Post by FOTH on Apr 27, 2018 16:16:56 GMT -6
Thanks, guys. Philip, hope today is a better day for you.
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Einar lay flat on his belly, face over the newly-discovered opening, listening, breathing the slight moisture of its air. No sound reached his ears, no gurgle or seep of water as he might have expected in an old well—the thing would have to be old, if it were a well, the way it was constructed—and the smell was far more suggestive of musty, confined space, corroded metal and damp earth than of fresh, living water. Storm shelter? Bomb shelter? Bunker? Bud might have had any, or all, and the thought of a fully-stocked underground retreat filled him with new hope regarding the situation, the possibility of obtaining supplies and armaments which could make all the difference, back at the house. Lacking a light and entirely unable, using the muted starlight filtering through the heavy screen of evergreens above, to make out any details in the inky blackness below, Einar felt around for a small pebble and dropped it into the opening, hoping to gain some idea of the distance to the bottom. Splat! No time, at all. Less than a second, by far, until his pebble had impacted what sounded like damp, squishy mud. Hmm. No ladder-containing entrance shaft to a long-buried bomb shelter, then. At least, not a conventional one. Well. Only one way to find out, and a little thrill of excitement passed through him as he sat on the edge of the opening, propped the rifle across one side and lowered himself down. Einar had a long history with underground places, not all of it good, by any means, and the prospect of exploring a new one always brought with it an odd, slightly nauseating mixture of anticipation and dread.
Not far to the bottom, that was for sure. Knees resting on the muddy surface below, everything above the waist still rose out into the night air, a very low, confined space, but judging by the slight if unmistakable air current flowing towards him and out into the night, it went somewhere, and he meant to see where. Easing the rifle down onto his knees in an attempt to keep it up out of any water which might be puddled on the surface of the tunnel, he felt about for the cover, found it, easing it into place behind him and rolling down onto his belly, beginning to ease himself forward. The floor beneath was damp, mud covering, in places, the rough corrugations which told him that he was in some sort of culvert, metal, by the feel of it, and too confining to do anything but pull himself along in a low crawl, elbows and toes, barely even able to put his knees to much use.
Some three or four yards along in the pitch dark course of the tunnel Einar reached water, three or four inches deep by the feel of it, slid the rifle up onto his back and pushed his way through for some eight feet to the far side where water once more gave way to mud. There he paused, fists tucked under his chin for warmth and body trembling furiously with the chill of the place, shuddering breaths loud in the silence and teeth clicking together despite his best efforts. Resting forehead on his clenched hands he took a few deep breaths, tried to still his shivering and regain control over his wayward limbs, but the persistent icy damp of the tunnel after hours already spent in contact with the cold ground outside was too much for him, and he could not seem to make any headway. To complicate matters, the steel corrugations of the culvert pressed up painfully against his ribs in a manner which brought unavoidably to mind the bamboo of a certain jungle prison-cage in which he had spent entirely too much time, after another long-ago tunnel misadventure.
Well, he laughed silently in the still, close air, shuddered hard and worked to knead some life back into numbed hands, at least there is no mistaking this tunnel for one of those back there. No way a fellow could have frozen to death in one of them, just by stopping still for an hour or two. Which is a real distinct possibility here, if I don’t get moving pretty soon. Now, where does this thing go? Seems to be heading in the general direction of the house, though it is awfully hard to tell her in the dark without any reference point at all. Guess I’ll be finding out.
More crawling, tunnel at times seeming to descend slightly, leading to an inevitable pooling of water and many long minutes of bone-chilling creeping through wet and mud, the water at one point rising so that he had to contort his head into odd positions to keep his nose in the little pocket of air up near the arched top of the culvert. Frightening, if he had allowed himself to stop and think about it, as he had no light at all and might at any time hit a patch of slippery mud beneath his hands or knees and go down, perhaps just as he was taking a breath... But he did not think about it. Just kept moving. Knew he might have to go under at some point, intentionally, if he wanted to continue, and despite the rational realization that this place was nothing like that long-ago jungle maze in which he had been captured upon breaking surface after a similar tunnel dive, the prospect filled him with a dread which made his already hypothermic blood run colder than it was already doing. Guessed he would go for it anyway, if the time came. Had to know what was at the other end of this thing, and besides, would have an awful time turning around now even if he made the decision to do so, considering the narrow diameter of the passageway. The thought made him feel even more trapped, a little frantic, and there was no room in that narrow culvert for frantic. No room at all, and he quickly shoved the feeling aside. Of course he could turn around, and really, nothing about this little adventure was so terribly different than the caving that he had always enjoyed. Was it? No, it is not. Now shut up and keep moving…
Despite Einar’s concerns, the water depth began rapidly diminishing after that one final, icy squeeze, inches, only, beneath him as he slithered along and breathing no challenge but for difficulties brought on by the now-convulsive shaking of his badly chilled body. No stopping that, it seemed, though he did from time to time pause, hold his breath and give it his best effort in an attempt to achieve silence and stillness, listen for any sounds that might be coming from the far end of the tunnel. He never heard anything. Whether because there was nothing to hear, or because he could not long at a time hold off the whistling and puffing of his own breath, he was never entirely sure.
Uphill. At first he had doubted his own sense of the thing, all senses baffled by the long, slow crawl in the dark, but when he began sliding backwards on each pause, he became certain. He was ascending. Hard work. Had to brace himself between each forward effort, knees, elbows pressed against the cold metal sides of the culvert, and sometimes to give them a break, applying opposing pressure with the heels of his hands and his back to jam himself in place. Strange thing, this elevation gain. Must be getting near the end of the thing. Hoped so, as he was shaking nearly as much with the strain of the effort as with the cold, now, was not sure how much longer he could keep it up if the angle continued growing steeper. Would have thought the thing an oversized drainage pipe, but for the incongruity of its sealed end. No way that thing was designed with the intent of allowing water to drain. No, this tunnel was meant for people or cargo, though definitely not a person an awful lot wider than himself. Which pretty much ruled out Bud, so what on earth had he stumbled into, here?
About to find out, it seemed, as the thing was leveling off, blessed relief from the toil of the climb, and for a few moments he paused, arms spread out before him and forehead resting on the damp bottom of the culvert, too tired to make any more effort at keeping himself out of the mud. The cold got him moving again, body quickly stiffening with his stillness and the shivering growing so intense that his teeth ached with clamping them against it. Had not been able to feel his hands or lower arms for a long time, knees, either. Just as well. Had to be rather thoroughly bruised up after using them so hard in the tunnel, and he could probably move better without being able to feel them. Would need his hands, though, when he reached the end of the thing. If it went anywhere. If…head jerking up he spat gritty mud from his mouth, realized that he must have briefly fallen asleep. Not good. He wasn’t that tired, surely. But was probably that cold. Too much time in the water, too many days without much food, and he tucked his hands up under his arms in an attempt to restore some feeling, tried to get his knees under him just a bit to break contact between his body and the metal of the culvert, but there was no room.
Ok. Thing is changing. Not climbing anymore. So, better get moving again, see what is up ahead. Which is how he found the wall. Hit the wall, actually, while dragging himself forward, hit the thing head first and stopped still, holding his breath, hoping no one was on the other side to have heard the thud. Nothing, no sound of movemen, no sound at all, and he reached out a shaking, muddy hand, lay it flat on the metal surface in front of him. It felt warm.
__________________________
Einar lay flat on his belly, face over the newly-discovered opening, listening, breathing the slight moisture of its air. No sound reached his ears, no gurgle or seep of water as he might have expected in an old well—the thing would have to be old, if it were a well, the way it was constructed—and the smell was far more suggestive of musty, confined space, corroded metal and damp earth than of fresh, living water. Storm shelter? Bomb shelter? Bunker? Bud might have had any, or all, and the thought of a fully-stocked underground retreat filled him with new hope regarding the situation, the possibility of obtaining supplies and armaments which could make all the difference, back at the house. Lacking a light and entirely unable, using the muted starlight filtering through the heavy screen of evergreens above, to make out any details in the inky blackness below, Einar felt around for a small pebble and dropped it into the opening, hoping to gain some idea of the distance to the bottom. Splat! No time, at all. Less than a second, by far, until his pebble had impacted what sounded like damp, squishy mud. Hmm. No ladder-containing entrance shaft to a long-buried bomb shelter, then. At least, not a conventional one. Well. Only one way to find out, and a little thrill of excitement passed through him as he sat on the edge of the opening, propped the rifle across one side and lowered himself down. Einar had a long history with underground places, not all of it good, by any means, and the prospect of exploring a new one always brought with it an odd, slightly nauseating mixture of anticipation and dread.
Not far to the bottom, that was for sure. Knees resting on the muddy surface below, everything above the waist still rose out into the night air, a very low, confined space, but judging by the slight if unmistakable air current flowing towards him and out into the night, it went somewhere, and he meant to see where. Easing the rifle down onto his knees in an attempt to keep it up out of any water which might be puddled on the surface of the tunnel, he felt about for the cover, found it, easing it into place behind him and rolling down onto his belly, beginning to ease himself forward. The floor beneath was damp, mud covering, in places, the rough corrugations which told him that he was in some sort of culvert, metal, by the feel of it, and too confining to do anything but pull himself along in a low crawl, elbows and toes, barely even able to put his knees to much use.
Some three or four yards along in the pitch dark course of the tunnel Einar reached water, three or four inches deep by the feel of it, slid the rifle up onto his back and pushed his way through for some eight feet to the far side where water once more gave way to mud. There he paused, fists tucked under his chin for warmth and body trembling furiously with the chill of the place, shuddering breaths loud in the silence and teeth clicking together despite his best efforts. Resting forehead on his clenched hands he took a few deep breaths, tried to still his shivering and regain control over his wayward limbs, but the persistent icy damp of the tunnel after hours already spent in contact with the cold ground outside was too much for him, and he could not seem to make any headway. To complicate matters, the steel corrugations of the culvert pressed up painfully against his ribs in a manner which brought unavoidably to mind the bamboo of a certain jungle prison-cage in which he had spent entirely too much time, after another long-ago tunnel misadventure.
Well, he laughed silently in the still, close air, shuddered hard and worked to knead some life back into numbed hands, at least there is no mistaking this tunnel for one of those back there. No way a fellow could have frozen to death in one of them, just by stopping still for an hour or two. Which is a real distinct possibility here, if I don’t get moving pretty soon. Now, where does this thing go? Seems to be heading in the general direction of the house, though it is awfully hard to tell her in the dark without any reference point at all. Guess I’ll be finding out.
More crawling, tunnel at times seeming to descend slightly, leading to an inevitable pooling of water and many long minutes of bone-chilling creeping through wet and mud, the water at one point rising so that he had to contort his head into odd positions to keep his nose in the little pocket of air up near the arched top of the culvert. Frightening, if he had allowed himself to stop and think about it, as he had no light at all and might at any time hit a patch of slippery mud beneath his hands or knees and go down, perhaps just as he was taking a breath... But he did not think about it. Just kept moving. Knew he might have to go under at some point, intentionally, if he wanted to continue, and despite the rational realization that this place was nothing like that long-ago jungle maze in which he had been captured upon breaking surface after a similar tunnel dive, the prospect filled him with a dread which made his already hypothermic blood run colder than it was already doing. Guessed he would go for it anyway, if the time came. Had to know what was at the other end of this thing, and besides, would have an awful time turning around now even if he made the decision to do so, considering the narrow diameter of the passageway. The thought made him feel even more trapped, a little frantic, and there was no room in that narrow culvert for frantic. No room at all, and he quickly shoved the feeling aside. Of course he could turn around, and really, nothing about this little adventure was so terribly different than the caving that he had always enjoyed. Was it? No, it is not. Now shut up and keep moving…
Despite Einar’s concerns, the water depth began rapidly diminishing after that one final, icy squeeze, inches, only, beneath him as he slithered along and breathing no challenge but for difficulties brought on by the now-convulsive shaking of his badly chilled body. No stopping that, it seemed, though he did from time to time pause, hold his breath and give it his best effort in an attempt to achieve silence and stillness, listen for any sounds that might be coming from the far end of the tunnel. He never heard anything. Whether because there was nothing to hear, or because he could not long at a time hold off the whistling and puffing of his own breath, he was never entirely sure.
Uphill. At first he had doubted his own sense of the thing, all senses baffled by the long, slow crawl in the dark, but when he began sliding backwards on each pause, he became certain. He was ascending. Hard work. Had to brace himself between each forward effort, knees, elbows pressed against the cold metal sides of the culvert, and sometimes to give them a break, applying opposing pressure with the heels of his hands and his back to jam himself in place. Strange thing, this elevation gain. Must be getting near the end of the thing. Hoped so, as he was shaking nearly as much with the strain of the effort as with the cold, now, was not sure how much longer he could keep it up if the angle continued growing steeper. Would have thought the thing an oversized drainage pipe, but for the incongruity of its sealed end. No way that thing was designed with the intent of allowing water to drain. No, this tunnel was meant for people or cargo, though definitely not a person an awful lot wider than himself. Which pretty much ruled out Bud, so what on earth had he stumbled into, here?
About to find out, it seemed, as the thing was leveling off, blessed relief from the toil of the climb, and for a few moments he paused, arms spread out before him and forehead resting on the damp bottom of the culvert, too tired to make any more effort at keeping himself out of the mud. The cold got him moving again, body quickly stiffening with his stillness and the shivering growing so intense that his teeth ached with clamping them against it. Had not been able to feel his hands or lower arms for a long time, knees, either. Just as well. Had to be rather thoroughly bruised up after using them so hard in the tunnel, and he could probably move better without being able to feel them. Would need his hands, though, when he reached the end of the thing. If it went anywhere. If…head jerking up he spat gritty mud from his mouth, realized that he must have briefly fallen asleep. Not good. He wasn’t that tired, surely. But was probably that cold. Too much time in the water, too many days without much food, and he tucked his hands up under his arms in an attempt to restore some feeling, tried to get his knees under him just a bit to break contact between his body and the metal of the culvert, but there was no room.
Ok. Thing is changing. Not climbing anymore. So, better get moving again, see what is up ahead. Which is how he found the wall. Hit the wall, actually, while dragging himself forward, hit the thing head first and stopped still, holding his breath, hoping no one was on the other side to have heard the thud. Nothing, no sound of movemen, no sound at all, and he reached out a shaking, muddy hand, lay it flat on the metal surface in front of him. It felt warm.
