Jack and Susan in 1933 (36 page)

“It went out.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Susan's voice sounded clearly in the darkness. “I'm quite certain,” Susan's voice remarked, “that this is the most dreadful moment of my entire life.”

“At least you're not buried in half a ton of dirt. Did you know, by the way, that you are owner of a very valuable property here?”

“Yes,” said Susan, remembering that not only did she have candles and matches in her pack, she also had extra batteries for the torch. She lighted a match. “It's a uranium mine, I understand.”

That dim yellow light made her feel a great deal better.

“If you knew that,” said Jack, “why didn't you say something about it? It would certainly explain why Harmon doesn't want to divorce you.”

She took out a candle and put the match flame to the wick. The light got brighter.

Susan's spirits rose proportionately.

“I just found out half an hour ago. Some man from the government dropped by, I think, to make certain I didn't sell the mine to a foreign power. You're quite right,” Susan went on, dropping new batteries into the torch, “about why Harmon doesn't want to divorce me. But do you know why Barbara doesn't want to divorce you?”

“I've no idea,” said Jack. “I honestly haven't thought much about Barbara in the past few hours. Other matters were more pressing.” Such as the fact that he was buried under half a ton of radioactive soil, three-quarters of a mile deep in the earth, and on top of everything else, had an itch on his right knee that might turn out to be his final sensation.

“The only reason Barbara wanted a divorce from you,” said Susan, brushing away a little dirt from the top of Jack's head, “is so that she could marry Harmon.”

“Harmon?” echoed Jack, then added parenthetically, “That feels very good. Harmon
Dodge
. Barbara and
Harmon
.”

“Yes,” said Susan.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“But if Harmon wasn't going to divorce me, then there was no reason for her to divorce you. It would be easier to keep their
liaison
secret if she were still married.”

“Barbara and
Harmon
?” Jack repeated, trying to get used to the idea. Something hard and cold pressed in over his face, stripping skin from his nose. It was Susan's torch.

“I can't see anything but dirt in there,” she said. “You really are buried.”

“I also thought Barbara was too lazy to be unfaithful,” Jack mused. “And I thought that Harmon was attracted only to hat-check girls.”

“I brought a spade,” said Susan. “Shall I dig you out?”

“Please,” said Jack.

Placing the light to one side and a lighted candle to the other, Susan began to dig, tossing the dirt over her shoulder, first to the right then to the left. Scotty and Zelda hung back in the darkness, out of the way of the flying debris.

As she gradually cleared away the narrow opening, Jack's head, unsupported by the fall of earth, lolled backward. Finally he was able to see Susan's face, though it appeared upside down. At the same time, however, breathing became even more difficult for him.

“I'm going to try to widen this opening a little,” said Susan.

“Not a good idea,” Jack warned. “These walls aren't very stable. I might be buried completely. So might you.”

“I have a rope,” Susan suggested. “I could put it around your neck and pull you out.”

“Also not a good idea,” said Jack. “This is supposed to be a rescue, not a lynching.”

“Then I don't know what else to do,” said Susan. “You're blocking the opening, and I can't get past you to dig you out. I can't widen the hole, and you won't let me put a rope around your neck. This is still the worst moment of my life, I think.”

“There is something you can do,” said Jack.

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“What good will that do?”

“Well, if I never get out of here, at least I will have died happy.”

Susan kissed him. They both felt better after that.

Susan looked around, at the meager lights, at the close, crumbling walls, at the ceiling that bulged down toward her head. “If I were an artist, this is how I'd draw hell. I just don't understand how I can feel so romantic at a time like this.”

“We may never have another chance,” Jack pointed out.

“Maybe we should wait till someone else comes,” Susan suggested.

Jack sighed as great a sigh as his lungs would allow. “Not a good idea either. The weight on my chest and legs is heavier than before. I can't take much more of this.”

“If I can't put the rope around your neck,” Susan suggested, “maybe I could get it around your chest and under your arms.”

“A good idea,” said Jack.

“I even brought a rope,” said Susan cheerfully, “which should make things a great deal easier.”

Taking an end of the rope in her hand, she dug carefully out beneath Jack's head, and then clawed her way up under his arm, until she could feel his chest. Then, leaving that arm and hand in position, she began digging around his other side.

Her hair was pressed against his face, and he breathed deeply through it. On the whole, if he had to suffocate, he'd prefer doing it this way.

She dug and pushed and pressed until her hands were clasped around his chest, beneath the landslide of earth. She grasped the end of the rope in her left hand, and then carefully pulled herself free, leaving Jack with a rope underneath his arms and around his chest.

“I'm going to pull now,” said Susan. “This will probably hurt.”

“Please don't hold back on my account,” Jack said.

Susan pulled hard.

Jack groaned. He twisted, hoping that would help. It didn't.

“Pull harder,” he suggested.

Susan pulled harder. The rope burned in her hands.

Jack could imagine his head and shoulders being pulled free. He could also imagine his torso, hips, and legs being left behind with the ticking Geiger counter.

“Harder!”

She pulled even harder, turning away from Jack, with the rope over her shoulder, like the Volga boatman.

Jack felt his body shift.

He also felt a liquid warmth under his arms. His blood probably, where the rope had abraded through his shirt and skin.

“It's working!” he called. He twisted more.

Suddenly his head was free.

“Keep pulling!”

He twisted more. Susan jerked on the rope. Jack's left arm came free. He used it for leverage.

Susan jerked again.

At least two more feet of Jack came free: his shoulders, both arms, his lungs.

He filled his lungs with air.

“I can breathe,” he shouted.

Susan dropped the rope and ran over to him. She kissed him again.

“I have to rest a moment,” she said. “Do you mind?”

Jack breathed deeply. He waved his arms. He dug his hands into the earth and tried to pull himself out. “No, rest. Kiss me again. It won't take long to get my legs out. Maybe I can do it myself.”

He started wriggling.

“Oh Jack…” Susan complained. She knelt behind him, hooked her arms underneath his, and then pulled.

Jack kicked and twisted.

Slowly he was pulled free.

For several moments he simply lay on the floor, his head in Susan's lap.

“I'm very happy,” he said.

“I am, too,” she said. “But this still feels like hell to me.”

Jack slowly moved his legs around. “If you help me, I think I'll be able to stand up.”

She helped him to his feet.

“Are you strong enough to walk back?” asked Susan. “Or should we just wait till someone comes?”

Clop, clop, clop.

“Here comes someone!” said Jack. “I hope they brought a litter. I never traveled by litter. I've always fancied it.”

Clop, clop, clop
.

“Colleen?” Susan called.

No reply.
Clop, clop, clop
.

“Wesley?” she called, directing the torch down the passage. “Blossom?”

It was none of them.

The narrow cone of light shone first on the face of Malcolm MacIsaac. Then Susan played it down the length of the rifle whose muzzle bulged into the dark cylinder of a silencer.

“C
AN YOU FLY
a plane?” Susan asked MacIsaac.

“Yes,” he replied.

“That solves
that
question,” Susan sighed.

“Did you cut the cables on Marcellus Rhinelander's touring car?” Jack asked.

“Want to get everything straight before you die?” MacIsaac cackled. “No, I didn't. I've never murdered anybody in my life. Yet.”

“Then who killed Marcellus?” Susan wondered aloud to Jack.

“Your husband did,” said MacIsaac. The barrel of the rifle wandered back and forth between then. “Are you two ready to die?”

“Half an hour ago,” said Jack, “I would have said yes.”

He stomped on Susan's electric torch, whose beam was still trained toward the hole where he'd been trapped.

At the same moment the torch was extinguished, Susan threw herself down on the candle.

All light was now extinguished.

Then briefly, the whole passage was lighted again— by the muted explosion of MacIsaac's rifle.

Jack felt air against his cheek.

Then all was darkness again.

“Scotty?” Jack called. “Zelda?”

“Attack!” cried Susan.

In the darkness they heard barks, growls, the scurrying of tiny feet, the ripping of cloth, and then a shriek.

Another explosion, illuminating the corridor like a bolt of lightning.

In that brief glow, Jack and Susan saw MacIsaac whirling around and around, the two dogs attached to him by their teeth and flung out horizontally by centrifugal force.

Then blackness again.

A crash, a groan.

Another shot, showing MacIsaac on the ground, but still holding the rifle.

One more explosion of fire, then blackness again.

A creaking of wood. A rumble of shifting earth. A hiss of sand.

“Oh my God,” whispered Susan. “He hit one of the supports.”

A splintering of wood.

In the darkness Susan flung out her arm and hit Jack in the chest. Then she grabbed at him till she had his hand. “We have to get out of here,” she whispered. “Right now.”

A louder splintering of wood.

A noise of slipping, sliding earth.

“Scotty! Zelda!” Susan yelled. “Run! Run!”

Jack and Susan ran also, despite the fact that their way in the blackness was barred by MacIsaac and his rifle.

“No!” the detective screamed. “You won't—”

Then there was an even louder noise of shifting earth and the threat was cut off.

Earth poured over Jack and Susan and knocked them backward onto the floor of the passage.

The black space was filled with a roar of tumbling earth.

Jack and Susan, still holding hands, scuttled backward across the floor.

The noise of falling earth continued.

They felt it spill over their feet. They went on backing up. The earth still tumbled over their feet.

In their progress, Susan shoved over the extinguished candle. She instinctively grabbed it out from under her.

Finally, they were pushed right up against an ungiving wall.

Jack stood and pulled Susan up beside him.

“This is the worst way to die that I can possibly imagine,” said Susan.

“Sorry,” Jack said, as if the whole business were his fault entirely.

“Oh well,” Susan said, as the earth, having completely buried her feet and ankles, was now intent on burying her calves and knees, “it's not the
worst
, I suppose, with you here.”

He squeezed her hand.

“Another kiss?” he asked.

She kissed him.

“I wish I could see your face,” he sighed.

“I have a candle, but I lost the matches.”

“I have some,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

The earth had now buried them up to the waist. Jack lighted the candle and held it up between himself and Susan.