The idea was that if I listened to Coop’s recording as I squirmed through the tunnel with a billion pounds of Manhattan on top of me, the sound of his voice might keep my mind off of where I was.
And the truth is that I want to hear your voice, and I hope that you still want to hear mine …
It might work.
If it didn’t, I might hyperventilate until I passed out, which happened on the first flight our family took after the Great Tunnel Disaster, wrecking our Christmas vacation.
I pushed the light button on my digital watch: 12:10 a.m.
“Merry Christmas,” I said.
“All I want for Christmas is Coop,” Kate said.
“Me too. Let’s go see if he’s under the tree.”
Kate gave me her sunglasses.
“I don’t think I’ll need these.”
“I have an extra pair. They’ll prevent things from getting into your eyes.”
Things, I thought. What kind of things?
I put them on and connected my earphones to the recorder.
“Once we’re inside you’ll have to push yourself with your legs and pull yourself with your hands. But be careful what you grab. I’ll go slow.”
“Go fast,” I said. “I don’t want to be in there any longer than I have to.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I put the earbuds in my ears.
Pushed Rewind.
Got on my back.
as Kate’s feet disappeared into the hole …
I didn’t take it to heart, as May doesn’t know anyone who has ventured into the Deep …
It was damp.
My shoulders touched both sides of the tunnel.
My forehead scraped the top if I raised it too high.
Things caught in my hair and dropped on my face.
I tried to block out everything but Coop’s voice.
… I have enough food for several weeks if I’m conservative. Mostly canned tuna. Water isn’t a problem. There is water everywhere below, and I have a filter. I guess my biggest worry is not being able to find my way back. It’s easy to get disoriented down here. I have white chalk to mark where I’ve been, which should help. I have three flashlights, a handheld and two headlamps, plenty of batteries.
My eyes have adjusted to the dark over the years, but to acclimate them even further, I’ve been wearing shades on top the past several months, even at night. I’m not sure if this has helped. What I’ve found is that sight is not nearly as important as touch, feel, smell, and hearing in the dark.
Community members all use flashlights and headlamps, but Taps told me that the People of the Deep, or the “Pod” as they’re known, don’t use artificial light at all …
Yes they do, I thought.
Coop probably knew this by now.
And a lot more about the Pod.
More than he wanted to know.
What I knew was that hearing his voice was working. Not 100 percent, but I was squirming forward, bumping into Kate’s boots, and I hadn’t gone catatonic.
Yet.
Taps drew me a rough map of the underground … at least the places he’d been, from what he could remember. He’s been beneath longer than anyone in the Community. Or the Pod, so he says. When he was young he would go on “walkabouts” with no destination in mind. “Like them aborigine dudes from down under.”
He was gone for more than a month one time and never backtracked or saw the same thing twice.
“Thought I might run into aborigines,” he said. “Crazy, I knows, but stranger things have happened. Beneath is not a place. It’s a country, where the sun don’t shine and the birds don’t sing. I calls it Echo Land, because all you hear is yourself and the past caving in on itself.”
At the end of the second week I ran into one of these cave-ins …
Note to Pat: Meatloaf, you’ll be happy to know that I bought a watch. Digital. Cheap. But it has a lot of buttons and whistles, or alarms. On top, time means everything. Beneath, it means nothing. When it mattered I didn’t have one. Now that it doesn’t matter I have one. Go figure. I actually bought it to determine where I am in the dark, or at least how far I’ve gone. I tested it above. It takes me about twenty minutes to walk a mile. Down here it probably takes a little longer because I have to climb over rubble and squeeze through openings. And of course it’s dark down here. With this digital tape recorder and watch I’ve turned into a real geek …
When I hit the cave-in I thought my walkabout was over.
Half my tuna was gone, and I thought it might be time to head back to the Community. The bad news was that for the first time in my life I was sick of eating tuna. The good news was every time I gagged down a can the load in my pack got lighter.
I followed the impassable concrete, bricks, wood, dirt wall for two days, climbing into every nook and cranny only to find them dead-ending after a few feet. I began to wonder if Taps had steered me in the wrong direction. He and May and Posty ganged up on me before I left, trying one more time to stop me from leaving. They said that a walkabout wasn’t safe anymore because of the Pod. Posty even offered to give me money to go back home, or if I didn’t want to do that, he said he could get me a job at the library. Apparently he knows someone who works there. I turned him down. What they don’t understand is that I have to do this. I’ve been heading this direction all my life.
I’m not looking for the Pod specifically, but if I bump into one of them, I’m going to make contact. When I was with the Community I abided by their rules. “Under no circumstances are you to initiate contact with members of the Pod.” This was a little frustrating for me when I saw a Pod member lurking in the shadows as I made food and supply drops with Posty and Taps.
I’m on my own now. The rules don’t apply.
But I haven’t seen a sign of the Pod.
Coming and going as they do you’d think it would be easy to find them, but they cover their tracks well, just like the Community … better than the Community.
I decided to spend one more day, or night — there really is no day down here — looking for an opening, and that’s when I discovered the fake chunk of concrete. It looked just like the other chunks, but it was made out of fiberglass and there was a handle on it.
I almost wept when I found it. I’m serious.
A wave of relief and exhaustion overcame me.
I slumped to the ground.
This is it.
As soon as I recover.
I’m going through.
The tunnel, or entryway, is about a hundred feet long, man-made, well used …
On the opposite end are a set of rickety wooden steps …
At the bottom is a river …
Not a stream …
An actual river with flowing water.
Maybe forty or fifty feet across.
I can’t see the other side with my flashlight.
There’s a dock with a large storage cabinet. Inside are old clothes … coveralls, coats, hats … ratty-looking with holes and a sour smell … and wigs and fake beards. Apparently the People of the Deep, or whoever the clothes and fake hair belongs to, disguise themselves …
Why?
There’s a boat tied to the dock.
I’d like to report that the boat has been hollowed out with primitive tools by an ancient civilization, but …
It’s made out of fiberglass …
There are cushions on the seats.
Mounted on the front is a searchlight.
On the back is a battery-operated motor.
Lying on the bottom is a fishing pole and a tackle box.
Underground fish?
Folded neatly on the benches are fresh clothes … clean clothes. The Pod must change into the dirty clothes when they go up top.
I’m looking at the map …
There’s nothing about an underground river.
If Taps knew about the river, it would be on his map. He either didn’t make it this far on his walkabout, lied
about what he found, or I’ve gotten turned around and I’m lost.
Do I take the boat? If I take it, do I go down- or upriver? Do I strand the person who brought the boat? Or do I wait here for the person to show up? Stealing their boat is probably not the best introduction to the Pod.
I’ll wait. I’ll go fishing …
I caught a fish, but it cost me. I used the lure already tied to the line, threw it into the middle of the river, and immediately felt a sharp tug. I jerked the pole up and the line started playing out. I cranked the reel as fast as I could and landed the flopping two-pound fish on the dock. I’m not sure what kind of fish it was.
Silver …
Angry …
I didn’t expect to catch a fish and had no way to cook it on the wooden dock. I let it go, which turned out to be more difficult than catching it. I got stabbed several times by its spiny fins and managed to imbed the treble hook in my palm. So much for my first fishing experience. But at least there’s protein down here if I need it.
I’m thinking again about borrowing the boat, but I don’t because there’s an unspoken law Beneath: Don’t mess with people’s things.
Still, I’m going to break this law … a little.
I borrow — take — some fishing line and a couple of small, rusty lures. If food becomes a problem, I can eat a fish, and I hope it tastes different than tuna.
I’ll wait. If the boat owner doesn’t show up, I’ll go above and get my own boat. An inflatable.
Maybe even a fishing pole.
No wonder the Pod haven’t been found … No one else has boats Beneath …
I just slept for six hours. I’m rested.
My head is a little clearer. Hungry. My hand hurts where the fish spines and hook jabbed me. The boat is still tied to the dock. I hate to backtrack and go up top to find a boat, of all things … That could take me weeks, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t steal their boat, and I can’t sit on the dock indefinitely. Even if someone shows up, there’s a good chance they won’t take me with them, and it might not be a good idea to let them know that I’ve discovered their entrance …
“It gets a little tight up here,” Kate said.
I paused the recorder.
If it got any tighter, I would have to tear my shoulders off to get through.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lied, and something fell into my mouth. I gagged it out, trying very hard not to think about what it was.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Let’s keep moving.”
I switched the recorder back on.
Coop was out of breath …
I was on my way back up the stairs and caught something out of the corner of my eye …
A ledge. Carved into the rock on the right-hand side. Twenty feet above the river.
It was a stretch to get to it, and narrow.
I clung to the damp wall. Inched my way along in the pitch-dark.
My headlamp didn’t do me any good with my face smashed against the rough wall.
The only thing that kept me going was knowing that if I fell, I would land in the river.
I might survive.
After a while the ledge got wider.
I found a steel cable bolted into the rock that allowed me to move faster. The cable led me to a three-foot-wide path with a sturdy rail along the riverside. And this is where I’m standing right now.
The river is far below.
I can hear it, but I can’t see it.
The path is an incredible feat of engineering.
If it’s the work of the Pod, it had to take them years to complete, hanging on the wall with chisels and picks, or maybe jackhammers.
Who knows what they have or how advanced they —
There’s a light coming upriver.
The boat.
I just switched off my headlamp, and I’m watching the boat’s searchlight swing back and forth across the water.
I can’t see how many people are aboard, and they can’t see me. I guess I’m heading in the right direction …
I don’t know where I’m going.
But I’ve been headed there all my life.
We were in another tight spot.
An earbud got scraped out of my ear, and I wondered how I was going to get it back in.
“Halfway,” Kate said.
She sounded a half mile away, but I knew she was right there because I was touching the bottom of her slimy boot with my hand.
At least I hoped it was her boot.
“Are you still doing okay?” Kate asked.
I felt like I was clawing my way out of my own grave.
“Fine,” I answered.
Another lie.
“You’re going to make it,” Kate said. “Going back would take as long as going forward.”
Her boot pulled away.
I still hoped it was her boot.
I skinned my elbow getting the earbud back into my ear, then squirmed along after her.
there are signs of life.
Litter.
Footprints in the dust. Dog poop.
At least I think it’s from dogs.
This must be an alternative route to the Deep. In the summer the river level must drop. Maybe there isn’t enough water for the boat. Or boats … I’m sure there’s more than one.
That means they have to haul supplies on their backs along this path. Unbelievable.
The searchlight disappears upriver quickly, and I’m back in the dark with my headlamp on. I’m happy I didn’t take the boat now. Must be a Pod boat.
I’ve been on the path for more than an hour and a half, making good time. Five miles, maybe more. My left hand is swollen and throbbing. I took a couple of aspirin a few minutes ago and I hope that helps.
The path is descending, and I see a dim light in the distance growing brighter as I draw nearer …
There are steps carved into the rock on this end — no attempt to hide the path like there was on the other end. The steps lead to another dock — larger than the first, with seven boats moored to it.
Three old-fashioned lampposts light the area with flickering gas flames. The river flows out of a giant cavern. On either side are two cave-like openings. Both are lit with gas lamps attached to the walls.
Right or left?
As I decide, I look at my left hand in the dim light.
My fingers are swollen. I can’t make a fist. My watchband is tight. I loosen the band.
I decide to take the left cave, but it’s not really a cave. It’s a tunnel carved out of solid rock. I can’t tell if it’s natural or man-made. If it’s the latter, it must have been made with a tunnel boring machine, or TBM, which I read about in the library before I got below. I’ve been walking for several hours and there’s still no end in sight. I’ve passed a dozen side tunnels, but I think it’s best to stick to the main tunnel and find out what’s here before I start any side trips. Unlike the river path, I haven’t seen any signs of humans or dogs. But there are bats, thousands of them clinging to the ceiling, depositing mounds of slippery guano along on the tunnel floor …
The chalk I was using is worthless on these damp walls, so I took the time to sketch a rough map of my track so far. I’ll add to it as I go along. The map’s far from perfect, but it should be good enough to get me out of here if and when I have to leave. About an hour after I finished the map I heard rushing water. The tunnel had taken a sharp right turn back toward the river. Two hundred feet later I reached a dead end. There’s a fifteen-foot gap across the river where the channel narrows. On the other side is an opening, but the only way to get there is along a single strand of steel cable …
I’m staring down at the frothing water, trying to figure out what to do. If I slip from the cable as I shimmy across, I’ll be smashed against the rocky walls. My only other choice is to backtrack to the dock and take the other tunnel, losing several hours. I’m not in a race. I’m on a walkabout. What difference does a few hours make?
/> Everything.
I hate backtracking.
Even up top I always took different routes no matter how far out of the way they were. What’s the point of going the same way twice?
I assume the cable is a shortcut to the other tunnel. It’s unlikely there are two underground rivers running parallel to each other. The problem is my hand. The aspirin haven’t helped. My legs are strong from tapping, but I’ll need both hands to get across the cable. It’s insane, but I’m going to give it a try …
I went through my backpack and found the fishing line I stole, a carabiner, and some rope.
I attached the carabiner to the cable and rigged a safety rope around my waist in case I slipped. I hooked the shoulder straps from my pack over the cable and tied the fishing line to it. No point in having thirty extra pounds weighing me down as I tried to pull myself across …
I’m glad I had the safety line. I slipped about three-quarters of the way across and dangled like a spider for about ten terrifying minutes. I guess I tied the rope a tiny bit too long — it was three inches from the end of my fingertips. I thought I was going to hang there with my head filling with blood until it burst. But I finally managed to snag the cable with my good hand, and after a Herculean effort, pulled myself up enough to hook my left arm over the cable.
I just landed on the other side and I’m out of breath … again. I don’t know if it’s because I’m nervous or because there isn’t much oxygen down here, but I haven’t experienced shortness of breath like this since I was hiking through the Canadian Rockies on my circuitous route to New York City.
There’s a cable car hanging on this side, big enough to hold a few people or a large load of supplies. A rope is coiled up inside the car with a hook tied to the end.
I guess they toss it across the river and use it to pull themselves over.
The tunnel on this side has several branches. I can’t tell which is the main branch. No gaslights on this side, so I’m back to using my headlamp.
I’m adding to my map. There’s one tunnel on the left and two tunnels on the right about twenty feet down from the one on the left … They split into a Y …