Lori Kim’s Blog 06-20-2012
Posted. 06-20-2012
Where to begin on these last few days? I’m alive, and I hope that matters to someone. I’m safe and at my destination, doing a little recovering while in their hospitality. Haven’t met with Conrad Blankenship yet, but I’m assured he will be available when I’m ready.
As far as where I’ve been, the story starts near the entrance of the Ted Williams tunnel. The area swarmed with people, a greater concentration of people than I’d seen since leaving school at least. I went down towards them, and they welcomed me.
I told them who I was, and flashed my press credentials, which got them very excited. Turns out they’d turned the tunnels of I-90 into mushroom farms, and this is how they made their lives. The mushrooms were traded locally, and supplied a large part of their diet. They also accounted for how they got most of their goods. They offered me a dish of Marinated Barbecued mushrooms and a Shiitake Hazelnut Pate for which I gladly traded the t-shirts I’d found the day before. These people know mushroom dishes, and these were amazing. It almost felt like we were back on our feet again, and we’d made the culinary experience a central part of our civilization. They were this good.
They then offered to give me a tour of the farms and the tunnels. The mushrooms were grown on large tables, a lane across in width and four feet across, with a few inches of soil. My tour guide told me how they’d carried in the soil by hand, and find compost wherever they can. He told me that the low lights and high humidity make for great growing conditions and even in winter, they can close off the fronts of the tunnels and keep the temperature ideal.
Got a good distance in before I noticed there were a lot more people behind me than there had been a few moments ago. The one who had been leading me stopped talking as I turned around, he’d been saying something about how many varieties they grow and how many pounds of each, and his list of varieties stopped. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.
He took this moment to explain how desperately they lacked meat. I saw the look in his eyes, a look that said he was looking at lunch.
I jumped up on one of the tables, managed to avoid his grip as he grabbed for my feet and jumped over the the next lane. There were some doors across the way, so I headed there. The rest of them were quickly gaining on me. When I dropped off the tables at the other end, I had a few steps to get going and then I hit the door hard as I could. Nothing doing. It was locked, or maybe corroded shut. It was metal either way and i’d need three of me to break it down.
So Plan B, I pulled out the buck knife I’d found earlier. This caused most of the group to slow down, but the first to reach me was too close to stop. I stabbed fast, and the person screamed, jumping away. The commotion gave me just a second to break through. A hand grabbed my shirt, but I stabbed down hard and nicked a wrist. Slipped through the hand of that one, put my shoulder down, and put it into the groin of another, dropping him to the floor. This allowed me to get away from this group.
I charged to the entrance to the tunnel, maybe 150 yards off, but there was another group at the mouth of the tunnel, waiting. There was also sunlight. Going under the tables to hide would only slow me down and get me caught and cooked, so I screamed and charged, knife out, hoping for the best.
The person I ran into lost his footing and fell, I put the knife in his leg for good measure, but as he rolled away, I lost my grip on it, and there were hands on me. I turned and twisted, but then more hands got a hold of me, ripping my shirt. Kicked one in the nose, know I broke it too, but there wasn’t much hope of escape on my own.
That is until I heard a voice calling at them to stop. They turned, but didn’t comply. Then a large man came over, and ripped their hands off me. Then he pulled me behind him. He had a .45 in his hand, and a rifle slung over his shoulder. He backed me out of the tunnel.
What he said struck me as odd.
“She’s too valuable.”
“She’s valuable as food,” the tour guide called back.
“You aren’t human.” my rescuer replied, then he walked away. He was obviously respected by the mushroom farmers, otherwise they would have given chase.
So, if you happen to be near the Ted Williams Tunnel, by all means trade for some mushrooms, you’ll be hard pressed to find better, but don’t take the tour.
I stayed with my rescuer until I felt safe. Then we stopped for a minute and I calmed down, taking the opportunity to thank my rescuer.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“Pickman,” He said. One word. Succinct.
I’ll have to stop here. Some people are here for me. Meal time. Pickman is another story. I’ll upload tomorrow.
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Tags: Boston, cannibals, mushroom farm, mushrooms, Pickman, Ted Williams Tunnel