Some Like It Hawk(106)

Maybe not such a smart idea. If I could hear the wheels, he could, too. I stood by the opening of the tunnel, waiting either to greet a friend or to ambush a foe.

No squeaking.

“Hamish?” Someone was calling from inside the tunnel. The sound was slightly muffled, and I couldn’t identify the voice.

Hamish made some noises through the duct tape. I made a gun with my forefinger and mimed shooting him. He shut up.

Phinny came back in.

“Meg, what—”

“Shhh!”

He stopped immediately. I mimed the gun again, this time pointing my finger in the air. Phinny handed the real gun to me, looking anxiously between me and Hamish.

“Hamish?” The voice from the tunnel again. “We’re running out of time.”

Phinny and I waited in silence.

Then I heard the faint squeaking. But the pulleys on our end weren’t moving.

“He’s going away,” Phinny whispered.

“To blow up the courthouse,” I said.

I launched myself into the tunnel—just me, not riding the cart, so whoever it was wouldn’t hear the squeaking. Trying to crawl quickly and quietly through the tunnel made me really appreciate the cart. The rails dug into my body as I crawled, and the ground under them was alternately muddy or pocked with small sharp stones. I tried to keep my breathing regular instead of panting noisily.

About ten feet into the crawl, I heard a small explosion ahead, followed by the muffled sound of dirt falling.

“He blew the tunnel,” I muttered.

I kept crawling until I reached a place where my way was blocked with dirt. I turned my headlight on. Blocked solid.

Curious how calm I felt now that what I’d been dreading so long had actually happened. Oh, I could feel the impulse to panic, scream, claw the walls, and curl up into a little ball. But it was surprisingly easy to push those thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on the practical. I’d break down later when I got out. When—not if.

I dug with my hands until I encountered a splintered bit of wood. One of the side supports. Not good. Should I keep digging? Or go back and see if Phinny and I could remove the barriers?

I remembered those huge landscaping logs, bolted to the wall.

I grabbed the splintered board and dug with that.

At first it felt like bailing a bathtub with a thimble. Then I realized that I could see something other than dirt ahead.

A stretch of intact board ceiling on the other side.

I dug with new frenzy, and while I was far from clearing the tunnel, I was opening up a space near the ceiling. After what seemed like forever, I finally got the hole large enough to crawl through.

“I’m not doing this again,” I muttered. “Phinny will have to come out and visit me.”

I resumed my crawl. I had no idea how long I’d been digging. Five minutes? Five hours?

Not five hours. I could hear music ahead. The concert was still going on.

Not The 1812 Overture, though. Which must mean they were still playing Dvorak’s New World Symphony. Not a piece of music I knew well enough that I could tell how far along they were. But the music was fast, loud, and dramatic. Damn. Probably meant they were working up to the grand finale.

I stopped long enough to pull the gun out of my pocket and hold it in one hand for the final ten feet of the crawl.

But the junction was empty.

And the pulley at the mouth of the other leg of the tunnel was still softly squeaking.

I studied the rope system. We’d mounted it on the wall rather than the ground, on the theory that it wouldn’t be as easily covered up by any dirt that fell. Which meant if I was careful, I might be able to crawl through the tunnel without pressing on the rope.

At least I hoped so. Because whoever was creaking along in the cart—rather slower than I’d have been going—would probably be alert for any signs that he’d failed to block the tunnel.

I crawled. Beside me the ropes slid slowly along.

Then they stopped. I kept crawling, but more slowly, so I could listen.

I heard someone squelching through the mud at the bottom of the ladder. And then a shoe scraping on one of the treads.

Could he hear me as well as I could hear him? If he could, he might be planning to ambush me when I reached the top of the ladder. I paused long enough to wipe the sweat off my right hand and get a better grip on the gun.

I reached the bottom of the ladder only to see a foot disappearing at the top.

I ducked back into the tunnel and was peering up to see what happened next when I heard a report that sounded like a gunshot, a low bass growl, a human howl, and then frenzied barking from Spike.

“What is he doing to Spike?” I muttered, and scrambled up the ladder. I managed to drop Hamish’s gun in the process. It went splat in the mud at the bottom of the shaft. Was it still usable? I didn’t climb back down to find out, but leapt out of the open trapdoor.