“Sir, shall I-?”
“We’ll be fine,” Dinah said, holding Barry’s elbow and walking him toward the table. “Thank you for offering.”
As Barry tapped his cane, Dinah glanced around the restaurant, which was decorated to evoke the feeling of an eclectic but wealthy family home. Unmatched silverware and antique furniture gave it plenty of charm; its location within walking distance of the Capitol gave it plenty of lobbyist clients.
With a quick pat-down of the table and its two ultrahip chairs — one wing-back, one art deco — Barry motioned for Dinah to sit, then took the seat opposite her.
“The waiter will be with you shortly,” the maître d’ added. “And if you need additional privacy…” With a sharp pull, he tugged a cord by the wall, and a burgundy velvet curtain slid into place, separating the nook from every other table in the restaurant. “Enjoy your lunch.”
“So what do you think?” Barry asked.
Dinah craned her neck, staring through a thin opening in the curtain. She didn’t usually eat in places like this. Not on a government salary. “How’d you find this place?” she said.
“I actually read about it in a book.”
Dinah was silent.
“Why, you don’t like it?” Barry added.
“No… it’s fine… it’s great… I just… after Matthew…”
“Dinah…”
“He should be the one sitting here.”
“Dinah…”
“I can’t help it… our desks are so close they’re almost on top of each other — every time I look over at his stuff, I just keep… I keep seeing him. I close my eyes and…”
“… and he’s standing right there, hunched over and scratching at that bird’s nest of blond hair. You think I don’t feel the exact same thing? I spoke to his mom the day it happened. And then Pasternak. That alone… I haven’t slept in three nights, Dinah. They’ve been my friends for years — ever since-” Barry’s voice cracked, and he stopped himself.
“Barry…”
“Maybe we should just get out of here,” he said, standing to leave.
“No, don’t…” She reached for his sleeve and held tight.
“You said it yourself.”
“Just sit,” she begged. “Please… just sit.”
Slowly, cautiously, Barry made his way back to his seat.
“It’s hard,” she said. “We both know that. Let’s just take some time and… Let’s just try to have a nice lunch.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely,” she said as she picked up her water glass. “Let’s not forget — even with all this, we’ve still got a big day ahead.”
44
As the darkness hits, I keep my arm outstretched in front of me to stop myself from ramming into the wall. I never get there. My foot sinks into a divot, and I lurch off balance. Crashing into the ground, my knees tear across the rocky floor, making me feel every stray, pointy pebble. From the loud rip and the sudden pain across my kneecaps, I feel another fresh hole slice through my pants. I again put my hands out to break my fall, but the momentum’s too much. Sliding headfirst into home plate, I face-plant across the gravel as the rocks roll against my chest. By the time I open my eyes, I taste my ever-present mouthful of dust and dirt, but this time, I can’t see it. I can’t see anything. Anything.
Coughing violently and still fighting to catch my breath, I feel a final hunk of yesterday’s grilled cheese hurl up my esophagus and slam into the back of my teeth. I spit it out and hear the wet splat against the floor. Lying on the ground until my breathing settles, I keep my eyes shut, trying to take a small victory in the fact that I at least was smart enough to leave bread crumbs. It doesn’t do any good. The darkness is already overwhelming. I hold my hand to my face, but nothing’s in front of me. I bring it close enough that I’m touching my eyebrows. Still nothing. This isn’t like shutting the lights in your bedroom and waiting for your eyes to adjust. I wave my hand back and forth. It’s like it doesn’t even exist. Still fighting for proof, I close my eyes, then open them. No difference.
The light is gone. But sound is an entirely different story.
“Viv!” I call out, shouting through the tunnels. “Viv, can you hear me?!”
My voice echoes through the chamber, eventually dying in the distance. The question goes unanswered.
“Viv! I need help! Are you there?”
Again, my question fades and dies. For all I know, she took the elevator back to the top.
“Is anyone here?!” I scream as loud as I can.
The only sound I hear is my own labored breathing and the grinding of rocks as I shift my weight. I grew up in a rural town of less than five hundred people, yet I’ve never heard the world as silent as it is right now, eight thousand feet below the earth. If I plan on getting out of here, I’m gonna have to do it myself.
Instinctively I start to stand up, but quickly change my mind and sit back down again. I’m pretty sure the archway that’ll lead me back to the earlier part of the tunnel is in front of me, but until I’m positive, I’d better not wander around in the dark. The only thing helping me grab my bearings is the bitter smell of feces coming from the nearby wagon. As I follow the smell and trace it to the left, I’m crawling on all fours and patting the rocky ground like I’m looking for a lost contact lens. The smell is so awful, it’s starting to make my eyes water, but right now that pile of reeky shit is the only beacon I’ve got.
Crawling forward, I hold one hand out, petting the air and searching for the wagon. If I can find it, I’ll at least know which way is out. Or at least, that’s the plan. My fingertips quickly collide with the jagged edges of a sharp, wet rock. But as I open my hand to get a better feel, I trace it upward, and it just keeps going. It’s not a rock. It’s the whole wall.
Tapping the floor slightly, I search for the wagon, but it’s not there. It was on my right as I was coming in, so to get out, I keep heading left, feeling my way. Over my shoulder, there’s a metallic twang as my foot collides with something behind me. Still on all fours, I reach back and pat my way along the ground until I feel the thin spokes of the red wagon’s wheels. It doesn’t make sense.
I freeze right there, putting both hands flat against the dirt floor. The wagon’s supposed to be on my left. I reach out and feel it again. It’s on my right. I’m completely turned around. Worst of all, I’m headed the wrong way, deeper into the tunnel and away from the exit. I close my eyes, already dizzy from the darkness. The smell seems like it’s coming from everywhere. Ten steps and I’m already lost.
Spinning around and searching for security, I frantically braille my way across the ground and crawl forward. With one extended stretch, I reach out in front of me and feel the rest of the red wagon. The scabby edges of chipped metal. The rounded curves of the wheels. Even though I can’t actually see it, my mind mentally puts the puzzle pieces together, showing me a perfect view. To my own surprise, I erupt with an anxious laugh. Copping one feel after another, my fingers soak up every sharp corner and dented curve, caressing the base of the wagon and rubbing the frayed edges of the plastic shower curtain between my thumb and pointer finger. It’s an amazing sensation to take it all in by touch — and I can’t help but wonder if this is how Barry feels.
Anxious to get out, I palm my way across the wagon until I find the jagged wall. As my left hand stays with the wall, my right hand sweeps back and forth like a human metal detector, brushing the ground and making sure I don’t hit another divot. Still crawling, I make a sharp right through the archway at the mouth of the cave. If I wanted, I could stick with the train tracks that run down the center, but right now, the wall somehow feels more stable and secure.