OK,
over the passage of two years, memory gets a bit hazy. Let's see what
I can recall. A chick that lived in Wop's apartment building tipped
us off to the existence of a large metal hatch in the ground near the
Stone Arch Bridge on the West Bank.
Four
of us set off one night soon after, and found the hatch, which was unlocked.
Beneath, a rusty spiral staircase twisted downward into the gloom. We
followed it downward, climbed carefully over a jumble of mud-slick boards
and debris, and beheld a large, muddy, misty tunnel.
Exploring down a bit, we found that other tunnels connected to the first.
All were several inches deep in squelching, slippery, shoe-stealing
mud. Being masters of creativity, we dubbed the system the Mud Tunnels.
Later,
we would discover that the "Mud Tunnels" were actually abandoned mill
tailrace tunnels, and that the initial tunnel we'd found was formerly
known as the Cataract Mill Tailrace. We'd also find out that the mud
consisted largely of, ahem, "sewer sediment." But that was
later. At the time, to the best of our knowledge, we were in weird,
mucky, ancient-looking tunnels of unknown origin and purpose.
The
mist was almost as thick as the mud, and it limited our vision to a
few feet ahead. It also made photography essentially impossible. The
mud was either sticky as hell or slippery as shit, which made movement
tricky.
It
was also freshly imprinted everywhere by the dragging tails and pointy
feet of rats. Lots of rats, by the look of it. A frickin' army of rats.
Rat Battalion 7. We only did see one rat that night, though, and he
scampered off in short order once our lights hit him. Maybe he was a
scout, and he'd gone back to get reinforcements. Visions from the movie
"Willard" came to mind.
After
a couple turns, we came to a flooded section of tunnel. Four feet or
so above the waterline was a narrow ledge. I climbed up and started
out to see if I could discern what lay beyond the water. My companions
were not inclined to join me. The water was about 8 feet deep, and the
ledge was slick with the omnipresent mud. I went slowly, cautiously,
hands pressed to the filthy wall. My loyal friends shouted words of
encouragement as I edged out over the water. Specifically, they encouraged
me to lose my balance and take a sudden plunge.
As
I groped my way along, my hand touched something on the wall. It was
a fragment of a styrofoam packing peanut, stuck lightly to the mud-caked
wall. My light touch sent it spiraling down into the water below.
A
gear started spinning deep in my head. It engaged with another gear,
which started two others turning.
I
looked more closely at the wall. Other light debris was stuck to the
wall here and there. Almost directly above my head, a perfectly green
leaf was plastered into the mud, just below the ceiling of the tunnel.
The gears spun more quickly, and an old-fashioned alarm bell sounded
in my mind.
The
debris made it clear that this tunnel had flooded. More importantly,
it had flooded to the top, and recently. This explained the mud, the
lack of prints other than fresh rat prints, the humid mist, everything.
It could easily flood again. And for all I knew, it might happen quickly;
perhaps flow from the Mississippi just outside was diverted into these
tunnels for some obscure reason. Shit.
I
shuffled back along the wall, yelling ahead to my friends to get ready
to pack it up and move on out. By the time I finished explaining what
I'd seen and its possible significance, I was back on the not-so-solid
ground, and we slucked and mucked our way back to the staircase as quickly
as the treacherous mud would allow.
A
wall of water never came, and we escaped unharmed. It would be almost
a year before Action Squad returned. By then, the Mud Tunnels were a
very different place.
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