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see the old man and then he grimaced weirdly.
    I guess the doctor’s in, he whispered. Come on down here doc. Keep your voice down. The kid’s just through here. His name’s Mason.
    The old man slid very carefully down into the hole. The engineer’s eyes were shining in the lamplight and the old man could feel the heat coming off the man’s skin as if he were very sick. They were pressed up together at the bottom of that narrow shaft among the pipes and debris.
    The engineer called softly into a crack in the wall. Hey, Mason. Hey you still in there buddy? He looked at the old man. I told him you were coming. He’s been quiet.
    The old man held his breath.
    Come on in there pal. Don’t go falling to sleep on me. Hey. You can hear me, I know you can hear me. I got a doctor out here to help your mom.
    His mom?
    She’s buried in there with him.
    The old man shifted his weight. The engineer blew dust from a deep crevice no wider than his thumb and he peered in and cursed. His voice bashing off the wimpled rocks overhead, rippling and fading up the tunnel.
    I’m not a doctor, the old man whispered.
    The engineer studied him. My name’s not Pike.
    He wondered if the engineer were joking. He regarded him a long moment then wiped the sweat from his eyes and called in to the boy. Mason? Mason, are you in there son?
    They sat in silence for a long moment, listening. The old man could hear a hollow drip of liquid obscene in the depths, like water or blood or some darker grease. The creak of rubble all around them as in a ship’s hull.
    He’s not doing so hot, the engineer muttered.
    He’ll make it. If he’s in there.
    He’s in there. Unless I’m a fucken idiot. The engineer pressed one eye socket to the crevice, wet hair in curls at his nape. And you can fuck right off if that’s what you think.
    The old man’s breaths came quick in the bad air. He rolled his forehead against a slab of warm concrete, dust in his throat, dust searing his eyes. He raised his head. A wet half-moon where his forehead had been. The heat was worsening.
    Did you hear that? he hissed suddenly.
    The engineer waved him quiet. His blood loud in his ears.
    And then up out of the dirt and battered depths it came: a small voice. She’s sleeping, the boy whispered. She can’t hear you, you have to be quiet.
    The engineer was grinning angrily in the ghostly light. What did I tell you?
    The old man knuckled his eyes shut. Thank god. Jesus.
    God didn’t do shit, he said. And then, into the darkness: We’re going to get you out of there buddy, just hold on.
    I could hear him from up top. He was singing to her.
    You want to lower your fucken voice?
    The old man froze.
    What?
    What do you think? The engineer turned back. Hey, bud, he called in.
    I’m thirsty, the boy was saying. You’re getting us out of here? He started to cry.
    We’re going to get you out, the engineer called in. Can we speak to your mom?
    A long silence.
    She won’t wake up, the boy said. I can’t wake her up.
    It’s alright, the old man called. Just hold on in there, okay?
    Another long pause.
    Okay, the boy said.
    She’s dead, the engineer muttered. She’s gone and fucken died.
    I was dead too. I got out.
    The engineer looked at him. She’s dead , he said flatly.
    They began carving with a toothed trowel into the facing wall. Banging and splintering off the rubble. Scooping the debris clear into a bucket and grunting softly as they worked. The engineer hoisted the filled bucket to the old man who raised it up to the tunnel overhead and lowered down a fresh bucket. The shadows sluicing crazily. Over the din the old man spoke to the boy telling him of the work being done and of the nature of their excavations and of the brief time left before their breaking through. While he spoke he dipped a black rag into a pail under his boots and sprinkled water upon the debris to settle the dust