Will of Man - Part Four (2 page)

Jeff pulled me in and had me look out the back window. He looked over his shoulder to see if any guards were around, the whispered close to my ear, “The wall is only about ten meters away. Between the shed and the wall is a cement lot. We could dig from this room, under the cement, and to the wall. The wall’s foundation probably goes down a few feet, but if we can go under the wall, we can make it to the shore. To the shore is about..”

“Eight-hundred meters,” I interrupted.

“Yes, give or take,” Jeff replied. “I think we can make it to the water. Problem is, what do we do when we get there?”

“We swim,” I replied. “It’s not that far. We just take our time.”

Eight-hundred meters is equivalent to a half mile and looks far. But I think most can make it if they float on their back and kick.

Jeff looked down at his feet and said, “Maybe you can Tyler, but I can’t swim. I’ll need something to keep me afloat. Father Patrick makes sure nothing like that is available to any of us. And I don’t see any life vests hanging around.”

“I have something. I have a triathlon wetsuit that should fit you - somewhat,” I said as I looked Jeff up and down. Like I said earlier, Jeff is short by most men’s standard, but wider than me. However, I think I can fit him in my wetsuit.

“Why do you have a triathlon wetsuit?” Jeff asked

“It’s a long story, and It’s not here, but it’s close. I would have to swim to shore, retrieve it and come back for you.” I said.

“No, if you make it to shore, you keep going. I’m not going to have you risk coming back for me. We’ll find another way.” Jeff said. “But for now, let’s figure out a way for us to keep working in this shed. We actually need a reason to come in here, otherwise this hole won’t get dug.”

Jeff and I pondered how we could get into here on a daily basis. Jeff suggested we sabotage the garden tools shed. Then suggest to the guards that we move the garden tools to this shed. That way, we’d have an excuse to come in here every day.

The garden tools shed, wasn’t much. It was about six by ten in area and made of flimsy material. It wouldn’t take much to knock over. But how can we knock it over?

Jeff rubbed his head, stared at the garden tools shed, and then waved a finger to me and said, “Don’t worry, I have an idea.”

He didn’t share his idea, but he had a crooked grin on his face as he said it.

Tyler's Journal Entry: 401

Date: August 27

Day: Tuesday

Weather: Hot and sunny

Miles to go: 580

Jeff is a sneaky devil for being a middle school councilor. He not only sabotaged the garden tools shed, he brought the whole thing down along with a jerk guard.

This is how it went.;

Jeff noticed that a rather plump guard nick-named Fat George, who is a jerk, always ties his horse to the edge of the garden tool shed. Jeff doesn’t like Fat George since Fat George made Jeff work in nothing but a pink pair of girls’ underwear (for a whole day) that were found floating by the prison.

Apparently Fat George has a beef with anyone possessing an I.Q. higher than his own. Which basically includes everyone, including his horse. So naturally, with Jeff being a school councilor and Fat George hating anything to do with learning stuff - he hated Jeff. It didn’t help that Jeff purposely used big words when talking to Fat George.

Anyways, after Father Patrick’s two-hour long sermon, Jeff asked to use the BB air-gun (the only gun around these days) to shoot some crows that were picking at the crops. Jeff waited patiently until the right moment. That moment came when Fat George mounted his horse with it still tied to the shed. Fat George is lazy and likes to power-trip, so he always mounts his horse first, and then tells his tag-along to untie his horse while he sits there on his fat butt waiting.

Jeff is a good shot with the air-gun, and Fat George’s horse has really big, well let’s say, family jewels. Jeff shot that poor horse in the balls, and that horse took off like it was running to win the Kentucky Derby. Fat George went flying in the air and that horse, still tied to the shed, ripped it down in big pull. The whole thing came crashing down. It took Fat George an hour to calm his horse down. I guess I’d be pretty upset too if someone shot me in the balls. But what can I say, other than, mission accomplished.

Tyler's Journal Entry: 405

Date: August 31

Day: Saturday

Weather: Windy and cool

Miles to go: 580

Jeff’s plan worked perfectly. Fat George was furious the garden tools shed was destroyed and ordered the tools be moved to the granary next to where the garden shed previously stood. This was a problem, since we needed the tools to be moved to the back shed near the wall.

Jeff however is a genius and used reverse psychology on Fat George. Jeff thanked Fat George for not making us move the tools all the way over to the back shed (where we really wanted them). Fat George, being Fat George and hating Jeff to the core, changed his mind and made Jeff and I move the tools to the back shed. Like I said, Jeff is a genius. Or Fat George is just really predictable. Either way, we now have a reason to go into the back shed every day.

Tyler's Journal Entry: 410

Date: September 5

Day: Thursday

Weather: Windy and cool

Miles to go: 580

Other than having to listen to Father Patrick ramble on for hours about how we are all sinners, Jeff and I have been making pretty good progress on our tunnel. We must be half way to the wall by now. Being that we work in the garden, we have access to shovels and a wheel barrel. The guards don’t watch us much, since we are constantly moving around the prison grounds, going back and forth from the garden. So it’s not out of the normal for us to be dumping dirt into a wheel barrow and hauling it to the garden.

We are still very careful. If we get caught, we may be separated, or put into solitary confinement. We both miss our families more than anything, and will stop at nothing to get out of here.

Jeff and I were talking tonight before going to sleep and I asked him if he’d been PULLED yet. He said only once, and he showed me his tally mark on his forearm. I showed him mine, but we didn’t talk about the experience. You would think people would wear their tally marks like a badge of honor, but no one does. Not even the TAKERS. It’s something that’s just not talked about.

I asked what happens to men who are PULLED while here. Jeff said they don’t leave. Father Patrick has them held up in a dungeon under the far-east wing of the prison. Jeff said, one time he was told to feed the guard dogs over by the east end. He said he could here screams and shrieks coming from the ground beneath him. He said it is a haunting sound. A sound of people in pain and suffering.

Jeff said Father Patrick doesn’t allow the prisoners to fulfill their PULLS. He said the PULL is the work of the devil and through faith and prayer, the PULLED shall find peace. They only need to pray harder.

The rumor is, that most goes insane and eventually dies from starvation. The THIRST that comes with the PULL consumes a person, until that is the only thing that matters.

Jeff went on to explain, that since the prisoners can’t escape to fulfill their PULL, their opponents eventually end up on the banks across the river from the prison. They too find a world of trouble since they have no way of getting to the island. Most end up giving into desperation and try swimming to the island. Almost all don’t make it and drown. Those that do make it to the island, either get put in prison, or are killed by the guards. Jeff thinks they should just let them fight. Weird as it sounds, allowing them to fight to the death would be more humane than letting them suffer.

Tyler's Journal Entry: 412

Date: September 7

Day: Saturday

Weather: Windy and cool

Miles to go: 580

Today I met Father Patrick in person. I was actually hauling a load of dirt from our tunnel to the edge of the garden when he stopped me. He asked me my name and I told him. He had me leave my wheel barrel, and walk with him as he inspected the garden.

He gave me advice on proper gardening and the importance of hard work for a young man. He didn’t say it in a bossy, mean way, but more in a mentoring way. As he pointed out different things in the garden, he placed his hand on my shoulder as he spoke. It was more of a get-to-know-each-other conversation, than a lecturing. He has a way about him, which pulls you in when he talks to you. He looks you in the eye and speaks to you like he respects you.

Strange, Father Patrick is a GIVER. However, he is kookoo-for-Cocoa-Puffs (insane). So his ideas for “giving” are skewed. His control of the TAKERS is a testament to his charisma. 

I remembered how Jeff warned me not to be fooled by him. I pretended to be really into what Father Patrick was saying to me, but in my mind, I was 580 miles away.

Father Patrick poured me a cup of water from the drinking barrel, and sat me down. He asked why I seem distracted during his sermons. He asked if I believed in God and the power of prayer. I said that I do. I could tell he was fanatical about religion and that it would be in my best interest to act as enthusiastic as him.

Don’t get me wrong, I have faith. I pray to God often, but I’m not a nut-job about him. I sometimes wonder if even God gets annoyed with fanatics. I imagine they make it to Heaven (because they work so hard at it), but when they do, does God give them a piece of Heaven way on the other side, away from his pad. Kind of like how my Dad loves his Mom, and wants to buy her a house, only that house will be far enough away that she can’t visit every day. Ha! Does God say to people like that, “I love you my child, but don’t call me - I’ll call you.” Then screens them with his Holy Caller ID. Ha! I try to imagine God as a cool dude with a great sense of humor.

Anyways, I wasn’t going to let Father Patrick know that I thought he was a nut-job. I went along with everything he said. But I convinced him a little too much, because he made me one of his altar boys. Now I had to do double duty helping him at the church! 

This is going to be a problem. I need to find a way out of this.

Tyler's Journal Entry: 414

Date: September 8

Day: Sunday

Weather: Windy and cool

Miles to go: 580

So today I commenced “OPERATION - WORST ALTER BOY EVER!” If I was going to be productive with Jeff and I’s tunnel, I was going to have to get out of altar boy duty. How do I do that? I become the worst altar boy ever.

This was going to be tricky though, I had to appear to be a moron without letting him know I was pretending to be a moron. Father Patrick gave me a robe to wear, so I put it on proudly (but backwards). He asked me to fetch his bible from his cabin, so I brought back his cookbook. He asked me to stand to his right while he preached, so I stood to his left. He asked me to break bread, so I did, and then I ate the whole thing, and asked if I could have some jelly next time.

Father Patrick started out very patient and welcoming at first, but by the end of the first day, he politely suggested I stick with the garden. He said, “Tyler, I think your true calling is providing the people of this island with food. So says God.”

He asked me for the robe back, patted me on the head, and directed me back to Jeff. I gave him a great big fake hug and apologized with a big ole fake tear in my eye. With a big fake grin, Father Patrick assured me it was ok, and politely shoved me out his front door.

“That didn’t take long.” Jeff said.

“Yeah, I stink at being an altar boy.” I said with stupid grin on my face.

After my long day of disappointing Father Patrick, I began to think about my family. What if I don’t make it back to them? I thought about Heaven and God.  Will I see them some day in Heaven? I told myself, that I need to live the best I can and don’t give into the bad. With the way the world is now, following bad choices seems so much easier than following the good choices.

Back in my cell I started to get wishy-washy, thinking about my family. All this writing in my journal has sparked an interest in writing and documenting my journey - my thoughts. So at the risk of being a big dork, I wrote this poem for my family. If wishy-washy poems written by mediocre teenage writers make you nauseous, then you may want to skip over this poem.

So here’s my poem;

If I Go To Heaven First

By

Tyler

If I go to Heaven first …

Dad, I will climb atop the highest mountain and there I will sit. I will sit there and search the horizon for you. While I wait, I will feel the cool breeze soak through my hair. The birds will fly by and inform me if you are near. I will feel the warm sun on my skin and it will remind me of the times we walked together side by side.

And there I will wait…

If I go to Heaven first…

Tanner, I will find the sandiest beach on the sunniest day. While there, I will lay two towels – one for you, and one for me. I’ll make sure there are no rocks beneath your towel to make you uncomfortable. I will pick a spot not too close to the water so we don’t get splashed. I will listen to the waves brush the sand and the wind sort its way through the trees. The water will be warm and clear and glistening from the sun.

And there I will wait…

If I go to Heaven first…

Tanner, I will find a peaceful park. There I will find a bench to sit on. I hope there is shade covering the bench, for it may take a while for you to find me. I will think about when we swung on the swings and slid on the slides. Maybe our old dog will be there to keep me company. Occasionally I will look over my shoulder to see if you’re coming.

And there I will wait…

If I go to Heaven first…

Mom, I will hang a hammock. I will cover it with a blanket and lay a pillow. I will make sure it is soft for you when you find me. I will remember all the great conversations we had about our day, days past, and days to come. I will remember the times we laughed, cried, and sometimes just laid and smiled at each other.

And there I will wait…

If I go to Heaven first…