The
Boy in the Tunnel
by
23.
In a situation like this,
there was really only one person who could help
The first floor of the
Student Union was dark and silent, its business concluded hours ago. After
dark, activity in the
The door to the Student
Activities Office was locked.
The sharp, marble-white
face of Charlie St. James appeared on the opposite side of the glass. Her hair
was so black and her face so pale she seemed to have been filmed in black and
white and projected here in 3D space.
“What are you doing here,
“Let me in, Charlie. We
need to talk.”
Charlie unlocked the door
and admitted
“If you need more
gunpowder you should order it through the normal channels.”
“This isn’t about that.”
Charlie gestured toward
the food. “Do you mind?”
“I’m being followed,
Charlie,”
“How do you know?”
“An RA told me. Dragan.”
Charlie snorted
derisively around the bread. “I’m aware of Dragan.
He’s a perv, but harmless.”
“No, he was warning me.
He said someone else was watching me and would come after me.”
Charlie didn’t respond.
“Why would DUH be
following me?”
“You tell me.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, I don’t know what
it was about either. But DUH must have cameras in the room or something. But it
was...I don’t know...”
“What?”
“The man...I think it was
Avery Barlow. I think the Nine Dead Men must be planning something, and DUH’s involved.”
Charlie chewed a forkful
of rice and chicken tikka, keeping her dark eyes on
“So if the man you heard
was Barlow, who do you think he was talking to?”
“Somebody
from DUH.
Marston
maybe. I also saw Marston meeting with someone
I didn’t recognize a few days ago.”
“Could he have been one
of the Nine?”
“Possibly.”
“If Barlow was talking to
Marston, what do you think they were planning?”
“I couldn’t even begin to
guess.”
Charlie took another bite
of naan and chewed it thoughtfully. Then she took a
sip of water and spoke, as if she had reached a decision.
“What if he wasn’t
talking to Marston?”
“Who else could he have
been talking to? If the Nine wanted to ally themselves with someone, DUH is the
only organization on campus that could offer them anything they don’t already
have. I mean, except...”
Charlie looked at the
half-eaten takeout, considering, then swept it off the
table into the trash can. The action released more of the food’s smell, and the
office filled with the odor of cumin.
“So I guess now you
know,” Charlie said.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
Charlie shrugged. “Why
didn’t you tell me about the call?” Charlie glanced at the food in the trash
can, perhaps regretting her decision. “Or about your new
boyfriend? Joanie doesn’t even know his name.”
Boyfriend? thought
***************
Taft was up and walking
again, and for that Tim was thankful. He checked his watch:
“I really have to get
somewhere,” Tim said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got an appointment—“
“Me too,” said Taft,
hobbling back and forth in front of the bench. “I have duties, Tim. Important duties. They can’t start without me.”
Tim felt a little tug at
his brain. “Can’t start what?”
“Secret. But since we’re such
good friends, I’ll tell you. Remember when we would play GI Joes? What
happened, Tim? Come closer and I’ll tell you. Come closer so the flies can’t
hear.”
Tim stood up. “Can you
walk? I’ll walk with you. Where are you going?”
“Secret. Come closer. I’m so
happy to see you again, Tim. Has it been ten years? Has it been that long?”
Taft lurched forward, and
Tim grabbed his arm to steady him. “Do you still have the Terrordrome,
Tim? I always wanted that. I was jealous, I admit. Dad wouldn’t let me have any
of the big ones. The Terrordrome,
the aircraft carrier, the space shuttle.”
“I don’t know what
you’re—“
“Quiet! The flies will
hear. They’re all around, Tim. I know your name. We were friends. Remember?”
Tim gently directed Taft
toward the Garden gate. “Where are we going, Taddlington?”
“Call me Dave. No, call
me Cobra Commander. Remember? You were always Duke.”
“Sure. Where are we
going?”
“West
Campus.
I have important duties. There are seven but there should be nine. The fly told
me.”
“What did the fly tell
you?”
“He gave me a job.”
Tim pushed open the gate
and guided Taft onto the concrete path toward West Campus. Taft leaned heavily
on his shoulder, his breath hot in Tim’s ear.
“Listen, Tim. Be careful
with the gun turrets. They break so easily. You didn’t sell the Terrordrome, right? You still have it?
“Of
course.
What job do you have to do?”
“I don’t have my mask. I
left my mask at home. I need the mask.”
“It’s all right. The mask
is waiting for you.”
“No! It’s not! Tim, you
don’t understand. I have important duties. I have a job.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know. Your
house had two stories. No basement. Your bedroom was upstairs. Windows on every wall. The room was so bright. There were
shadows in the basement but not in your room. Do you remember? I was Cobra
Commander and you were Duke. I took an oath in the basement. I have to get my
mask or Dad will be upset with me.”
Tim kept Taft shuffling
along toward the West Campus quad. He was sure now that Taft was going to
Yarrow as well, that Taft was one of the Nine Dead Men. And whatever they
wanted to see Tim for, bringing in one of their own, injured and delirious, was
bound to win him some points.
“The Oath is important
and only the Sergeant-at-Arms can administer the Oath and I’m the
Sergeant-at-Arms so my duties are important. I took the Oath in the basement. I
was eight. Avery wore the mask and the crown and made me repeat after him. I,
Cobra Commander, do solemnly swear to uphold the values of the
“Who is Avery?”
“Avery is my dad. The fly
gave me a message for him. The flies lived in the basement, thick on the walls.
The basement hummed, night and day. You never visited my house, Tim. I always
visited yours. Why didn’t you ever come over?”
“You never invited me.”
“No one ever needs an
invitation. Invitations are for those too afraid to invite themselves. My dad
made me a dead man in the basement. I wanted to show you the basement, the way
the light from the boarded windows made brilliant lines on the floor. It was a
perfect COBRA hideout. Your house was the Joes’ mountain base. We could have
gotten walkie-talkies and planned long-range battles.”
Yarrow was in sight now,
diagonally across the football field-sized West Campus quad. Tim’s watch said
“Tim Levitt.
You left, Tim. You left me alone, no mountain base. Just the
basement. I know your name. There were flies in your bedroom too. You
left. I asked you for the Terrordrome but you took it
with you, even though you hated COBRA. I know your name. Your name is on a
list. We have enemies all around us. The basement is full of them. They hide in
the shadows. We are dead because we choose to be. Those who choose life have
made no choice at all.”
Suddenly Taft stopped. He grabbed Tim’s shoulders and pulled him
toward him. Taft stared at Tim, wild-eyed.
“Don’t you see, Tim? We
are working with the living now! Those who refuse to make a choice! My dad has
gone insane. I could have stopped it. Is it too late now? I can still stop it.
The fly gave me a message for him. I have a job. Important.
Secret.”
Taft released his grasp
of Tim and held his hands, the way a magician would to prove nothing was up his
sleeves. “Run, Tim. Leave. Leave again. Do as your Commander says.”
But Tim just took Taft’s arm again and led him across the quad to
Yarrow.
****************
Dick checked himself out
in the bathroom mirror. His right eye was swelling shut, and there was a nasty
cut on his upper lip. Blood goateed his chin. He splashed on some water to
clean off the blood, and every bruised, lacerated inch of his face screamed in
pain.
Once he found Drew he was
going to kick that little bitch’s ass. That’s all there was to it. You could
say that Dick had won the fight, but it wasn’t enough; he wanted that fucker in
the ground. You don’t just knock out someone’s tooth and expect to walk away.
Dick wiped off the blood
as well as he could and walked back down the hall to 79B, Chet and
Back in his bedroom, Dick took off his bloodsoaked
shirt and tie and opened
You said you didn’t have time for a boyfriend, but now you
find yourself awfully friendly with a boy. And though you don’t want to say
he’s your boyfriend, you have to wonder: does he think of you as his
girlfriend? Has he been telling the guys on his hall about you? How much detail
does he go into, you wonder. Did he tell them about
the Tunnel? About McHolden?
Does he describe your body for them? Do they give him high-fives for bedding a
volleyball player? You imagine these friends, floppy-haired Neanderthals in
polo shirts and dirty baseball caps. These guys. They
don’t deserve this knowledge.
But what knowledge do you have? How much do you really
know about him? If your’e so concerned about him
telling his roommates about you, do you even know their names? Do you know
Chet’s major? His last name? His
hometown? What his parents do? How will his parents feel about him
having a black girlfriend?
Oh look, you just said it. Girlfriend.
Why are you thinking about his parents? Are you anxious to meet them? Are you
anxious for him to meet yours? How do you think your parents will feel when you
bring this white boy home? Do you hate that you still think about things like
that? Shouldn’t you be past that by now?
You might as well know now: you’re not going to meet
Chet’s parents. He’s not going to meet yours. You can save this anxiety for
another boy. Your time with Chet is limited. He knows it. He is counting down
the days, trying to play things safe, to keep you as long as he can. That’s
just going to backfire.
You reading this won’t help
either. Maybe you don’t always want to know what’s going to happen.
Dick flipped through the
index, looking for something that would tell him where she might be.
Sophomore year, you share 237 Mary Rutherford with Joanie McKittrick. At first it’s an
ideal arrangement—best friends, teammates, Living Creatures—but soon you both
find reasons to keep secrets from one another. You start to avoid the room. You
spend time with Chet, daring each other, giddy at the prospect of getting
caught. Joanie is off with some kid, wasting her
time. You could have the room if you wanted it, maybe, but you don’t want to
bring Chet there yet. It’s still yours, but as soon as you invite him in, it
will belong to both of you. And after that, once he leaves, the room will be
half-empty.
Dick leafed through more
pages.
As elusive as the Nine Dead Men may be, there is an even
more secretive secret society on campus: The Living Creatures. Their sigil, an
exploded heraldic crest depicting the Family Delmonico,
is not as ubiquitous on campus as King Milo, but its scarcity only contributes
to the Creatures’ notoriety, and happening upon one of their spectacular murals
is one of the greatest joys UNWG has to offer.
Little is known about the history of The Living Creatures
(as with the Nine Dead Men, the usual caveas applies:
this may all be entirely fictional). The society is exclusively made up of
women, in contrast to the all-male Nine, but exact numbers are hard to pin
down. It is generally agreed, however, that there are between five and twenty
Creatures on campus at any given point, the numbers fluctuating as seniors
graduate and freshmen recruited. The Creatures’ sigil began appearing on campus
soon after the first King Milo was chalked in 1967, but abundant rumors suggest
that both societies date as far back as the University’s
founding.
It is unclear how leadership—if in fact the Creatures
recognize a leader—is achieved in the society, but the most persistent rumors
suggest that Assistant to the Vice President of Student
With no clear picture of the Creatures’ organization
having emerged from the rumors, it is impossible to outline their hierarchy;
some sources insist that all Creatures share equal rank. Still, the following
titles continue to pop up in anonymous reports:
Supreme Inquisitrix
Lady of the Chalice
The Queen of Knives
First among Sevens
The President’s Daughter
Duchess of the West and South
The Jeweled Serpent
The Apothecary
The Princess of Thirteen Guns
Traditionally, The Living
Creatures have opposed the Nine Dead Men, but what battles they have fought and
their outcomes remain a mystery. Surely the Creatures, if they exist, prefer it
this way. Like the Nine, they thrive on belief that they are real and
influential; as long as students stop and gawk at their sigils, the Creatures
will maintain their power.
Dick had seen this St.
James person once or twice; she was some sort of sunlight-shunning Cure fan or
something. Kind of hot, though, for a chick who looked like she spent most of
her time in a graveyard. Dick figured he could stop by
Kenya’s room to see if she was in, but that seemed pretty doubtful; paying
Charlie St. James a visit sounded like Plan A.
© 2005 Gardner Linn