Flash Fiction: Almost There

         Jake gagged, retched, and vomited, though, at this point in his journey, there remained little in his stomach he could regurgitate.  He inched his way through the cramped tubing.  He had already recited to himself every nursery rhyme he could summon to memory in a feeble attempt to distract himself from the disgusting and tedious work at hand.  The ever-present stench assaulted his senses, making him dizzier with every passing moment, but even if he had any desire to return, it would be impossible to travel in the opposite direction.
         The worst part was not the smell in itself, but those rare moments when his hands would slip or he leaned his cheek against his arm to catch a breath for a few seconds.  In trying to avoid the smell, Jake breathed through his mouth instead, and twice already, some of the putrid refuse had gotten past his lips.  After another bout of gagging and dry heaving, he continued his passage.
         His greatest fear, however, had not been the stench, or even the foul taste, but the cramped quarters of the pipe.  Claustrophobia gripped his worn psyche tighter than the chains he had worn for nearly eight years.  His heart never pounded so hard in his life, but he somehow managed to bite back his fears and press forward.
          Breath slowly, Jake, only through your mouth to avoid the smell.  Numbers.  Try counting numbers backwards, instead.  One million.  Nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred ninety nine.  Nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred ninety-eight…
         Jake could see only darkness in front of him and nothing behind him.  He tried using his hands at first, though the grime-coated insides of the tube and the fact he had little room to bend his elbows made his arms useless for the duration of his journey.  Jake bent a foot at the ankle, followed by the other.  The very tips of his toes pressed against the sides of the slick tube and he pushed repeatedly, scratching away grime and filth with each swipe.  After a minute or two, he managed to scrape enough sludge off the tube to allow him to grip it firmly enough to advance.  He pressed his heals together firmly and pushed tightly against the tube’s inner walls with his toes.
         He advanced another two or three inches.
          Nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred seventy-nine.  Nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred seventy-eight…
         The letter from the nice nurse at the hospital stated Mama’s liver took a turn for the worse.  They gave her two, perhaps three weeks to live and the heartless bastard of a judge denied his request to visit.  If only he could get to his hidden stash from the robberies, he might have enough to pay for her surgery.  No way would he ever entrust that money to anybody else.  Jake had to get the money to her himself.
         Only the scratch scratch scratch of his toes as they scrambled for purchase against the slippery tubing walls offered evidence he had not gone deaf.  How long had it been already?  Ten hours?  A day?  It was impossible to tell in this lightless hell.  By his estimate, two or three days should be sufficient time for him to make it out the other end.  A search would already be well under way by the time he exited.  He had to be extremely careful after making it out.
         He advanced another two inches.
         They gave her two weeks to live as though the doctors themselves decided when she should live or die.  The letter’s date told him a week had already passed.
         Scratch scratch scratch.
          Nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine-hundred fifty-two…
         Almost there.  I’m coming, mama!