Below, p.6
Below, page 6
‘Wait,’ Imogen said. ‘We’ve got to take things slowly, remember? Don’t use up energy, don’t break anything in case we need it later.’ She shifted on the metal floor; pulled a face. ‘Like I said, we’re gonna get in a shitty mood. We’re hungry and … and scared. We’ll do things that annoy each other, remember? Can’t help it. We’ve got to watch for that.’
You were already doing things that annoyed me before we even came into the tunnel, Liam thought. But she was talking sense, once again. He worked his arm free, carefully. ‘It’s twenty past seven.’
Twenty past seven. His mother would be calling him to get up and get ready for school, while he’d be pretending not to hear. Except today was Sunday, and on this Sunday morning, his parents would be frightened and desperate, trying to understand where he was, what had happened. As soon as they learned Imogen was missing, too (did they already know that?), they’d start working things out … wouldn’t they? They’d talk to Noah; maybe to Imogen’s friend Sonja Patel. Even if they couldn’t find his bike, even if rocks had buried it, they’d start to guess where the two of them must be.
Imogen seemed to be asleep. Liam sat still, straining to hear any diggers in the distance, any voices or whistles. Nothing. After a while, he felt his head slumping forward, too.
The day passed. Not that ‘day’ had any meaning down here. No sunlight or night, no school or anything to mark time by: just the dim glow of cabin lights, the darkness pressing in from all sides, the silence of those billions of tonnes of rock above, beneath and in front.
Once, there was the faintest of murmurs from somewhere ahead. Liam lifted his head and listened, but nothing else came. Must be the mountain shifting once more.
Was it raining again outside? Would there be another collapse, a smashing apart of the tunnel, like the one that had buried them in here? They could be crushed, snuffed out in a couple of seconds. He hadn’t said anything to Imogen about it; was she thinking the same thing?
Fear clutched at him sometimes, made him wrap his arms around himself, rock backwards and forwards where he sat on the floor. But mostly, he felt exhausted and empty: empty in his mind as well as his stomach. His body ached; he couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how he lay or sat.
He went out once to the area they were using as a loo. He wore a hard hat, and knew how stupid he must look. And he carried his phone, but didn’t use its light — they’d need it if the cabin lights stopped working. He tried to imagine the blackness if that happened again, only the screen’s faint glow, the torch, the matches to hold it away. Could he handle that? Would he just huddle there like a terrified animal?
Before he went back inside Lucia, he stood and peered upwards. After a while, he began to make out the shattered tunnel roof above. The big section of concrete hung crazily downwards. Another jolt, and that could come smashing down onto the cabin. What chance would they have then?
He picked his way towards the windows’ dim gleam. Were the lights battery-powered? he wondered again. Or was there a cable to the outside? If he found that, tried to follow it or tug on it, could he … No, it was useless; they were trapped and helpless.
Imogen sat against the cabin wall, legs stretched out, arms tucked around her body, eyes closed. She didn’t move as he came in.
A fortnight till rescuers had got any food to the Chilean miners, and they already had some supplies from an emergency shelter their cave-in hadn’t destroyed. We’ve got about seven days’ worth of food. Seven days, and no idea how many we have to last.
He drank more water; sat down opposite the girl, and closed his eyes, too. He tried to picture his room at home, bright and friendly and safe, with food and love close by. Sobs welled up inside his body; he tried to hold them back. After a while, half-sleep crept through him.
Imogen went outside, also. Once, it must have been to the loo. The second time, she picked up the whistle.
‘Stay close to—’ Liam began.
She sighed loudly. ‘I know!’ Yeah, we’re gonna get into shitty moods, Liam thought. One of us especially.
She didn’t blow the whistle for very long, and the blasts weren’t as loud as last time. She doesn’t believe anyone will hear, Liam realised. When she came inside again, she dropped the whistle back in the emergency kit, and sat down without saying anything. He stayed silent, too.
What would it be like to starve to death? Maybe you’d go crazy, try to eat bits of wood or clothes or other stuff. Or maybe you’d just get weaker and weaker, like Imogen said, and fade away till you couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, just lay there and died. When he tried to imagine it, his mind seemed to shut down, refuse to believe. It could still hardly accept that they were buried alive and helpless here, either. But they were.
EIGHTEEN
Hours crawled by. They sat on the hard floor till their backsides got sore. They sat in the computer chairs till their backs ached. Imogen did some arm and leg stretches. ‘You should do these, too,’ she told Liam. ‘Do them gently so you don’t use up too much energy. But you’ll get cramps — maybe blood clots, remember — if you don’t do anything.’
Liam had been about to try some exercises, too. But because Imogen Parkinson was telling him to, he didn’t.
They dozed sometimes. They drank water. (While Liam was outside, filling bottles from the tank, he did some stretches where Imogen couldn’t see him.) She wrote in the computer manual that she was using as some sort of diary.
Twice, she asked what the time was. When Liam sighed, and made a big show of pulling his arm and watch out from under the survival blanket again, the girl said, ‘I know it’s annoying. Told you we’d get bad-tempered.’ She manages to sound right, even when she’s admitting it’s her fault, Liam thought. Five minutes later, he heard himself say, ‘How about I leave my watch on the desk — here by the keyboard? Means you don’t have to keep asking.’ As Imogen began to glare, he lifted a hand. ‘Didn’t mean it like that. You’re right: we’re gonna get shitty. Might as well do some things to try and stop it.’
She nodded. ‘OK. Thanks.’ I just said she’s right, and she just said thanks, Liam realised. Hell, what’s happening?
His stomach kept growling and gurgling. He thought of Sunday lunch at home: his mum usually cooked pasta, or did a quiche. He thought of what he’d be doing on a Sunday afternoon — hanging out with Noah, talking about school, which teachers were cool and which were boring, playing a game online or watching TV. He tried to think of more things like that; they stopped him from hunching up with fear.
Because the fear was still there, gripping his body and making him shudder; rising up inside him till he sat with hands pressed against his head, rocking backwards and forwards. It would take hardly anything to make him start crying again; he knew that.
‘Who do you like best at school?’ Imogen’s words were so much like what he’d been thinking that Liam jumped. She wasn’t looking at him; sat with arms wrapped around herself inside her jacket. She’d also been shifting backwards and forwards, Liam realised. She was as scared as him.
And yeah, they’d agreed to talk, to try and make themselves a bit less terrified. ‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Ms Salisi’s good.’
Imogen nodded. ‘Yeah, she makes you work, but she makes you laugh, too, eh? And Miss Liu, in Music. I like her. You can tell she’s really keen on all sorts of music, and she tries to teach stuff that everyone can listen to.’
‘Remember when she played that amazing flute thing for us in assembly?’ Liam said. ‘Told us it was over a hundred years old, belonged to her great-grandfather in China.’
‘Yeah, that was special. And she wore that silk dress in green and gold. It was so brilliant.’ Now Liam nodded, though he’d forgotten all about the dress.
They talked about other teachers, and some of the kids. Tane, who called all the teachers ‘Sir’, including the lady ones. Ella, who’d dyed her hair at least five different colours already this year. Liam realised he was sitting up straighter. He wasn’t thinking about his empty stomach, and he’d almost forgotten about being terrified. Imogen was right; talking helped. How could he tell her that without … without telling her?
‘Your friend Noah,’ she said now. ‘He’s nice.’ Wow, thought Liam, I’ll have to pass that on to Noah when we get out. Yes, ‘when’: hope glowed in him again. He stood, feeling his sore back creak, and peered at his watch on the desk. ‘It’s half-five — pm. Shall we have something to eat?’
They lit the little stove: packets of fuel tablets came with it. In the tiny folding pot that was also part of the emergency kit, they heated one of the packets of soup. MUSHROOM, the label said. I hate mushrooms, Liam thought, but just now, I’d love a whole bucket of them.
They sipped the hot, salty liquid in turns. ‘Slowly,’ Imogen ordered, and Liam grunted ‘I know!’ — inside his head. They nibbled a biscuit and a square of chocolate. I feel better, Liam decided. Just a bit, but I feel better.
It didn’t last long.
‘You said your tunnelling mates were so clever,’ Imogen said suddenly, as he was licking the last shred of chocolate from the wrapper. ‘So how come the stupid thing collapsed?’
‘How do I know? Could have been a quake, or some weak rock — rotten rock, they call it — giving way. Or water from all that rain. Water can smash through almost anything. Dad says it builds up so much pressure, it sometimes comes bursting out of the rock almost boiling hot.’
The girl said nothing for a moment. Finally, ‘Yeah, well, it’s another reason not to go sticking tunnels through mountains.’
Liam sighed. ‘So what do you want instead? More trucks on the roads? I asked you that in class.’
‘Yeah, and I said that people just need to have less stuff. When I …’ her voice faltered for a second. ‘When I leave school and get a job, I’m going to own hardly anything. And I’m gonna give the money I save to help the environment.’
Now Liam was silent. Whatever else she was, Imogen Parkinson was certainly different.
After a while, Imogen stood. ‘You know where we’re going to the loo?’
Oh man, did she have to talk about this? ‘Why?’ Liam asked again.
‘There’s a sort of gap in the rocks behind. I noticed it before. Could be a way to somewhere or something.’ As Liam started to speak, she jerked her head. ‘I don’t know. But let’s have a look, can we?’
They took the torch, put on the hard hats. The mountain was silent around them; there’d been no grumbles or mutters of falling rocks for a while now. Maybe things had finally settled down? And maybe that meant rescuers could get to work. If there were any rescuers.
‘Where?’ Liam asked, after they’d picked their way past the stack of computer manual pages marking their non-flushing loo. The torch beam lit up piles of fallen boulders, another section of smashed tunnel roof gaping above them.
Imogen pointed. ‘Over there.’
He aimed the torch. Yes, there was a gap among the rocks, wide enough for them to fit through. They moved towards it, Imogen close behind him. The gap seemed to turn a corner. Slowly, they edged into the narrow passage, stooping under a sagging chunk of concrete. The lights of the TBM’s cabin vanished behind them.
Four, five more steps, and Liam sighed with disappointment. They were facing an almost solid chunk of tunnel wall. The gap had ended.
Yet … was that the faintest waft of air he could feel on his face? He couldn’t be sure. Maybe all the rockfalls had opened up a way to the outside. Maybe they were only a short distance from daylight and safety. Could he see … ?
He turned off the torch. Instantly, utter blackness was all around again, almost solid, squeezing them, pushing its way into their bodies. Liam felt his mouth open in terror.
Imogen was screaming. ‘Turn it on! Turn it on!’
Liam fumbled for the button. His hand twitched, and the torch almost slipped from his grasp, like it had before. He snatched at it, jabbed the switch. Light flooded the boulders beside them, and he gasped. What if he’d dropped the torch or broke it, or couldn’t find it? They’d be—
Imogen was gone. As he turned, Liam glimpsed her ahead of him, stumbling back the way they’d come, banging against rocks, hands stretched out in front of her. She was weeping as she went.
‘Hey! Wait!’ The girl took no notice. She staggered on, half-tripping on the stones that littered the ground, blundering back towards the cabin that now glowed faintly ahead of them.
Liam followed, slowly. When he climbed the steps and went in, Imogen was huddled on the floor, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around herself. He began to sit down opposite her. Instead, he took the silver survival blanket, lowered himself down beside her, so their shoulders were touching, spread the blanket over them both. The girl was silent, though sobs occasionally still shook her. After a while, Liam reached out and held her hand.
NINETEEN
The second night crept past. Sometimes Liam thought an hour had gone, but when he stood to stretch, and checked his watch on the desk, 11.20pm had moved only to 11.43pm. Another time, when he thought just half an hour had passed, the figures had somehow jumped from 1.14am to 3.36am. Any sense of time certainly got stuffed up down here.
Beside him, Imogen sighed and shifted on the metal floor. He’d let go of her hand at some stage as he tried to get comfortable. His own back hurt from the hard surface; his neck and legs ached. He thought of his bed at home: the bed his mum was always telling him to make properly. If — somehow it had become ‘if’ again — they got out of here, he’d make his bed perfectly, every day for the rest of his life.
They hardly spoke. A couple of times, Imogen stood, and he heard her checking the watch. ‘What ti—’ he started, as she lay down again. ‘Half four,’ she muttered. That was all.
It’s Monday morning, he realised. They’d been in here for … forty hours. It already felt like forever. How many people would know they were missing by now? Would they think he and Imogen had run away together or something? That was too crazy for words.
His mother and father: were they awake, too? Or were they somewhere, searching? Maybe his dad was outside the tunnel right now, with diggers and other machines clawing at the fallen rock. Liam held his breath, tried to listen for any sound from the direction of the entrance. Nothing. Nothing, except for a faint noise which he realised was Imogen crying. And … and him as well.
They ate their biscuit and chocolate at 6.40am, plus quarter of an energy bar each. ‘I’m going to heat some water,’ Imogen said. ‘Might make us feel we’re actually eating something.’
It sounded weird, but it gave them something to do, plus the little stove’s glow made the inside of the bare cabin seem slightly less grim. Liam tipped his share of the hot water into one of the drink bottles, and sipped it slowly. As it warmed his stomach, he felt a fraction less miserable.
I’m never going to complain about anything if — when — we get out of here, he promised himself again. I’ll try and help everyone. I’ll just be so … so grateful for everything.
The morning began to dawdle past. They stood and stretched sometimes. Imogen went outside with the whistle and blew for a while, but it sounded half-hearted. ‘What did those miners do while they were waiting to be found?’ she asked as she climbed back inside the cabin. ‘The South American ones. Did they keep signalling?’
Liam shrugged. ‘I guess. They searched for ways out — they were in a really big space, whole caverns and tunnels where they could move around. One of them even trained for a marathon; went running up and down all the tunnels. They sang songs and they prayed. A lot of them were quite religious.’
The girl snorted. ‘I’m not gonna sing. I sound like a sick magpie.’
‘I sound like a dead rooster,’ Liam said. The tired face opposite managed another faint grin. After a few seconds, she spoke again. ‘You said those miners were religious. Mum and Dad reckon you can feel something like that when you really pay attention in the bush. There’s a — a force or something there. You can’t see or hear it, but it knows you’re there, and it makes you want to treat the trees properly. Respect them.’
Liam nodded. ‘Yeah. It’s like Dad telling the mountain why they’re making the tunnel, how they’re grateful for it letting them through. He says you can almost feel something breathing and listening to you, so quiet and deep down, you hardly hear it. Sounds weird, I know.’
Imogen was watching him. In the dim light of the cabin lights, her green eyes seemed dark.
‘And,’ Liam remembered something else. ‘I read this story a couple of years back, about a bunch of guys who wanted to drill as far down inside the Earth as they could, to test what it was like. They got thousands of metres into the ground. Then suddenly, the rock way down below started screaming, like it was alive and the drill was hurting it.’
The girl grunted. ‘This mountain probably feels the same when people start shoving a tunnel through it.’
Liam shut up. You could try, but you couldn’t really make Imogen Parkinson see sense.
8.17am, then 9.51am. Everyone would be at school now, talking about them. Liam tried to imagine the inside of Room 9, all bright and busy and friendly — though it was probably different today. He couldn’t hold on to the picture. His mind felt thick and stupid. Suppose the lack of food’s starting to get to me, he thought.
He heard himself speak again. ‘When we were looking in that gap through the rocks, and I turned the torch off — didn’t mean to scare you. I was wanting to see if there was any light getting in anywhere.’
Imogen shifted her back, where she sat against the wall. ‘I freaked out; thought the whole mountain was squeezing in on me, or something. It was just so black, and all I could think about was getting back to where there was light, as fast as I could.’ She paused. ‘I make much noise?’
‘A bit. Like … They could probably hear you outside the tunnel.’ Man, he’d made a joke to a girl. To this girl! She’d probably bite his head off.
