Monroe burst into laughter. “Whoa! Reprimanded a second time!” In a loud voice he said, “Pia it is!”
Monroe’s voice echoed back at us.
“Thank you.”
We pushed on, our breath making frosty balloons in the cold, damp air.
The walls and ceiling of the wide, airy tunnel were sculpted smooth by the water that had once flowed there. When the tunnel narrowed and the ceiling lowered, we were forced to shuffle along single file in a stooped position, duck-walking over long slabs of broken rock.
“These slabs used to be part of the ceiling,” Monroe called back to us. “It’s a sign the old gal is dying.”
The tunnel soon came to a dead-end at a wall of rubble. An opening at its base was no larger than a beach ball.
“How the heck did anyone squeeze through something that small?” I asked.
We gathered around the small opening.
“I’m guessing this tunnel was once open all the way,” Monroe said. “The old lady is falling apart.”
“Now what?” Kiki asked.
Monroe looked at Pia with a devilish grin. “We push sweet pea—uh, that is, we push Pia through the hole.”
“No way!” Pia squawked.
Monroe gave a long, hearty laugh. “Just kidding, Pia!”
Monroe removed his two backpacks—he had one slung over each shoulder—got down on his knees, and shined the beam from his headlamp into the dark hole.
“Can you see anything?” I asked, looking over Monroe’s shoulder.
“Not much,” he said, pulling a coiled length of rope from his equipment pack. He unfurled the coil, and tied one end around his ankle. “I’m going in,” he announced.
I was puzzled. “What’s the rope for?”
“Pablo Perez!” Monroe bellowed. “Do I have to explain everything?”
“Yes,” I said. “You forget. We’re rookies at this.”
Monroe had not been wearing gloves, but now he put them on. “You do not have to remind me of that bothersome fact.”
The Caveman snorted, 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 us. “If I make it to the other side, I’ll pull everything through—backpacks first, kids second.”
Grunting and groaning, Monroe squirmed into the hole and was soon out of sight. Inch by inch, then foot by foot, the coil of rope snaked into the burrow behind him.
I don’t know why, but I had a nervous stomach. I caught myself chewing on my lower lip. I glanced at Pia. She was gnawing on the knuckle of her thumb. Kiki seemed more relaxed. She was sitting on her backpack and taking a slug of water.
Twenty feet or so of the rope had disappeared into the mysterious burrow before it stopped. I leaned down and shined my headlamp into the hole. The skin-tight tunnel was black, and I yelled into it. “Monroe! What’d you find?”
Silence.
“Monroe!”
Pia dropped to her knees at my right side and shined her headlamp into the hole. “Mr. Huff!”
More silence.
“Where is he?” Kiki asked, squatting at my left side.
In the next instant, a cold-blooded scream of pain sliced through the black hole, and the three of us sprang away from the opening as if we had been hit by lightning.
“Pablo …?” Pia said in a frightened whisper.
“W-W-What was that?” Kiki gasped, her face as pale as the beam from her headlamp.
“D-D-Don’t … know,” I stammered, a heaviness in my chest making it hard to breathe. I tried to collect myself, and cautiously crawled to the opening of the hole again, training my light down the tunnel. I cleared the fear from my throat, and in a loud voice I yelled, “Monroe!”
The echo came back to us.
Dead silence.
“Monroe!”
The hairs on the back of my neck were stiff.
“Monroe!”
Nothing.
Then, from the other end of the hole, there came a faint snicker. It grew into an outpouring of laughter.
“Monroe Huff!” I shouted. “That wasn’t even funny!”
Monroe called out to us through the narrow passage. “I have to do that at least once just to get it out of my system.”
“That idiot,” Kiki hissed.
“Send the backpacks through!” Monroe shouted between hiccups of laughter.
Kiki dropped to her knees and screamed into the burrow. “Don’t do that again, Monroe! You about gave us a heart attack!”
The Caveman promised that his jokes were over, and one by one I tied the backpacks to the nylon rope, and Monroe pulled them to the other side. I made certain to keep enough rope on my end of the tunnel so I could pull the rope back through for the next backpack.
After the last bundle had been transferred, Monroe yelled, “Send someone through!”
“I’ll go first,” I said. “I don’t want either of you over there alone with Monroe.”
“Why?” Pia asked.
“I just have a bad feeling.” For some reason I didn’t totally trust Monroe Huff.
“What kind of bad feeling?” Kiki asked.
“I’m not … not sure.”
There’s something about Monroe, but I can’t put my finger on it.
I put on my gloves, dropped to my stomach, and began wiggling my way through the tunnel, the rope in my hand.
I had never experienced claustrophobia, but after squirming several feet into the hole I sensed the walls pressing in on my shoulders, the ceiling pushing down on my back. I was soon wedged so tightly in the hole that I couldn’t draw a full breath, and a sudden wave of panic sloshed through my mind.
Relax.
I remembered Monroe’s comment from the night before. “Caves have tiny crawl spaces so tight that a man inflicted with the disease of claustrophobia finds himself screaming forgiveness for some long-ago sin.”
All I could move were my fingers and toes, and I could feel a scream growing inside me. I was certain it was just a matter of seconds before I recalled some long-ago sin.
“Pull!” I shouted to Monroe, tightening my gloves around the rope. I felt the tug of the rope and I squirmed forward a few inches.
I wondered how Monroe had made it through. He was much bigger than me—by at least 80 pounds—and he had crawled to the other side without the benefit of someone pulling him.
“Again!” I yelled, alarm coming through in my voice.
I jerked forward.
As I drew near Monroe’s headlamp, the wave of terror passed, and in a few seconds, Monroe pulling all the way, I crawled out the other side, a quiet sigh of relief passing over my lips.
“You okay, Pablo?”
“Yeah, fine,” I said, gulping air and climbing to my feet. “I just hope …” I cleared the lingering panic from my head. “I just hope that’s the last hole we have to crawl through.”
I surveyed my new surroundings. It was a small chamber connected to two passageways. They forked off at 45-degree angles. I couldn’t remember the map showing the fork.
But first things first, and I dropped to my knees next to Monroe and yelled down the crawl space. “Send Pia through!”
From the other end came Kiki’s voice. It was no more than a murmur, and I strained to hear my cousin’s words.
I poked my head into the tunnel. “What’d you say, Kiki?”
Her choked words spiraled feebly down the black hole. “I said we have … company.”
15
“Pablo, there’s a really big bear in here,” Pia said from the other end of the narrow tunnel, her words sounding frightened and distant.
Crouched beside me near the black hole, Monroe’s eyes flashed alarm. “The bear smells our food!”
Turning back to the tunnel, desperation in my voice, I shouted, “Pia! Kiki! Blow your whistles! Scare it away!”
“No!” Monroe cried, pushing me aside. “That’ll just make—”
&nb
sp; That’ll just make the bear mad, is what Monroe wanted to say, but his warning was muffled by the deafening shrill of whistles. The head-splitting screech echoed throughout the cave like a hundred smoke alarms. In the next moment the whistles quieted and a thunderous growl erupted from the hole like a cannon shot.
Kiki’s frantic voice spilled out of the hole, “Pia’s coming through! Pull!”
Monroe and I grabbed a section of rope and began pulling. Hand over hand we heaved the taut rope, the bear’s rumbling snarls booming through the cave. Pia’s faint squeals signaled her approach, and in a few seconds she was safely through the tunnel.
“You have to save Kiki,” Pia gasped, crawling out of the hole, her face looking somehow older than her nine years. “You just have to, Pablo!”
From the other end of the tunnel Kiki uttered such a bloodcurdling shriek that I thought it might be her last. I pictured the bear tearing her into edible bites.
Another thunderous growl, a softer snarl, and then silence.
My heart was banging so hard in my chest I thought it might blow up.
“Oh, Pablo …” Pia whispered, sitting on the cave floor beside the hole, her hands laced together in a prayer-like fist.
“Kiki!” I yelled.
More silence.
Then, from the other end of the tunnel, Kiki screamed. “Pull!”
Monroe and I again gripped a piece of rope and pulled. My fingers tightening around the rope, I felt a great tug on my arms. The rope tightened, but wouldn’t give.
“Harder!” Kiki screamed.
Seated on the floor, legs extended, my feet were planted on either side of the opening. I leaned back and pulled the rope with all my strength, the muscles in my arms and legs burning with pain. Monroe was on his knees behind me tugging with powerful grunts.
But there was no give in the rope.
“Again!” Kiki screamed. “I’m in the tunnel, but the bear has my foot!”
In my mind’s eye I could see Kiki being dragged in two directions. Hands pulling her one way, jaws pulling her another. The pain in my chest got worse.
“Again!” Kiki cried.
With a sudden jerk, the rope became slack, and Monroe and I tugged until the rope was again stretched tight.
“I’m free!” Kiki yelled.
I couldn’t ever remember anyone’s voice sounding so joyful.
I went to work, digging out my first-aid kit. I removed Kiki’s sock and applied ointment to the teeth marks in the sole and arch of her foot. Panic still held Kiki in its grasp, and she sat on the cold cave floor shivering with fright. Pia hovered over Kiki like a mother hen, consoling her with light pats on her shoulder.
“You’re okay now, primo,” Pia said in a warm, comforting tone.
I wondered if Kiki was in shock. I decided she wasn’t. Just scared. Very scared.
“Close call, Kiki Flores,” Monroe observed, standing over her and smiling a little. “Darn lucky.”
Her face as pale as death, Kiki acknowledged Monroe’s comment with a stiff nod, her body continuing to tremble uncontrollably. “Bears … they eat more … more than berries, don’t they … Monroe?” Kiki asked, her eyes watering.
It was more of a statement than a question.
“Yes, Kiki. They do.”
“I’m glad I didn’t know that,” she said in a whisper-soft voice. Kiki opened her mouth, lowered her head and let loose a gagging dry heave. For a moment I thought the dry heave might develop into something a little wetter. But it didn’t. Two more noisy dry heaves and it was over, and Kiki leaned back against the wall, drew her knees up to her chest, and closed her eyes.
The clitter-clatter of Kiki’s headlamp being slapped around by the angry bear resounded through the hole. Every minute or so, the bear would poke its head into the tunnel and bellow in frustration—it was way too big to fit into the hole—and after a few minutes it became quiet. Monroe squirmed back through the hole to the other side.
With me towing all the way, Monroe emerged from the tunnel a few minutes later with Kiki’s hiking boot and headlamp. It was hard to say which had suffered more—both were badly mangled.
Kiki said the boot was okay to wear, and after Monroe replaced the bulb in the lamp and straightened the bracket that held the bulb in place, it worked fine.
Kiki slipped on her headlamp and looked at me. In a quiet voice, she said, “I just have one thing to say.” She blew out a big breath. “Whew!” Kiki’s eyes confirmed her fear.
“Ditto,” I said, the pain in my chest fading.
I unfolded the treasure map on the cave floor in the white glare of my headlamp. Everyone gathered around it and studied the cave’s intricate network of tunnels and rocky lairs. The map did not show a fork in the corridor leading from the Hotel Lobby to the next site, the Boulevard of Chandeliers. And it didn’t show the burrow we had just crawled through—it showed one continuous line with two dead-end spurs, one to the right, the next to the left.
It was confusing, and each of us tried to explain it.
“A mapmaker’s error,” Monroe said. “Perhaps in his haste to chart the honeycomb of caves and tunnels, Jesse James or one of his gang members, had simply made a mistake.”
It was the first time Monroe had said Jesse James and the map in the same breath, and I was stoked by his idea that the two were connected.
Monroe went on to say that he had charted caves in the past, and had gone back a second time only to find his first map was wrong.
“Maybe one of the tunnels wasn’t around way back when they made the map,” Pia guessed.
“Not bad thinking,” Monroe said. “But that theory overlooks the fact that the formation of caves and tunnels takes thousands of years.”
“Oh, sure,” Pia said.
“Well, I think the mapmaker knew what he was doing,” Kiki said. “Did you ever think that it’s not a mistake, that he did this on purpose, to be sure no one found the treasure?”
“Why make a map at all, then?” I asked. “Why even mention the treasure?” Kiki seemed to think about that, but Monroe let out a dismissive harrumph.
I went on to say that I believed both tunnels led to the Boulevard of Chandeliers. “Why map two corridors leading to the same place?” I wondered aloud.
“We should separate into pairs and explore each tunnel,” Monroe suggested.
I didn’t like the idea of Monroe pairing up with either Pia or Kiki. But I didn’t like the idea of the girls going off on their own either. I guess the reluctance showed on my face.
“What’s the problem, Pablo?” Monroe asked.
“I, uh … it’s just …”
“You don’t trust me, do you, Pablo?” Monroe said.
It took all my willpower, but I said, “Sorry, Monroe, but, no … not completely.”
“That’s too bad,” Monroe said. “Your life is in my hands and you don’t trust me. Sad—very sad.” Monroe shook his head like a man who had just been told there was a death in the family.
“I trust you, Mr. Huff,” Pia said, “even if Pablo doesn’t.”
“Thank you, Pia,” Monroe sighed.
A heavy silence fell over us.
Finally, Monroe looked at me in the spotty darkness and said, “What is it about me that you do not trust? Perish the thought, but is it my looks? Do I appear to you like some abnormal creature from a carnival freak show?”
I quietly thought about Monroe’s question. I hadn’t stopped to think much about why I had a funny feeling about him, but maybe Monroe was right. Maybe I didn’t trust him because of the way he looked. That was pretty shallow. Not much different from that and not liking someone because they wore duct-taped sneakers.
“Nobody trusts a face like mine,” Monroe said. “It’s a burden I have carried all my life.”
Somewhere in the network of caves came the gentle dripping of water.
Kiki broke the chilly deadlock. “Monroe and I will take the tunnel to the left,” she said. “Pablo, you and Pia go to the right
. Let’s synchronize watches.” Kiki’s head bent forward, the shaft of light from her headlamp shone on her wristwatch. “I have 3:34.”
My eight-dollar Walmart watch was off a couple of minutes and I reset it.
The plan called for each pair to hike down their respective tunnel until 4:30 p.m.—or until one pair found the Boulevard of Chandeliers—returning no later than 5:30.
“That’s a good plan, Kiki,” Monroe said. “We’ll leave our backpacks here, but first let’s see if either of these tunnels is a dead-end.” He glanced at me. “Are you in agreement, Pablo?”
I said that I was.
Monroe stepped into the first tunnel and lit a match. It bent slightly. “There’s an exit down this one,” he said, dousing the match and stepping into the mouth of the other tunnel where he fired up a second match.
I could see the flame. It remained pointed toward the ceiling.
“Dead-end,” Monroe noted.
“What does that mean?” Pia asked.
“Actually, not much,” Monroe said. “There’s no guarantee that this so-called treasure is hidden in a chamber with an exit. Pablo’s toy map shows the treasure in the Cathedral. Maybe that place is a dead-end. Besides, my match experiments aren’t foolproof.”
We split up and entered the two tunnels.
“Pablo, why don’t you trust Mr. Huff?” Pia asked. “I think he’s nice.”
We were making our way down the gloomy tunnel, shoving the darkness aside.
“Yeah, he is nice.” I took a quick sip of chilly air. “I’m not sure why I don’t trust him.”
“You should trust him.”
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll try.”
I tilted my head and turned my headlamp toward the ceiling. It was decorated with a layer of coral-like formations. The wall to our right was dappled with tiny white stones that looked like hen’s eggs, the left wall with sheet-like scaffolding that reminded me of window curtains. It was almost like we were walking through a museum of natural history.
Continuing on, we entered a tunnel whose ceiling rose to a height of 40 feet. Water seeped through the ceiling to form clusters of stalactites.
“This must be the Boulevard of Chandeliers,” I said, my light bouncing from stalactite to stalactite. “The map’s right again.”
A Boy Called Duct Tape Page 10