Cemetery Street

I evoked an old legend. I needed to feel power. I wish I visited Russell, he'd talk some sense into me. But I didn't. I needed peace of mine, so I decided to roll the bones. A safe bet; a sure thing - I knew the train schedule. If I could run the tunnel, Count would make it home. I slipped into my hooptie and headed for Black Rock Tunnel.

On the radio, a self-congratulating politician filled the airwaves. "We decided to go in tonight," he crooned. "We're going to get the job done." The gall of the bastard! Like his ass was on the line! I remembered the smug prick; I helped vote him out.

Disgusted, I turned off the radio. The hum of worn tires seemed more intelligent.

I parked along the railroad siding - the same place Count parked the powder fairy blue pickup. I waited until a westbound freight roared out of the tunnel and rolled across the trestle. I waited until the flashing red taillight disappeared from sight. Then I waited some more. "This one's for you," I said aloud as I hopped out of my car. My breath floated skyward as I trudged over the trestle.

Standing in front of the tunnel's entrance, I peered into oblivion. Unlike the last time, there wasn't sunlight summoning me to the other side. I peered into an open grave. From deep inside the steady, unending drip of water beckoned, the clamorous chorus of rats taunted.

I don't know how long I worked up my nerve. Goddamn it, I berated myself, Count's in a war and I'm too big a pussy to walk through a dark tunnel. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. Rawness enveloped me. I was assailed by the moist rot, the decay - the smell of the grave. I should have turned around.

My foot searched for the next railroad tie. Despite the freezing temperature, sweat broke on my forehead. I imagined being in a minefield, the railroad ties, my passage out; the doink, doink, doink, of dripping water ricocheted past my ears like bullets. My heart pounded against my chest. To my left, a family of rats protested my presence. I whimpered. One tie at a time, I reminded myself as I plunged into the heart of darkness.

I heard a low rumble. I turned, expecting to see the glaring headlights of an eastbound freight. Nothing, just darkness, blessed darkness. I held my breath - concentrating, listening for a distant rumble. A quiet hum seeped through the darkness. "It's just Cromby," I reassured myself. Cromby was a nearby coal burning power plant, its burps and hiccups filled the night. "It's just Cromby," I repeated aloud; my voice reverberated off the tunnel walls. I increased my pace. I cursed myself for not bringing a flashlight.