Latitude 38

by Ron Hutchison

  “No rest for the wicked!” Cutbirth called back.

  Henry coughed again, sucked in two big breaths, and resumed his shaky advance.

  A ten-foot section of the tunnel wall had partially collapsed and covered half of the tunnel floor. They jogged around the rubble.

  Cutbirth was setting a relentless pace, and when Diego’s lungs began to burn, he dropped his head and fought to find his second wind. Although Adriana had held her own, her pace had also begun to slow.

  “Hey, old man!” It was Yong. He had jogged up from behind to join Diego and Adriana. “Give me one of your packs! You’ll never make it with two!”

  “What makes you…you think that?” Diego was panting. He couldn’t remember the last time he had run. Maybe in college.

  “Swallow your pride,” Yong said. “Adriana will not think any less of you.”

  “He’s right, Diego,” Adriana puffed, looking over at him. “I won’t.”

  “I still think…you knew about the Z patches, Yong,” Diego said.

  “Just give me a pack and deep-six your conspiracy theories.”

  Without breaking stride, Diego slipped one of the backpacks off his shoulder and handed it to Yong. The two men made eye contact. “Thanks,” Diego said. They strode down the tunnel, three abreast.

  When Henry went down with a shout of pain moments later, Diego gave a yell. “Cutbirth, wait!” Diego turned and shone his light on Henry. He was on all fours back down the tunnel a ways.

  “What now?” Cutbirth said.

  “Henry’s down,” Diego said.

  Cutbirth hurried past everyone and back to where Henry was on his hands and knees. “Get up, Henry,” Cutbirth ordered. “On your feet.”

  “I twisted my...my ankle,” Henry said with a grimace. “I stepped on a…a rock and twisted my ankle.” He crawled over to the wall and sat with his backpack against it. He bent his right leg at the knee and placed his hands around his boot. “It may be broken,” he gasped.

  “If it was broken you’d be crying like a newborn,” Cutbirth said. “Now get up. I’m not asking. I’m telling.”

  “Good God, man. I can’t just —”

  “You can or I’ll leave you. Your choice.”

  Diego knew Cutbirth wasn’t bluffing.

  Henry milked his goatee, gritted his teeth, and rose gingerly. He used the wall for support. Favoring his right leg, he took a step. “My ankle…burns,” he groaned.

  Cutbirth turned and faced everyone. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is Exhibit A of my Buffalo Theory. The herd will move only as fast as its slowest member, which would be Henry.”

  “Why have you singled me out as the slowest member?” Henry asked. “Mrs. Sanchez was the slowest member earlier. You didn’t say a thing to her.”

  “Adriana is a pretty buffalo, Henry. You’re not.”

  Henry took another gingerly step. “There is no justice,” he muttered.

  “Walk it off,” Cutbirth ordered.

  “The bounty hunters.” It was Sissy. She had delivered the three words with such spine-chilling tranquility that Diego immediately turned his headlamp back down the tunnel. It was deserted.

  “What, Sissy?” Diego asked.

  “What about the bounty hunters. If Henry slows us down….”

  Cutbirth said, “It’s not all bad news, Hummingbird. One, I think we have about a 20-minute head start on Uno and Mr. Mustache. Two, I don’t think they will set a very fast pace. They do not know this cave, and those shotgun blasts we heard tell me they suspect an ambush. They won’t be in any hurry. They will proceed cautiously.”

  “I have little faith in your theories,” Yong said.

  “There’s a third reason, Cutbirth,” Diego said. “The bounty hunters have no idea which forks we’ve taken.” They had hiked through three Y formations, two rights and a left.

  “I wish that were true, Ad Man,” Cubirth said. “Point you headlamp at the floor.”

  Diego lowered his headlamp. The moist cave floor was stained with smudgy footprints.

  “We’ll be easier to track in this cave than we were in the forest,” Cutbirth said.

  Diego fell silent.

  “I won’t slow you down,” Henry said, taking another step and wincing. “If I had a tree limb or something to lean on it might be easier.”

  “Do you see any tree limbs, Henry?” Cutbirth asked.

  “You can lean on me, Mr. Bilderberg.” It was Emily.

  “Emily, I’m not so sure….” Henry sounded embarrassed by Emily’s offer.

  “I’m not one bit tired, and my legs feel strong,” Emily said.

  Henry hesitated, and then said, “Sure, okay, let’s give it a try.”

  Emily pulled away from Sissy and walked back to where Henry stood. Diego thought Sissy would protest, and for an instant it looked like she might—she reached out for Emily—but she didn’t. Sissy indulged her daughter’s display of kindness.

  Henry placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder and together they took a few steps forward.

  “You can lean on me more if you need to,” Emily said.

  Limping with each small step, Henry said, “Yes, this will work fine.”

  Cutbirth turned and headed off down the dark passageway. “You and the kid keep up, Henry.”

  There was now something different about the voices of pessimism inside Diego’s head. They had transitioned into screaming shouts of fear.

  21

  The tunnel was wide and tall, and the group didn’t stop for the next 15 minutes, their headlamps pushing back the darkness. They had maintained a steady pace. With Emily’s help, Henry was able to keep up, and Adriana had recovered from her earlier bout with heatstroke. The cool temperature had helped immensely.

  When the tunnel made a sharp turn to the left, Cutbirth stopped and quickly removed a canister of matches from his pocket. “We know Mother Cave has an entrance,” he said. “Let’s see if she still has an exit.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Diego said. “I thought you said there was an exit.”

  “Yes, you clearly stated there was an exit, Mr. Cutbirth,” Adriana said.

  “Do we have time for this?” Sissy said, snatching a quick glimpse over her shoulder.

  “We’ll make time,” Cutbirth said. “If the exit has been closed by immigration officials on the other side, we might have to go to Plan B.”

  “Plan B,” Henry muttered, leaning on Emily’s shoulder.

  Cutbirth opened a small metal canister and withdrew a wooden match. He struck it against the abrasive underside of the small container. Everyone gathered around him and watched intensely as the match burst into a healthy flame. For a moment the tiny yellow finger of fire rose straight up toward the ceiling, but then a subtle, unseen and unfelt current of air bent the flame slightly, and it flagged in the microscopic breeze.

  “Aha!” Cutbirth crowed. “She still has an exit!”

  Following the dancing glow of headlamps, they pushed on, their breath forming misty clouds in the cold, damp air. The tunnel soon narrowed and the ceiling lowered, and they were forced to shuffle along single-file in a stooped position, duck-walking over long sections of broken rock. Henry had to stoop, but Emily was able to walk upright.

  “These slabs of rock used to be part of the ceiling,” Cutbirth called back to them. “Those earth tremors have caused pieces of the ceiling to pull loose.”

  The tunnel led them to a wall of rubble, an opening at its base no larger than a beach ball.

  “Have we run out of tunnel?” Sissy asked. “Is it really a dead-end this time?”

  “No,” Cutbirth said, pointing his cone of light on the small opening.

  “We go through that?” Henry asked incredulously.

  “Right again,” Cutbirth said.

  Diego eyed the suffocating hole with a moan.

  “It’s…too small,” Yong said. “We’ll never…” He left the thought dangling.

  They gathered around the small opening as best they
could.

  Diego said, “How can anyone squeeze through something as small as that?” The thought of being wedged in the hole had sounded an alarm bell and his claustrophobic fears were ready to do battle.

  “I’ve done it, but we have to hurry,” Cutbirth said, sneaking a peek back down the tunnel.

  He slipped out of his backpack, dropped to his knees, and aimed the beam from his headlamp into the dark hole. “Hasn’t changed much,” he reported. “Some of the roof has shaken loose, but it’s still maneuverable.” He pulled away from the hole and talked from one knee. “Here are our choices, and we can vote on them just like we voted to keep Sissy and Emily,” Cutbirth said. “I’ll talk fast. One, I crawl through this hole to the other side with my rope, and then pull each of you through with your backpacks strapped to a leg. The tunnel is about 30 feet long. I can pull each person through in less than a minute. I estimate that will give us four or five minutes to spare. No more.”

  “What’s wrong with that plan?” Henry said. He was seated on his backpack and puffing on a cigarette like it might be his last.

  Emily and her mother had come together and were holding hands.

  “If the bounty hunters arrive before everyone’s through, well, it could get sticky,” Cutbirth said. “The law might read dead or alive, but they won’t want the task of hauling the dead bodies out.” Cutbirth snatched a glance at Emily, flashed an awkward smile, and said, “That is to say, the dearly departed.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cutbirth,” Sissy said.

  “What’s our other option?” Yong said.

  Diego was staring at the hole and fighting to draw a whole breath.

  “Our second option is this,” Cutbirth said. “One of you crawls through, and then pulls the rest of us to the other side while I hike back down the tunnel a ways and Madame Glock and I waylay the bounty hunters.” He removed his Glock pistol from his shoulder holster. “I can’t guarantee a successful outcome. I may get one of them, maybe both. Or they might get me.”

  “You’re the only one strong enough to pull each person to the other side,” Diego said. “I vote for option one.”

  Everyone agreed.

  “If you go to the other side first,” Henry said, “which of us will go last?”

  “I’ll go last,” Diego said.

  “Diego, no!” Adriana said. “We should draw straws or something.”

  “In all fairness, we should draw lots, but quickly,” Cutbirth said. “I’ll think of a number between one and a hundred. The person picking a number closest to my number will go last. I’ll whisper the word to Adriana so everyone will know there is no hanky-panky. Diego, Yong, and Henry will pick a number. The women are exempt.”

  Henry started to say something, but thought better of it.

  Adriana was seated on the cave floor near the opening. Cutbirth leaned down and whispered the number in her ear.

  “Okay, Diego,” Cutbirth said, “pick a number.”

  “50.”

  “Yong,” Cutbirth said.

  “33.”

  “Henry,” Cutbirth said.

  “What if there’s a tie?” Henry asked.

  “Pick a number, Henry,” Cutbirth said.

  Henry hesitated, and then said, “97. No, wait. 87.”

  “You’re sure, Henry?” Cutbirth said.

  “Yes, I’m sure…reasonably sure.”

  Cutbirth’s light swung over onto Diego. “The number was 52, Diego.”

  Adriana confirmed it with an uneasy nod, her eyes flickering.

  “That’s fine,” Diego said. “Let’s do it.” He directed his headlamp back down the long dark tunnel. It was still deserted.

  Cutbirth hurriedly removed his gloves and a coiled length of rope from his backpack. He unfurled the coil and tied one end around his ankle. He next secured one strap of his backpack around the other ankle. Pulling on his gloves, Cutbirth made a blowing sound through his nose, dropped to the tunnel floor on his belly, and began worming his way into the narrow opening. “If I get stuck, pull me out,” he called back to them.

  “If he gets stuck?” Sissy said.

  “I know Mr. Cutbirth will make it, Mom,” Emily said.

  “I know, baby,” Sissy said, chewing on another fingertip.

  Diego continued to gaze at the tiny, smothering hole, a cold fear gripping him in the chest. I can’t do this. I can’t. He fought the soupy compost that was working its way up from his stomach.

  Diego hadn’t had a full-blown claustrophobic attack since his MRI scan eight years earlier. He had somehow managed to wrench his back carrying a box of clothes down the back stairs of their apartment building earlier one Saturday morning. The box of clothes was destined for the Salvation Army. The injury had been so painful that Diego had been unable to climb back up the stairs. Adriana had heard his shouts, helped him into the car, and driven him straight to the UCSF Medical Center. He was taken to radiology, and gently slid into an MRI. There was scarcely room to breathe inside the MRI—Diego had pictured himself inside a coffin—and he had totally freaked out. In the end he was anesthetized and slipped back into the MRI. It turned out to be a simple muscle pull, and two weeks of bed rest had him up and around.

  Although it had been eight years, Diego was still haunted by the crippling experience.

  But now—there in the cave’s dark belly—he sensed his claustrophobic fear returning and he fought for each breath. The cave seemed devoid of any oxygen. It was a vacuum.

  Cutbirth finessed his entire body into the burrow and was soon out of sight. The coil of rope snaked into the hole behind him.

  Most of Arnold Cutbirth’s rope had disappeared into the narrow tube when the rope went slack. Fighting the chills of fear—I can’t crawl through that small, tight space. I can’t, Diego thought—he forced himself to lean down and shine his headlamp into the hole. It was tar-black, and he yelled into it. “Cutbirth! Are you through?” Only silence. “Cutbirth!” He could see the end of the tube-like formation. Just as Cutbirth had said, it was about 30 feet long.

  Yong dropped to his knees beside Diego and shined his headlamp into the hole.“Cutbirth!”

  “Where could he have gone?” Emily asked solemnly, looking at her mother. They were seated on the cave floor, knees under their chins, a few feet from the opening.

  “I don’t know, baby,” Sissy said, snatching a glimpse of the long, black tunnel behind them.

  Henry sat on the floor nearby, his back against the wall, his precious orange backpack wedged between his knees. He was chain-smoking and milking his goatee.

  Diego yelled into it. “Cutbirth! Are you—”

  “I’m here!” came Cutbirth’s brutish voice from the other end. “Just checking out the place. Send my moneybag through!”