"I've got to admit, you picked a hell of a place for reconciliation," he said.
She turned toward him and hugged him.
"I wanted your undivided attention."
"You got that, all right."
She became serious. "Jude, how much time do you think we have?"
"You mean, if we don't get out?"
"Yes."
"I don't know." He pretended to consider it for the first time. "Couple of days maybe, more or less." He knew it would be less.
"It's strange," she said. "As far as the world is concerned, we'll just drop out of sight, totally disappear. I guess they'd find your car eventually, maybe figure out what happened."
"Maybe."
"There's so much left undone. My parents. I don't know what they'll do. They need me. Skyler — he'll be lost without us. It's funny when you think about it — here I was supposed to live to a hundred and forty and I'm barely thirty.
"Me, too. 'Course I never thought I'd make it past sixty."
"I'm not leaving anything behind. There'll be nothing to show I even passed through. You — you're leaving Skyler. In a way, that's like leaving part of yourself."
"Maybe. It doesn't feel that way."
"But he's got all your genes, the same makeup. Maybe he'll pass it on to the next generation."
"That's something I'd rather do myself."
"But at least there'll be progeny of sorts. The line will continue."
"Some consolation."
It came out sounding bitter, and he hadn't intended that. He knew she was trying to salvage some ray of hope for him, and he appreciated the effort.
They lay back upon the cool metal table and stayed there side by side with an arm around each other, looking up at the rocks above.
"Hope this thing can hold us," she said.
Then she added: "Jude. I've got an idea!" She sat up excitedly. "I don't know if it would work, but it's worth a try."
She jumped off the table, and he did the same. Then she grasped the edge of the table with both hands and lifted it an inch off the floor.
"I remember reading that in old mines they sometimes built a second support system. It's like a second ceiling, with braces and beams right under the first one. We can use this table like that — it'll support the dirt while we dig underneath it."
He, too, lifted the table.
"If it's strong enough," he said. He let it go and it landed with a solid thunk. "We might as well try it. Anything's better than doing nothing."
He turned his back to the front end of the table and picked it up with his hands behind him. She picked up the rear. It was solid steel, heavier than he expected, which was good. They carried it across the chamber and into the passageway, stopping twice to rest. Once inside the tunnel, it was a snug fit. Not much dirt would fall through the cracks on either side — if only it was strong enough to hold. He continued walking, holding the lighted flashlight tightly under his left arm. When they reached the landfill, he set the table down gently. Then he scrambled back to where Tizzie was, and the two of them crawled underneath it. They arched their backs to raise it and moved it ahead another six inches, letting it come to rest at the foot of the pyramid of dirt. They backed out and returned to the chamber.
They selected a smaller table and carried it into the tunnel and placed it sideways on top of the other one so that it extended across the width of the passage, forming a backboard to catch falling dirt. Then they found some implements to dig with — a knife, a tin can, an ax handle and a large spoon — and two large cardboard boxes in which to haul the loose earth back into the chamber.
Jude went first. He crawled all the way under the table, stuck the flashlight into a small crevice so that the beam aimed forward, and pondered the wall of rock and dirt. Gingerly, he lifted the spoon and poked the wall. It was loose.
He pried out a spoonful of dirt and pebbles that fell onto the rocky floor.
Then another and another. Soon a little mound formed before him.
"I don't know," he said dubiously. "This is like Sisyphus pushing the rock up the damned hill. Every time I dig some out, more falls down to take its place."
"Try it higher," said Tizzie.
He did, and here the dirt was damp, so that he was able to burrow straight ahead and dig a hole abut a feet deep. He then widened it and worked down, while Tizzie used the tin can to pour the loose dirt into the cartons. She dragged them into the chamber and dumped them against a near wall. After an hour, he had scooped out a cavity slightly taller than the table and extending two feet into the cave-in. He crawled out and they took up positions to shove the table forward, bending on one knee and digging their back feet in for support.
"Both together," said Tizzie. "That's the key. And keep pushing — all the way."
They pushed, but the table didn't move. The front legs were stuck against ridges in the uneven floor.
"I'm about to enter my worst nightmare," said Jude. And he dropped down, crawled under the table and rested on all fours. "Together," he said. "On three." And he counted slowly but emphatically: "One… Two… Three"
At that, Jude pushed up with his back with all his might, raising the table a half inch or so, and just at that moment Tizzie shoved it forward, so hard that she lost her balance and slammed into it with her shoulder. It lunged ahead and smashed into the dirt wall, setting off a shower of stones and rubble that fell upon the tabletop and trickled down the edges on both sides of Jude. It turned dark. His flashlight was dislodged, and he had to sift through a pile of dirt to find it. Then he jumped out from underneath the table. When Tizzie shined her light upon him, his face was pale under the smudges of dirt.
"Sorry," she said. "I forgot — you've got this thing about being buried alive."
"I'm strange that way."
"Well, we made some progress. If the dirt is damp enough, we can keep going. I bet there's an underground spring somewhere up there — maybe that's what caused the cave-in in the first place."
"Don't tell me you think it was natural. I could have sworn I heard something before — footsteps or something. I think someone was there."
"Maybe they were killed," she said sarcastically. "Maybe we'll find the body."
"Thanks. That's a hell of an incentive to keep going."
They switched places, Tizzie digging and Jude hauling the dirt away. She used the knife, which she hammered deep into the dirt using the ax handle, not at all fazed by the cascades of earth falling around her. Jude found that he could raise the table himself and carry it ahead a few inches at a time. Each time, it got harder to move, but their progress in digging their tunnel was much more rapid.
After four hours, they had penetrated so deep that the smaller table on top reached the upper wall of the cave-in. They went to the chamber, retrieved a third table, and set it in the passageway, end to end with the one they had been using. They rested for some minutes lying on the floor.
By now Jude dreaded it every time he had to crawl under the table. His phobia was rampant and he fell prey to the dark side of his imagination. What if the cave-in was so vast they couldn't tunnel all the way through it? What if the table — already almost immobile because of the weight it was holding — simply refused to move? Or if the oxygen finally gave out?
Tizzie, on the other hand, seemed imperturbable. Jude was filled with admiration for her. He remarked upon it and she stood up to reply, wiping her hands on the rear seat of her blue jeans: "It's just because I've been blessed with a lack of imagination."
Again, he was struck by a new appreciation of her — of her energy, her confidence and resilience, her strength and raw-boned beauty.