“What did she say, Momma?”
“God. She said that I am your God here.”
“What’s that?”
“That’s what people who live outside of here get to believe in. Stores, and food, and those headlights of cars you see driving by the road; those are part of the Gods. We don’t write on ourselves. Don’t get to, not yet.”
“Is your baby boy coming back soon?” Erin asked and sat back down. Lyric was balling herself up, like a rolly-polly bug, and completely burrowed into her lap.
“Who can say. They may sleep up there. As long as I’m down here, that’s how he does it. Doesn’t sleep when I’m there usually.”
Erin scanned the room, which seemed to have gotten smaller. The darkness of the walls were creeping closer to them, circling them, and with no trace of a sound from the tunnel entrance, her ears hurt with the buzz of silence. An occasional noise seemed to bounce from deep in the dark hallway that led somewhere.
“What’s down there, down that tunnel on the other side?”
“There’s nothing down there. It is where I came from, but there’s no way back. It goes and goes, and there used to be another ladder going up to the entrance in Tijuana, but it is hard to fit through. It caved in either on purpose by someone or on accident. Dante chopped at it for a long time before he stopped and went the other way and left me trapped. Still trapped I guess. But Dante always comes back now. He does. He gets lonely without me. He will be back, not like last time.”
“Your boy—your boy is special. I had a boy. I lost a boy once. He was just a few years old.”
Erin waited and scanned the eyes of the mother Lupita. There was no reaction, but there was comprehension. T had fetched a jug of water and brought it back, sat on her mom’s lap and took a sip, always staring and waiting for Erin to do something. Erin could feel the girl watching the piercing on her eyelid.
“We don’t lose people here anymore. Boys come back always now.”
Mother Lupita put her hands under T’s armpits, lifted her up, and walked to the entrance ladder. Like her husband, she began to pace back and forth, mumbled something about needing light and time, and then finally returned to Erin, held a finger in the air, and said, “And when he does come back, when he does, things will happen when he sees you. Things will happen like they almost did, like you have seen them happen up top. But I take care of children. That is what I do. I don’t get pictures on me. I take care of children, and your child will always be well here. Mother will still be the name of god on her lips until she is older. Your child will live within my care, and I will raise her in the dark. I swear to you, I will be there.”
Flashes from shock blinded Erin’s eyes. Synapses in her brain were exploding. Spinal fluid dried up, bones ached—flashes of red, then white, then black. She needed the jug of water, needed to throw up the insides of her gut and clear herself, but mostly needed to erase this thought of her being gone and Lyric being in this room alone, with this family, raised by them without her.
She needed to act, to do something besides wiggling her fingers, something to stop them from cutting her up with knives. That was what mother Lupita meant, right? When Dante comes back.
Erin kept gazing into Lupita with her most pleasant look, trying to see some light, but then she realized: there was no soul to look into. The dots of eyes revealed that a soul had been taken out, removed, or if the soul was there, it had been warped into something hideous. Breathing in the damp cave air with scents of dead bodies, surrounded by sweat, lice, and salt-water corrosion, all of this had destroyed Lupita’s soul and turned her into something tragically monstrous.
Erin imagined Lupita teaching Lyric to survive by eating the carrion of outcasts, and it filled her gut with dark bile. She remembered Lupita saying she wanted to bash her own children’s skulls in to save them from suffering, and realized how much mothers are alike, no matter the nature of their soul.
Then she heard the sound of rocks scraping across wood. The boulders were being pushed aside, and the wooden hatch to this chamber was being opened. The heavy, booted feet of Dante went bam, bam, bam down the ladder.
“Burn me huh, burn me huh, everybody burning. I’m burning inside, and it’s time to burn this visitor up; a spy in my head, hiding behind her mask. It needs to be removed. Take it off, now. Take it and peel it and lift it off now.”
Lyric poked her head out from Erin’s side. Like nurses making way for a doctor about to operate, Lupita and her daughter moved back, making space for the creature who was sliding over. Erin was left looking into the eyes of the wretch, the patriarch of this hell. Splattered bits of something were on his mouth; blood from elsewhere mixed in with blood of his, it seemed, and brown teeth slowly opened up in a near smile. There was nothing in those eyes, not a chance to strike a chord for mercy, and no chance for a delay. Erin felt a surge flow through her, tapped from a source deeper than this cave.
Using her fists to prop herself up behind her, she pulled her knees in, pushed up, and got to her feet. The wretch looked up in confusion and Erin snapped a leg forward, just like she had learned in her cardio kick-boxing class, first raising her thigh with knee bent, then kicking fast and thorough with her lower leg, extending it all as if looking to kick past the wretches face, not just into him.
The solid whack of foot against chin surprised her, and she waited for a reaction. His head jerked back, and he slid a forearm to wipe off the stains of blood on his face, so she snapped another one, only this one was caught with his arm, threw her off balance, and sent her scattering to the ground.
“Oh the knives, the knives—we need them all.”
She looked up and saw a fist full of knives in his hand, all with tips extended upward, and he popped one, two, three, then more of the safety caps off the tops, and he came at her as if wielding a multi-pointed sword.
“Run, Lyric, run, run. Go now! Run, go there…” Erin pointed with her leg and a nod of her head to the dark, open tunnel. Lyric looked up in ghastly fear and confusion, but then headed off like a tiny rodent scurrying. The man came forth onto Erin, who could only roll away until he was on top of her.
She looked up at the fist full of knives moving in slow motion and about to tattoo her eyeball. A commotion came from the cave entrance like somebody was coming or leaving. Please let it be Lyric leaving somehow.
Facial tics on the man spasmed above her. Electric shots made his every muscle move until this spasm hit his whole body, and his spine seemed to snap. He made an “ooomph” sound as if being tackled, and then she saw the extended body of Macon, who had thrown himself into this creature. Their bodies went sprawling, and the metallic clang of knives rained down upon the cave ground.
Fighting roars came out of Macon’s mouth that drowned out the sounds of fists hitting flesh, punching again and again, like working on a slab of meat as a punching bag.
Erin watched, rolled herself over, kicked herself back into the wall, and scanned for Lyric. Where was Lyric? She waited for the man to somehow rise back up, powered by this strange drug that made him un-killable, but this didn’t happen. Macon was punching a motionless body. Blood of both men shot as if from a lawn sprinkler with each of his fists.
This was really happening, Macon was here, safety was coming, freedom was coming. Had he killed the man? Something from the creature had faded, maybe just his consciousness, because the whole energy of the room changed.
Lyric, come back now.
Erin felt tears welling; a tightness in her was releasing. She fast-forwarded to a vision of being untied and a three-person family hug, then scrambling out of the cave, taking the path back to the hotel. Then an ambulance ride to a doctor wearing a clean, white coat in a well-lighted place who would take care of them. They would take the plane ride home with Lyric on her lap while she held Macon’s hands.
Shadows glanced on and off of Macon, and Erin saw he was torn up, perhaps tortured. All he had on were his shorts, and she saw streaks of blood on his legs and th
e same lines of blood down his sides. The tribal tattoos were slashed apart. He looked like he had been hacked with box cutters again and again, shredded, and the left side of his head was swollen and matted with blood. This place had caught him, too, had nearly eaten him up. Macon needed a hospital, Lyric needed to come back, and they needed to leave.
Erin felt someone behind her. Before she could turn, the arm of mother Lupita wrapped around her neck, slightly pressuring to cut off her windpipe, and the sharp blade of an X-Acto knife was pressed against Erin’s face, ready to slice.
“Are you the man? Is it you? Are you the one, the one who was supposed to pay?” Lupita said, addressing Macon. Her arm was firmly noosed around Erin’s neck, and the knife was biting against the side of her cheek.
Macon turned, dazed.
“Wait. Stop. Yes, I can pay. Don’t hurt her.”
“Is he dead? Did you kill him?”
“No, I didn’t. I just had to stop him. I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Macon kept glancing around the room, looking for Lyric, Erin realized, or others who may harm him. He bent down and placed a finger on the wretch’s neck, who lay motionless on the ground.
“He’s not dead. I’m sorry. I will pay, don’t hurt her.”
“Money. You have money?”
Macon seemed unsteady on his feet. His eyes tried to focus on something in the corner, and Erin realized it was the child, T, who was holding the turtle, continually lifting it by its shell, and switching it to face in the other direction.
“I will cut her if you don’t pay. Pay and she can go. And pay before he wakes up. Now! Or I cut her.”
Erin felt the knife press into the delicate flesh of her neck. Lupita’s tiny bit of weight was securely holding her down, pressing down on her shoulders while her elbow had her in a headlock.
“Where is my daughter? First, where is she? I will pay. Please, I don’t want any more of this.”
As he spoke, blood dribbled from his mouth that made his words lisp. He was bent over a bit, as if trying to lean on a table that wasn’t there.
“My daughter… I came for my wife and my daughter.”
Erin heard the word “wife” and found herself gazing up at Macon, and then beyond him. In the dark tunnel, the shape of a tiny figure was approaching.
It was Lyric; she was standing half in the lantern light, half in the shadows.
“I’ll give you something and you will let us go. That’s all I wanted. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“Promise. You got to get it now, before he wakes up. Now!”
Macon took a step toward them, and Lupita responded by squeezing her arm and tightening her hold around Erin’s neck.
“No, wait… wait, here.”
Macon knelt all the way to the ground.
“Here’s what I have for you. Take it. You’ll get money for it, money worth thousands of dollars, money for you. Please, take it.”
Erin gazed at the outstretched hand of Macon, which was presenting a diamond ring. It was a large, solitary rock, set with prongs that seemed to tower high in the shadows of his trembling fingers.
Taking the knife off Erin’s cheek for a brief moment, but keeping her in the headlock, Lupita reached forward and snatched the ring from his finger. She twisted it in front of Erin’s face, looking at it from each angle. The darkness made it difficult to see.
Macon grabbed the lantern at Dante’s side and directed the light right onto the ring. Where did he get this, and was this meant for me? Conversations they had about marriage came back to her, how Lyric wanted it and they needed it. Erin knew it would happen, but wanted to make sure Macon was strong enough to stay, and maybe more importantly, that married is something he wanted to be, not felt obligated to do.
“Please take it. It’s worth five thousand dollars, you’ll easily get two, but it’s all I have. I just want to have them back, and we will go.”
“This. Why do you have this? Are you a thief?”
“No, I bought it to give to her, to make her my wife. Don’t you see, it’s for her, and I’m giving it to you.”
“You do these things for her?”
“Yes, it’s all I got.”
Lupita tightened her grip on Erin’s neck, held the ring in the air, and then slipped it onto the ring finger next to the stub where her pinky used to be. It was too big, but like a teenager, Lupita examined the ring from different angles.
The room was in silence. Only the beating hearts of the family filled the room, waiting for the mother in the tunnel’s reaction, waiting to be set free. New spots of blood were trickling from deep crimson slices in Macon’s skin, as if the red ink from his tattoo shop had spilled off of him.
Behind Macon there was a groan and then shuffling movements of the wretch. These were the sounds and motions of one who was not conscious, but also not dead.
With a piercing shout, Lupita stabbed the knife into Erin’s shoulder, burrowed deep before ripping the knife downward and sliding it through her bicep. The hot, searing stab made Erin scream before Lupita released her grip and pushed her toward Macon, who grasped her in his unsteady arms. She felt his flesh against hers, warm but dripping with fluid. Then the arms of Lyric wound around her shoulder, and the three of them clutched each other in the center of the chamber preparing for another attack.
But the mother Lupita seemed only interested in the ring. Erin and Macon looked into each other’s faces, exhausted and unable to speak. Macon untied her hands. Erin’s shoulders uncramped, and all three of them moved toward the exit.
T was standing there, the turtle in her hands. “She can play with Oscar,” she said. “You don’t have to go.”
T had finally spoken to her, but Erin moved on. The last thing she saw before climbing up the ladder was Lupita standing over her man. His moans had become louder, and he seemed to be moving back and forth.
Kill him. Just kill him, Erin thought to herself.
“Come on, honey-bear. We’re going home,” Erin assured Lyric, and they shot up the ladder.
Macon was the last one out.
Erin started up the slight incline toward the exit. The only light was from near the front of the tunnel, and they had to feel their way along the passage with eyes open, but nearly blind. Then she heard the sound of the wooden plank being shut and the scraping noise of the boulder.
Macon had closed and weighted the hatch. They couldn’t be pursued. Mother Lupita was stuck down there, trapped again.
They’ll be okay, Erin told herself. She wanted them to be, even with her stabbed and bloody arm. Erin could feel the deepness of her wound. The cut went into her muscle. Lupita had left her mark and a scar that would last forever.
Erin pressed her weight against the incline of the tunnel, with one hand always feeling in front of her in the darkness, the other firmly grasping onto Lyric and saying assuredly, “We’re going home,” and “We’re almost there, almost there.” The darkness of the air seemed to be breaking, like black bubbles popping and a light grey filling their place.
#
Macon followed, all of them cautious yet hurrying. They wouldn’t feel safe until they escaped this tunnel. With every word Erin gave to Lyric, it soothed Macon’s brain. His body burnt with pain. At one instant a long, open gash on his side seemed to be the worst of his pains. Then it was his finger, which, if put to the light, he knew would show part of the tips shaved off. Cuts on his stomach and legs hurt as if he’d been put in a whole bodycast of thorns.
But it was the fracture in his skull that weighed him down. It felt heavy, and he needed sleep, to lay it down, to stop the jerking back and forth since the cavity which held his brain was leaking.
A lantern up ahead shone a ray of light toward them. Was this Q? Where was he? Did the father hurt him too?
Either way, the light let Erin and Lyric travel faster to the entrance to the tunnel.
Almost out, Macon saw Erin give a quick glance down at the body of the smoking man and move on. Macon was close behind and
stopped to look.
His clothes were torn off his wounded body as if he’d been attacked by a lion. A pile of spaghetti lay where his face was supposed to be. His cheek was torn away, a gaping hole left where one eye had been, and the remaining eye was closed. Macon had this strange sensation he was looking down into a pond, a reflection, just a mirror since his whole body and head felt the same.
But I have a family. I’m leaving here. I am alive.
Macon leaned down and rested a finger on the man’s chest. It was warm, gently moved, and gave off raspy noises. What to do? If he had a pillow, he would have held it over the man’s mouth. If he had a knife, he might have opened up a major vein and spilled the last of this man’s life. He didn’t have long to live either way, but an end to the suffering would certainly be welcomed.
“We’ll send someone. I promise, we’ll send someone soon,” Macon whispered to deaf ears, but like a patient on life support, something in the man’s brain may have picked it up.
Then Macon moved on, following the two women in his life to the exit from this hellhole.
Chapter Nineteen
Erin and Macon both coughed when they plopped out of the entrance to the drainage tunnel, clearing their lungs of the chunky soot and stench of the cave. They noticed tiny traces of sea salt and inhaled the plant-fueled oxygen of the air. Both of them scanned the area in disbelief, circling their heads like scouts on a new mission and waiting for someone to follow them from the tunnel, but the whole underpass area was quiet and still. The black darkness of the cave gave way to the greyness of predawn. Infrequent cars bustled overhead. The air was so incredibly clean it seemed to start to heal their wounds, but still, blood poured down Erin’s arm, and Macon was spotted with continual drips.
When Macon had crawled out of the tunnel for the first time, he didn’t take this time to breathe, but instead tried to make a quick decision: Walk for help, or go right back inside the tunnel after them? He was relieved by his choice to follow behind the tweaker’s circle of lantern light and jump down the hatch after him. A delay would have let his girls be killed.
On the Lips of Children Page 16