelle and Suzanne are busy talking in the backseat, and they miss her complaint.
“Especially with all of this traffic,” Mom adds, k
eeping her fingers going. “It’ll take us forever to get home. I don’t see why you had to go to a competition so far away, Emily.”
She continues tapping her fingers, her forehead wrinkling as she glares at the concrete entrance to the Eisenhower Tunnel. Rows of red brake lights are blocking her way.
I give her a small nod and turn to stare ahead as well, ignoring the prick of tears at the corner of my eyes. Her comment stings. It’s supposed to.
The late afternoon sunlight is too
joyful for the mood in our small sedan. The Rocky Mountains rise above the tunnel entrance, their snowy peaks glinting orange as the sun slowly slips behind them. Most of the stretch of traffic leading to the eastern entrance is already cast in shadow, but we’re still sitting in the warmth and light. I try to soak in the warmth, try to ignore my mom’s frustration. But it’s not just the traffic bringing her down this time.
“Finally,” Mom says as the
cars ahead start moving. Accelerating quickly, she pulls our car into the shadow.
She doesn’t stop drumming her nails.
I take a deep breath, careful to keep my long exhale silent so it doesn’t turn into a sigh. My mom flicks on the headlights, mumbling about how late it already is, how she wishes we had never even gone to my math competition.
I nod again, smoothing my hands over my braid before settling them in my lap.
That makes two of us, Mom.
My sisters are in the back seat of our sedan, talking quickly in their identical voices. I
paste a smile on my face and turn to look at them.
“No way, Michelle, it’s the President! It’s
gotta be!” Suzanne says, pointing out the window.
“Don’t be stupid,” Michelle looks at me, rolling her eyes. “Emily, tell Suzie it’s just some
poli—politish—“
“Politicians?” I ask, my smile becoming r
eal as I look back at them.
“Yep. They had some kind of convocation.”
“A convention?”
“Yep.” M
ichelle looks as satisfied as a six-year-old can when she turns back to her twin.
Though their faces are identical, their expressions couldn’t be more different. Michelle has her arms crossed over her baggy t-shirt, her chin jutting out from under her baseball cap. Suzie, on the other hand, has her hands folded n
eatly in her lap, her curly pigtails bobbing as she stares excitedly at the car outside of her window.
It’s a black Lincoln town car, just a little ahead of us on the highway. They’ve placed American flags above the rear windows, the stars and stripes flapping in the wind.
“You might be right, Michelle,” I say. “I think there was some kind of political convention in Denver this weekend. Some of the kids at the math competition were talking about it.”
“Was the President there, Emily?” Suzanne asks, her voice high.
My smile deepens. “I don’t think so. If he was though, I think he’d have a whole fleet of black cars to drive him, not just one.”
My mom speeds up to pass the black town car, and Suzanne faces the front again. “I like this drive, Emily. Will you have more math competitions over here?”
“Lord I hope not,” Mom says, sparing a glance in the rearview mirror to look at the twins. “This drive is painful enough once. And pointless. I don’t want to have to do it again.”
I wink at the girls to soften our mom’s tone, forcing another smile on my face. I don’t bother to add that we won’t have the chance to come back for any more competitions. Thanks to me.
But then, I’m only two weeks away from being able to legally drive myself. I could drive the girls to Denver, or anywhere else we want to go. Movies, grocery stores, math competitions. Our lives will certainly be a lot easier once I’m sixteen.
I turn back around as my mom steers us into the tunn
el, the glowing orange mountains looming as we pass under the entrance. There are only two lanes heading westbound, and my mom switches over to the left, quickly passing a mini-van.
The girls are silent as we drive through, taking in the low ceiling and glaring fluorescent lights. Our car edges slightly to the left, too close to the wall for my comfort, as we pass a large work truck. Thankfully, my mom switches back over to the right hand lane, where there’s a railed sidewalk and a little more space for wandering cars.
Still, I keep a close eye on our right side, nervous about the proximity of the railing. My mom has had her fair share of “fender-benders,” and this tunnel is not a good place for one.
We drive past a couple
of guys in gray coveralls bending down on the sidewalk, then my mom changes lanes again to pass a few slower moving cars. She shifts back to swerve around a large green Expedition, TV screens glowing bright in the backseat. My hands smooth down my braid, the long blond locks already neatly in place.
“Stop fidgeting, Emily,” Mom says, and I tuck my hands in my lap. She shoots a glare at me and the car veers slightly over the painted white line. I keep my eyes on the left hand wall, watching our progress. We’re not even halfway through the tunnel.
A low, steady rumble has me looking around again. My mom heaves a sigh as I turn, but she holds back from reprimanding me. Her eyes dart around the tunnel as well, searching for the source. It sounds like a distant train, but the noise grows louder and louder, the ground shaking underneath our speeding car.
“What the –“
The whole tunnel begins shaking, our car vibrating wildly on the pavement. Bits of concrete and rock dislodge from the tunnel walls, pelting our car and the road around us. The noise rises to a deafening pitch, the car shaking and jumping as we drive over fallen rocks.
“Stop the car!” I scream as the ceiling up
ahead collapses. Something tumbles onto the passenger side of the car, ripping the side mirror from my door. One of the twins lets out a shriek and my mom slams on the brakes, sending the car into a tailspin, tires screeching and sliding on the pavement. The seatbelt pulls tight against my chest, holding me as I’m slung to the left by the wild momentum. There are moans and screams and sounds of breaking glass – then the sickening crunch of metal as we come to an abrupt stop.
My airbag explodes, sending a rush of air and plastic toward me. My mom’s does as well. And those are the only sounds.
For a moment no one moves. We’re stunned into silence. One last falling rock taps our windshield, exploding a deep crack across its surface. The glass crackles a little more, then falls silent as well.
I fight down my air bag to turn and look back at the twins. Their seatbelts are locked in place, their brown eyes wide and faces pale. But they’re okay.
“Mom?” I say, glancing over at her. Her eyes, too, are wide, her breathing heavy in the sudden silence.
“Mom, are you okay?” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. Another rock tumbles down and thuds on the roof, making me jump.
I glance past my mom, through her window, but the view is blocked by dust and tumbled boulders. My eyes shift to the cracks in the windshield, out my window, then around the back. I can see nothing but dust.
The mountain...it...it caved in around us.
My chest tightens. My mind spins with a flood of thoughts. I can’t accept what just happened, what I’m seeing. Can’t process the rocks, the dust, the tunnel. The cave-in. Then my mind settles on just one thought.
We’re trapped.
“Oh my God,” Mom says, her voice hollow. She’s reached the same conclusion. “We’re trapped!” Her voice cracks on the screech. She starts fighting down the air bag in front of her, beating at the white plastic. “Oh my God we’re trapped! We’re trapped in the middle of a mountain!”
Her hands struggle against her seatbelt, fumbling to unbuckle it. She tries to open the door, but it can only move an inch at most. She slams it repeatedly into the rocks around us, sending pebbles tumbling onto the roof of the car. The twins start crying, their sobs an attempt to drown out the frantic banging. Our mom is cussing, crying, and hitting the steering wheel, adding its honk to the cacophony of noise.
“Stop it, Mom!” I shout. “Stop it!” I try to grab her fists, to stop her from breaking something.
“We’ll never get out alive! We’re trapped here! Oh God!” Her voice ends on a scream, and the twins join in. The high pitch is deafening – I can’t think. I finally latch onto my mom’s wrists, taking them in a firm grip. After a few more struggles, she calms down enough to collapse into a sob.
“Just take some deep breaths,” I tell her, and then turn to the twins. “You too, girls. Stop crying. We’re going to figure this out.”
I brush a few strands of blond hair out of my eyes, tucking them back into my braid as I try to take stock of the situation. The tunnel has caved in, that much is clear. My mom’s side of the car, turned horizontal to the roadway from when she’d slammed on the brakes, is completely b
locked in by a wall of gray and brown rock. I look back out of my side of the car, where the grayish dust is settling among the tumbled rocks and concrete. The lights in this section of the tunnel somehow didn’t go out, and the ventilation system seems to be clearing the air.
“Small blessings,” I mumble, trying to make out the scene on the roadway behind us. I can see a couple of other cars – the Expedition slammed into the wall behind us, a blue sedan that had skid to a halt beside it, another car that had rammed into the sedan.
And people, other people. Alive.
I unbuckle quickly, and then turn to look at the girls again. “Are you guys hurt? Did you bang your heads or anything?”
They shake their heads in unison, tears streaming. Michelle’s hat had tumbled to the floor, and I pick it up quickly for her, placing the over-sized cap on her head. I give Suzanne’s knee a gentle squeeze before I turn back around.
The air is murky with dust and small pieces of debris, but it’s settling quickly. I can see further down the tunnel, all the way toward the nearest bend. With the lights and ventilation system working, I think, there’s a good chance that the eastern entrance to the tunnel hasn’t caved in.
Yet.
Opening my door, I step out gingerly, and then turn back to my mom in the car. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
She nods silently, too scared to argue, I guess. I gently close the door, hoping the frame of the car will keep them safe should any more of the tunnel collapse.
I try not to think about what would happen to me.
My shoes crunch on broken metal and concrete, and I wave a cloud of dust away from my face. The air is clearing quickly, but I cough a little from the heavy weight of dust in my lungs. I can see movement in the Expedition slammed up against the left hand wall of the tunnel as the driver climbs across to the passenger seat. The door is thrust open and a tall, plump woman steps out, coughing vehemently.
“What the hell happened?” she barks at me as she gasps for breath.
I shrug, thinking it obvious enough, and then the person from the sedan steps out as well.
“A-are we going to b-be alright?” A small, nervous-looking woman asks. She has wire- framed glasses perched high on her nose,
and one of the lenses is cracked down the middle. She looks to be no older than her mid-twenties.
“I...I think that’s it for now,” I say, more hoping than knowing. There is another car jammed up against the rear of the sedan, the two men inside listening to our conversation through the
shattered frame of their windshield. “I’m going to check and see if the eastern entrance is still up, but my family is waiting in the car for now.” I look over my shoulder at our silver sedan, the driver’s side flush against a wall of solid rock. I turn back to the smaller woman, saying gently, “I thought they should sit in the car, in case...in case it’s not over.”
She nods quickly, her hands nervously adjusting her hair as she edges back to her own car. I watch the tall woman do the same, though much less modestly.
“Well let me know what you find. No sense risking other peoples’ necks,” the tall woman says.
I nod at her, then turn, listening to the sound of their doors shutting – one a soft click, the other a hard slam.
I cringe, stepping forward, walking past their cars and the other with the two wide-eyed men inside. They nod to me, indicating their plan to stay inside their car as well. “No sense risking other peoples’ necks,” I mumble, although I wait until I’m well out of earshot.
The lights flicker overhead but don’t go out, and I can hear their low buzz of electricity. The ceiling is cracked in places and missing in others, and I give the holes a wide berth – smaller pebbles and larger rocks are still occasionally tumbling down to road-level. This part of the tunnel curves slightly, and I have to walk a bit before I get to the next car – or truck, I should say. It’s the size of a small moving truck, with a large box-shaped compartment in the back, the painted side advertising “
Pete’s Plumbing.” It’s pulled up close against the railing of the sidewalk, and I wonder dimly about the men I had seen in coveralls, hoping they’d made it through the cave-in even though they were unprotected. There are men in the front of the truck, talking quickly, and a few others moving around in the back compartment. I nod at them before averting my eyes. My footsteps crunch softly over concrete and pebbles as I round the bend and try to see through the dust ahead.
