“I hear you, Zinzi. Is that you and Vivian Jean? What in the world are you doing here?”
“Coming to save you,” Vivian Jean shouts.
“If that’s what you came to do, then your plan isn’t gonna work. Not when you’re as stuck in the mud as I am.”
“We’ll get out,” I say, with as much confidence as I can muster. “I just need to think for a second.” I finally remember the story my father once told me, about how he and one of my brothers had been trapped in a sinkhole in the ground that had appeared suddenly. But it wasn’t at night or during a storm, and it wasn’t as deep as this one.
“How do we get out?” Othella shouts.
“Are you above us? I think you’re above us.”
“Yes, I climbed up. I almost reached the top.”
“I thought you sounded like you were near the opening. If you can get out,” I say, yelling, “go get help, okay?”
“Where’s Tony Schaefer?” Vivian Jean calls out.
“Where is he?” Othella’s voice is clear and loud. “He kept falling, but I never heard him hit the bottom or cry out.”
“Then he’s gone, and we need to get out of here,” Vivian Jean says.
“Can you tell me how far you are from the top, Othella?” I ask, straining to hang on to the wall of mud and roots.
“I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know. Just give me a moment.”
CHAPTER 45
OTHELLA
The Cockpit Jungle, St. Elizabeth Parish
Tony Schaefer fell into a hole in the ground and took me with him. I kicked and kicked, grabbing onto whatever I could, but he clung to me and did his best to drag me down. Yet with nimble fingers and strong arms, I grasped a vine, a root, a limestone ridge—anything within reach—and as soon as I felt steady, I kicked him in the head. Not once. Not twice. But again and again, my legs and feet pounded against him, hitting his back, shoulders, and the meaty parts of his flesh.
Then, at last, he fell, screaming into the abyss, and I thought he must be dead, which meant I was free. Except I’m still in the hole and I’m not a bird. I can’t flap my wings and fly up and away. I must climb. Scale the muddy rock wall and rise toward the opening above.
Minutes pass—long, rain-soaked, mud-covered minutes. I am so tired but I refuse to stop. I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Too much to do to quit now. I keep climbing.
What a strong girl!I think to myself. I’ve almost made it to the top and am nearly out. Then the mud gives way, and Idrop, falling a few feet, and then a few feet more. I reach out and grab onto a vine—a strangling fig vine—which Robbie says is the strongest.
Now, I have to climb again. I can’t give in to the feeling I should give up, but I am almost—almost too exhausted to hold on. Then I hear something—someone in the jungle above me.
I whisper, “Help me.”
A cacophony of sounds—screams and voices—call out my name. I recognize them—Vivian Jean and Zinzi. What are they doing out here?
I repeat my cry, this time louder: “Help me.”
CHAPTER 46
VIVIAN JEAN
The Cockpit Jungle, St. Elizabeth Parish
We were heroes for at least three seconds.
Zinzi lay flat on her stomach, her arms reaching for Othella while I held on to Zinzi’s ankles. Although I might not be strong, I understand leverage. Fortunately, Othella is on the lip of the sinkhole, so she can be yanked free, and we do just that.
Then, before we can celebrate our victory, we heroes become victims of the cavernous ditch. I am not sure how it happened. I thought Zinzi had pulled Othella completely free, and I eased up my grip on Zinzi’s ankles.
