Darkside (2002), page 45
He’d heard a noise but couldn’t identify it. He stopped to listen. Not a noise, exactly. A vibration. A rumble?
He hadn’t heard it; he’d felt it. Yes, definitely. A rumble from out in the tunnel. And then another sound.
Water. Rushing water. Lots of rushing water.
Oh shit.
Booth had probably opened one of the big valves on the fire main. Or maybe on the main containing potable water. Or both. He was going to flood the tunnels big-time.
Gotta move right now, he thought, his head spinning from the ether fumes. He grabbed Branner under her arms and tried to get her up into a fireman’s carry, but there wasn’t enough space in the equipment room, and she was heavier than he expected. As he eased her back down onto the floor, the rumbling got louder, and he felt, rather than saw, the first rush of water out in the passageway. Felt it and smelled it. A distinct odor of chlorine filled the already-humid air. He grabbed the light and shone it out the door. The water was flowing like a big black river, already covering the entire width of the floor and rushing down toward the storm drain.
The storm drain.
Well hell, that would take care of any flooding problem. That thing was four, maybe five feet in diameter, plenty big enough to drain off whatever the pressurized lines could put out. Even as he thought that, he felt water seeping through his shoes. He looked down. There was a two-inch coaming between the equipment room and the main passageway. The water was already coming over the top of it.
The water was rising. The flap doors to the storm drain must be blocked. But how? They were spring-loaded to open when there was any pressure in the tunnel.
That U-shaped handle. If Booth had stuffed something through the crack, a piece of rebar or something similar, the doors would allow water to leak through, but they wouldn’t open. And Booth could have done that while getting away, because the storm drain tunnel was some distance from where they were.
He put the Maglite under his right armpit and grabbed Branner again, straightening her out so he could pull her through the door and out into the main passageway. The water was rushing by. It had a real current now, and it was coming up over his ankles. The glow from the flashlight illuminated Branner’s feet, which were making a V-shaped wake in the torrent. He checked his orientation, made sure he was going the right way, and then began to pull her through the water toward the dogleg turn. He thought about finding the source of the water, then remembered all those valves on the fire main were outside the grating doors. The locked grating doors. By the time he found the right one, it might be too late, the way this water was rising.
He got about twenty feet before he tripped over something and landed hard on his behind. Branner’s head dropped underwater for a second and she came up spluttering. She sat up, her face white in the light, felt the water, and automatically rolled over to get to her hands and knees. Then she got a strange look on her face and began to vomit into the flood. Jim felt absolutely helpless as he watched her convulsions, even as he realized how fast the water was rising. As Branner slumped back down toward the floor, he grabbed her again and held her up.
“Wha—what happened?” she gasped. “What’s all this water? Where are we?”
“Booth got you with ether,” he said, getting to his knees. It was getting hard to stay in position. “Can you get up?”
She started to nod but then was racked by a bout of dry heaves as the ether worked its poisonous spell. He just held her while her entire body spasmed against him. The water was over a foot deep now.
He pulled her to her feet and put his arm around her to steady her while urging her forward. It was like walking through molasses, and the water was up to their shins.
“Booth’s flooded the tunnel. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“The radio?” she asked weakly.
“I think he got the retransmitter. I can’t get a signal out. They’re gonna know they have a leak down here as soon as someone looks at a water-pressure gauge.” And shuts down the system before the tunnel completely floods out, he fervently hoped. And doesn’t count on the storm drain to solve the problem.
He got her through the dogleg turn and then pointed her toward the Dahlgren Hall access grate. The water was knee-deep now and still rising. There was less of a current, but violent swirls knocked them from one side of the tunnel to the other. Jim tried not to think of all that electrical equipment behind the doors as they labored past them. Branner was able to move on her own finally, which meant Jim could use the Maglite again. They held on to each other as they leaned back against the current. Suddenly, they felt the current reversing, shoving them backward from their objective. Now what the hell? he thought as they both almost went down into the swirling blackness. Then the current subsided entirely. Even so, the water seemed to be rising faster now, and Jim could feel the pressure building in his ears. As they stumbled up to the grating door, he reached for his keys. Which was when he remembered that all the grating doors were blocked from the outside. Not just locked but physically blocked.
They were trapped. Unless the chief got to a door and unblocked it, that water would continue to rise until it filled the tunnels. And the chief, waiting for Jim’s signal up in the PWC operations station, might not even be aware that there was a problem. And even if he did, he’d have to get to the right grate. He saw that Branner had figured it out at about the same time.
“What do we do?” she said in a shaky voice.
Holding the flashlight under his right armpit, Jim fished for the collection of tunnel keys in his pants pocket and began fumbling until he found the one that unlocked the door. The water was now above their belts. There was no more current, just that inexorable rise. Jim could feel intense pressure in his ears now. He pushed the door, but it didn’t budge. Definitely blocked.
“We go back,” he said. “Try another door.”
“But—”
“They may have missed one. The radios don’t work. They don’t even know we have a problem. We can’t just stand here and drown. Let’s go.”
Branner fished her own flashlight out of her belt and they pushed through the rising waters, heading back toward the dogleg turn. Jim tried to figure out how Booth had known to flood the tunnel, but then realized Booth must have been listening to the radio circuit and heard them confirm the doors were blocked. Big mistake to have mentioned that.
His tunnels, not ours, he reminded himself as he pushed himself through the black water. It was slow going, and he found himself pulling Branner along with him. She still wasn’t 100 percent capable.
“We have another option,” he said. “We get to that vestibule above the storm drain before the water gets over our heads, maybe we can force those flaps open.”
“But the river grating is blocked, right?”
“Yeah, but that would dump the water. Give us time for the people in the PWC station to realize there’s a problem.”
“Not if it’s high tide.”
He thanked her for reminding him. His own brain wasn’t working all that well as the humidity rose. It was getting hard to breathe. Just then, there was a loud humming sound, and the cracks around an equipment room door to their right glowed momentarily with an unearthly blue-green light. Jim felt a tingling in the water as something big shorted out in the equipment room. Branner must have felt it, too, because she swore softly. They came abreast of the Fort Severn doors as another equipment room flared briefly. This time it was more than a tingle. Up ahead were a dozen more cabinets.
“They’ll know something’s up with that shit going on,” he said, puffing as he forced himself through the chest-high water.
“May be academic,” she gasped as she tripped over something on the floor. Jim tripped, too, and they both went down into the water, losing their flashlights. They came up blowing water out of their mouths, and then Jim dove back under to get his Maglite. Hers was gone.
“Deck plates are coming up,” he said.
“We’re getting nowhere,” she said. “You got a key for these doors?”
Jim stopped and looked apprehensively at the big oak doors. “Yeah, but we don’t want to go in there. It’s a damned cave-in waiting to happen.”
She pushed water away from her chest in an effort to stand upright. “No choice,” she said. “We’re outta time. We can’t get to the next door and find out it’s blocked, too. Which it will be.”
Another piece of electrical machinery shorted out down the passageway, and this one, sounding like a welding torch, blew vicious white sparks through the air vents and out into the passageway.
“Okay,” he said, getting the keys out. He held the light under his chin as he searched for the key to the left door. Even as he was looking, he knew this wasn’t a good idea. At the end of the Severn tunnel was that magazine, which was below the level of the main tunnel. Going in there would trap them like rats, unless they found the way up through that hole in the back. And he had never found out where that hole came out topside. If it came out topside.
“Hurry,” she said, hiccupping. “I’m treading water here.”
The water was up to Jim’s chest as he sorted through the bundle of keys. It seemed to be taking forever. Then he remembered that these doors took the antique keys. Why hadn’t he known that as soon as he began looking? The atmosphere was compressing hard and he was having trouble thinking. Oxygen mix must be off, he thought as his fingers found the big key.
He slammed it into the lock, but it didn’t work. Two doors. Two keys. He’d picked the wrong one. Back to sorting keys again. He found the second one and shoved it into the lock.
“I open this thing, we’re going for a ride,” he said, his brain beginning to spin from lack of oxygen. Branner said something, but he didn’t hear it. The air had filled with a white mist as the rising water compressed it. He was barely aware that there were more flashing vaults on either side of them as the supposedly watertight doors gave way.
He felt himself swept down the stairs and into the ancient brick-lined tunnel in a roar of rushing water. Just before he was tumbled down the arched passageway along with Branner, some detached part of his brain noted that the air was a lot better now. Somehow, he managed to hold on to his flashlight while trying to ignore what was happening to his arms, elbows, knees, and head as the tidal wave rushed them into the tunnel. He caromed off the small cave-in he’d caused the last time down and only just managed to grab Branner as she whirled past him. They didn’t stop until the wave of water came to the T junction leading down into the magazine area, and even then it was only because Jim got wedged across the intersection, with Branner plastered against him, yelling something he couldn’t hear above the roar of the water. He held on to the edge of the wall with one hand and grasped Branner with the other as the water quickly filled the tunnel.
Dumb idea, dumb idea, dumb idea, his brain chanted as he watched in horror while the water just kept coming. If they were dislodged, they’d be swept down into the magazines and pinned against that ceiling until they drowned. There’d be no time to get into that hole. They were screwed, blued, and tattooed.
Branner had managed to wedge herself in place and was yanking on his arm. He turned to see what she wanted and she pointed urgently at the wooden door in front of them. The door to the cross tunnel.
“Key?” she yelled above the roar of the water, which was now swirling back up to their chests and rising fast.
He grabbed for the keys and for one horrible moment couldn’t find them. Then he remembered he’d attached them to a belt reel. He reached way underwater and found the bundle dangling there. In the process, he dropped the flashlight, and this time it went down the stairs into the magazine vestibule before he could grab it. Branner saw it go. She didn’t hesitate. She launched off the wall and let the water take her down into the vestibule. By this time, only a few feet of air remained near the top of the tunnel, and Jim was left in total darkness. But the current was slacking as the tunnel filled, so he could relax his grip on the wall and push across the tunnel to the door. Except he couldn’t find it in the darkness. His grasping hands felt only tottering bricks, and he actually dislodged a couple of them while patting around for the oak door.
For a moment, he wondered if he’d become disoriented and was searching the wrong wall, but then he felt the smooth surface of the wood. Holding on to the key with a virtual death grip, he pushed it at the door, searching in the darkness for the lock. Now only about eight inches of air remained at the top of the arched ceiling, so he had to duck underwater to find the lock. It took him three tries, but he finally felt it. Then, amazingly, there was light as Branner surfaced alongside him, the Maglite in hand. He pointed with his chin, and they both went under, Branner pointing the light while Jim worked the key. The lock turned and the door swung open, and once again they went for a ride, but a shorter one this time, fetching up with a painful crash against yet another door at the end of the thirty-foot-long cross tunnel. This time, they managed to get to their feet as the water swelled through the open door behind them and filled the cross tunnel. When it was just about two feet from the ceiling, the current slacked off and Jim pointed to the open door.
“We need to close that before we open this one,” he gasped. “That way, we won’t flood the other tunnel.”
Branner understood at once. They swam down to the door and pushed it shut, holding it by kicking vigorously while Jim got the key back into it and locked it. Then they took a moment to get their breath. The water was no longer rising in the cross tunnel, although they still only had about twelve inches of air. Then they heard a deep sustained rumbling from behind the door and the entire door frame began to shake, rippling the water in the cross tunnel as they stood there on tiptoe.
“It’s caving in,” he said, watching the ceiling now as the vibrations from the other side precipitated the ominously familiar rain of dried mortar. “We’d better move.”
They half-walked, half-swam down to the other door. Jim wasn’t sure whether they’d gone up the tunnel or down. In the darkness, it was hard to tell. Branner held the light while Jim put what he thought was the right key in the door. It didn’t work. He tried the other key. It didn’t work, either.
“What the fuck?” Branner said, pushing a hank of wet hair out of her eyes. Beyond the far door, the rumbling was tapering off, but the door itself was making noises now. Jim flashed the light down on it and they saw that it was bulging under the sudden pressure of the tunnel collapse. Jim frantically tried all the keys that fit the Fort Severn doors, but none of them worked. Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey, he reminded himself, but the lock didn’t budge. Damn thing had let them into the tunnel—why didn’t one of these keys work? He had never gone into the right-hand tunnel because—why? He couldn’t remember. Hell, he couldn’t even think. There was more water than oxygen in the air. The rain of mortar dust was turning into a spatter of old lime. Branner was looking at him expectantly. Then he had a bad thought: Maybe it had been the right-hand tunnel that had collapsed. But no—that wouldn’t affect the door behind them. He shook his head in frustration and to get the sweat out of his eyes. Why was it so warm?
“Is this water rising?” he asked Branner.
“I don’t think so,” she said, still staring back at the other door. The whole door frame was creaking and cracking under some enormous strain. Just for the hell of it, Jim tried the ornate iron door handle, reaching underwater and pushing it hard down. To his astonishment, the door opened, allowing yet another tidal wave to sweep them off their feet and out into the right-hand magazine tunnel in a tumble of arms and legs. Branner dropped the light and the wave of water swept it down into the tunnel. But the waterfall effect was over quickly this time, as the full flood couldn’t reach them. Not yet anyway, Jim thought, remembering the cross tunnel’s door.
He got to his feet and chased the Maglite. He came back to where Branner was sprawled on the floor in about six inches of water.
“This is getting tiresome,” she said, spitting out bits of mortar and wringing out the edges of her clothes.
“Lemme get this door closed in case the other one gives way. But as long as these doors hold, we’re not going to drown.”
He shone the light at the other door, which was leaking water around its seams. He closed the near door, then tried to find a key to lock it. This time, one of the keys worked. Once he had the door secured, he looked around by the beam of the Maglite. As far as he could see, this tunnel was the mirror image of the one he’d been into before. He could see the cement-block wall where the PWC people had sealed the gun pit tunnels. The anteroom to the actual magazine sloped down, just as the one on the other side had. The air was mustier and reeked of wet cement. Branner got up and came over to where he was standing, sniffing the air.
“What?” she said.
Jim shone the light up and down the tunnel area. Then he held it still. There was a mist in the air, but it wasn’t water. He felt the pressure in his ears again and tried to clear them, to no avail.
“What’s that mist?” Branner asked.
“Mortar dust,” he said. “These tunnels are unstable. The cement between the bricks isn’t really cement anymore.”
“What’s holding it all up, then?” she asked, lowering her voice.
“Faith, hope, and charity,” he said. “And some Roman engineering. Look, on the other side, there was what looked like a way out, in the powder room. Some kind of ventilation hole. We searched topside but never found the outlet. We need to see if this magazine has the same arrangement.”
