Faye Kellerman - Decker 11 - Jupiter's Bones

by Jupiter's Bones

  Completely sealed off from life-giving air! As if she were buried alive. Hell, she was buried alive! Only a small entrance hole furnishing all three of them with natural oxygen. Their backup supply wouldn't last more than a half hour. If the ground should give way, Marge knew she'd be finished. She fought off waves of panic, hearing her own anxiety-riddled panting through the mask.

  Slow down, you're fine, she chided her brain. Breathe deeply... breathe regularly. In and out... in and out.

  Instant biofeedback. As she heard her breaths slow, she was able to retard her choppy gasping.

  Ahead was a unidirectional tube. Nowhere to go except forward. Struggling, she managed to stretch her gloved hands in front of her body and claw at the ground with her nails. Pulling herself along. Slithering on her belly like a snake.

  More like a lowly worm, she thought. Don't think about yourself. Think about the kids! Or that poor innocent woman shot by a maniac murderer simply to prove a point. Discarded like a broken toy. Or poor Pete and his ringing ears.

  Although truthfully, compared to being buried alive, ringing ears didn't sound so bad.

  Grit scratched her flesh; she could feel it through her clothing, rubbing against her quadriceps, her shins, her abdomen and chest. She tried to lift her face upward only to hit her hat on the ceiling. Clumps of dirt rained down as dust clogged her eyes.

  More panic.

  Breathe slowly... breathe deeply. In and out... in and out.

  The light on her hat was functional, thank God, but she couldn't see much. She waited for several moments, then felt a pull about her waist. A signal from Lauren - although there was no visual sign of Lauren.

  As Marge continued, the only thing visible to her eyes was the ground beneath her belly. The air was sodden and dirty, the smell metallic like an approaching electrical storm.

  At first, the tunnel was dead quiet... not even a hint of any ambient noise. But as Marge listened more closely, she could make out dripping sounds... a plop here... a plunk there. Groundwater. It had rained recently. How much was down here? Was she going to get caught in a pool and drown? No, if anyone would get caught it would be Lauren - No, no, no, don't even think about that. Keep going.

  Marge heard scratching, like mice skittering in an attic. But mice didn't live six feet below. Moles did. Maybe it was a mole. Do moles bite?

  Don't think about it.

  More likely, it was Lauren moving forward, her light body skimming across the soil.

  Another tug.

  Marge moved toward the direction of the pull. As she went on, she felt the channel constricting, the circular walls closing around her body.

  It wasn't her imagination. There was definitely less room to move.

  God, suppose she got stuck in the middle? Could they pull her free without the tunnel collapsing?

  Don't think about it!

  Counting slowly... one... two... three...

  Breathe normally, she commanded herself. One... two... three...

  Trudging deeper into the gully - tighter and darker. The soil had become saturated with groundwater, turning the pinched alley into round walls of slime and ooze and an occasional germ-infested puddle. Marge could feel the goop streak her clothing.

  No one in front, no one in back. Completely alone for all that she could see.

  If the terror and the claustrophobia ever became unbearable, they had a predetermined message of a half-dozen hard pulls on the rope, repeated twice. But Marge would be damned if she were the first to cry out.

  Just keep going.

  Her heartbeat reverberated inside her miner's hard hat. She knew she was gasping as her lungs took in sharp intakes of air.

  Keep going, her brain screamed. Stop thinking about your own terror. Instead, think about the abject fear of those kids!

  But as the cylinder narrowed, compressing her body even farther, she felt pins of panic stick her bones. She lifted her eyes upward, hoping to spy a glimmer of light from Lauren's hat. Ahead was only a dark hole of black sludge.

  Don't panic! Don't-

  All at once, she felt the rope tighten about her waist. The action was being passed to her from the front. Lauren was asking permission to once again move forward.

  Marge stopped... tried to catch her breath.

  Concentrate, Dunn! Hundreds of people are depending on you! Think of that poor girl shot through the head! That's what caused all the urgency!

  Bob on a killing spree.

  Another breath.

  Slower... slower.

  Remembering what had been discussed, Marge managed to squeeze her hand against her body and tug on the rope twice, passing on the communication to Elise.

  Waiting.

  Seconds later, the tug was answered.

  Elise giving the signal that she was about to enter the cold clay pipeline.

  More seconds passed.

  Elise giving Marge the signal to continue. Marge passed it to Lauren. A count to ten, then she crept forward on her stomach.

  It was now more like sliding because the tunnel was very wet. It reminded Marge of the old Slip-n-Slides... the hours she had spent in the hot summers of Fayetteville, sliding on a thin sheet of water-coated plastic. There had been an in-ground pool at the base, and she had used it occasionally. (The colonel had demanded that all the Dunns be proficient swimmers.) But no one in her solidly rooted working-class neighborhood had a pool in the backyard. Not like here in money-rich L.A. Even the shoddiest apartment house had a pool.

  So think of the tunnel as a slip-n-slide.

  Another quick breath.

  And you're not surrounded by darkness, you're just closing your eyes...

  Never realizing how claustrophobic she was. How in the world had Lauren pulled this off? Not only had she crawled through it and saved Lyra's life, Lauren had actually built the damn thing.

  And the newspeople keep ragging that there are no more heroes in this world.

  Think of Lauren's heroism, she demanded. Think of the slip-n-slide. Think of anything except how you're buried six feet beneath earthquake country with no way except a goddamn rope to communicate. And the rope wouldn't do you afuckin' bit of good if the whole tunnel was to collapse because the others would be fucking buried along with you.

  Again, she felt the dread of unbridled fear.

  A draw around her waist.

  Lauren was moving closer toward the destination.

  That was good, Dunn. Very good.

  Just remain cool, remain super cool. Think of the kids. The kids, the kids, the kids!

  A pull back toward Elise.

  Again the message was passed along telephone-style.

  Keep going, keep going!

  Her head felt light.

  No, Dunn, no! You're not going to faint. Slow your breathing down.

  A drag on the rope... Lauren telling her to stop.

  Marge passed the signal down.

  Then she stopped.

  Counting softly, but this time, she counted audibly. She wanted to hear something besides the dribbling of groundwater. She wanted to hear something besides Lauren's scratching. Most of all, she couldn't stand the horrible silence that engulfed her when Lauren wasn't scratching or the water wasn't dripping.

  One... two... three... four... five... six...

  Don't panic, don't panic!

  Thirteen... fourteen... fifteen...

  The message to keep going.

  Pass it on back, Dunn, pass it on back.

  Shimmying on her belly, she proceeded. Nothing in front, nothing

  in back.

  Nowhere to run.

  Nowhere to run.

  Wasn't that a song title?

  That's good, Dunn. Think of song titles.

  Just keep on truckin', girl, keep on truckin'.

  The seconds slowly converting to minutes - first to one minute... then two... then five... then ten... fifteen...

  Inching forward, her face and mask painted with ground muck as she wondered just how many
gnats, mosquitoes and pathogens was she inhaling or smearing into her pores.

  Keep on truckin'.

  Gettin' good at it now, girlie. You can do it.

  Another signal to stop.

  Pass it on down, Dunn. Pass it down.

  Counting slowly. One... two... three... four... five...

  Thirty seconds passed. Then a minute. Then two.

  Don't panic, don't panic!

  Three minutes crawled by, then four.

  Again the panic. Too much time was passing. She signaled to Lauren - tell me what's going down, girl?

  Her question remained unanswered.

  Marge's heart took off in flight. Oh God Almighty, please tell me what the hell is happening? Please just let her be okay!

  Again, Marge attempted to relay another message to Lauren via the rope.

  Again, her signal wasn't returned.

  Good God, was Lauren intercepted? Should she and Elise turn back?

  Wait it out, Dunn! A few more minutes. Wait it out!

  After ten minutes, Marge felt a pull from behind. Stone was now asking her what was going down. Damned if she knew. Another minute, then she'd give the turnaround signal. Ten seconds... twenty. What to do! What to do! Thirty... forty...

  At last, there was a draw about her waist, the sign coming from Lauren.

  A sweet, sweet sign!

  Lauren had given her a message via rope pulls and what a message! She had made it to the entrance to the Order.

  Stop until further notice.

  Marge passed it to Elise.

  Again minutes passed. But this time Marge felt better waiting. Because if one of them had made it, surely she and Elise would make it as well.

  Lauren was safe.

  Five minutes passed. Then Marge felt a drag on her rope. Lauren was telling her to press on.

  Pass it down to Elise.

  With renewed vigor, Marge inched forward. Her breathing had calmed, and clarity of thought filled her brain. She didn't realize it, but there were tears in her eyes.

  A slender hand reached down, grabbing the mud-caked glove. Peering upward through the narrow hole, Marge could see Lauren's dirt-encrusted face, her finger over her lips in warning. Digging her feet into the slimy wall of the tunnel, Marge tried to root herself. Though Marge must have outweighed Lauren by fifty pounds, the young girl pulled with reserved force, lifting Marge's head and shoulders above the murky canal. Unfortunately, Marge's lower body remained compressed inside the tunnel. Her gloves weren't much help. Slick with muck, they held little traction. Still, she pressed the greasy palms against the floor's flat surface and attempted to liberate her torso. But the gloves slid out from under. Lauren clutched around her shoulders before she sunk down.

  'Good catch,' Marge mouthed. 'One more time.'

  She repositioned herself, then slowly hefted her body. Feeling her biceps and triceps distend as she levitated from the cylindric tomb. When she was far out enough to bend her knees, she twisted her waist and swung her long legs outward. Expelled from the primordial ooze, Marge collapsed onto the floor. Her lungs now breathing real oxygen, she felt literally reborn.

  Lauren reached over and turned off her miner's cap light, whispering directly into her ear. 'Are you all right?'

  'Perfect,' Marge whispered back.

  The space was raven black. But Marge knew that they were in one of the Order's two classrooms - specifically the supply closet. As Elise Stone approached, her hat gave off a crescent of light. Marge's eyes adjusted, and she could discern several robes, hanging from the closet's pole, swaying like poltergeists. Slowly, she rose to her feet.

  Lauren spoke in hushed tones. "The nursery is next door. We shouldn't talk unless necessary. Never know where they planted bugs.'

  Marge agreed. In silence, they waited for Elise, scraping gunk from the friction treads of their shoes. The last thing they needed was to slip. Pulling out Elise was easier because there were two of them. As they waited for Agent Stone to catch her breath, Marge took out a penlight and honed in on the robes. They were white. She took one down and wrapped it over her dirty clothing. 'Better camouflage than what I have on.'

  Elise and Lauren followed her lead. Going through a final checklist, Marge reread her instruction sheet.

  'Change of plan, Lauren,' she said. 'They want us to go out first with the older kids.'

  'What? Why not the babies?'

  'Babies go last,' Elise stated. "They're more likely to cry and expose us. If we take them last, and they do attract attention and screw us up, at least the older kids will have made it out.'

  Lauren whispered, 'But the nursery is the closest to us. The kids' bedrooms are several doors down. We'll have to walk down a hallway to get to them. I'm sure someone will be guarding the corridor. Talk about exposing ourselves before we've rescued a soul.'

  'I'll take care of the guard,' Marge answered. 'You just convince the older kids to follow you. From what I saw of them and how well they were trained, that's not going to be easy.'

  Lauren sighed. 'I hope you know what you're doing.'

  Marge didn't know what she was doing. But neither did anyone else.

  'What about this thing?' Lauren pointed to her bulletproof vest under the white robe.

  'Keep it on.'

  Elise said, 'I'll keep watch. You'd better hop to it.'

  'Somebody gets in your face, you know the drill.'

  'I know. Shoot to kill,' Elise said.

  Marge checked her Beretta, making sure the magazine was shoved in all the way. When Lauren started to move, she held her back. 'I go first-'

  'But-'

  'I got the gun-'

  'But I got the vest,' Lauren protested. 'Besides, I know where I'm going.'

  'Good point,' Elise chimed in.

  Marge said, 'We'll go out together. But first let me check out the room. Besides the security camera focused on the teacher's desk, anything else that I should be aware of?'

  'Not that I know of.'

  Marge said a quick silent prayer, then turned the handle of the closet door. Carefully, she opened the door just enough to peek out. All she could see were blotches and shadows. She extended the door another hair's breath. Nothing. Abruptly, she pushed out the door all the way.

  No shots fired.

  Carefully, Marge tiptoed out of the closet, into the open. First, she located the security camera. It was mounted over the white board, aimed at the teacher's desk. Figuring for a certain amount of camera view spread she knew which surrounding areas to avoid.

  Another step forward.

  The lack of standard windows in the room was a good thing. True, she couldn't see out, but no one could see in, either. A hint of moonlight streaked in from the upper windows, silverplating the empty desks and chairs. She turned on the penlight and shone it around the room. Nothing unusual. She held out the palm of her hand, giving Lauren a wait sign, casing the room to ensure that they were alone. After a few moments, she turned off the penlight and beckoned Lauren forward. Together, they pressed on to the hallway, avoiding the security camera's tattletale eye. Marge nudged the door a crack, then peered out into a dark corridor.

  Nothing but stillness.

  Motioning Lauren forward, they crept into the umbra, taking baby paces toward the bedrooms.

  One step... two steps... three and four...

  Marge pushed her arm against Lauren's chest to stop her.

  'Footsteps!' she whispered.

  Pressing Lauren against the wall, Marge screened the young woman's body with her own. She could feel Lauren's rapid heartbeat, smell her sweat. Or maybe it was her own. Within seconds, a white-robed sentry appeared, staring into the grayness with vacant eyes - a malevolent ghost devoid of any comic book charm. As the head turned in their direction, Marge didn't give its eyes an opportunity to focus. She leaped out and slammed the butt of her gun into his solar plexis, then against his thick skull. Immediately, the guard went out. Marge caught him (the weight felt like a man) before he hit the ground
. To Lauren, she ordered, 'Check his pockets for a radio or walkie-talkie.'