Chapter 11

Neal nodded his approval and got out with the two boys. Over his shoulder, he called to Peter, "I'll be right back!" After he had waded back through the water, he stated morosely that the water level had risen further. He was aware that it wouldn't be easy to get the two boys up the slope. His gaze followed the tow rope which he had lashed around a tree in foresight. He grabbed Eric by the fist. "Climb on my back and hold tight. I'll pull us up bit by bit."

Eric didn't answer but nodded as he tried to stay calm, but he almost failed not bursting into tears.

The climb-out was difficult, since the rain had increased and at each step the danger of slipping rose. Inch by inch Neal withdrew up groaning slightly. Rain poured down his face and into his eyes so it was hard to see. Reaching the top, Neal breathed heavily and he had to sit down first for a few seconds. "Hold on to the rope. I'll pull you up," he called to Zack. Back at the car, he put the two boys on the backseat and then went to the trunk. Searching around he found a blanket and put it over the kids. Then he gave Zack his cell phone. "Here! Try to call 9-1-1. If you reach someone, explain what happened and where you are, okay?" Going back to the trunk, he started to rummage through the contents, hoping to find something useful. Under the spare tire, he found a small leather bag and opened it. Inside were various wrenches and other utensils that might be helpful in case of a breakdown. Next he found a flashlight and tested it immediately. When he looked into the bright beam of light, he literally got an epiphany moment. A smile appeared on his face. Maybe he had found a way to draw attention to them. One last time he went to the backseat and put his head inside the car. "You stay here, do you hear me? And keep trying with the phone."

In response he received nods from both of them.

As quickly as he could, Neal ran back to the slope. Despite everything, he had to be careful not to hurt himself. Peter counted on him now. And he didn't want to disappoint him under any circumstances.

...

"You know, I have a little brother, too. As children, we often played in the park," Peter said. "We built dams on the creek." He still thought he was able to pry open the gate under his own power, trying hard to find a weak spot in the metal. "But if it rains as much as today, then you should go. The water rises fairly quickly."

"Why can't you open the bars?" Michael asked impatiently.

"I can't without any tools," Peter admitted. He pointed to a spot in the back of the tube that seemed lit up. "Where does the light come from?"

"I don't know!"

Peter tried hard to see more accurately. It seemed that there was an opening somewhere above. His hope rose a bit. Maybe that would be a way to get to Michael. He stood up. "I'll try to take a look."

Immediately the boy fell into panic. "NO! Don't go! Stay here! Please, stay here!"

"I'll be right back," Peter tried to assure him and walked a few steps, before he turned back. "I'll get you out of here. Do you trust me?"

"Y-yes," Michael said hesitantly.

"Good. That's good. I'll be back as soon as I can."

In that very moment, Neal climbed on the edge. "Here," he shouted and gave Peter a jack and the flashlight. "Maybe you can use it to lever up the bars a few inches."

Peter smiled briefly. "Good idea!" Looking back into the tube, he thought for a moment. "Somewhere above seemed to be an opening. I can see light coming in from outside. Could you try finding the spot?" With his injured foot he probably would waste precious time if he tried to get there. But Neal should be able to do it.

Neal followed the course of the tube and seemed to ponder. "Okay," he finally nodded.

...

For the second time within 30 minutes Neal battled with the slippery tow rope as he climbed up to the slope. Once there, he ran until he reached a metal fence which was secured with barbed wire. Without hesitation, he pulled out his new jacket, threw it over the sharp wire, pulled himself up and tried to be as careful as possible as he climbed over the fence. It took him a while to get used to the unknown environment, but he couldn't afford to waste time so he ran through the dusk. The wet branches of the trees around him hung low and a few of them whipped his face when he wasn't able to dodge in time. His still swollen eye began to throb uncomfortably after an encounter with a branch. But that was the least of his problems at the moment. He turned around and searched the area. It looked like he was exactly in line with the tube. The opening had to be here somewhere. He walked on until he came to place that felt different under his feet. On hands and knees he patted the floor and shoved dead branches and leaves to the side. Relieved, he finally found a ventilation grille. "Michael! Can you hear me?" He shouted as loud as he could. However, he didn't know how far away he was from the two. In order to hear better, he leaned forward and pressed his ear against the opening.

"Yes," came from the inside.

"Good! Is Peter still with you?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

That took a load off his mind. Peter was with Michael and would do anything in his power to free the boy. But he himself was facing another problem. The grille was also secured with a padlock. And just like the other it was rusted. With his lock picks he wouldn't be able to open it. With time and patience, yes maybe. But right here and there? NO. The adrenaline shot through his body and would have loved to tear the lock away bare-handed. But unfortunately this was only wishful thinking. With a stone he began to beat on it. But after a few strokes he knew that this was useless. Disappointed he stopped and sat down to the ground. Think, Caffrey! Think! His eyes fell on a wooden house, which stood a few feet away.

To enter the house had been a simple task. Contrary to his usual practice, Neal just rammed the door with his right shoulder and almost landed on the floor after the door gave in. Whipped up by the adrenaline he had released unexpected reserves of strength. Stumbling, he went in and looked around. Supposedly this was a maintenance building. On a shelf lay various technical tools, but they were useless in his case. Neal opened a locker, but then got disappointed once more. Inside were only two work overalls, rubber boots, safety helmets and some personal belongings of the workers. His eyes fell on the small mirror that was attached inside the door and he winced at the sight. The left side of his face was smeared with blood and now he knew why his eye had started to throb again previously. The branch had torn apart the butterfly patches. The wound was reopened and had started to bleed. Neal looked down at himself and noticed the big dirty puddle of water which he left on the floor. Never before in his life he had been this wet and filthy! He quickly closed the locker and turned around. There! A telephone! He immediately grabbed it and picked up the receiver. A dial tone! Neal led out sigh and wanted to dial when he noticed that the unit had already automatically dialed a number. Apparently this phone was one of those devices that only could call a certain number.

A female computer voice could be heard. "All lines are busy right now. Please hold the line." Music on hold started.

Not that as well! Anger rose in Neal. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Then...a male voice.

"Maintenance center."

"Listen carefully! I need help. NOW! A child and an adult are in great danger! Please call the fire department immediately!"

"Harry, is that you? Is this a joke?"

"Call the fire department! NOW! A boy is trapped in the tube and will drown if you don't make the call!"

"Who is there?"

Frustrated Neal ended the call and ran a hand through his dripping wet hair. He needed to go to plan B and started to inspect the tool cabinet more closely.

...

Armed with the jack and flashlight Peter went back to Michael.

"I'm so cold," Michael whimpered. His complexion was pale and the lips were turning blue slowly.

Peter turned on the flashlight and put it on a small niche above his head. Then he stuck the jack between the two bars where Michael's leg was trapped. His fears had come true. The cold water had become their greatest enemy. Their time was running out. He reached through the bars and patted Michael's cheek. "Can you move your toes?"

"I don't think so."

"What about your fingers?"

"A little bit."

"Good. Okay. You have to think of something warm." As do I. He knew exactly what he was talking about because the cold made no exception to him. The only difference was the fact that he still could move around. Michael was trapped. "Think of Hawaii. Or the desert. Any kind of warm place." His own fingers were numb, too and he had trouble to adjust the jack properly. It took him several attempts to finally succeed. He was so focused on the procedure that he hadn't noticed how Michael's head tilted forward more and more. "Hey!" Peter called and reached through the bars. Only an instant later he felt a burning pain at his left forearm. As he lifted him up out of the water, he could see that his sleeve was torn apart for about 4 inches. Blood ran from a long gash. He must have touched a sharp metal edge. But he didn't care. "Hey, stay awake! You have to stay awake!" With his hand he reached under Michael's chin and pressed his head up. "Talk to me!"

The drowsy boy blinked a few times and rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm tired," he muttered. "I'm so tired."

"I know. But you have to pull yourself together!" He stopped short when he thought he had seen a movement behind the boy.

"Michael? Can you hear me?"

The light that fell through the opening was covered by something or better said someone. Neal! He had found the vent!

"Yes," Michael replied and seemed a little bit more alert now.

"Good. Is Peter with you?"

Relieved to Neal's voice, Peter shouted as loud as he could, "Yeah, I'm here!" Hurry up! He still struggled with the jack, which slipped repeatedly from the bars. At the same time he had to humor Michael. "How about a song, mhm?"

"A song?" The boy asked, visibly confused.

"Yeah. Wait, let me think." The water rose inexorably and extended to Michael's chin. Oh God. Please don't let this kid die, Peter pleaded although he wasn't very religious at all. Usually he faced the concept of God critically. So if God didn't save him, he was okay with that. But an innocent boy? He feverishly searched for a song that Michael might know. "Oh, yes. I've got something," he said breathlessly and started to sing as loud as he could. "99 bottles of beer on the wall. 99 bottles of beer." He paused and nodded at Michael. "Come on...sing...Take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall..."

Michael reluctantly chimed in. "...bottles of beer...take...take one...down...and..."

Realization hit Peter that he no longer couldn't keep Michael entertained with the song and quickly changed his strategy. "Do you like sports?" He asked and continued to work tirelessly to clamp the jack between the bars. At least he had found the necessary support and immediately put the handlebar into the device. Pressing the crank was harder than he had assumed. Now he felt his strength weaken. The cold water took its toll.

"Y-yes. Baseball."

"Baseball? That's great! I love Baseball. What is your favorite team? The Yankees, right? Who's your favorite player?" Peter really wanted to keep Michael awake, but this task was getting harder with each passing minute. "Hey, answer my question!"

"A-Rod."

"A-Rod? Yeah, he's good. But Derek Jeter is the King. He has over 3,000 hits! One of the best shortstops ever!" With all his remaining strength Peter leaned against the crank and started to hope again, as it moved a few inches. Don't stop now! "Hey, you know what? Next season we'll go to the Yankee Stadium. Namely because I always have to go there alone. My partner isn't a baseball fan. Can you believe that? How can one not like baseball?" Where the hell was Neal? "Oh, and we'll buy hot dogs. Lots of hot dogs. Do you hear me?" A look at Michael made him stop short and he reached through the bars. "Keep your head above the water!" Again, he turned the crank and felt that the resistant became stronger. "It's moving, do you understand? You'll be free in a bit. C'mon, ask me anything about baseball."

The boy was getting weaker and his voice was barely above a whisper. "W-who...has the most...home runs?"

Of course, this question was no challenge for Peter and he immediately answered, "I can tell you even three names. Barry Bonds, Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth. You'll have to come up with something better." He paused and took a deep breath. The bars hadn't moved more than just a few inches, but right now it was the best he could get. They had to get out of the water as fast as possible. "Okay, I'm ready," he said, trying to operate the handlebar one last time. "You must pull out your leg, okay?"

Michael shook his head. "I can't!"

"Yes, you can! I'll help you." While his pulse increased, Michael seemed to lose all of his energy. With his hand he blindly fumbled for the leg and pressed lightly against it.

Within a second Michael groaned. "That hurts!"

"Peter!"

Surprised to hear his name, Peter turned around and recognized the voice. "Neal!"

Neal came towards him, head bend down. "The opening is shut. No chance," he gasped, breathing heavily.

Only then Peter realized that Neal was holding a crowbar in his hands. "With that we can try to pry open the door!"

"I've found a phone," Neal went on as if he hadn't heard Peter's suggestion. "But I've only got the maintenance center." But then he held something up.

Peter squinted to make out the label. "Cold spray?"

Instantly Neal began to work the padlock. "It cools down to -104° F. With a little bit of luck we can crack the lock."

"Where did you get that?"

"I've found it on the shelf at the maintenance house," Neal explained. "It serves to reduce heat damage during soldering, for example. Properly applied, it will wear down the steel shackle. All you need then is a solid blow on the shackle and the lock is broken."

Peter grabbed Michael's shoulder. "We're almost done. If someone can pick a lock, then it's Neal. He's an escape artist." He looked over his shoulder and nodded to Neal before he turned his attention back to the boy. "Hold on with both hands. Pull back and keep your head above the water level! Do you hear me? Pull your foot back!"

"I-I can't!" He started to whine as he tried to obey Peter's command.

Damn! They were this close to get free! The crying from Michael frightened him and he didn't want to cause him any more pain. But they had to get out of here. No matter how! "Let's try again."

"No!" Michael cried.

Neal started to curse. "What a bummer! The can is almost empty!"

Peter couldn't hide his disappointment. "Dammit!" He put the palm of his hand to his forehead and tried to be rational, but he failed. "Then I'm going to do it bare-handed." With the crank handle in his hand Peter desperately struck against the rusty hinges, but Neal stopped him.

Next, Neal tried to put the crowbar on the hinge. The narrowness of the tube made it difficult to find a position in which one could develop the greatest possible force. He doggedly worked on the hinge that suddenly broke loose with a crack and let Neal slip backwards.

"Didn't I tell you?" Peter called optimistic. "Soon we're out of here!"

"I can't feel my leg!"

"Try to push back with the other one."

Michael's head tipped forward again into the water. So far, he always had woke up when his head touched the water, but his energy was almost gone.

Neal stood up again and got back to the gate.

"Hey, dammit!" Peter shouted when he saw that Michael had submerged. Instinctively he grabbed for the boy without knowing where the boy exactly was. Fishing blindly in the water with his hand, Peter tried to find Michael. When he got hold of the chin, he pushed Michael's head up once more. "HOLD ON! DAMN! HOLD ON! YOU HAVE TO HOLD ON!" Like he was out of his mind, he started to pull on the gate, shook it, and braced himself against it. Did he just imagine that the second hinge was getting loose? "HOLD. ON. DO YOU HEAR ME? WE'RE ALMOST DONE!"

Neal also seemed to have noticed this and together they stepped up their efforts to lift the door off its hinges.

"I can't," Michael whispered with half closed eyes and went underwater again.

Shocked by that, Peter paused for a second and noticed that the dark rumbling grew stronger in the background. In an instant he realized that a big rush of water was on its way. Desperate, he shook at the gate. But it was too late. A powerful wall of water rushed towards them and there was no way to escape it. "Michael! NO!"

to be continued...