Читать книгу Mysteries in Our National Parks: Running Scared: A Mystery in Carlsbad Caverns National Park - Gloria Skurzynski - Страница 11

Outside the visitor center, the temperature had risen to 100 degrees; on the walk from Dr. Rhodes’s office, Jack had to wipe sweat from his forehead.

It was hard to believe that when they descended into the cavern, they’d feel chilly.

“How do we get down to the cavern?” Ashley asked.

“Well,” Consuela answered, “if we had more time, we’d go to the natural entrance of the cave and hike down the twisty, turny path to the bottom. But that would take about an hour, and you’d miss your tour. So we’ll use the elevator.”

“Elevator?” That was a surprise to Jack. In all the national parks his family had visited, they’d never reached a natural wonder by elevator. That sounded kind of out of line with National Park policy, which was to keep everything exactly as it was in nature.

“Just wait till you try it,” Consuela told them. “It’s quite a ride.”

They’d entered the visitor center, filled with hundreds of tourists from all over the globe who were milling around, strolling from the gift shop to the bookstore to the restaurant and all the other attractions in between. There were exhibits on bats, geology, and the history of Carlsbad Caverns, plus movies that showed how the formations grew. “I want to check out all this stuff after we tour the cavern,” Jack told Ashley, and Consuela added, “You can spend hours in here and not see everything. And then there are the trails outside. They’re worth checking out, too.”

Little kids of all shades ran around the center, shouting to each other in different languages. Since it happened to be late July, school was no longer in session. Older kids studied the exhibits.

“Elevator’s over this way,” Consuela said, leading them. She reached for Sam’s hand so he wouldn’t get swept away in the throng of visitors. He smiled up at her shyly as they came to a stop in front of the elevator doors. At least for a little while, Sam was holding on to someone other than Jack, and Jack enjoyed the freedom.

Soon the elevator doors opened, and the four of them entered. “Now, hold on to your sombreros,” Consuela said. “We’re about to descend 754 feet in less than a minute. See that little box up there? Watch the numbers, and it’ll show you how fast we’re going down.” The doors closed, the elevator began to drop, and Jack’s stomach lurched.

He grabbed on to the elevator wall, afraid he’d get queasy, but the ride was surprisingly smooth. He couldn’t take his eyes off the red digital numbers that measured their fall: 50 feet, 100 feet, 200—the red numbers changed with every 50 feet the elevator dropped—250, 350, 500, 650, 700—wow! What a ride! It was almost like free-falling in outer space. All too soon they reached ground zero, where Consuela said, “End of the trip. Everybody out!”

They exited into an incredible scene. There they were, 754 feet beneath the surface of the Earth in a big, dark cavern—and straight ahead of them was a gift shop!

On display were T-shirts with Carlsbad Caverns printed across the front and all kinds of other Carlsbad souvenirs. Beyond that was a photo-supply shop, then a kiosk selling food, and lots of picnic tables, all of them hardly visible in this barely lighted subterranean chamber. The usual crowd of visitors wandered around, calling their kids in half a dozen languages.

“This is the cavern?” Ashley asked. “It looks like Disneyland, only darker.”

Consuela just smiled. “This is only the starting point,” she said. “The cavern and caves and tunnels snake out for 30 miles beyond here—at least that’s how much has been discovered so far. Let’s go! We need to eat quickly if you’re going to make that two o’clock tour.”

Jack and Ashley ordered slices of pizza; Consuela ordered chicken strips; and Sam said all he wanted was one of the big soft pretzels. “That’s not enough,” Jack told him. “Do you want to keep on being a Mini-Me, or do you want to grow up nice and tall like I am?” At that, Sam agreed to order a hot dog.

“And milk,” Jack told him. “Milk will help you grow.”

“G-g-get some for Ashley, then,” Sam said, which made Jack laugh loudly until Ashley stuck her tongue out at him.

They found an empty picnic table littered with crumpled napkins and discarded cups. Consuela quickly swept them up and deposited the trash into a nearby garbage bin, clucking, “Honestly, people should be more careful. This is a national park, after all!”

When they finally settled in, the smooth plastic benches felt cold beneath Jack’s jeans. He was just taking a bite of pizza when Consuela asked, “Kids, would you mind getting some utensils? I could never eat chicken with just my fingers, even if most people do. I’ll need a plastic knife and fork.”

“Sure,” Jack agreed, getting up.

“Ashley, you and Sam go, too,” Consuela said.

“Huh?” Ashley’s pizza stopped in midair, just inches from her lips.

“You all go. And get me some”—Consuela’s dark eyes seemed to search the kiosk—“some napkins. And an extra cup. And some salt and pepper, too. And honey if they have some. Please.”

“But Jack can—” Ashley began.

“Don’t leave your brother to do it all. Go on, now,” Consuela told them, making a shooing gesture with her hands. “Take Sam with you.”

Giving Jack a look, Ashley shrugged and said, “OK. Let’s go, Sam.”

Without a word, Sam slid out from the bench and trotted after Jack and Ashley.

The whole thing struck Jack as odd. The kiosk was only 40 feet away, yet Consuela was asking three kids to do the work of one. Whatever! he told himself as he began to gather up the plastic supplies she’d requested. The extra cup would take a little longer, since they’d have to wait in line for that. Ashley had unfolded a paper napkin to hold the various packages of condiments.

“I’ll t-t-take the f-f-fork,” Sam offered. “She c-c-can start eating.”

“You do that, Mini-Me,” Jack answered. “We’ll be right behind you.”

“Jeez, I hope my pizza won’t be stone cold,” Ashley murmured as she dropped three packets of salt into the makeshift bag. “I still don’t know why all three of us had to get this stuff.”

“Who knows? Maybe Consuela believes in teamwork or something,” Jack guessed.

When they finally set the napkin full of condiments in front of Consuela, her skin had flushed to the color of copper. “Thanks a lot, kids. Now, you’d better hurry up and eat. Sam here says he’s not hungry, but I’ve never met a boy who couldn’t pack in enough for three adults. Maybe you can get him to take a bite. He’s just been fiddling with that pretzel.”

Right away, Jack noticed there was something wrong with Sam. It was as if in their absence the air had been sucked out of him. His eyes were glued to the tabletop, and he had shrunk into himself the way he’d done when he’d first arrived at the Landon home. Only the pretzel moved, swinging back and forth between his fingers like the pendulum on a clock.

“Hey, what’s wrong, guy?” Jack asked, sliding next to him.

Pressing his lips together, Sam quickly dropped the pretzel onto the tabletop and turned away, his shoulder blades protruding like knives.

“I think I know what may have upset him,” Consuela began, but just then a man at an adjoining table said something to her in Spanish.

“Que es?” she answered. Since she was wearing a park uniform, the man must have thought she was a park ranger rather than an office worker. He spoke rapidly to her, interrupted by his wife, who kept breaking in with comments of her own, all in Spanish. Every time Consuela tried to take a bite of her food, they stopped her with another question, which she politely answered. Both the husband and wife took turns speaking excitedly in a stream of nonstop Spanish, which kept up the whole time Ashley, Jack, and Sam were eating their lunches. Poor Consuela never got a mouthful.

Whatever she had been about to say about Sam and his strange behavior seemed to get lost as she focused on the man, who gestured wildly at the cave ceiling as if he could punch it with his fists. Although Jack didn’t understand Spanish, there was one word he could make out—“no.” Whatever the man was saying, Consuela was arguing against.

For some reason, Sam had shrunk to the end of the bench, pressing himself close to Jack as though he were trying to get as far away as possible from Consuela.

“Hey, move over,” Jack told him. “You’re crowding me.”

Sam moved about an inch, then slid down on the bench until his chin almost touched the tabletop. What is with this kid? Jack wondered impatiently. He was about to ask when Consuela tapped the face of her wristwatch, apparently telling the Hispanic couple that she had to go, because at the same time she got up and gestured to the kids. She looked regretfully at her uneaten chicken strips, then took them over to the trash bin with all the rest of the debris from the table, saying, “We have to move or you’ll miss the tour. The last one of the day will start in ten minutes.”

“You know, if we miss it, we don’t have to tour Left Hand Tunnel,” Ashley suggested. “We could just walk through the Big Room. That’s a self-guided tour, isn’t it?”

“Nuh-uh!” Sam insisted. “L-Left Hand Tunnel.”

“Why?” Ashley demanded. “That’s all you’ve talked about ever since we got here. What is so important about Left Hand Tunnel?”

“B-because.” Sam took a deep breath and managed to get the whole sentence out without stammering. “It’s about people like me.”

“You mean stutterers?” Ashley asked uncertainly.

“No.” Sam looked disdainful as he raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. “L-l-lefties. Southpaws.” He pretended to throw an imaginary baseball with his left hand.

Consuela, Jack, and Ashley were so surprised that for a moment none of them could think of anything to say. Then Consuela murmured, “That’s a great reason to visit Left Hand Tunnel. I’ll go check with the ranger.”

Should Jack explain to Sam that the tunnel wasn’t named for left-handed people? Or just let him go on thinking that it had been? Sometimes Sam seemed a whole lot younger than his eight years. Like now, when once more he kept clinging to Jack’s arm.

“Hey, what’s with you?” Jack asked him. “Why are you hanging on me like a leech? Are you afraid of this place because it’s dark?”

Sam shook his head, and motioned for Jack to lean down so he could whisper. When Jack did, Sam muttered, “She’s on d-d-drugs.”

“Your mother?” Jack answered. “Yes, I know that, and I’m sorry.”

But Sammy shook his head. “No. C-C-C—” Unable to finish the word, he just pointed to Consuela’s retreating figure.

“Consuela?” Jack exclaimed. “Don’t be crazy.”

“I saw!” Sam insisted. Finding it easier to pantomime than speak, he went through the motions of injecting his arm with a needle, then pointed again to Consuela.

“What’s he saying?” Ashley asked.

“He’s trying to tell us he saw Consuela shooting up with heroin or something.”

“Oh, Sammy, that’s insane,” Ashley declared, also bending down to his eye level. “Consuela’s a nice lady with a grandson about your age. She’s no druggie. I’m sure it must be hard on you to know that your mother takes drugs, but you can’t go around thinking that every other woman you meet does the same thing. Consuela’s really sweet. Didn’t you notice how nice she was to those Hispanic people who wouldn’t even let her eat her lunch?”

“She did it b-b-before that. When you were getting the s-s-stuff. I saw!”

“Well, I didn’t see anything.” Jack said.

“Neither did I. You’re just plain wrong, Sammy,” Ashley insisted, and to Jack, “Don’t say anything about this to Consuela. Can you imagine how she’d feel? That would be so insulting.”