The Llama Goes Up - Hollywood Havoc - Episode Two
I must have looked like a crazed, giant amoeba or an earthworm on amphetamines. I rolled twice in one direction, and hit a wall. Then erratically rolled four times in what I took to be the opposite direction, until the final turn brought me up short, painfully banging my knees and hands into a wooden stud on another wall.
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I kept telling myself, I ought to be able to figure this. Seaside property was expensive, and unfinished homes, left open to the sun, wind and rain, were rare. It had been on the news several nights before. Officials were debating condemning the entire little hamlet because the crumbling cliffs directly inland from the cluster of modest bungalows were threatening to come down. Okay, well, that was interesting-but nobody kidnaps a person and then dumps them off in an isolated construction site on the hope that Mother Nature will bring down an unstable hill.
Still, the place felt like La Conchita, and that knowledge gave me an uneasy feeling. Here I was, blinded, helpless and near panic. I had to free myself and get out! The only action I could think of, the only course open to me, was to roll about some more in the hope of finding some opportunity.
It took another twenty minutes, but I strained and made my painful and awkward way to a third wall. This one caught me full in the shoulder with something sharp, a piece of framing metal or maybe a nail. I felt warm blood seeping down my arm.
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I squirmed around cautiously and moved my head toward it. It sounded like it was right on top of me. My body instinctively jerked in panic and I nearly impaled my eye on the spike. The engine roar was the deeply congested and uneven rumble of a heavy diesel coming to life. I had to figure out where it was coming from! That engine bellow sounded like it was on the side away from the ocean, and somehow up from where I was, upslope on a hill.
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The engine idled and then raced, idled and then raced, a piece of heavy machinery warming up. I went back to work on my tape blindfold with something resembling panic. My first effort rewarded me with a stabbing cut to the cheek. My second, a gash on my forehead. I was out of time. I took a third, desperate stab at the nail and I was able to catch the nail head under a corner of the duct tape and pull a triangle of light into my field of vision.
I blinked and squinted.
Through blurry vision, I saw I was in some sort of house without walls. A newly constructed house, but from the look of it, unfinished and abandoned for quite some time. I saw an unfinished stairway leading up to a second floor. I was lying on my side in a puddle of water on cold, hard cement in a small room on the ground floor of a two or three story house. It had sheets of plywood covering the exposed beams on the floor overhead, but no protection from the outside other than the unfinished stud walls.
I rolled over to see what was happening in the direction of the diesel roar. Outside and to the rear the house, a steep hillside rose at an abrupt angle, blocking any possible view of the sky. The engine sound above me was coming from up that hill, but my view was cut off by the ceiling. Even as I squirmed around, frantic for a better look, the engine roar took on a new energy, and I heard the clanking treads of a moving bulldozer. The machine itself was out of my line of sight, but I heard the sound of rocks and boulders bounding in my direction.
I worked with renewed energy to rip away more of my blindfold without poking my eye on the nail.
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Clots of moist dirt bounced and rolled near me, and a fist-sized rock hit me in the back. There was another minor rip in the tape and I could use about a third of the normal field of vision in my right eye. That was my most nearsighted eye, but fortunately, it also gave me clarity at close range. Squinting down at my knees and arms, I saw that I was trussed around entirely with duct tape.
That was both good and bad.
I squirmed around to position my legs against the nail, and frantically began to work on the tape. The bulldozer roared and the dirt continued to fill my room until I was half buried in dirt, but I sawed and probed and prodded at the tape. Seconds that seemed like hours went by, and the wet clots of dirt were replaced by an intermittent stream of thick, gooey mud that quickly enveloped the lower half of my body. I was making progress. One half of the tape binding my arms ripped apart.
But the nail was now under the mud, and worse, it seemed to be loosening.
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The mud level continued to rise ominously. I gave up my ginger sawing techniques in favor of a more violent tearing motion. Three huge pulls backwards and the nail came out of the wall and was lost forever in the rising sea of mud and clumpy brown clods of dirt. Lucky for me, the tape ripped with my last desperate motion, and my arms were freed from my knees.
Even bound together as my wrists were were, I was able to get a grip with my fingers. I ripped the tape binding my legs and tottered unsteadily to my feet. The noise from the advancing bulldozer increased in intensity, and then the engine roar became a scream of mechanical rage. There was a snapping noise and a wall of rocks and mud cascaded down on the house. I squirmed out of the room, half climbing over and half swimming through muddy debris that was now half way to the ceiling.
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Hollywood Havoc
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