Tall Story - Candy Gourlay [61]
Too late.
Suddenly there was an animal roar and the tunnel collapsed. He found himself lying under a layer of rubble in total darkness. Pieces of concrete fell away from his face.
I’m dead! he thought. I’m dead! If this was death, it stank. Foul toilet smells wafted around him. A pipe must have broken somewhere nearby. The air billowed with concrete dust. When he breathed in, his lungs filled with grit instead of air. But his head seemed to be in some kind of space. He could turn his head right and left. Perhaps he had found his little triangle.
There was a crushing weight on his legs, and his shoulders, chest and ribs hurt. His left hand had gone numb. A sharp pain scythed up his right elbow. I’m broken, he thought. My legs must be broken, my arm is definitely broken and my ribs must be broken too.
And then he realized that nobody knew where he was. The only person he’d ever shown the secret entrance to was me. He had not told anyone where he was going, of course. Nobody was going to find him.
And then a tiny square of light appeared in the total darkness somewhere to the left. There was a beep. It was his cellphone, which had somehow fallen out of his pocket into the rubble, opening the most recent text message on impact.
DREAMED U CD DUNK.
My text message.
He could see the message by craning his neck. Pain flared hot and sharp up his arm at the movement, but he smiled.
And then he thought, Bernardo, I think you’ve just saved my life!
He only had to call me back.
Tell me to tell everybody where he was.
So he gritted his teeth and forced himself to move his broken arm towards the phone. The pain slammed into him in waves, and he actually saw stars. There, I’ve done it. Probably severed my arm. But when he checked he had only moved his arm a few inches.
It was going to be harder to get rescued than he thought.
In fact, once he got his hand on the phone, his hand was so rigid, he could not possibly dial or send a text message. He could not do anything that involved any kind of dexterity. The only way I can dial is if the phone had buttons the size of platters.
Then he remembered. He could press the green send button. Pressing the green send button should call the last person he had dialled. That last person being Bernardo.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, flexing his shoulder muscles (probably torn) to raise his hand and drop it haphazardly on the phone. Nothing happened. He craned his neck.
Call Bernardo?+63091703333, the phone wanted to know.
‘Yes!’ he yelled. And then, since yelling didn’t seem to have any effect on it, he dropped his hand on the phone again.
It dialled.
The ringing was thin and distant in the little space. ‘Hello? Hello?’ he shouted.
But the phone was not finished. ‘Pick up, Bernardo.’
There was a click. ‘Hello? Hello?’
He craned his neck.
Call ended.
In a temper, he tried to grab the phone; he wanted to shake it until it begged for mercy, shake it and break it and stamp on it. But his arm would not do it, and the sudden movement launched a wave of pain so intense that he screamed.
He closed his eyes.
Try again.
And again.
And again.
As long as it took to get through.
Or as long as he could still move his arm.
Or as long as his battery held out.
14
Andi
‘Try again,’ I begged Mum.
‘The Arena people said the dome was empty at the time of the earthquake. They said it was locked up. They were going to gut it and turn it into a market, you know. The wreckers are coming tomorrow,’ Mum said. ‘How could you be sure Jabby was at the dome? For all you know he was visiting one of his other friends.’
I looked at Mum. She was right. I didn’t even know Jabby. All I knew was that Bernardo had told me he liked to play in the dome, unbeknownst to the contractors, unbeknownst to anybody. It was the logical place to look for