28
Though the evening was hot and humid, the cave was cool. The D.E.A.T.H. program site was guarded at night, so it took Rupert, Jesus, and Efunibi three hours to hump the explosives from the Pioneer Cemetery access all the way up to the pit entrance. The tunnel was pitch black and while Rupert and Jesus carried flashlights, Efunibi preferred to use his own Native instincts of stealth and oneness with nature to find his way, which meant that Rupert and Jesus carried the wire, detonation devices, drills, and things that could explode, while Efunibi carried the step-ladder. He stopped frequently to pick it up because he tripped or outright fell over.
“I’m tellin’ you, man . . . ” Jesus whispered to Rupert with a hiss.
“Breathe.”
Jesus did, and soon they resumed their movements.
When they reached the mine entrance, they went about their task. Rupert worked with a manual hand drill directly into the rock surface closest to the entrance (and was tall enough that he didn’t need the step-ladder), while he sent Jesus and Efunibi about a hundred feet or so back to work with the battery-powered drill, which would go much faster but make less noise. When they finished plugging their holes with the sticks of ammonium nitrate emulsion-based explosives, they moved back another hundred feet and repeated. It took Rupert longer, but once he finished and wired everything up the way Efunibi showed him (which made him nervous), they were on their fourth and last set of explosives. They then uncoiled the remaining detonation wire as far back toward the cavern as they could for safety. Then Efunibi began preparing for detonation, which, if all went as planned, would unfold with a domino effect, starting with the entrance and working back into the cave.
Rupert knew the set up wasn’t perfect. The holes they drilled were inadequate for, say, a proper mining blast, so the resulting fallen rubble to block the tunnel would likely not be as much as hoped for, but he used the highest number of sticks at the front, because that’s where it counted. If they dug their way through that, they’d just be confronted with some other level of blockage further down the line. He doubted they had the incentive to unclog their main artery for a big, empty cavern.
“Dude, do you even know what any of this is?” Jesus asked Efunibi as he worked.
“Yes.”
“Well. What is it then?”
“This G-4 detonator,” Efunibi said, patient. “All Jesus need know.”
“Right,” Jesus said, stood up, and walked over to Rupert, who leaned uneasily against the cave wall. “Man, I toldyou.”
“What?”
“You know what he’s using?”
“It’s some kind of detonator.”
“It’s a G-4 detonator.”
“Is that bad? That sounds bad.”
“It’s bad for people blowing up on Battlestar Gallactica, because it only exists on Battlestar Gallactica.”
“But that’s a real detonator.” Rupert said, hopeful.
“We presume. I don’t think he knows.”
“So, either nothing is going to happen, or we’re all going to die down here.”
“That’s my guess.”
Rupert sighed. There was no going back now.
“Ready, Kemo Sabe,” Efunibi said as he stood up. He was positioned around the sharpest corner they could find as far back as possible.
“Okay.” Rupert said, and he and Jesus joined Efunibi and the G-4 detonator, around the corner, hoping not to die.
“No time like present,” Efunibi said, unaffected.
There was a too-long silence as they stuffed their ears with wax and Rupert thought of Leenda. Well, if it didn’t work and they didn’t die, he could meet her on the mound with a romantic picnic dinner under the moon. If they died, well, who gave a shit?
He took a deep breath and saw Jesus do the same. Efunibi seemed nonplussed.
“Go.”
Nothing.
“Go.”
Efunibi looked down at the detonation device.
“Go!” Rupert poked Efunibi in the shoulder, who couldn’t hear him through the wax.
A millisecond later, everything exploded . . .
. . . exactly the way they’d planned.
No shit, Rupert thought as the furthest point blew, then the next, then the next. It was loud to begin with, but the noise grew unbearable, all funneled through the cave system straight at them. The light of each blast around the corner grew brighter with each discharge. And the closer it got, the more bits and pieces fell around them, not too threatening at first, but they couldn’t keep standing there.
It was working—they could go. Run. Run.
By the time they reached the cavern that would house the lab, the explosions had stopped and no one was crushed to death. Or so they thought. Rupert and Jesus had run flailing into the cavern, and seeing each other safe and that they’d managed the successful execution of a hare-brained plan, they high-fived, hooted, and dug wax out of their ears.
But Efunibi didn’t follow.
“Hmm.” Rupert thought for a minute, catching his breath. “Do you think . . . ?”
“I don’t care.”
“Damn, that’s harsh.”
“He was up to no good,” Jesus said. “For real.”
“Maybe, but . . . he helped us this far.”
“True,” Jesus conceded. “But shifty. That guy was shifty.”
“He was. But not deserving-to-be-smashed-to-a-bloody-pulp shifty. I don’t think.”
“Maybe not. But if he is smashed to a bloody pulp, I’m not going back there.”
Rupert thought of all the times since he’d been in Florida when he either puked, or came close. It was pretty regular, he thought. No, he didn’t need to see that. If Efunibi was okay, he’d have been here by now. If he was smashed to a bloody pulp, no one needed to see that, least of all him.
“Right.”
He considered for a moment that maybe he should build a lab in Efunibi’s mutilated corpse, to honor him in the ways of his tradition. The idea made him a little sick. Nope. Fuck that.
Rupert and Jesus shimmied their way up the Pioneer Cemetery access. Despite the loss—he was still unsure it counted, by strict definition, as a “loss”—Rupert felt pretty invincible. Once the dust cleared, after a day or two, he could start constructing his masterpiece: RupeLee Industries.
Sock it to me...