46
Sage
Twenty-six hours, thirty minutes buried
It was working. It was really, really working.
The bowed walls of the plywood in the chimney were completely soaked through—with thick mud behind them. Which meant that I could dig into the wet wood way more easier than I ’ d been able to do with the dry plywood covering up the ceiling of the bunker.
When I ’ d realized how crumbly and flaky the wet wood was, an image had flashed into my brain of the playground in Sunset Springs. The one that had little footholds and handholds carved into a wall you could climb up.
Still using Ms. Jessa ’ s belt buckle, I dug into the soggy wood and mud faster and faster, ignoring how much blood I could feel oozing between my fingers and down my arms.
I made two footholds, then three, then four, up higher and higher. Then I dug my feet into the soggy wood and mud footholds I ’ d made and pushed myself up to dig more.
In what felt like no time, I was nearly to the top.
We were so close.
We were almost out.
The light coming from beneath the big sheet of metal above me was fading by the second. It was getting dark outside. That meant a whole twenty-four hours had nearly gone by since the men had stuck us down in this horrible bunker.
And they were going to be back any second, I just knew it.
But soon, I could run for help. The men might not even know I was gone if they didn ’ t check.
“ I ’ m at the top,” I rasped after another few minutes, barely able to believe it.
My fingers brushed the top of the metal sheet while I clung to the last soggy foothold I ’ d made, praying the sides wouldn ’ t give way.
Excited voices whispered beneath me as I clawed at the dirt under the sheet metal, digging for the last time.
The sliver of dim gray light widened.
I kept digging like an animal, gasping and crying, pushing myself up bit by bit. It was getting hard to angle my body to keep digging beneath the sheet of metal from this angle. I had the thought I should make one more foothold, but if I just leaned a little more, I was sure I ’ d be able to make a final hole big enough I could scramble out from under the metal.
My eyes were so bleary from dust and sweat I could hardly see what I was doing anymore. The air hose looked like a little black snake in the corner of my eye, dangling down into the chimney beside me. The opening was small enough I could have covered it with the palm of my hand. It didn ’ t look nearly big enough to bring enough air into the hole for eleven people. No wonder we ’ d all been struggling to breathe.
But all I cared about anymore was that I could finally see a big slice of the steely gray sky, right in front of me. The hole I’d created between the mud at my fingertips and the big piece of metal above my head was nearly wide enough that I was sure I could fit through it if I was just able to wriggle my body upward and through it.
I heard a faint groaning sound but ignored it. My hands scooped, clawed, dug, like I ’ d seen the neighbor ’ s dog do when it was after a gopher in the hills by our house, panting and yelping out loud because my fingers and hands hurt so much.
I pushed hard on the last foothold with my sneaker, fighting for the last inch I needed for leverage.
“ I did it,” I cried, grabbing hold of the metal ’ s jagged edge with one hand. Ignoring the muscles screaming in my legs, I propelled myself upward one last time.
Squirming hard, I twisted onto my back, using my shoulders to help me squeeze myself inch by inch out from underneath the sheet of metal.
Another strange groaning sound that didn ’ t make sense came from beneath me.
I wriggled my shoulders and ignored the metal cutting into my hands as I braced against it and pulled myself all the way out of the hole.
I was free. I was finally, one-hundred percent free. I gasped in the fresh, clean air and rolled onto my belly. Then I hurried to my feet, turning around to call down to the others—at the exact second the groaning sound was replaced by a cracking noise and a low rumble.
I watched in horror as the bowed plywood walls that had been holding the chimney together crumpled in on themselves.
My mouth dropped open in confusion, then horror.
I saw just enough to make sense of what had happened.
There was no chute anymore because the mud behind the soggy plywood sheets had broken through where I ’ d just climbed up, filling the space completely with wet, packed dirt.
“ Ms. Jessa? Bonnie?” I called, then clamped my mouth shut so I could hear a response.
Any response.
There was only silence.
“ Bonnie,” I cried again and again. “ Bonnie! ”
Had the bunker filled up with mud, too? Had everyone just been crushed? Were they alive? My heart beat so loud in my ears and my legs started shaking so bad I could barely stand.
I couldn ’ t hear anything from down in the hole. Nothing.
But I could hear the sound of tires coming back down the dirt road, headed right for me.
“ No,” I cried, grabbing the stubby end of the black air hose that was still sticking out beneath one side of the sheet metal.
I put my ear to it, then my mouth, seeing if I could draw in a breath.
My lungs filled with a little bubble of air.
My heart lifted the tiniest bit.
I sucked harder on the hose—and then my lungs hit a wall, like when you suck the air out of a plastic water bottle and it starts crinkling up because there ’ s no oxygen left.
Even if the mud hadn ’ t completely collapsed the bunker like it had the chimney, the air hose wasn ’ t bringing any air down to the bunker anymore.
And the sound of those tires was getting closer with each passing second.