Kill Whitey

“Then just hold onto my hand and don’t let go.”

The air quality was better in the sewer pipe. The smoke and tear gas hadn’t reached this far and we could breathe freely again. It was stale and humid, and there was a faint hint of rotten eggs, leftover from when the system had been active, but it was a lot fucking better than the atmosphere above us. The corrugated tunnel was broad and round. I could sense the walls, but I couldn’t see them. I let go of Sondra’s hand for a moment and stretched my arms out, but my fingertips barely touched the sides. It wasn’t very high, though, and we had to stoop over as we walked. My head kept brushing up against the ceiling, bringing fresh pain to my blistered scalp. The water was only ankle deep, but it was cold. My feet and toes quickly grew numb. At least I wasn’t barefoot. It would have been much worse had I not been wearing the shoes Yul had given me. I wondered how the icy temperature was affecting Sondra.

I took her hand again. “You okay?”

“Is very cold,” she gasped. “And bottom is slimy. But I will be okay.”

I thought about the cut on her foot. What if it got infected. Who knew what kind of bacteria were down here? I decided not to mention it. We had enough things to worry about.

“Let’s try to keep quiet,” I whispered. “No more talking until we get further ahead.”

The light vanished again, plunging us back into total darkness. We slogged forward, trying to move as silently as possible, taking slow, measured steps so the water wouldn’t splash around our feet. I gripped Sondra’s hand, making sure she stayed close. It sounded like she was limping slightly, one foot dragging through the water. I wondered if she was having flashbacks to the ship again—of being locked inside that pitch black cargo container.

And then I wondered if that had all been a lie, too, and I hated myself for it.

The tunnel ran in a straight line, heading deeper and deeper beneath the abandoned industrial park. The silence and darkness were overwhelming. The quiet was broken only by the running water, my sloshing shoes, and Sondra’s chattering teeth. Otherwise, it was still. Even Whitey seemed to have disappeared, as if the darkness had swallowed him, too. I felt like shouting just to prove that we still existed, that we were still alive, despite the mobster’s best efforts. I longed for some light—a match, a cigarette lighter, even the dim blue glow of a cell phone. Whatever. Just a spark. Anything would be better than this solid wall of black. Moments later, I banged my forehead on an overhanging pipe. Cursing, I wondered how far we could go without being able to see. What if there was a sharp drop-off or we tripped and broke our legs? What if we came to an intersection or a dead end? What then?

I’d never been claustrophobic, but I was at that moment. I felt the weight of the industrial complex crushing down on us. It was suddenly hard to breathe. My chest tightened and my throat constricted. The darkness pressed against me. Something tickled my ankle below the surface and I squeezed Sondra’s hand hard enough to make her cry out.

“What is wrong?”

I didn’t respond. What was down here with us? What was hiding in the dark, watching us even now? Rats, certainly. Wouldn’t be a sewer without some fucking rats. Cockroaches and beetles. Worms, of course, and maybe even leeches. Possums, raccoons, other vermin—rabid or just pissed off that humans were trespassing in their hood. Probably snakes, too. Pennsylvania had water snakes, black snakes, copperheads, rattlers, and harmless little garter snakes. I shuddered, thinking back on Whitey’s story about cutting off the black snake’s head and watching it continue to wriggle. What if one swam right between my legs? I’d never be able to see it in the dark. I’d never been afraid of snakes before, but the darkness has a way of changing your fears.

We needed a light, but none was forthcoming. I tried to figure out how far we’d gone. I hadn’t heard the grating move, but surely Whitey knew where we were. Maybe we’d gone too far to hear it. But if the cops had caught Whitey and entered the sewers, we’d have heard them and seen their flashlight beams. Instead, there was more darkness.

You know the old adage about when you die, you see a bright light at the end of the tunnel? Right then, I would have happily let Whitey shoot me through the head if it meant I’d see that light. Any light would have been better than this—even if it meant finality.

Sondra pulled me to a sudden stop. The water swirled past us. I couldn’t hear her breathing.

“Sondra? What’s—”

“Is something there,” she whispered. “In the dark.”

We stood still, holding our breath. Then I heard it, too. A splash, followed by a soft grunt. The sound faded. The water got colder.

Or maybe it was just me.

I led Sondra onward. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. We both knew who it was.