Shotgun Mine

by Jim Heskett

  Molly Waffles dropped down a moment later with no incident, and the three of them pushed forward into the mine, with their headlamps lighting it up like daytime. They were in a flat shaft, with mine cart tracks underfoot. Layne spotted lots of rusted batteries, bits of plastic, spools of wire, and other mining garbage all over the floor. Wooden supports framed the mine, many of them in poor shape, looking ready to give out at any second and drop tons of rock down on them.

  “You and Eddie Money explored all this… when, Dad? When it was still running?”

  “Did I say money? I meant Mooney. Eddie Mooney. He was a good kid. Never was quite right after the war, but a lot of them came back that way.”

  “Dad: focus.”

  “Yeah, it was open back then. I’ve been in here a few times since they shut it.” He pointed at the floor. “There’s the danger. These main tunnels are built right on top of each other, and the floors are weak. But, hopefully, if we fall, we only fall one level.”

  Layne suspected that if the fall didn’t kill them, the onslaught of loose rocks crashing down on their heads after might. He also noted how his dad talked faster, more clearly, with an edge of excitement in his voice. Layne hoped they weren’t down here for nothing. Or to fulfill an old man’s mine adventure exploration fantasy.

  “Once we get to the end of this floor,” George continued, now breathing heavily, “we can merge with the side tunnel. Much safer because it bleeds out into the caves. More room, fewer things to bump into. More stable ceiling.”

  Layne didn’t quite understand the explanation of the layout, but he did marvel at the renewed shine of determination and vigor on his dad’s expression. One half of his face still drooped, but there was a light in his eyes Layne hadn’t seen in a long time. Maybe ever.

  They reached the end of the first length of tunnel with little incident. A couple of times a few rocks fell, a little puff of dusty mist, but nothing more serious than that collapsed. Near the middle of the second level, George led them through a small gap in the rock to the right. Layne had been keeping track of direction, but he felt too turned around. Maybe they were heading south, but he couldn’t be sure any longer. He checked his phone and the GPS wouldn’t activate. Molly probably had a compass among her gear, if it came to that.

  Layne wished Keegan could be here.

  A spiral set of rusted metal stairs appeared in front of them at the edge of this passage, leading down. Layne didn’t remember seeing these before. He hadn’t seen the slim passage before amid all the other side tunnels.

  “Is that stable?” Layne asked.

  “If it’s not,” George said, “we’ll find out real quick. Haven’t been down here in a while.”

  Without another word, George grabbed the spiral staircase and put a foot on it. The aging thing creaked, but held his weight as George made a slow circle to descend. Layne waited until his father had reached the bottom, then he motioned Molly forward.

  Finally, Layne came down last, moving with a little more haste than the first two. It groaned and cried, and Layne thought the stairs might be on their last legs. Hopefully, they would still work on the way back up, or they would have an entirely new problem to solve.

  At the bottom, they all shined their lights around this larger room. It was about fifty by fifty, and not quite square, but not quite circular. There were old broken bottles, a mine cart with no track against one wall, bits of newspaper and magazines and other detritus here and there. Molly cracked and dropped glow sticks around the room, painting it all in an eerie green haze.

  “We used to bring girls down here,” George said, out of breath but still beaming.

  “I don’t understand,” Layne said.

  “This is the place. The place where we came after we did it.”

  “Did what, Dad?”

  George didn’t answer because he was too busy wandering around, looking at various objects, smiling and reminiscing to himself.

  Layne turned around, focused on the beam of his headlamp. He followed the lit circles around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Then he saw it. The electrical cable from the previous visit. It emerged from a hole in the wall and then it ran down five feet before it curved, and finally seemed to disappear into the darkness underneath a mine cart. He pointed at it. “There?”

  “Just roll that thing forward a few inches and you’ll see the hole. It’s back there, behind it.”

  “What is the key for, Dad? What is Shotgun Mine?”

  George shrugged. “No idea. But I heard one of them say they put the key where the cable ends.”

  “Who put the key here? You or them?”

  George looked confused, frowning at Layne. “This is where the cable ends. I think it used to be for water runoff or something like that, where the mine merges with the cave system. But behind that cart is the hidey-hole you’re looking for. What more do you want?”

  Were the Disciples planning to use this room as their meth operation? It didn’t seem that big. Maybe they’d intended to expand it, reinforce it, all while the town stood nearby, sleepily, not attracting attention.

  Were the answers back there in that hole? Or more lies and double-talk?

  Layne took one step toward the mine cart when he heard something creaking on the stairs behind him. A sharp sound, clanking and deep. A cold rush wormed up his spine before he’d even turned around.

  All three spun to see a full-grown male lion pad down the metal rungs. Sleek and low, each step louder and louder. In the green glow of the room, the bushy mane looked almost orange. But his teeth were pure white.

  It came to the bottom, looked at each of them in a slow sweep, and then roared.

  39

  Layne Parrish, George Parrish, Molly Waffles, and the lion shared the room. An area wide enough to allow plenty of movement, but small enough to remove any place to hide.

  The lion stood by the rusted spiral staircase. George and Molly made a triangle with the lion, each standing about thirty feet apart. Layne had already taken a few steps toward the mine cart “hidey hole” where the cable terminated, so he was the furthest away. An additional fifteen feet. But, while Molly and George stood still, Layne kept moving, keeping the cat’s attention on him.

  The lion’s coat looked almost brown, with a scruffy and patchy mane around his neck. Didn’t look like the BCS had been taking proper care of him. But, even though he looked scrawny for a lion, Layne didn’t for one second doubt this creature’s lethality.

  The lion stood in front of the staircase, bulky head swinging back and forth as it eyed them. The cat’s mouth was open, panting. Layne had seen lions before, but never this close, and never without a barrier of some kind between them. The beast’s eyes shined in the glow stick light. Layne could smell its hot and sour breath from here.

  “Molly, Dad,” Layne said in a low and measured voice. “Let’s all keep as still as possible for the next few seconds. We don’t know why this guy’s here. He may be tracking a marmot or something and has no interest in us.”

  Layne removed his SIG Sauers, anyway. He kept his fingers on the slide rails, but he kept the guns trained on the cat. Molly did the same, her eyes flicking to Layne for guidance on the next move.

  “Do you have hollow-points or a small caliber pistol?” Layne asked Molly.

  She nodded. “Way ahead of you.” She reached into her back pocket and drew a pistol compact enough to fit in her palm. Layne thought smaller caliber weapons were much less likely to pass through the lion and ricochet off another surface. And he appreciated that he didn’t have to explain his theory to Molly.

  “No,” George hissed. “You pull those triggers, you’ll bring this place down on us.”

  Layne watched the cat, still observing, still evaluating the situation. He had hoped the cat would turn around and pad back up the stairs, but this creature clearly had no fear of humans.

  “We may not have a choice, Dad. You can’t punch a lion into submission.”

  “Don’
t shoot.”

  “As long as we don’t miss, this will work.”

  “It won’t,” George said, wheezing. “Put your guns away.”

  The big cat eyed Layne, almost cocking his head to the side. Its breathing slowed, the full-body panting diminishing with each second. It emitted a low rumble, not quite a growl or roar, more like warming up its vocal cords.

  Layne had to remind himself that this creature was also assessing the threat in the room. Maybe it had smelled them or heard their voices while wandering by outside, and decided to seek shelter from the storm. Maybe it had no intention of making a meal out of them.

  But, since Layne couldn’t ask the cat, he did not stow his weapon as George had commanded. He really did not want to kill this majestic beast. But he wanted even less for the cat to kill the three of them.

  Because if this one was here, then there was a good chance Harry had failed to activate the drones, and that meant there could be other cats in Shotgun now. Layne couldn’t do anything about that problem if they died here and now.

  “I have a tranq gun,” Molly said. She raised it, showing Layne the little thing that looked like a toy pistol. Then she flicked her head toward her backpack, sitting against the wall closest to Layne. “Darts are over there, though.”

  Layne nodded and began to shift over to his right, moving as slow as possible. The lion watched him go, curious, but not aggressive. Still with beige shoulders rising and falling, eyes locked, a low rumble coming from the cat’s throat with every breath.

  Before Layne reached the backpack, he debated if he wanted to go fast or slow. If he bent over slowly, the lion might see his smaller frame as a chance to attack. If he moved fast, the lion might become startled and attack out of reflex.

  Or maybe not. Right at this moment, Layne regretted being a dog person, because he didn’t know enough about feline behavior. Either way, they were all three running out of time.

  Time to pick, though. Fast or slow.

  He chose fast. He shot out his hand and snatched the backpack. The cat growled, a little louder than the baseline rumble, keeping its head still as it tracked Layne. Still no movement, though. It had not been spurred on to an attack.

  He fished out a box labeled tranquilizer darts, then removed the last two in the box. “I’m tossing them now.”

  “Don’t do it,” George said. “You’re going to set this thing off. If it sees you throwing something…”

  Layne gritted his teeth and chucked two of the darts toward Molly. One landed at her feet, but she snatched the second one in midair. No reaction from the cat. They all waited for a few seconds, all eyes on the unpredictable creature next to the stairs.

  Molly Waffles loaded the dart, and then she pressed a button on the side to arm it. This made the weapon click, and the sound echoed around the room.

  The lion growled and took a step in her direction. Layne heard its meaty paw make a splash as it disturbed a cave puddle.

  “Molly,” Layne said.

  She fiddled with the gun, her eyes moving back and forth between the cat and her weapon. This was taking too long. “I see it. I’m almost ready.”

  “It’s about to attack,” George said.

  The cat had only taken one step toward Molly, but Layne was starting to agree with his father. Maybe coming down the stairs had been instinctive, and now the cat didn’t know how to retrace his own steps. Maybe it was as confused and pumped up on adrenaline as they were. Adding confusion to a dangerous foe often made that foe even more deadly. At the very least, more unpredictable.

  The cat took another step toward Molly.

  “Now would be good,” Layne said.

  She raised the weapon and locked her arms. She had one dart in the gun. One shot. There wouldn’t be time to duck down and grab the second dart, if the cat decided to pounce.

  Layne aimed his guns, cursing the dim light in the room. He didn’t feel confident he could avoid any misfires in this cage made of rock.

  Molly closed one eye. There was barely enough light in here to see.

  She pulled the trigger.

  And the dart missed.

  Layne watched it sail through the air, glide right through the lion’s sparse mane, and then fall harmlessly to the ground, three feet away.

  The lion jerked away from the shot. It roared, full-throat, enough to make Layne think the ground was shaking. It set its eyes on Molly.

  Layne braced himself. He would have to fire, shoddy aim or not. Molly crouched down to grab the other dart. There was no time. No way could she get that loaded and fired before the lion could cross the distance.

  Layne still had his pistol. He could still shoot, but it would do no one any good if this room collapsed.

  The lion leaped into action. Too late. No time to debate.

  “Run!” George said, and this caught Layne off guard.

  George dropped his cane, then he ran—sprinted, even—straight at the lion. For a brief moment, George Parrish had the strength and agility of a much younger man. Layne’s jaw dropped.

  And George ran with purpose. He roared with as much ferocity as his damaged human lungs could provide. Eyes wide, teeth gritted, he crossed the space in a fraction of a second.

  The old man met the lion head-on. He smacked into it at full speed and wrapped his arms around it, as if trying to wrestle it to the ground.

  Layne forgot all about the consequences. He raised his pistol. He aimed and scooted to his right to avoid shooting his father.

  But before he could press the trigger, a fountain of blood erupted from the melee. Layne watched the lion swipe at George’s neck, and the slash sent splats of blood in all directions.

  The senior citizen, wide-eyed, put a hand to his neck. Nothing but red came out from between his fingers, and from the edges of George’s mouth.

  “No!” Layne bellowed.

  The lion swiped again, this time knocking George to the ground. Blood on its paws and lining the edges of its mouth.

  “Now!” Molly shouted as she readied her pistol.

  Layne froze for a split second. But it didn’t last. Self-preservation kicked in and he raised his gun.

  He and Molly both pulled their triggers. Carefully, aiming well, they each shot half a dozen bullets into the lion. One or two missed and pinged off the rocky walls of the cave, but nothing crashed, nothing ricocheted back into a person.

  The beast staggered, lumbering, then it toppled onto its side. Panting, wide-eyed, the lion’s heart pumped a few more times before it fell silent. The room didn’t collapse. The ceiling stayed intact, and the room again grew quiet.

  George lay next to the lion, his chest a curtain of blood. Dead, no doubt about it. Layne Parrish closed the twenty feet between them and kneeled next to his father.

  “Damn it, Dad. Why did you do that?”

  He knew the man on the cave floor was dead, but something told him to check for a pulse. He held his father’s hand, since his neck was shredded. The old man’s flesh still felt warm.

  With two fingers pressed against the underside of George’s wrist, Layne confirmed his father’s passing. He reached over and pressed down on the old man’s eyelids to close them.

  “Goodbye, Dad. You brave asshole.”

  “Layne,” Molly said, then Layne craned his neck behind him, where Molly was standing next to the mine cart. She’d rolled it away from the wall, and Layne could see a dark space in the cave wall behind it. The hidey-hole George had promised.

  Molly waved to invite him over. “You should come see what’s in here.”

  Interlude #6

  Oahu, Hawaii, United States | 9 Years ago

  It’s the big day. Layne managed to shed the bloodstained clothes last night after the rehearsal dinner. He feels like all the loops are now closed. For the immediate future, at least.

  His target is dead, and now he has no occupational responsibilities.

  The only thing left to do is marry the love of his life. He’s standing next to the off
iciant, behind the resort. Down near the beach, there is a small forest of banyan trees, like the path to a witch’s house in a fairy tale. But, next to the sea and the open air, it’s exotic and romantic. The waves provide steady background noise, a peaceful breeze keeps the air moving to prevent sweat from gathering on the smiling faces present. All the guests have been cordial, there’s been no fighting over who sits where.

  It seems like a perfect slice in time. The weather, the attitudes, the circumstances… Layne didn’t picture his wedding day growing up, but if he had, he would have envisioned something a lot like this.

  He’s in a line of men dressed in gray tuxedos to match his. Opposite them on the dais, a line of complimentary bridesmaids all wear burgundy dresses, to match the highlights on Inessa’s. Layne watches the looks back and forth between the men and the women. By the sneaky smiles on their faces, some of them must’ve engaged in clandestine couplings last night. Good for them. Layne wants everyone to have a fun visit, and what better place for a whirlwind love affair than on this beautiful island?

  A group of musicians nearby have been quietly strumming an acoustic version of an old classic rock tune. Layne almost recognizes it, but he doesn’t care to put out the mental effort to track it down in his memories. And it doesn’t matter because soon they switch it up to the traditional wedding song. Heads crane around, looking back toward the tent where Inessa will emerge. As per tradition, Layne hasn’t seen her all day.

  While the ukulele and guitars and steel drums plink out Here comes the bride, Layne can feel his heart rate rocket. He’s more nervous now than he’s ever been in countless life-or-death scenarios. Layne has been shot, stabbed, and has played chicken with death more than once. But this is his biggest test.

  She leaves the tent, and Layne feels a lump in his throat. Her hair is up, highlighting her endlessly slender neck. She’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. She slinks like a cat as she walks, with subtle movements of her hips from side to side.