The Final Shortcut

by G. Bernard Ray

  “You down there?”

  “Dad, help…I’m stuck …”

  “DON’T MOVE!” Without thinking he immediately started to climb down after Junior, holding on to roots and feeling with his feet for support. He had only gone eight feet when a loose rock gave way causing him to plummet straight down colliding into Junior. Forcing them both to the bottom thirty feet below. Banging against the side of the hole and ripping through more rotted support timbers slowed them down enough so they didn’t free fall. Marty came to rest on the floor of the mine, on his back. His right leg grotesquely turned under him, obviously broken. Junior had landed square on top of him, his face only inches from his father‘s. Neither was quick to move. Yet they both breathed heavily, gasping and coughing, Gagged by the storm of dirt and dust in the air. Marty’s head began throbbing, the pain was so intense he couldn’t help but cry out. “Aaauugh….”

  Junior managed to move off to the side, weakly attempting to aid his father.

  “DAD!…talk to me… DAD! He was near panic as he felt in the dark, scrutinizing every inch of Marty looking for injuries.

  “Auugh…my head…my head.” Marty gritted each word through clenched teeth. His pain was unimaginable. Junior worked his hand carefully under Marty’s neck and found blood flowing through his hair to the ground. Gently probing behind his right ear, he felt a tear in the scalp nearly three inches long. His skull exposed, a small crack oozing blood freely. Marty had stopped speaking, his body slumping in his son’s arms.

  “DAD! DAD! DAD!” Junior stared into the blackness, holding on to Marty, desperately wanting to do something. When he tried to get up, he discovered the extent of his own injuries, pain grinding from every moving part of his body. He immediately pulled off his shirt, tore off a sleeve and quickly wrapped it around Marty’s head. Every small motion causing them both great agony. He wasted no time ripping the rest of his shirt into strips and successfully stopped his dads’ bleeding. Neither of them had any water nor weapons other than a lighter and a small penknife used more for trimming fingernails than survival. His eyes were beginning to adjust to the murky dark conditions and he could begin to distinguish features around him.

  They were in a small tunnel, lying on a bed of dirt, rocks and dust, more upright timbers were looming out of the dark, holding up a roof of stone overhead. A spot of distant light from the sky above was not enough to see more than ten feet, but enough for him to see the death in his fathers’ face. “Dad, speak to me dad.”

  Marty grabbed Junior’s arm and gave him a meager squeeze, his voice calm belying the seriousness of his condition. “Still here…. Not going anyplace…my flashlight.” Junior gasped, suddenly remembering the penlight on Marty’s key ring, probing lightly till he retrieved it. “Water.” Marty coughed hoarsely, trying not to move, his head began to throb madly causing him to tense his entire body tight. Junior held the little light over his father, feeling lost and afraid. His rationale was leaving him. Confusion overtook his better senses, his vision began to blur and he felt as if he were watching a scene in a sixty’s film noir. “Water.” Marty croaked weakly, unaware that his words passed unheard. Junior expression never changed as he slowly rose to his feet, never gave any sign of pain or awareness. He stood motionless, staring at a focal point somewhere between the two of them, then without a word he turned to the left and moved off into the gloom. The penlight soon depleted. Juniors’ instincts drove him to ignore his agonizing body and search for anything to help. Slowly regaining some control of himself, he was able to find some loose coal and enough splinters of wood to make a small smoky fire. He kept hearing water dripping but as yet hadn’t found any, not wanting to wander very far from Marty. His key chain flashlight barely gave off enough light to see his feet. The tunnel they were in led to a junction area where a few sets of rails met and split into separate tunnels leading away. He had only ventured a few yards down each before he encountered more tunnels. One had an elevator shaft leading up and down, pitch dark both ways. The metal framework rusted through, it crumbled easily as he bent a piece back and forth.

  He rushed to his fathers’ side every ten minutes to insure he was still alive. Needing him to stay alive, unable to think of losing him. Marty was the center of his life, his constant companion, “You still there Daddy?” Juniors’ tears had formed two dirty streaks down his face, his voice full of dread at not getting an answer. Marty found the strength to respond each time, reassurance in his voice.

  “Still here…”

  A rusted out wheelbarrow provided a solid enough handle so he could make a torch by hanging the rubber tire on the end. The rubber was cracked and brittle but it still burned bright enough to help him explore. He used a piece of metal to scratch arrows into the walls as he plundered the rest of the mine. Carefully scrutinizing every inch for something of use. Many times he stopped and listened for the dripping sound, finding and losing the echoes as he trundled about. His instincts took over. His mind a jumble. At the end of one of the tunnels, nearly a hundred yards from Marty, was another vertical shaft much bigger than the first. Yawning widely it seemed big enough for a rail car to fit through. He could barely discern where the edges were. But the dripping water was so near he could feel moisture in the air. He felt around every rock hoping for a wet spot. Reaching as far into the dark chasm as he could, finding nothing but damp earth. There were some loose rocks on the ground so he kicked one into the hole, after a long pause there was a distant splash. Then, as if in a dream he saw a ridge around the edge of the shaft. Big enough for him to cross to the other side if he could manage to step up the two feet to the edge. Carefully extending his sore foot out and up he managed to get a purchase on the ledge. Painfully he stepped up and succeeded in attaching himself to the muddy wall. He only had around three inches of rock and dirt to hold him up. It crumbled some as he made his way across the rim of the pitch black abyss, nearly thirty feet wide. After a few heart-pounding seconds he finally collapsed to the floor on the other side. Rolling over in blessed relief, he flopped out his arms and splashed into a pool of cool, clear water. A steady supply of water flowed from an unseen source, splashing loudly in the ghostly silent chamber. The pool extended beyond the range of his dwindling torch and the bank sloped away from him at a gentle angle, making it possible for him to immerse the top half of his body. He drank deeply, rolled over on his back and lie there soaking in the liquid through his pores. Not sure how long it had been since he’d had a drink. The makeshift torch was beginning to fall apart causing him to rely on the key chain flashlight to find his way back. Junior wearily scouted around looking for anything to hold water but came up short, not so much as a tin can. He decided to use his cowboy boots as containers, anything that could help him get some water back to Marty.

  After filling his boots and skirting the deadly chasm again, he found his way back to the cavern where Marty waited. He poured the water as carefully as possible but it still spilled over his dads’ face and onto his chest. Gulping greedily he asked for more. Junior looked up through the air-shaft and saw stars shining in a moonless sky. It had been just after nine o’clock in the morning when they climbed the hill to the ridge. By the firelight he could just see his watch, twelve after one, that meant they had been there almost sixteen hours. Marty’s condition had worsened to the point where he couldn’t open his eyes without feeling pain from the brightness of the nearly nonexistent firelight. His body was numb and cold. Certain that death was calling him to the grave; he tried to talk as much as possible. Tried to take advantage of his last minutes on earth to teach his son anything he might have left out.

  “You have to get out of here somehow, don’t worry about me just save yourself.”

  “Don’t talk like that, we’re both gonna get out…you have to…” Junior voice began to get frantic again, his breath got shallow and quick. Marty put up his best bedside manner and reached for Junior’s hand.

  “If you find a way out, you can come back for me.”

&nbs
p; “NO! I’ll get you out!”

  “Listen to me, you can’t carry me….you’ll have to go alone. But before you leave let me talk to you. I want to tell you what to do now. There is...there is a lot you need to know...more that I need to tell you.” He could feel a certain euphoria creeping over him, a calm peace that made him feel warm and delightful. “Listen. I don’t have much time…”

  “NO! NO! YOU CAN”T.” Juniors’ face was a mask of terror.

  “Junior I can’t make it…I’m dying…I can feel it.” He choked a little on the words, feeling very weak.

  “No Daddy, just keep talking…you’ll be alright as long as you keep talking.”

  “Take care of your Mother, now you listen to me… and don’t let people take advantage of you….be good to…take care of your Mother…do like I tell you.” Marty began to ramble, his mind recalling the episodes of his life in fast-forward. He tried to impart to Junior the virtues of his past, to tell him all he needed to survive. But in his failing consciousness the memories were jumbled. Confusion between reality and fiction dictated what words were spoken. “Look both ways before crossing the street...Don’t forget to...always keep your head up.” Whatever gibberish flowed from him Junior was absorbing as gospel. His fragile emotions were wrenched asunder trying to deal with the death of his mentor. His psychological need for Marty was tremendous.

  “Keep talking Daddy…you’ll be alright…”

  Marty stirred and started speaking again, this time with amazing clarity, an unnatural stately tone to his voice as he related the random visions from his life. “Be kind to each other… don’t take any wooden nickels… never, ever, be mean to children…do your homework….protect the weak …and fight for truth, justice and the American …” He blinked out for a second, sighing heavily. Junior poured some water over his forehead, and then gave him a drink. Desperately trying to keep him speaking. “…be good…don’t waste any food …or kill any game that you don’t …that you don’t eat….keep yourself alive…don‘t go swimming too soon after you eat…just stay alive how ever you can…be prepared…make me proud of you…” Every syllable he muttered was being permanently etched into Junior’s mind. He had stopped crying, stopped patting his father’s hand, stopped looked into his dying eyes. His features were relaxed and stoic, staring blankly into the dark his father’s voice was the only noise he heard. “…you hear me?…don’t let people treat you bad…care of your Mother…” a long raspy breath sputtered in his throat and he found a lucid second, “Junior…I love you… don’t forget what I told you… it’ll help you if….” the final breath. The death rattle echoed in the now silent cavern. Marty slumped backward conforming to the ground like a wet rug. Complete quiet surrounded them both. Junior had not moved or shown any reaction to his father’s last moment. He sat motionless staring at the gloom, a dark haze formed across his face. He slowly moved to grab his boot that still held a little water, mechanically held it up to Marty’s lips and poured some into his fixed mouth.

  “I hear you Dad…just keep talking…you’ll be alright…” He sat there in the dark, the remnants of his coal fire fading out, his face never registering any change. And as the light of the coming dawn began to illuminate the air-shaft he spoke, “Sun’s coming up Daddy…see…” He poured the last of the water across Marty’s lifeless lips, “Just keep talking Daddy…I’m listening.”

  For the remainder of the morning Junior sat next to the corpse, listening closely to every word that only he could hear, Marty’s final monolog repeated again and again in his fractured mind. He only left him once to retrieve more water, which he served dutifully as the second day passed into night. Only gnawing hunger could divert his attention away from the task at hand.

  “I’m gonna scout around for something to eat, maybe there’s an unlucky snake or something down here. Are you OK for now?” Junior paused expecting an audible response. “OK, just call out if you need me.” Turning away, he took a couple steps and stopped, “Huh? Oh, I will, thanks.” Having received the message he turned and worked his way through the dark, looking and listening for any signs of life. Even though he was far away from Marty, he continued to talk and listen as if they were walking side by side. The penlight was just bright enough to see his hands, but nothing else. He walked and stumbled on the tracks, feeling the walls as he made a thorough search of the tunnels. Many dead-ended into small elevator shafts devoid of ladders or cables, but several wound their way down and down into the heart of the mountain. Often times he thought he heard something scurrying about but he never saw anything. Not sure if it was rats or more rotten wood crumbling. Tired and dirty he trudged on determined to find food and an escape route for them both. “Maybe there’s a way out down here Daddy.”

  Fatigue finally overtook him and he fell to knees, found the sidewall and leaned back to take a rest. He fell asleep almost immediately without turning off the flashlight. He slept for many hours, exhausted from two days of trauma in the mine. Then he suddenly woke up, shaken from his slumber by an unseen force, “DADDY!” Disoriented and afraid he worked the flashlight switch back and forth nearly in a frenzy, “DADDY!” Completely in the dark, isolated, terrified, “Daddy, come get me.” Junior cringed, curled into a ball and cried profusely for several minutes, then he suddenly stopped, stood up and brushed himself off. “Ok Dad, I hear you. Time to quit acting like a baby and be a man.” Boldly stepping forward he kept one hand on the left wall and worked slowly uphill, confident he would get back to Marty. “Just keep talking Dad, everything will be fine.”

  Twice during his plundering he broke down and sobbed loudly, each time the voice in his head quieted him and stiffened his resolve to get out. Endless passages intertwined into each other leading him nowhere, the fear of the unseen vertical shafts began wearing away his strength, he collapsed again, but only after exhausting the last of his energy. Finding peace in sleep he dreamed of hunting, reading and working leather with his father. Spending every waking hour clinging to his side. Then his dreams turned to nightmares, envisioning himself all alone in a bottomless pit surrounded by monster snakes. Creeping their way into every orifice of his face were tiny spiders with long fangs. He awoke screaming, flailing about brushing his body manically to remove any apparitions from his delusion. Half standing, half running, he stammered into an upright beam head first. This one was not as rotten and he felt a painful knot beginning to rise. But the pain brought him out of his panic and he sat down to gather his thoughts. Still shrouded in complete darkness, he couldn’t decide where to go. Not able to shake the feeling that he could wander around until he starved to death. His stomach growled, his head pounded, his throat parched, his lips were so dry they had begun to crack. If he could only find his way back to Daddy, he had some water. He would have found some food by now. Lapsing again into his catatonic state of mind, he began to work his way through the passages again, an indefatigable hunger taking over his thinking. His only thoughts were to eat or die. He couldn’t tell how long he had been lost, it seemed like an eternity.

  Nearing the point of collapse again he stopped and leaned against a beam, panting heavily. Desperate for a drink, his body protesting every movement. He stood still for what seemed like hours, finally opening his eyes and peering into the darkness. At first it didn’t register, and then the realization of a distant dim light pushed its way into his clouded mind. He could see the faint outline of the timbers lining the walls, so far that he couldn’t estimate the distance. Hunger and thirst was the only thing driving him now. His aching, throbbing muscles slowly responded, propelling him forward. His eyes couldn’t focus; everything looked as though he were looking through murky, moving water. His guts tied in a tangle and caused him to bend over in agony, one hand grasping his stomach. As he neared the light he stumbled against the wall again, weakened to the point of total collapse. His will to survive had taken over any rationale he had left. Turning the last corner toward the light brought him back where it all had started. The corpse of his f
ather now bloated and discolored from over three days of exposure. Junior fell to his hands and knees, still moving by instinct he crawled over to the corpse, he grabbed a boot from Marty’s hand but the water had leaked out into the ground. He felt dizzy, his mind empty except for the thought of food and water. He purposefully reached into his pocket and found the penknife, cut away the fabric from his father’s broken leg and sliced into the foul flesh. Slicing away a long strip of muscle he brought the meat to his lips, impervious to the rising odor. His father’s words rebounding in his mind. He quickly filled his belly; feeling vindicated of any wrong doings by his father’s directions. “Stay alive however you can…”

  Chapter 6

  “This is Clyde, what is it Rosa? Over.” Sheriff Clyde Stokes stood with one leg in the driver side door of his patrol car as he worked the radio.

  “Ellen’s called three times for you this morning. What do you want me to tell her?” The radio fell silent waiting for a response. He could feel her agitation even from this distance.

  “Well, I’ve been over this mountain four times and I still ain’t found nothing new. It beats all how somebody can just vanish like that, I mean just like that.” He snapped his fingers as he climbed in the car.” Over.”

  “Sheriff… WHAT do you want me to tell Ellen?” a brief pause and then, “Over!” click. Clyde yanked at the microphone.

  “Tell her I’ll stop by in a couple hours.” Click. “Over!” click. Then he sharply cut the radio off. Frustrated by the disappearance, as was everyone else. Frustrated at the lack of clues. Over ten different volunteers searched the hills, covering every road and trail with no results. He was convinced they had left the area. There was a growing suspicion that they might have been kidnapped or murdered by a disgruntled former drug connection. Gossip spread that Ellen did them in so she could keep all the money. Rumors circled the mountain but the only facts remained unchanged. Junior and Marty had vanished from the face of the earth.