TEARS OF RAGE

Chapter 40

It took less than five minutes to find the entrance to the irrigation tunnel.

It was located beneath a wide metal grate.

He had to find a piece of pipe, to help him lift the grate.

The chatter of voices could be heard across the police radio, as Swaylo descended into the murky darkness of the tunnel.

The flashlight was his only source of light within the four-foot wide cavern.

Grime, spider webs, and a rush of murky water filled the space.

Claustrophobia was like the touch of a woman, it had him feeling chills of uncertainty.

Using the metal pipe to help reposition the grate, Swaylo secured the entrance to the irrigation tunnel.

With water slushing past him, he began moving through the tunnel-like a volleyball player stumbling through a dune of calf-high sand.

Stooped over at the waist, as if he were carrying an elephant on his shoulders, Swaylo stumbled through the tunnel.

Each step was a step closer to freedom.

Fatigue threatened to paralyze his body.

His lungs were burning.

When the sound of water, cascading from a precipice, reached his ears, Swaylo used it to guide him through the two hundred yard trek.

He lost count on the number of times that he had been forced to lift his head from its plummet into the water.

The swirl of water washing over him kept him conscious.

Fear of failure compelled him to keep moving.

The chatter of voices, being heard from the police radio, was muffled within the close confines.

Having to coordinate his movements to conform with the space of the irrigation tunnel, Swaylo had to cover the distance of two football fields.

The tunnel had a sheet metal structure that was corroded and pocked by multiple holes that resembled the burrowed holes made by water moccasins.

The air within the space was thick with the smell of moist soil, animal pheromones, and a fusion of pigeon poop and mildew.

Ten yards from the exit of the tunnel, he heard the report of the cops' discovery.

Moments later, the call to have every available officer coordinate to the mouth of the tunnel was made.

Swaylo heard it come across the police radio.

When he emerged from the tunnel he felt rain pelt across his face, its tattoo felt invigorating.

The distant growl of engines, drawing closer to his location took away any hope of escape.

Gusts of wind chilled him, but he continued to crawl.

The area around him was overgrown with thick clumps of vegetation and creekside brush.

The current carried him over the embankment and sent him into a headlong plunge into Three Mile Creek.

Fighting to keep his head above water, Swaylo cried out in pain as a muscle spasm sieged his left leg.

Water surged into his mouth.

He could not control the way the current carried him, he was like a leaf imprisoned by a strong breeze.

Somewhere amidst the veil of darkness, the crackle of lightning lit up the sky.

Its illumination displayed an eye blink glimpse of his surroundings, from a face-to-the-sky view of storm clouds.

After more than half of a mile, floating through the turbulent surge of water, Swaylo felt his feet drag across the creekbed.

He struggled to reach the bank of mud.

Overhead, amidst the symphony of sounds associated with the storm, and police pursuit, he heard the rumble of a train drawing closer to his position.

He had to claw through the mud to establish forward traction.

Weeds and brush surrounded the embankment beneath the bridge that joined the train track.

The weighted force of the train, moving across the tracks, felt as though the earth was shaking.

The quake and rumble of its wheels compelled Swaylo to push himself to his feet.

His ride was about to leave...

With a growl of pain, fear, and determination he stumbled to the top of the bridge as the train began to chug pass.

The area around him was a woodland, the train his chariot to freedom.

With a wild scramble to his feet, Swaylo began to run to the train like a man running to escape the jaws of a lion...

Failure to catch that train meant death.

Accustomed to jumping trains, he ran parallel to the boxcars, until he could grab ahold of its metal ladder.

When his hands clamped onto the metal handholds, Swaylo pulled himself aboard like a drowning man climbing into a raft.

The shift of trees, passing across his peripheral, was the only view that he saw as he climbed to the top of the freight car.

Beyond the horizon, along the darkened wake of the train, Swaylo could see the illumination of emergency lights oscillating against the backdrop of rain clouds.

When he made it to the top of the freight car, fatigue overtook him.

The last thought that he remembered in the way of the train's passage, was the fact that fate had given him a second shot at life.

Laid across the cold metal of the train, the patter of rain across his face woke Swaylo from his slumber.

Time had ceased to exist.

He was just a bump on the hide of a log, drifting with the flow of a river...

Its destination did not matter.

All he knew was that the cops had lost track of him.

He was a ghost that had vanished into thin air.

For an hour, after regaining consciousness, Swaylo laid atop of the train thinking.

With his life on the line, he knew that Henry Bibbs was the only person alive that could place him at the scene.

No matter how hard he tried to calculate a way beyond having to share his secret, Swaylo knew that he had to regard the man as a potential witness.

Henry Bibbs was the only person who had shared in the complicity of the murder.

Whoever had employed him could only speculate about what may have been done.

No one other than Bibbs had firsthand knowledge of how he had come to kill the woman and everyone else who had died that night.

With the label of a cop killer hanging above his head, Swaylo decided that he could not take any chances...

Henry Bibbs could not be allowed to live.

Kirkwood Kenny had taught him a valuable lesson.

Never underestimate the level of betrayal that rests within the heart of a person.

And Swaylo refused to make the same mistake twice.