ALLUSIVE AFTERSHOCK (22 page)

“We only have one
shovel.”

“Oh, well, I can do
something with the pick. I can pull dirt with it or something while you dig and
then we can switch. I can’t just sit here watching you work.”

Court had been digging
shoving dirt away from the mound for what seemed like an hour when I heard him
groan. I watched as he pulled more dirt from the stairway and threw it to the
side. He dug the shovel into the pile again, placed his foot on the edge of the
shovel, and groaned again.

“You can’t keep doing
this. You’re putting too much pressure on your ankle and what if you get dirt
in the burn? It’ll get infected.”

“I’ll be okay,” he
said, sticking the shovel in the dirt again.

Using the pick ax, I
pulled dirt from the side of the stairway onto the cement floor. Switching from
the ax to using just my hands, I dug and dug and dug, until finally my hands
were red and cut from rocks and sticks. I looked at Court as he emptied the
shovel onto the new pile, sweat dripping down his temples as his knees suddenly
gave way and he sank to the floor. I was sure if he hadn’t been holding onto
the shovel he would have toppled over and landed face down in the pile of dirt.

I sprang to him and kneeled
in front of him, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.

“Court, Court! Jeez, I
knew this was going to be too much for you. And you called me stupid for
wanting to ride Big Blue.”

“I didn’t call you
stupid. I said it was a stupid thing you did.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not. Help me
up. I need to take a break; a little water and I’ll be fine.”

We hobbled over to the
sleeping bag, Court leaning on me the entire way. He practically fell down on
the floor and I went to get the water. I came back and held the water to his
lips. “You first,” he said.

I didn’t argue. I was
pretty thirsty. I finished and handed him the cup.

“We’re getting low on
water,” I said, holding up the almost empty jug for him to see.

“Guess we’ll have to
drink wine,” he smirked.

“Yeah, you’d like that,
but I’m not so sure I would. I think that stuff is pretty nasty.”

“It is an acquired
taste, my dear.”

“Oh now, aren’t you
just Mr. Sauvé,” I laughed.

He gazed into my eyes
and traced my lips with his finger before brushing a few strands of hair off my
cheek. “It is nice to see you laugh.”

I sat for a minute. The
room filled with silence and I knew he was thinking of his dad just as I
thought of my family. As if someone pricked me with a safety pin, I jumped up. “My
turn.” I took the shovel and went at it while Court stayed back on the sleeping
bag, watching me.

I stuck the shovel in
and pulled out dirt, time after time. I stopped to take a swig of water and
rubbed my nearly blistered palms on my jeans.

I stuck the shovel in a
little higher and pulled it out full of dirt and as I turned to dump it on top
of the other pile, the entire stairway filled back up with twice as much dirt as
we had just removed. I fell back as the dirt nearly buried me.

Court stood and limped
over to me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I looked up at
the mountain staring back at me. “Now what?”

He shook his head. “I
don’t know. I’m hungry and I’m tired. I’m sorry, Adela. I really thought we
could dig our way out. You should have left with Max. You would have had a
better chance out there.”

He held his hand out to
me, helping me up. I shoved my hands into his chest and he almost lost his
balance and had to steady himself by the wall. “Don’t. Don’t you dare. Don’t
you dare tell me that! Don’t you tell me I made the wrong choice.”

“Why, Adela? Why did
you stay with me?”

“Because you needed me.
You were injured.”

“That’s why you stayed?
Because you felt sorry for me? Because you thought of me as some poor injured
creature that couldn’t fend for himself?”

“No! I … I stayed for
you. I stayed because I trusted you.”
I trusted you more than I trusted Max.
Now I was totally confused. Max had always been my crutch, my go-to guy. Court
saved my life, but … was that it? Did I suddenly have feelings for Court just
because he saved my life? Twice. I had to believe I was a little less shallow
than that. I trusted Court. I trusted Max.

Max left.

“And now you’re going
to
die
down here with me.”

I wanted to slap that
thought out of him, because I didn’t know how else to deal with the possibility
of dying down here and I hated hearing the words spoken aloud. Those words
taunted the back of my mind with each minute we remained trapped, but my hand
stopped short of his cheek when I realized he was going to just stand there and
let me strike him. Instead, I sank down on my knees and sobbed.

Within a millisecond,
Court was down there on the cold cement floor with me, cradling me in his arms,
cooing in my ear. “I’m sorry, Adela. I’m sorry. We’ll figure something else
out.”

His hand stroked the
top of my head and I leaned into him and wept like a little girl. I was
frightened but I was also upset that I lost control that way.
Why was he
going to let me strike him?
I was about to hit Court and for no good reason
other than the fact we were going to die down there. I would never see my
sister and brother again. I would never see my dad again or my mom. I would
never see Max again. I made my choice to stay in the cellar with Courtland and now
I would die with Courtland.

“My God, Court, I
almost hit you!”

“It’s okay. We’re both
exhausted and upset,” he said. 

“No … no, it’s not
okay. I never wanted to hit you. I’m sorry. I was frustrated, scared, and now
I’m embarrassed.”

“You had a good reason
to want to lash out. Hell, I wanted to strike something. You snapped. So what?
I snapped earlier. Let’s take a break and have that last can of soup, okay?”

I stared at where the
stairway had been. “We had made so much progress. Now we’re buried even more. I
just made things worse.”

“We’ll try again. Come
one. We can have a cup of wine with our soup. I could use a cup of wine and I
think you could too.”

“I don’t like it.” Now I
was just being pouty, but I was enjoying it, if it was possible to enjoy
anything at the moment.

“Like I said, it is an
acquired taste. The more you drink the better it tastes.”

“Yeah. Because the more
you drink the more brain cells you kill so the wine starts to taste good.”

“Well, no arguments there.
But what are a few dead brain cells when the rest of our bodies will soon
follow suit?”

“Good point.” I supposed
it was easier to joke than cry about our situation. No point in spending our
last few days on earth crying.

I opened the can of
creamy potato soup, set it on the wire stand above the can of liquid gel, and
lit the wick. As the soup heated, I filled two cups with wine and brought them
to Courtland. He sat on the sleeping bag and placed the cups down on the floor,
and then I went to get the soup. Pouring equal amounts in each bowl, I brought
them back to the sleeping bag and sat next to him.

He picked up the two
cups and handed one to me. “Let’s toast.”

I smiled as this small
gesture brought pleasant memories of my mom and dad. They used to toast with
wine and sometimes me and my brother and sister would join in with milk or
juice. “What should we toast to?”

“You and me, of
course.”

“Okay, here’s to you
and me,” I said and took a sip trying not to wrinkle my nose, but couldn’t help
it.

Court laughed and
picked up one of the bowls and handed it to me. “Here, have some soup.”

I stuck a spoonful of
soup in my mouth and tried another sip of the wine, then another spoonful of
soup and another sip of wine. Court was right. It did taste better the more you
drank it. After about half the cup of wine, my stomach felt warm and my legs
tingled a bit, dulling my senses. The thought of death still lingered somewhere
in the back of my mind, though.

“Maybe Max will come
back soon with help,” I said.

“I don’t know. He’s
been gone for two days, or is it three? I lost track.”

After we semi-filled our
bellies, Courtland took another stab at the dirt. He took his shirt off when he
started to sweat from the exertion. Of course, I had seen other boys without
their shirts. We had a swimming pool in our backyard and Max was always over to
swim. But sitting there watching Court shovel the dirt with his chest bare prompted
a whirling twinge in my stomach, that butterfly fluttering thing again. I’d
seen his chest once before, last summer when he worked in the stable with my
dad, and I remembered the way my stomach fluttered when he stopped shoveling
the hay and stood in front of me glistening with sweat, staring at me. My eyes
must have been blinded by my unwarranted devotion to Max. At the time, I didn’t
realize just how much the sight of Courtland’s bulging chest, chiseled with
muscles and his shimmering six-pack-ribbed abs had stimulated me.

 I supposed I could
have sat there for the rest of my life watching him shovel dirt. And I would
have too, if he hadn’t stopped and come to sit next to me, putting that bare
muscular chest within my grasp. I had to look away.  

“Good job,” I said,
trying my best to sound encouraging as I handed him a cup of water. “This is
the last of the water, Court.”

Sweat beaded on his
forehead as he nodded and sipped, then set the glass down still full.

Like before, I hopped
up and grabbed the shovel. “My turn.”

“You’re so jumpy all of
a sudden, you remind me of a kangaroo.”

I ignored that, hoping
he wouldn’t ask me why I couldn’t sit still beside him …
and his bare chest.

“Keep the shovel low
this time.”

I cringed, knowing it
was my fault the dirt caved in during the last attempt to dig ourselves out. I stabbed
the shovel into the dirt, grabbing as much of the muck as I could, lifting the
shovel and dumping dirt behind me in the new pile—a tedious task under the best
of conditions. This time I dug until blisters actually formed on the palms of my
hands and I could no longer hold onto the shovel. I placed the long metal spade
down next to the pile of dirt and went to sit beside Court, sweaty and
exhausted.

Adela’s face was smeared
with dirt; I found an unused piece of gauze and wiped a few of the smudges
away.

Since our water supply
was very low, we only took a couple of sips of what we had left. We did,
however, drink another cup of wine. Exhaustion and despair zapped our energy
and neither one of us could stand, let alone lift that shovel one more time. I
feared my prior proclamation that we would die down there would come true.

“Do you think we will
ever get out of here?” Adela asked.

“Of course we will.”

She stared at my face. “You
don’t believe that. I can see it in your eyes and you have doubt written on
your frown lines.”

I smiled. “Well, I hope
they’re spelled correctly. Nothing worse than badly-spelled words of doubt in a
time of crisis.”

She giggled, which was
much better than crying. I never wanted to hear Adela cry again.

“It is comforting to
know you can read me so well. I don’t know if we’ll get out of here and as much
as I don’t want you to die, I’m glad we’re together.”

Adela curved her lips
slightly and sipped her wine. “This isn’t all that bad once you get used to it.
Good thing we won’t have the problem of becoming alcoholics.”

“That’s my girl,
thinking on the positive side.”

“I’m sorry; I probably
shouldn’t have said that.”

“No problem.”

Adela picked at the rim
of the Styrofoam cup she held and I wondered what she was thinking.

“Adela …” I paused and
waited for her to look at me and when she did, I said, “since we will most
likely die down here, do you think I could have that fourth kiss now?”

“You already did. Don’t
you remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said
reflectively. I sighed and tried my damnedest to pout and to my delight, she
smiled and leaned into me. I stopped her just inches before her lips touched mine
and she frowned.

“What?”

“Let’s put this down
first. I want your complete and undivided attention.” I took the cup of wine
from her hand and placed it on the cement floor several feet away from us. Then
I brushed her cheek with the back of my fingers and traced her lips with my
thumb. She smiled and my heart sang.

I wanted to be gentle
and make this the best kiss Adela Castielle would ever have. I placed my hand at
the nape of her neck and leaned toward her. The moment my lips touched hers I experienced
a stirring I couldn’t ignore. Her lips were soft and delicious with the taste
of wine still lingering on them. My brain went into overdrive with the thought
of what we could do, how soft her skin would feel if I touched her. I slipped
my hand just under the bottom of her shirt and felt the silky, smooth skin of
her back.

Then, like some invisible
guy hit me over the head, I thought of our deaths and my heart tugged with
regret that we would never be able to build from this moment. Suddenly, I was
overcome with a surge of power and more than anything, I wanted so badly to
survive this. I made a promise to myself that I would get us out of that cellar
by the next day if it took every last bit of energy I had. I would not stop
until I saw the sun trickling in from above the steps.

I finished the kiss
with one little peck at the end and tilted her head back from mine. We needed
sleep and food to build up our strength. Sleep we could do, food was another
story.