18

Chapter 18

2:28 p.m.


Walking through the tunnel to the cadence of the Colonel's bobbing headlamp, I began to do some basic calculations of distance and what it would take to build a tunnel from the Colonel's to the Stop N Shop. A Caterpillar Behemoth earthmover can redistribute over 10 tons of dirt in less than 5 minutes. I came up with roughly .48 miles of tunnel, not counting the below-surface depth of about 7.3 feet, and a tunnel height of just under 6 feet and a width of 2. Amazing...and literally impossible to construct within the span of time between knowledge of the incident and the ongoing 'rescue'. He must have had this tunnel built already, for some other reason. But why?
"Colonel BB, if you don't mind me asking, I assume this is your doing. How long has this veritable underground railroad existed, and to what purpose?"
The bobbing stopped. The Colonel turned to face me, blinding me with his headlamp beam.
"Boy, there are times when not knowing the facts of something makes you a safer citizen and happier person. I'll just tell you that there are more things under the heavens and earth, Horatio, than are drempt about in your philosophy.

(aside) Shakespeare. Hamlet.

Then he turned back to his march. I had no idea the Colonel was a student of such literature. Then again, he does watch a lot of A&E. Dissatisfied, but thoroughly chastised, I followed on with the rest of the group behind me. Gripe-y Butt (who had apparently successfully followed us into the tunnel) was surprisingly silent. Too silent for my liking. I turned around to see what she was doing. To my chagrin, she had recently freed her left hand and gotten to her cell phone, which had been tucked in her evening purse. I caught her just as she pushed 'send' with her nose. I knew she was calling 911. The call would be tracked. We were as good as found out! I stepped out of line and grabbed the cell phone from her, snapping it shut.
"Listen, lady. I've about had enough of your mouth and your scheming!" and I didn't know what else to say, so I just shot her a really nasty look and continued walking, taking a spot behind her in the rear of the procession.
Sooner than I would have expected, we reached Colonel BB's shed. He threw off a piece of corrugated tin from the top of the tunnel, and pulled down a short step ladder. We crawled out into the shed and gathered around the mouth of the tunnel.
Bufford was the first to speak up.
"What do we do now?"
This was not what I had hoped he would have said. We all stood around for what seemed like way too long and contemplated our situation.
"The first thing we do", the Colonel said, grabbing a heavy rope from the corner, "is get this little lady all dressed up again in nylon."
With that, he sat her down into a wheel borrow and tied her in snuggly. Then he put his ear to the ground. Like a learned Cherokee warrior he listened. He didn't need to listen for long. And he didn't even need to put his ear to the ground, actually. A bullhorn sounded quite plainly from just outside, accompanied by a herd of serious booted feet taking Offensive positions around the shed.
"Don't ya just love technology? Mrs. Franklin, you've got nothing to worry about. We traced your 911 call and, through seismic satellite coordination between the neighborhood Wal-Marts and Starbucks, (they're everywhere!), we were able to pinpoint an unnatural weakness in the ground, revealing this tunnel. So, boys, at the risk of sounding redundant, you are surrounded...again."