Voyagers: Tunnels of despair and tracks of hope

Chapter 2

Jeffrey explored Mulberry Street, more famously known as 'Little Italy.' He'd always loved when his parents took him there for delicious and authentic Italian dinners and visits with friends. As he wandered the long avenue, it was a far cry from the Little Italy he was used to.

The streets teemed with people of all ages, shapes, and sizes, most of Italian descent. While many were poor and working class, they all shared a profound satisfaction that couldn't be ignored and they brightened up the small section of the thriving city. He wandered past the crowds, sidestepping horses and the smelly messes they left behind. He enjoyed listening to the colorful Italian conversations, and realized how rusty his had gotten since his parents died. His grandmother Nona, on his mother's side, spoke mostly Italian and Kathy made sure to teach him every chance she had. Bill Jones, being of mixed Italian-Dutch descent, knew enough to 'get by.'

Seeing all the fresh and assorted vegetable carts, he wished he could buy a bunch to take back to the hotel. He wanted to cook a bubbling pot of tomato sauce the way his Nona used to make. He wouldn't even know where to begin, nor did he know how to cook. Phineas was the closest thing to a chef he could hope for, but he'd be too exhausted to prepare anything. He'd throw him smoked beef jerky and tell him to chew until the hunger faded. It didn't matter anyway, since the small hotel they bunked in had no kitchen.

Jeffrey approached a butcher shop. He saw a tall young man with curly, dark hair hanging smoked sausages, hams, and thick cheeses across the decorated window. A few restaurants lined the thoroughfare and Jeffrey wanted to eat in one for dinner. The butcher talked to a bearded old man holding a newspaper. They made wild gestures, not uncommon to Italians, but something was obviously wrong. Others milled around and some looked horror-stricken. Jeffrey gulped and forced a smile.

"Hi guys! I heard you talking about subways, my…my uncle is working in the East River tunnel right now. What's going on?"

The tall butcher stared at him forlorn and held his shoulder, as if he needed to be steadied.

"Are you sure it's that tunnel?" He asked gently.

"Yeah. I left him an hour ago. Why, what's wrong?" Jeffrey tensed.

The man leaned down. He had round, heavy-lidded brown eyes and a square jaw, but an intrinsic softness in his full cheeks. His smile was tight-lipped.

"There's been another accident. We're not sure yet, maybe some kind of explosion."

Jeffrey felt his heart drop. "Are you for real? No! No, there wasn't!" He trembled from head to foot.

"Kid, I'm sorry. Maybe it's not as bad as it sounds. It's happened before, right Gio?"

The old man stroked his beard nervously and paced around in a circle. "Don't ask me about it, Dominic! After that bomb killed Mayor McClellan and all those dignitaries and innocent people at the grand opening, they shoulda closed those hell tubes! Construction killed off good workers since they started the project! Mama mia! Poor widow Cardinelli, lost her husband to a cave-in and then her beautiful Francesca was at the opening, right near the front they say and…"

Jeffrey felt numb. He'd discovered the cause of the red-light. There was never a bomb at the grand subway opening. It was a major success.

Dominic gripped the old man's collar. "Don't talk about my Francesca! I don't wanna think about it! You're…you're scaring the boy! It wasn't an explosion, it was a blow-out, I know it!"

"Easy, Dom! Easy! I'm sorry! I know you're still mourning."

Jeffrey couldn't stand around. He had to find Phineas. He tearfully ran away from them.

"Wait! Come back, boy!" Dominic yelled. He tossed off his meat-bloodied apron. "Alfredo, watch the store! I have to follow that kid and make sure he doesn't get hurt!"

"Dominic, get back here!" His boss yelled from behind the busy counter. "Ya gotta cut these lamb chops!"

Dominic ignored him and rushed down the street after Jeffrey. He grabbed his arm. "Hold on! I'm coming with you."

"Get off me! I don't know you! I gotta get to Bogg! He needs me!"

"Is Bogg your uncle?"

"Yeah! Just let me go!"

"Not alone. Follow me, I know some shortcuts to the piers!"

~Oo~

Twenty minutes earlier, East River Tunnel

Phineas and the sandhog crew worked hard on the hydraulic shield in the tunnel's air chamber. Bright-eyed sandhog Richard Creedon was a young, rough and tumble man who often took the lead on work assignments. He was the first to notice a leak on the upper rim of the shield on the West end.

"Hurry guys! If we's don't gets that covered she'll blow a hole from here ta Brooklyn! Move it!"

Phineas glanced up and raced ahead of the others. The caisson men were so tough, that if someone died on the job their body was tossed in a muck pile until the workday was over. Nothing could interrupt the building of the subways.

This gotta be it! This gotta be the red light! He thought.

"Dick, what can I do?" He shouted from below.

"You know what, Phinny! We're not little Dutch boys sticking our fingers in this thing! Clay and mud bags! Lots of em! Toss 'em up! Jack, keep the air pressure high or we'll flood!" He called down.

Jack tossed his bag to Phineas, who stumbled under the weight. "Woah! No wonder you guys are solid."

Jack laughed. "That's right, Boggy boy, we don't get this strong lifting daisies!"

While three men below tossed up the bags, Phineas hurried to the upper rim where Richard valiantly tried to plug the air leak.

"You need more help up here!" He shouted, attending to the task as vigorously as Richard did.

"Thanks, Phinny! Oh damn it all! The silt is giving out!"

The rent in the silt enlarged despite their attempts to keep the pressure stable. Freezing river water rushed in over them. Phineas reached down and grabbed the heaviest bag of sand and mud, and lugged it to Richard.

"This bag takes two of us! Come on!"

Richard grabbed the other end of the bag and they hefted it against the upper rim, but it was too late. The compressed air, it would later be reported, came in at over thirteen pounds per square inch, and blew a five-foot hole through seventeen feet of silt. Phineas, who'd stepped in front to secure the bag, was instantly sucked through the aperture – immediately followed by Richard. There was barely time to think. Mud flew through Phineas' nostrils. He clamped his mouth shut, realizing he could suffocate. The men had no control over their bodies as they careened through the sand and were practically drowned below ten feet of river water. With no apparent way out, both men would be sucked into a muddy, watery grave.