Digging Deeper

I’m underground! My god, I’m underground!

The thought was enough to spike panic in her chest and her heart drummed louder. She kept wiggling and shifting, forcing her fingers into claws and scrabbling them upward. The dirt was loose and gave way, but that didn’t make the absolute terror coursing through her abate. Lifting her head, she hit something, about three inches above her nose. It was curved and solid, extending down toward her chest, and she could feel the roughness brushing her nipples when she tried to push herself upward again. Was she naked? How had that happened? Had the house collapsed on her in her sleep?

Disturbingly, she could not remember anything leading up to this moment. Her last clear recall was of leaving work, heading off to meet with a few mates for a drink before going home. Nothing special, not the kind of bender that would have wiped out her memories of going home afterward.

How long had she been like this? She tried to force the panic down, some shred of logic asserting that she would use up what little oxygen she had if she continued panting. She couldn’t help it, though. Her mind kept screaming that she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe!

In addition to clawing at the damp earth, she moved her legs, pushing up and trying to bend her knees, even shifting her hips up and down, all in an attempt to make the dirt sifting around her pack down under her body and give her increased space. It was working, inch by inch. She was getting room to move, even as more and more soil shifted over her like a dry cascade. She just needed to keep on wiggling. By doing that, she might get free. If she was buried shallow enough.

If she was several feet under, though… No, she would not think of that. She had to keep the panic at bay.

Shift, shift, wiggle, wiggle.

She had almost made enough room for her hands to dig.

How could this have happened? How had she gotten here?

Tamara struggled to recall her last memory again. Calling in at the pub for a pint of cider after work, a quick laugh with friends, then…nothing. She didn’t remember talking to anyone or going home.

Shift, wiggle, shift, wiggle.

She had enough room to bend her elbows and knees. All she could do was keep at it, keep going, keep swallowing the panic every time it threatened to engulf her. Tears stung her eyes. What if she was buried so deep it was all useless? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t just lie there and accept her fate. She would keep going until she was either free or she ran out of air.

Shift, wiggle, dig, shift, wiggle, dig.

She was getting handfuls of dirt. It was easier to move. Tamara kept going, clawing faster. Without warning, her fingers met no resistance. Her hand was free. Cooler air swirled over her exposed skin and she thrust upward, forcing her arm higher, tearing at the ground until her other hand joined it. Breathing was harder. The air that fanned her face didn’t ease the burning in her lungs. With both hands, she raked at the ground and at last her fingers touched the rough wooden arch covering her face and part of her torso. She shoved at it as she sat up and sweet air rushed into her starved lungs.

Tamara sobbed with relief and spit dirt that had fallen from her hair out of her mouth.

“What the fuck?” a man’s voice demanded. “Oh my lord. Oh my god. Are you all right?”

She had no idea if she was all right or ever would be again. Someone bent over her, trying to help her up, and she panicked, conscious of the cold air on her skin. Tamara screamed.

“Don’t touch me! Get away from me!”

A flashlight beam cut through the misty gray of early morning and a small dog yapped like a mad thing as it ran around in circles.

“Stop! What are you doing there?” That was a different voice. She recognized the dark navy uniform and the high-viz vest of a police officer beyond the bobbing torchlight.

“Help me! Help me, please!” Tamara screamed. The man who had his hands on her backed off at once and Tamara had never been so glad to see a police officer in her life. The uniformed figure hurried up to them and pointed a finger at the man.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!”

“I wasn’t doing anything!” the man protested at once, sounding like he might burst into tears. “I was trying to help her.”

Tamara sobbed and crossed her arms over her body, trying to cover herself. The dog was still yapping away like it was demented. She wished it would shut up. It was making her headache worse.

“I don’t know how I got here. I was buried under the ground.”

“It’s all right, love. I’ll call for an ambulance.” The copper radiated calm. He knelt and put his waterproof jacket around her shoulders, looking up. “You!” He pointed at the man again. “Put your hands on your head and turn around.”