Gil takes a deep breath, shoves his fist upward, and pivots the cover against his elbow. It cracks open half a foot. He takes a quick inventory— then a voice comes from above.
Don't move! Stay right there!
I can hear Gil hiss, Shit.
Grabbing his shirt, Charlie pulls him back, catching him as he loses his footing.
Go! Over there! Turn your flashlight off!
I stumble into the darkness, pressing Paul in front of me. I try to remember my way.
My shoulder glances the wall and tears my shirt. Paul is staggering, exhausted by the heat. We manage twenty paces stumbling over each other before Charlie stops us so Gil can catch up. In the distance a flashlight enters the tunnel through the open manhole. An arm descends after it, followed by a head.
Come out of there!
The beam twitches in both directions, sending a triangle of light sharking through the tunnel.
Now a second voice, a woman's.
This is your last warning!
I look over at Gil. In the darkness I can see the contours of his head as he shakes it, warning us not to speak.
Paul's breath is wet on the back of my neck. He leans against the wall, beginning to look faint. The woman's voice comes again, deliberately loud as she speaks to her partner.
Call it in. Post officers at all the manholes.
For a moment the flashlight retracts from the opening. Charlie immediately presses at our backs. We run until we reach a T in the tunnels, then continue past it and veer right around a corner into unfamiliar territory.
They can't see us here, Gil whispers, out of breathe, clicking on his flashlight. Another long tunnel retreats out of sight, toward what I take to be the northwest of campus.
What now? Charlie says.
Back to Dod, Gil suggests.
Paul wipes his forehead. Can't. They padlocked the exit.
They'll watch all the main grates, Charlie says.
I begin pacing down the westward tunnel. Is this the fastest way northwest?
Why?
Because I think we can get out near Rocky-Mathey. How far is it from here?
Charlie hands the last of our water to Paul, who drinks it eagerly. A few hundred yards, he says. Maybe more.
Through this tunnel?
Gil considers for a second, then nods.
I got nothing better, Charlie says.
The three of them begin to follow me into the dark.
For some distance we continue through the same passageway in silence. Charlie trades flashlights with me once my beam grows too weak, but keeps his focus on Paul, who seems more and more disoriented. When Paul finally stops to lean on a wall, Charlie props him up and helps him on, reminding him not to touch the pipes. With each step, the last drops of water plink in empty bottles. I begin to wonder if I've lost my bearings.
Guys, Charlie says from behind us, Paul's fading.
I just need to sit down, Paul says weakly.
Suddenly Gil directs a flashlight into the distance, bringing a set of metal bars into view. Damn it.
Security gate, Charlie says.
What do we do?
Gil crouches to look Paul in the eye. Hey, he says, shaking Paul's shoulders. Is there a way out of here?
Paul points at the steam pipe beside the security gate, then makes an unsteady downward swoop with his arm. Go under.
Scanning the pipe with my flashlight, I see insulation worn away on the pipe's underside, just inches above the floor. Someone has tried this before.
No way, Charlie says. Not enough room.
There's a release latch on the other side, Gil says, pointing to a device by the wall. Only one of us has to go. Then we can open the gate. He lowers his head to Paul's level again. You've done this before?
Paul nods.
He's dehydrated, Charlie says under his breath. Does anyone have some water?
Gil hands a half-empty bottle to Paul, who greedily drinks it down.
Thanks. Better.
We should go back, Charlie says.
No, I say. I'll do it.
Take my coat, Gil offers. For insulation.
I put a hand on the steam pipe. Even through the padding, it's pulsing with heat.
You won't fit, Charlie says. Not with the coat.
I'm okay without it, I tell them.
But when I lower myself to the floor, I realize how tight the opening is. The insulation is scalding. On my stomach, I force myself between the floor and the pipe.
Exhale and pull yourself through, Gil says.
I inch forward and force myself flat-but when I reach the tightest section, my hands find no grip, only puddles of ooze. Suddenly I'm pinned beneath the pipe.
Shit, Gil growls, falling to his knees.
Tom, Charlie says, and I can feel a pair of hands at my feet. Push off me.
I force my feet off his palms. My chest scrapes hard against the concrete, and one thigh glances the pipe where the insulation is gone. Reflex jerks it away just as I feel the lancing-hot pain.
You okay? Charlie asks, when I shimmy through to the other side.
Turn the latch clockwise, Gil says.
When I do, the security gate unlocks. Gil pushes it open, and Charlie follows, still supporting Paul.
You sure about this? Charlie asks, when we advance into the darkness.
I nod. A few steps on, we arrive at a crude R painted on a wall. We're approaching Rockefeller, one of the residential colleges. As a freshman, I dated a girl named Lana McKnight who lived there. We spent much of that winter sitting by a lazy fire in her dorm room, back before the flues on campus were shut for good. The things we discussed seem so distant now: Mary Shelley and college Gothic and the Buckeyes. Her mother had taught at Ohio State, like my father. Lana's breasts were shaped like eggplants and her ears were the color of rose petals when we stayed too long by the fire.
Soon I can hear voices coming from overhead. Many of them.
What's going on? Gil asks as he draws near the source.
The manhole cover is just over his shoulder.
That's it, I say, coughing. Our way out.
He looks at me, trying to understand.
In the silence I can hear the voices more clearly-rowdy ones; students, not proctors. Dozens of them, moving around our heads.
Charlie begins to smile. The Nude Olympics, he says.
It dawns on Gil. We're right under them.
There's a manhole in the middle of the courtyard, I remind them, leaning on die stone wall, trying to catch my breath. All we have to do is pop the lid, join the pack, and disappear.
But from behind me, Paul speaks up in a hoarse voice. All we have to do is undress, join the pack, and disappear.
