27
Sage
Six hours, thirty minutes buried
I jolted awake when I heard a car door slam.
“ Shh, ” I hissed automatically, my eyes fluttering open before I realized what I was saying or why I was saying it.
At first I thought it was morning, even though the darkness made everything feel like night time down here. But after a second, I knew in my bones it was still the middle of the night. My body felt heavy and slow and sticky. My eyes wanted to close, but my heart was pounding harder than ever.
It took me only a second to remember why everything smelled bad, why the ground was wobbling around underneath me, why I couldn ’ t see even a tiny bit of light in front of my eyes.
We were still down in the hole. And I was lying on the mattress stack. That ’ s where I ’ d fallen asleep, my body finally relaxing on the dirty, stinky mattress at the very top of the pile even though I ’ d thought there was no way I would since the inside of my thighs, where I ’ d peed my pants earlier, still itched and burned. But one second I was awake and listening as hard as I could to the silence outside the bunker, and the next I was drifting, listening to the other kids as their breathing turned deep again.
Another car door slammed, followed by slow footsteps. My heart beat faster. Something was happening.
I leaned up on my hands and knees, straining my ears.
At first, I couldn ’ t hear much more than I had before we stacked the mattresses. Just shuffling and muffled words I could barely make out.
My stomach sank. At first I thought my plan of stacking the mattresses to hear the men better hadn ’ t worked. But it turned out that was only because the men were quiet for a really long time. Maybe they ’ d been sleeping and were trying to wake themselves up, too.
I lifted myself up a little higher on the unsteady pile of mattresses, stretching up on my knees like I was doing a yoga move I ’ d seen Mom do on Saturday mornings.
I was still too afraid to try standing up on the springy, lumpy mattresses, so it was impossible to know how close I really was to the top of the bunker.
I was close enough, though.
“ Don ’ t speed, ” Jeepers was saying, his voice just loud enough that I could hear the words. “ Not even a little.”
Greasy Hair said something back that I couldn ’ t make out.
“ Should we check on them?” It was Jeepers again. His voice sounded thick, tired. The way Grandpa ’ s voice sounded when he just woke up.
I froze and listened as hard as I could. Them meant us. They were talking about checking on us. My heart hammered harder. Did I want the men to check on us? Part of me was dying for fresh air, for that hole to open up, even if the night was dark outside, too. The air wasn ’ t quite so thick and stuffy at the top of the mattress pile, but it was still stale and icky and smelled like dirt.
A bigger part of me wanted the men to stay away from us and the bunker. It had taken us a while to get the mattress pile just right so it wouldn ’ t tip when I climbed on top of it. Ben and Ked had given me a leg up. Ms. Jessa hadn ’ t helped at all. At one point I had my foot on Ben ’ s head, and I could tell he was trying not to cry but he barely made a sound. I decided I ’ d love him forever for that.
Don ’ t open the hole, I begged, deciding I ’ d rather take smelly, stale air than try to get back on top of this wobbly mattress pile again.
If the men opened the hole, we ’ d have to knock the whole stack down fast and start over.
I breathed harder when I thought about trying to get down the side of the tippy tower of mattresses by myself in a rush, maybe landing on top of Bonnie or the other kids. I probably wasn ’ t up that high—the dark made everything feel more intense—but high enough to have to put my foot on top of Ben Whitlock ’ s head was plenty high. What if I landed wrong and hurt myself or someone else?
“ I ’ m not helping you move that heavy ass piece of metal again until we have to.” Greasy Hair ’ s higher, whinier voice rose just loud enough for me to hear every word. He laughed, like he ’ d just thought of something funny. “ Or … ever. We could just leave them down there, you know… Push some more dirt and junk over them … It ’ d be a lot easier. Take the money and …”
His voice drifted out of earshot and my tummy turned in circles. I closed my eyes and concentrated like my life depended on it.
Because maybe it did.
Jeepers made a funny noise. “ Oh, for shit ’ s sake. Just go do your pickup.” He didn ’ t disagree with Greasy Hair, though.
Footsteps crunched closer to the hole. There was a scraping sound right above my head.
I flattened my body against the mattress, ready to jump down if that sheet of metal began to scrape across the ground.
Instead, Greasy Hair spoke again, his voice closer but still quiet. “ How long could they keep breathing down there if I covered up that hose?” he asked.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I could barely hear what he was saying, up on top of the mattress stack straining my ears. I hoped the other kids couldn ’ t hear him at all.
Jeepers made a wordless noise again. He must have answered, because Greasy Hair ’ s footsteps crunched away.
“We could just leave them down there, you know.” That’s what Greasy Hair had said.
My heart pounded so loud for a few seconds I couldn ’ t hear anything except the blood whooshing around in my ears. My head spun, like I might topple over, so I lay down on my stomach.
Greasy Hair wanted to leave us down here. He wanted to know how long it would take us to suffocate if the air hose closed up.
Jeepers didn ’ t tell him no, either.
A few seconds later, a car engine turned over.
“ One of the vans is leaving,” I stammered, finally finding my voice as the rumble of tires picked up then moved farther away.
At the bottom of the mattress stack, the other kids were shuffling again, waking up. “ I heard, too. What did they say? Where are they going?” Mindy asked, as if I could know the answer.
“ Shh, ” I whispered. There was the creak of another door opening, then a soft slam as it closed.
Then there was only silence again, except for the sound of kids moving around below me. Bonnie made a familiar little snuffle, and I knew it was taking everything in her not to call out my name.
I forced my mind to wake up, take notes on everything I ’ d learned after the last few minutes: Greasy Hair just drove away to “ do a pickup.” He wants to leave us down here to die. Jeepers is inside the other van now. Maybe sleeping again.
“ What ’ s happening?” Mindy asked again.
I told them about the first van leaving. I didn ’ t know how to tell them the rest, though. I was the oldest kid here, and even I was so scared I was shaking.
I couldn ’ t tell the little kids what Greasy Hair had said. I had to protect them.
I felt another rush of terror.
I wanted to tell Mom and Grandpa everything. And if I couldn ’ t tell Mom and Grandpa, I wanted to tell Ms. Jessa.
None of those things were possible right now, though. So I needed to do what was best. And as far as I could tell, that meant finding a way out of here—or at least trying.
“ They ’ re really bad men,” I finally said, choosing my words carefully. “ They said … they said some scary things.”
Bonnie ’ s snuffles turned faster and sharper. “ What did they say, Sage?” her little voice asked, and I could just imagine her holding her hands against her cheeks, eyes wide like a cat ’ s in the dark.
“ I ’ m going to see if I can stand up all the way,” I said, ignoring the question and rising back onto all fours, getting my legs underneath me. So far, I ’ d only crouched, afraid I ’ d lose my balance. The mattress pile shuddered, and I bit down on my cheek to keep from yelping.
The mattresses shifted and made a quiet groaning sound as I managed to get on my feet.
My legs shook. I lifted my hands into the air, pawing and grasping for anything above me.
I found nothing but air.
I stood on my tiptoes and tried to reach again, higher. However, before I could fully extend my arm, I lost my balance and plunged forward.
It took everything I could not to scream as my body flew through space. I ’ m going to die right now. I ’ m going to fall and break my neck.
Instead, I landed hard with my back on the mattresses, one arm and one leg poking halfway over the far ledge. The pile tipped, and I grabbed hold of the saggy material. “ Help, help, help,” I whispered through my clenched teeth. The tower shuddered, and I could hear scared whispers at the base of the mattress stack.
Then Ms. Jessa ’ s voice, a few feet from my ear. “ Sage, breathe. It's okay. You ’ re okay.” The mattress pile stopped shaking, and I gulped in air.
“ I ’ m not coming back down,” I said, breathing hard and keeping hold of the mattress, even though getting down was exactly what I wanted to do.
To my surprise, Ms. Jessa didn ’ t try to convince me, or pull me down. She just whispered, “ Tell me what you heard the men say.”
So I told her, reluctantly, because I hadn ’ t expected her to ask. And because I didn’t know what else to do.
When I was finished, Ms. Jessa was quiet for a few long seconds.
Then she said, “ How tall are you, Sage?”
I frowned. “ Five-foot nine.”
She sighed like that wasn ’ t what she wanted to hear. “ Okay. You ’ re five inches taller than I am. If I hold onto the sides of the mattresses with the other kids, can you try reaching for the ceiling again? Stand in the middle. That way if you fall, the stack won ’ t tip.”
I nodded, even though I knew she couldn ’ t see the motion, and crawled back to the middle of the pile. Footsteps crunched overhead again, followed by the slam of a van door, then silence.
I was pretty sure Greasy Hair was gone. From the sound of those footsteps, Jeepers was a safe distance away too. But the desperate, flopping feeling in my stomach—like a goldfish out of water—was worse than ever.
All this time I ’ d wanted Ms. Jessa ’ s help. Wanted her to stop telling all of us to be quiet and do what the men told us to do, so we ’ d stay safe.
Now here she was, wanting to help all of a sudden.
But all I could think about was how scary it was that Greasy Hair ’ s words were bad enough to change her mind about trying to get out of here.