36
Sage
Nineteen hours buried
After the rain, the smell in the underground prison was way worse than before.
The one remaining bathroom bucket on the ground was full, and some of it had spilled over. The air was hot and damp, and it smelled like one of the camp toilets we had to use when we went to Grayback Gulch with Mom, and Bonnie was so scared she ’ d fall in.
None of us knew how long we ’ d slept, not even Ms. Jessa. Was it morning or night now? Nobody had a watch or a phone. When I woke up with my head on her lap and Bonnie ’ s hand curled into mine, I didn ’ t move right away. My whole body hurt from digging into the plywood, and I was still so tired. But hearing the crunch, crunch, crunch of the men ’ s shoes walking around up on top of the ground woke me right up.
“ Boost me back up on top of the mattresses,” I ’ d whispered frantically, and everyone helped.
A car came by pretty soon after that. From the top of the mattress stack, I could hear Mr. Edward and Greasy Hair talking to somebody named Paul about shooting “ whistle pigs.”
At first, I wanted to holler and scream, because what if Paul was a good guy?
Then I started thinking about how maybe “ whistle pigs” meant us down here in the hole.
If we all started screaming, they ’ d open up the hole and maybe even see what we ’ d been doing with the belt buckle.
Just thinking about that made me get my tired, aching body back on top of the bathroom bucket and start digging at the wood even harder.
This time, the other kids took turns holding onto the bucket while I scraped away.
After Paul ’ s car drove off, I couldn ’ t hear much of what Mr. Edward and Greasy Hair were saying to each other. Mostly, it sounded like they were smashing up pop cans—or maybe beer cans—and belching and laughing.
Go away, I kept telling them with my mind. Leave . But they never did.
So I just kept scraping, splinter by splinter, quiet as I could for what felt like forever.
After a while, I started counting time by the number of scrapes I made in the plywood, because anything else was pretty much impossible.
When I got to three hundred, Rose, who was taking a turn holding the bucket, started to cry. “ I can ’ t breathe very good. We ’ re gonna die, aren ’ t we? ” she said in a whisper, then a louder voice. “ This isn ’ t working, we ’ re gonna die. ”
The bucket teetered, and my stomach flipped as I tried to get my balance again.
Ms. Jessa ’ s voice cut through the dark. “ Rose, it ’ s okay, honey. You ’ re doing a really good job, but I think you need a break. Let ’ s share some more of the sandwiches, okay? Remember how good they are. Sage, do you need a break?”
All I could think was that Ms. Jessa sounded just like Mom, so I wanted to cry again, too. I kept thinking I was close to making a hole in the wood big enough to push my hand through, but it was harder than I thought it would be. And I ’ d thought it would be pretty hard.
My head felt fuzzy, and there were a few times I ’ d been sure I was going to fall over and land right on top of Rose or whoever was taking a turn holding the bucket. So I didn ’ t argue with Ms. Jessa when she asked if I needed a break. Just for a few minutes, I told myself firmly. Harriet wouldn ’ t take a longer break than that, and neither would I.
“ Can we play the vacation game again?” Bonnie asked while we ate the pieces of sandwich Ms. Jessa handed out.
“ Yeah,” Charlotte said eagerly. Her nose sounded stuffed up and her voice was hoarse like she ’ d been crying again. “ I don ’ t remember how, though.”
“ Well, you just say a thing you wanna bring on vacation, and then …” Bonnie trailed off. “ I don ’ t know how to explain it. Sage, will you play with us?”
I frowned and shook my head, even though nobody could see me in the dark. It felt like my brain was turning to mush. It was like the stinky hot air was sucking the life right out of all of us. How long had we been down here? A day? More than that?
“ I don ’ t want to play anymore games,” I mumbled, sitting against the mattress stack and popping a crumb of the sandwich in my mouth. Scraping at that plywood for so long was taking every little bit of energy I had. My hands felt like one giant blister.
“ Okay,” Bonnie said without a fight, and that made me feel bad, but I just couldn ’ t muster up the words.
Then Ms. Jessa spoke up. “ I have a game,” she said. “ For whoever wants to play while we rest. Can you all make a circle around the mattresses and hold hands?”
As I scooted away from the mattresses, Ms. Jessa added, “ Sage, my sweater is next to the sandwiches if you want to lay your head on it for a bit.”
“ Thanks,” I said, hoping she ’ d understand that I meant it for more than just the sweater. Ms. Jessa felt like a real grownup now. Which meant that I could be a kid again, even if I was still the one who had to scrape at the plywood because I was the only one who could reach it.
I kept my eyes closed and listened to the sound of bodies shuffling around the mattress stack. Ms. Jessa was lining the kids up—everyone but me, as far as I could tell.
I breathed in and out as slow as I could and tried to pretend I was somewhere else, even while I listened with one ear.
“ Okay, this is a game I used to play with my daughter when she wasn ’ t feeling well,” Ms. Jessa said, and the way she said it made me wonder whether she still had a daughter.
“ We ’ re going to tell a story, one word at a time. You can say any word you want—”
“ Any word? ” Ava asked.
“ Any word,” Ms. Jessa insisted.
“ What about bad words,” Ked asked solemnly, drawing a few giggles.
“ Yeah, there ’ s no swearing on the bus,” Ben said like the know-it-all he was.
Ms. Jessa laughed. “ Well … we ’ re not on the bus anymore, so say whatever word you want, okay? Just don ’ t tell your parents.”
That made everyone laugh again.
“ I ’ ll start. As soon as you say your word, squeeze the hand of the person next to you so they know it ’ s their turn.” She paused, then started the game. “ We.”
I kept my eyes shut and listened as everyone added their words with pauses and a few giggles in between them.
“ We. Are. Here. It. Is. Stinky. But. I. Like. Dogs. I. Want. Some. Good. Food. Farts. Suck. Mermaids. Sing. Like …”
“ Chickens, ” Ms. Jessa finished, and this time everyone laughed, including me.
I rubbed my hands and sat up. “ I can dig again,” I said. “ Can somebody hold the bucket for me?”
“ I ’ ll do it,” said Bonnie real quick, before anybody else could answer, and I promised myself that I ’ d never call her a baby again if we ever got out of here.
* * *
Twenty-five, I counted in my head, pushing the belt buckle up into the wood as hard as I could.
I ’ d stopped paying too much attention to what the men were saying, mostly because they were talking about such dumb stuff when I paused to listen. Like the best tires for a dirt bike, and how many beers they could drink without getting drunk, and whose mom was the worst. Stuff like that. Nothing to do with us kids, which felt sort of strange since they were keeping us down here.
Crack.
I held in a gasp as the plywood gave way beneath the buckle and my hand suddenly pushed right through the wood.
It hurt, scratching my blistered, bloody fingers even more than they already were, but I didn ’ t care one bit.
Because now I could fit my entire hand through the hole I ’ d just made.
“ Did you get all the way through?” the other kids were asking, along with Ms. Jessa, but I was trying to listen for footsteps. Had the men heard that crackling sound? It was loud next to my ears, but how loud was it outside the hole?
I held my breath, but it only took a second to realize that the men ’ s voices hadn ’ t changed at all. They were still talking to each other about beer.
They had no idea what I ’ d just done.
“ Yeah, I got through,” I whispered down, steadying my other hand against the ceiling. “ I think I can rip through it faster now,” I added, realizing that if I made the hole a little bigger, I could peel off bits of wood with my fingers while using the buckle at the same time.
Before long, I ’ d be able to get my whole arm past my elbow through the hole. Then my body, if somebody gave me a boost.
“ Good job, Sage!” Bonnie squealed in a quiet, excited voice.
“ Amazing,” Ms. Jessa added, even though I could tell from the way her voice shook that she was starting to get scared again. Because if we could make a big enough hole in the plywood, we might actually be able to get out of this stinky bunker. But then we ’ d have to face the men. “ Do you need another break?” she asked.
I shook my head. “ No, I can keep going. Bonnie, you wanna let Rose take a turn?”
“ No way,” Bonnie said, and I loved her for it.
My fingers burned, and my legs were shaking hard like they had before, but I wasn ’ t going to rest again.
There was no telling how much time we had left.