I was about to point out that we’d tested the GPS devices during the first few weeks we’d been using the tunnel and found they didn’t work underground. And that the Shiffleys had carefully surveyed the tunnel’s course, above- and belowground, and could easily pinpoint the location of a cave-in from that.
But Horace was clutching the GPS device in one furry paw and stroking it with the other, like a lucky amulet. Clearly Michael intended the GPS device for reassurance, not practical use. I took a deep breath and said nothing.
“And hold your cell phone in your hand,” Rose Noire added. “That way you can keep us posted on your progress.”
Only if Horace’s cell phone provider had figured out a way to send a signal underground. But again, I bit my tongue.
“It’s hard to hold it in my paws.” Behind the impassive gorilla mask, Horace’s muffled voice was anxious. “What if I drop it?”
Michael and Rose Noire looked at each other.
“I suppose you could keep it in your…” Rose Noire trailed off. Horace’s pockets were now rendered largely inaccessible by the furry costume.
“Here, let’s use this,” I said. I grabbed up a roll of duct tape and pulled off a strip. “You can attach the cell phone to your hand and have it instantly accessible without any danger of losing it.”
We managed to split the duct tape into narrower strips and secure the phone without covering up any of the buttons. Then, at Horace’s request, we taped a pen to the other paw, since his furry gorilla fingers made it difficult to dial anything on the phone. And we topped his outfit off with a construction helmet that had a small LED light attached to the front.
“I think you’re ready,” Michael said.
Horace nodded. Rose Noire went out into the tent to keep watch. Michael and I waited until the battle noise from above reached a crescendo, then hauled up the trap door.
Horace waddled over to the opening, started down, and froze.
“Oh, my,” he said softly.
“Horace?” I couldn’t see his face, but I’d be willing to bet it had turned bone white.
“Just getting my … um…”
“Would you like one of us to lead the way?” Michael asked.
“Um … yeah,” Horace said. He sounded eager and grateful.
Michael and I looked at each other.
“I’ll go if you like,” he said.
“You need to be here for your students,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“Take one of the helmets,” Michael said.
I put the helmet on and turned on the lamp. Then I stuffed my notebook into my pocket, made sure my own cell phone was in the other, took a deep breath, and began climbing down the ladder.
It looked light, but it was actually a fairly sturdy ladder that one of Randall’s carpenter cousins had made to replace the rickety original ladder. He checked it out nearly every day, and made any necessary repairs as soon as there was enough noise to cover the sound of his working. The ladder only went down twenty-five feet or so. Why did it seem so much farther? By the time I reached the bottom of the ladder, the open trapdoor seemed at least a mile away.
I heard a soft squelching sound as my shoes hit the mud at the bottom of the ladder.
“I really hate this,” I muttered.
“What was that?” Michael called from the top of the ladder.
“Remind Horace to wait until I send the cart back,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. “In fact, keep him up there and send him down when you see the cart again.”
“Will do!”
“Hate it, hate it, hate it,” I added under my breath.
There was barely enough space for me to maneuver there at the bottom of the shaft and the mouth of the tunnel. A pulley was attached to the wooden wall to the left side of the tunnel mouth, about a foot above the floor of the tunnel, with a heavy rope threaded through it. The two ends of the rope disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel.
Randall’s cousin checked out the tunnel every few days, too, I reminded myself. Tested all the boards and investigated the cause of any dirt sifting down. Why did that seem so reassuring when I was on the surface and so hollow down here?
I squatted down so I could grab one of the ropes and began hauling it, hand over hand, until the cart finally appeared. It was actually a small steel mesh garden cart, about two feet wide and four long. I’d removed the sides and the front handle and welded sturdy rings onto the front and back of the frame. With a rope threaded through the pulley and tied to the front and back rings, you could pull the cart back and forth from either end, or even haul yourself along by lying on the cart and pulling the rope.
I made sure my helmet was fastened on securely, lay down on my stomach on the cart, and grabbed the rope.