The Tunnel

by Gayne C Young

  “But I can see you,” Taylor replied in his friendliest voice. “I’m with three other people and we’re wearing special glasses that allow us to see in the dark.”

  “Is my mom with you?”

  Taylor heard the fear and uncertainty in the girl’s voice. He gathered the girl had been separated from her mother somehow and was scared and alone. The sight of soldiers with guns and crazy goggles would only scare her even more so. He wanted to do anything he could to avoid that.

  “We’re gonna walk over to you, okay?” Taylor called.

  “What about my mother? What about Carlos?”

  Taylor continued to politely ignore the child and instead walked his team forward. When they were within 10 yards, Taylor brought them to a standstill and ordered them through his commentary with the girl.

  “What’s your name?

  “Dejah.”

  “Dejah. That’s a pretty name. Dejah, my friends and I are soldiers. We have guns…”

  “Are you the Border Patrol?”

  Hunter laughed at the idea.

  Taylor continued. “No, Dejah, we’re soldiers. Now we’re gonna turn on our flashlight so you can see us and we can better see you.”

  Dejah started shaking in fear and anticipation.

  She was scared.

  And scared of what was to come.

  Taylor turned on his flashlight and the others followed.

  Dejah looked at the faces of the men and one woman and watched them as they held their distance.

  They weren’t scary at all.

  45.

  The team assembled around Dejah and gave her food and water. They gave her a glow stick that shined neon green once it was snapped and shaken and she wore it around her neck on a necklace made of cord and tied into a loop by Taylor. Nickerson looked at Dejah’s ankle and the scrapes, cuts, and bruises that covered most of her body and declared, “She’ll live.”

  “Christ, you’re worse with kids then I am,” Drake scoffed.

  “What?!” Nickerson countered. “Told her she’ll live. That’s nice.”

  The team listened to Dejah as she answered questions of how she came to be where she was and of how she got even more lost when she went for water. Dejah explained that she spoke English as well as she did because her mother was a school teacher and had been teaching her English all her life in anticipation of them moving to the United States. Dejah said that the journey thus far had been long and difficult but that she never thought it would end up as it had. She detailed how the earth had given way underneath her and how she had fallen through it and how she’d heard screams from above after she had come to be in the cavern. She told about the blood and fingers that rained down on her and how it had scared her like nothing had ever scared her before. The team nodded in understanding and complimented her on her English and how well she spoke and how brave she had been.

  Hunter and Nickerson left the team in the glow of the flashlights to look for the hole that Dejah had entered the cavern through.

  “Hole can’t be that high above us,” Hunter mused. “If all she did was hurt her ankle on the way down, it couldn’t have been that much of a fall.”

  Taylor agreed and watched him and Nickerson leave then returned his attention back to Dejah.

  “So other than the hole you fell through, have you seen any other light?” Taylor asked. “Lanterns or flashlights? Matches? Sunlight maybe?”

  Dejah nodded in the affirmative. “I saw some light. I guess from holes above me. That’s how I found the water. There was light shining down on it.”

  “A lot of light?”

  Dejah shook her head. “No. Just a little. Smaller than your flashlight.”

  “The beam? You mean smaller than the beam it puts out?”

  “Yes, smaller than the flashlight beam.”

  Taylor nodded and smiled. He continued, “Before I called to you, had you heard from anyone else? Heard anyone talking or yelling way off in the distance maybe?”

  “No. The only thing I heard from way off was those dogs.”

  “Dogs?” Drake interrupted.

  “Yes. Dogs,” Dejah reiterated.

  “Did you see them?” Taylor began anew.

  “No. I only heard them.”

  “What did they sound like?” Taylor continued.

  “They were far away,” Dejah recounted. “But they sounded angry. Like they were mean dogs. They growled and had really loud barks.”

  “What did you do when you heard them?”

  “I got scared,” Dejah admitted. “So, I got real quiet. I didn’t want them to hear me.”

  For the first time since his daughter’s death, Taylor reached out and touched another person with fatherly compassion. His gently placing his hand on Dejah’s shoulder was a sign of care and understanding, of the need and the desire to offer protection and safety, and of parental feelings and guidance.

  “That kid is lucky to be alive,” Hunter exclaimed from a short distance away. “She must’ve dropped 18 to 20 feet.”

  “Can we get out that way?” Taylor asked, standing to meet his friend.

  “No. That crack she fell through is too small for any of us to get through. Kinda surprised she fit.”

  “Then we will just have to find another way out,” Taylor promised.

  Dejah looked up at Taylor and smiled.

  46.

  Jared and others in his research party sat in a circle around the remains of the previous night’s fire. The group drank beer or plastic cups of wine, joking and laughing as they enjoyed the cooler temperatures that evening brought and gazing in wonderment at the stars. The group discussed their day in the cave, their findings, and what it would mean to the area and to the university they were each associated with. Dr. Cooke offered praise to all those involved in the day’s dig and that they were working so well together. He also commented on speculation about what would be found in the sinkhole in the weeks to come.

  Jared interrupted the praise to belch loudly. Most in the group laughed while others feigned shock or disappointment.

  “Sorry,” Jared apologized. “Warm beer does that to me. Speaking of, is anyone making a supply run tomorrow ‘cause I’m in serious need of some ice.”

  “Why don’t you ask your monkeys to fetch you some?” Angie joked across the stone-cold fire pit.

  “Ha. Ha. Ha,” Jared both said and belched. “I said that it smelled like monkey shit down there. I didn’t say there were any monkeys down there.”

  “The idea that you even considered it, monkeys in a cave, let alone in Texas is crazy,” Angie continued goading.

  “No. It’s not,” Jared countered. “Monkeys in Texas is actually a thing and they do quite well.”

  The group stared across the twilight to Jared in disbelief.

  Jared saw this, exhaled a heavy sigh, and explained. “So, this married couple over in Dilley, near San Antonio, put 150 Japanese snow monkeys on their ranch back in the early nineties…”

  “Why?!” Aubrey scoffed.

  “Because they liked monkeys, I guess,” Jared speculated. “Anyway, monkeys being monkeys, they started going at it and soon there was over 600 of these nasty red-faced and skank-assed vermin running around the property.”

  “Skank-assed vermin,” Angie mocked. “And you’re a scientist?”

  “Oh yeah. Hell yeah I’m a scientist,” Jared exclaimed. He killed his beer, dropped the bottle, and edged forward in his camp chair. “So, there’s over 600 monkeys at this ranch and then the owners of the ranch get divorced and while they’re hashing it out in court, the ranch goes abandoned and the electric fence went down, and the monkeys went bye-bye. But the thing is that their numbers actually increased outside of the enclosure. They did that well in the south Texas scrublands.”

  “Then how come south Texas isn’t overrun with monkeys?” Angie asked.

  “Deer hunters mostly,” Jared replied.

  “Deer hunters what?” Angie followed.

  “Deer hunte
rs shot ‘em,” Jared explained.

  “That’s terrible,” Angie almost sobbed. “Why? Why would they do such a thing?”

  “I dunno. They’re out there in the wilds. Have a rifle. See a monkey. Bam!”

  Angie started to openly weep and Tom took her place in the question and answer session with Jared. “So, you think some of these monkeys went down in the hole. They defecated in it and that’s why it smells like monkey shit? Is that right?”

  “I never said that,” Jared clarified. “I just said it smelled like monkey shit down there. I don’t know if any of those Dilley, Texas monkeys made it down there or if another group of monkeys was down there or if any monkeys were ever down there at all. But it does smell like monkey shit down there.”

  47.

  Megan had heard enough about monkeys and monkey shit. She was hot and tired and felt the coming of a migraine, and sitting out under the stars was doing nothing to change that. She finished her plastic cup of wine and leaned over to tell Tom she was going to bed.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Tom sheepishly asked.

  “Are you tired?” Megan asked, missing Tom’s true intentions.

  “No, but I want to go to bed with you.”

  Megan rolled her eyes, mumbled, “Give it up,” and bid goodnight to all around the fireless fire pit.

  “You want me to at least walk you to the tent?”

  “Tom. Seriously. Give it up,” Megan growled in annoyance.

  Tom chuckled and Megan assured him she could make it to their tent just fine on her own. She left the circle and brought her flashlight to life. She walked down the narrow trail and past the other tents to the one she shared with Tom. She lay on top of her sleeping bag and closed her eyes, hoping that relief from all her ailments and problems would come quickly.

  48.

  Jared had walked away from the group in the opposite direction as Megan. He walked away without the aid of a flashlight, instead utilizing the stars and moon to illuminate the path before him. He rounded a small stand of mesquite trees then stood at its edge to urinate. He had just finished when he heard the faintest of sounds.

  Or was it the absence of sounds?

  Regardless, something caught his attention.

  Something out of the ordinary.

  He zipped his fly and strained to listen for some sign or indication of his sudden and unexpected sense of unease. He turned away from the stand of mesquite to face the small clearing before him. He scanned a tangle of brush circling the packed-earth opening then jumped at the sight of the creature hidden just within a spider web of cactus, thorn-covered vines, and skeletal limbs.

  The animal was small, not much larger than a house cat. It was bone white yet somehow well camouflaged among the shadows. It sat on rear legs and held itself sturdy among the vegetation with what were clearly hands.

  Jared moved gingerly toward the animal then fished a small penlight from his pocket. He shined the light toward the well-hidden animal then watched as it shielded its eyes with its hands. The creature hissed in response to the brightness of the light revealing a maw of canine teeth.

  “What are you?” Jared rhetorically asked aloud, still trying to get a full picture of the small animal.

  The creature hissed once more and was then echoed by a louder, deeper hiss.

  Jared turned slowly to his left to witness the source of the vocalization.

  The curiosity before him was enormous, standing over two feet at the shoulder and weighing perhaps 100 pounds. Despite the faint light, Jared could tell the grayish white beast was well-muscled.

  And aggravated.

  The creature tilted its head as if in study then released a guttural growl of fury.

  The beast eased forward.

  Jared stepped back.

  A mesquite branch poked him in the shoulder.

  He turned to see what it was.

  Turning his back to the animal was the last mistake he ever made.

  49.

  Dr. Cooke was waxing poetic way about the latest published findings on mastodons in Texas when his group heard the scream. Everyone jumped at the sudden shrill and sat in nervous fear at the unexplained until Tom broke the silence by yelling into the darkness, “Knock it off, Jared!”

  Some in the group laughed at the command while others held their chests as if the action would slow their heart rate or allow them to catch their breath. Those that had laughed fell into silence at the sound of brush rustling. All eyes converged in the direction of the disturbance and the group watched as the vegetation violently parted to reveal a haunting figure stumbling forward.

  What was left of Jared ambled into view. His eyes were gone, replaced with torn red flesh, his face a mosaic of deep cuts, flayed skin, and streaks of blood. The resemblance of their friend held his throat in tightly gripped hands in an attempt to quell the flow of blood pouring forth from some unseen cut or cuts.

  A female in the group screamed in terror at the sight. Some stood in shock or disbelief. Tom stepped forward then stopped in the realization that there was nothing he could do for the man standing before him at the precipice of death. Jared’s body collapsed forward and again a female in the group shrilled in terror at the scene unfolding where the human form once stood.

  More than a dozen primates, each the color of bleached bone and recently painted in splattered blood, stood at the edge of the brush. The smallest of the group came forward and on top of Jared’s fallen body. The creature tore a softball-sized chunk of flesh from Jared’s neck and begin feeding upon it. Dr. Cooke started to yell or to vocalize something in protest or in shock but was unable to before the remaining beasts sprung forward in attack.

  The fire ring exploded into a melee of rampage and violence, of predator and prey, survival and agonizing death. The cave dwellers pounced and thrashed, tore and ravaged in an all-out assault to disable then devour their quarry.

  Tom was of the few to not allow his previous life of relative ease to dictate his death. He sprung from his chair at the sight of the mob and kicked his attacker in the head as it lunged at him. The beast flew sideways and into a camp chair. Monkey and chair tumbled and rolled as if one then came to a stop in a twist of animal, aluminum, plastic, and fabric. Tom watched as the nylon seat of the chair shredded outward. He grabbed an empty beer bottle and smashed it over the dog-like snout that fought through the chair. He pulled back the remains of the bottle then thrust the now spear-tipped longneck into the creature’s neck and twisted. The still-imprisoned animal flailed and screamed then fell silent.

  Tom rose to his feet only be tackled from behind. He fell forward and into the chair and shards of broken glass. He ignored the pain of the fall and of the fragments of broken bottle embedded in his cheek and tried to right himself. The animal that had knocked him forward pounced onto his upper back and begin clawing its way through Tom’s neck, scalp, and the sides of his face. Tom pushed off the ground with all his strength. The animal clung to his back, driving his claws into his body deeper and deeper in search of purchase. Tom stood and reached behind him to try to dislodge his attacker.

  Tom caught the baboon’s right forearm in his grip. The baboon howled in surprise, arched back and away from Tom’s body, then plunged into his neck with canine teeth. Tom screamed and fought then fell silent at the sound of bone snapping. His body went numb at the breaking of his spine. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, his body now useless and beyond his control. He scanned the fire ring with stationary eyes looking for signs of help, listening in horror as the animal fed upon him.

  50.

  Megan was a heavy sleeper so waking up because of a noise was a new experience for her. At first, she thought she dreamed the screaming but now that she was alert and sitting up, she knew the cries were real. She thought the gathering she had left had gotten out of hand, that maybe folks had drank too much and we’re now acting foolish or perhaps fighting. This theory faded quickly as the screams became interspersed with the cries and snarls
of animals. She thought the vocalizations were from dogs but then believed they were from something else. The barks and howls were too deep for dogs, at least any of the kind of dogs she knew of.

  The human cries, however, were unmistakable.

  They were sounds of fear and anger and reminded her of a cheap horror movie. Megan’s mind raced through ideas of what to do in response to what she was hearing. Her first instinct was one that a child might have: to hide, to climb under the covers and hope and pray the scenario away. Maturity pushed this idea behind her and replaced it with the idea to attempt to help.

  Or to flee.

  She quickly put on a pair of jeans and unlaced boots and crawled out of the tent. She turned on her phone and shielded the light of the screen with cupped hands to see that she had no signal. She shoved the phone into her pocket and listened to her surroundings. The cacophony of sounds changed in tune.

  Gone were the harrowing screams of pain and death, replaced instead with the sounds of lapping and tearing. She edged down the trail toward the fire pit, keeping to the side of the trail, trying to let the brush partially shield her body from sight. She came to a stop behind a small clump of huisache trees and peered through their tangle of branches to the source of the noise some 10 yards beyond the vegetation. She saw fallen bodies being torn apart, reduced to meat and pools of blood and being fed upon by animals unlike any she’d seen before. She covered her mouth with clasped hands to stifle her scream and the feeling that she would be sick.

  The closest animal to her stood from the carrion it fed upon and barked in her direction. She didn’t know if the action was directed at her or if the creature saw her but she ran in response to it. She ran with full abandon down the trail, past her tent, and into the brush. Thorns from limbs and vines scratched at her skin and snagged and pulled at her shirt and jeans. She ran through cobwebs and over rocks and skirted cactus. She ran as fast as she could, never looking back, always looking forward. She ran until she felt her lungs would burst then ran some more until it was physically impossible for her to do so. She fell to her knees in exhaustion at the edge of a dead cedar and fought to catch her breath. She crawled behind the tree and looked to the area she’d just fled. She saw nothing but a landscape of harsh realities painted in faint moonlight.