by Dana Mentink
* * *
Shelby put on the second jacket she’d packed and checked her supplies. She had twenty or so light sticks left, two bottles of water and several protein bars. How long before they reached Hatcher’s end of the mine? If they could find the way.
The light in her headlamp chose that moment to flicker, reminding her that when the batteries ran out and she’d gone through her refills, they would be in total darkness.
The thought sent a jolt of fear through her. Plenty of time before that happens, she silently told herself. You’re not gonna panic, remember?
More than panic, she felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. Many people had warned her and now, once again, she’d fallen into a disaster, but the worst thing was she’d dragged Barrett right along with her.
His choice, she reminded herself, but the thought rang hollow. Barrett was the sort that would give the shirt off his back for a person in need. Plus, he had that cowboy chivalry thing going that both drove her crazy and made her feel warm and fuzzy.
You’re just going to have to get him out of here alive, she told herself sternly.
They reached the spot where the glow sticks marked Charlie’s makeshift grave. The path of red marks continued on. She wondered again who’d made the marks. Charlie? Joe Hatcher’s wife? Emmaline?
They trudged on for what felt like hours, but her cell phone told her it was only noon. The Thorn brothers would be mounting a rescue effort if they hadn’t already been alerted by the explosion.
She had no idea if the entrance collapse had been loud enough to attract attention, or if she and Barrett would be able to receive text messages. Barrett had already tried to send one to his family just in case, and received no reply. The tunnel continued on endlessly until it again branched off.
“Which way?” Barrett said.
The million-dollar question. “I...I don’t know.” She tested the air temperature of both. “Almost identical.”
Barrett played his flashlight over the rock. “Hey, there’s one of those red marks.”
She joined him. “At least we know someone has been this way before. That’s a good sign, right?”
“Yeah.” She heard the hesitation in his voice. “Unless it’s a trail to lead someone back to Charlie’s body.”
“For what reason?”
“To make sure they disposed of it properly at some future date, so no one would ever find it.”
Like no one would ever find their bodies if they didn’t get out of the mine.
“Let’s follow it for a while. We can retrace our steps if we need to.” She activated a light stick and prepared to move out.
“Lunch break first,” Barrett said.
“I don’t need a lunch break. I’m not hungry.”
“You need water or you’ll get dehydrated. Besides, I’ve got a great snack here.” He spread his spare jacket on the ground and patted the spot next to him. She took a seat.
Her mouth fell open as he pulled out a jar of pickles. “You brought pickles with you to go explore a mine?”
“Naw. I brought them to give to Oscar, but I forgot.” He popped the lid. “These are the best pickles in California. Believe me, it took me almost a year to master Nanna’s recipe.”
She accepted a pickle spear and took a bite. Savory with a hint of spice. “You’re right,” she said with a giggle. “They are good.”
He grinned. “I know.”
“I never imagined I’d be trapped in a mine with a cowboy, eating homemade pickles.”
“Life is a funny thing, isn’t it?” They took several swallows of water and capped the bottles, making an unspoken decision to ration their supplies.
Barrett sat up and checked the phone.
She pressed close to see, a flame of hope rising in her.
“Nothing,” he said. “Too much interference down here, but it was worth a try.”
She finished munching her pickle and checked her own phone. No messages but she noticed the charge was down to 56 percent. “How long will your phone stay charged, Barrett, in case we can somehow send a text when we get closer to the surface?”
“Got the screen turned down and it’s running on low power mode. We’ll probably be out of here before it dies.”
His tone was again Mr. Cool and Confident, but she saw in the twitch of his mouth that he was worried, too.
“I’ll power mine off to save the battery.” She suppressed the shiver that threatened to march up her spine. How much longer before the phones died?
And how long before their own time ran out?
* * *
The muscles in Barrett’s shoulders were screaming from being hunched over, but he did not complain. After their lunch break, they’d headed into the tunnel with the marks, but another two hours later, they had encountered no signs that they were headed toward the surface or Hatcher’s property.
Making her stop for more water, he pretended to drink deeply, but only took a shallow swig. Still no texts and the charge on his phone continued to drop.
Shelby had fallen silent, trudging along, avoiding the fragments that littered the floor. “So who knew we’d be down here?” she mused aloud.
He understood exactly what she meant because he’d been puzzling over it himself. Who had known they were accessing the mine that morning? “My family, Oscar Livingston and anyone at the inn who might have overheard his conversation with you.” He recalled the rustling in the bushes. “If anyone was snooping around Granddad’s cabin and heard us talking on the porch.”
She shook her head. “It has to be Hatcher. He killed Charlie and doesn’t want anyone to discover the body.”
“Still doesn’t make sense as to why. What reason would he have for killing Charlie in the first place?”
“I don’t know.”
He sighed. “I’m hungry, time for another pickle break.”
He opened the jar and handed her one.
“Thanks.”
He took another and fastened the lid back on.
“You’re—” His sentence was ripped away, buried in an avalanche of sound as the floor gave way beneath them. He felt himself falling, the jar sailing out of his grasp, and he grabbed at nothing as they plummeted. Shelby tumbled next to him, hair flying, fingers splayed in search of a handhold.
He tried to grab for her but gravity continued to suck him down.
The breath whooshed out of him as he struck the ground. His senses spun, a whirl of pain, confusion and dizziness.
“Shelby,” he tried to yell, but his vision narrowed to a tiny pinpoint before darkness overtook him.
TWENTY
The dripping woke him, a ceaseless monotonous tapping that brought him to consciousness. He realized he was on his back on a pile of rubble, both arms thrown wide as if he was making some ridiculous snow angel on the cavern floor. His body screamed with pain and cold. At first he could not tell if his eyes were open or closed in the profound darkness. He tried to sit up, succeeding only in flapping his arms a bit.
“Shelby,” he croaked.
There was no answer but the incessant dripping.
Fear, reminiscent of the terror he’d felt at pulling Bree from the wrecked car, invaded every pore in his body. “Shelby,” he shouted again, thrashing his legs around to free them from the blanket of rock. His voice echoed back at him, mocking his fear.
He heard a cough and froze. “Shelby?” he said softer. “Are you hurt?” Please let her answer. Please.
A flashlight sprang to life and he squinted against the glare. Rocks crunched against each other and the light swam closer. Still, he tried without success to free himself until he felt a hand on his chest and light blinded him, making him blink.
“Stay still,” she said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
&n
bsp; “Are you hurt?” he said, unable to see her clearly.
“No, but you are.”
“Naw,” he started, but she was already moving away. He heard her blow out a breath as she struggled to pull rocks away from his legs. He tried to help, but his limbs behaved as if they were made of rubber.
When she returned, she shined her flashlight around his body, running her hands along his arms and legs, smoothing them over his face, gentler than a spring breeze. He closed his eyes and allowed her touch to push away the pain.
“I don’t feel anything broken or out of place, but I only know basic first aid. Did you hit your head on the way down?”
“I hit everything on the way down.” He could just make out her faint smile. Score one for the busted-up cowboy. “But I’m okay,” he insisted, trying again to sit up with no success. The pain shooting through his side would have made him cry out if he hadn’t gritted his teeth.
She gripped his hand. “I think you may have some bruised or broken ribs.”
“Yeah,” he grunted. “That feels like the right diagnosis.” He’d cracked a few ribs getting thrown from horses a time or two. Ribs mended eventually, but he knew full well the injury hurt like gangbusters. He fought back the pain. “Where are we?”
“An underground cavern. It’s got a lake and everything.”
“Swell. I’ve been sad that we haven’t come across another lake to this point.”
“There is some good news.”
“By all means, share.”
“We’re not the first people to hang out down here. Look.”
He forced his eyes to focus. In the far side of the cavern sat a couple of wooden barrels, a metal ladder and some old wheels for the ore cars.
“And there’s more good news. This was used as some sort of storage area, so that means we have to be getting close to a way out. Miners wouldn’t have kept their materials in a place that was completely inaccessible, right?”
“Right,” he grated out past the dust in his throat.
She stroked his cheek, her voice soft and comforting. Holding a bottle to his lips, she encouraged him to drink. The liquid was bliss on his tongue.
“In a few minutes, I’ll explore our options, but right now, I need to get your other jacket out of your pack. This one is ripped and you have to stay warm to make sure you don’t go into shock.”
His ears were still ringing but he nodded. “Okay. Where’s my pack?”
“You’re laying on it. I think it broke your fall. Otherwise you might be dead.”
“I’m not totally convinced that I’m actually alive.”
She pressed her forehead to his, and spoke nose to nose, her warm breath stirring life back into him. “You’re alive, cowboy, because you’re groaning. Dead people don’t groan.”
“Ah. I’ll make a note of that.” Her lips were so close and he wanted to kiss her. His lips seemed to be the only part of him still working. Certainly his brain had taken a vacation. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and eased away.
After some scrabbling, she managed to pull the pack from underneath him.
“Okay so far?”
“No sweat,” he said. At least he had not cried out.
“Can you move your arms and legs at all?”
“’Course.” He did an awkward marionette maneuver.
“Nice. If you feel like you can, let me help you sit up on the count of three.”
She counted, and with her assistance and a very loud groan, he sat up. The pain flashed bright and hot for a minute before subsiding. Easing on one sleeve at a time, she pulled his jacket over the one he was wearing.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?” he said. “That was a nasty fall for both of us.”
“I was able to hang on for a second before I dropped, but I lost my hard hat. Plus, I fell onto a pile of sand, so that helped. They must have stored sandbags down here at one time.” She zipped the jacket to his chin. “Stay put while I check around.”
“I can help,” he said peevishly. “All my parts work, more or less.”
She forced the flashlight into his hand. “You sit here and shine the light around. That’s helping.”
Grumbling, he complied. His head was still spinning, though he wouldn’t admit it to her, but he didn’t like being treated like a child. He yanked his phone from his pocket with one hand, biting back an oath. The thing was completely smashed to bits.
“My phone’s busted,” he griped.
“Mine survived the fall, but still no texting, I just checked. Hey,” she cried out, “you won’t believe what I just found.”
“A walkie-talkie?” he suggested hopefully. “Or a couple of jet packs?”
“No,” she said, grin wide as she returned to him. “Better. Your pickles landed in the sand, too. They’re not broken!”
He bit off a hearty guffaw when it hurt his ribs too much. “Aside from pickles, what did you find?”
“More good news.”
The words were a little too cheerful. “Uh-huh. Let’s hear it.”
“This cavern is really spectacular actually. Lots of interesting rock formations.”
“How about an exit?”
“Oh, there’s an exit, all right. It connects to another tunnel and I can see tracks from the ore cars.”
“And?”
“And it’s the way out onto Hatcher’s property, I’m sure of it.”
“And?”
“Well, there’s a glitch.”
He opened the jar and ate a pickle, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She sighed. “There has been some ground failure so there’s about a ten-foot gap between the cavern where we are and the tunnel.”
“Ten feet between us and the way out?”
“It appears that way.”
He swallowed the pickle and struggled to his feet.
“You should be sitting down,” she blurted. “You could pass out.”
“Then I guess you should be helping me instead of scolding.”
She hooked an arm under his shoulder and he stood, woozy at first, but relieved to find that he did not notice any new areas of pain. Together they staggered over to the cavern’s edge.
“Careful,” she said as he peered below. The view was obscured by darkness. Only when she shined the flashlight across could he see the tunnel ahead, the edge of the rails twisting off where the ground had collapsed underneath them. She was right, the distance was a good ten feet.
He stared down into the abyss. “How far down does it go?”
“I’m not sure.”
Painfully, he bent to pick up a rock and tossed it over the edge. Time stretched out endlessly until finally he heard a splash, seemingly fathoms away, as the rock connected with some hidden lake.
His gaze fastened on hers.
“So all we need to do is figure out a way across,” she said.
“Yep, that’s all there is to it.” He let out a deep sigh. “Right.”
* * *
Shelby wished she could light a fire to keep them warm, but there was not enough flammable material to fuel it, and it was a risky idea anyway with all the trapped gases she might ignite with a mere spark. Instead she sat side by side with Barrett, shivering, sharing a protein bar to quiet their aching stomachs.
She was deeply grateful that he had not suffered any worse damage, but she worried that he might slip into shock, or that he could have internal injuries. Their options were narrowing with every passing moment, along with their supplies. They were down to less than two bottles of water since Barrett’s had both been smashed on impact. Her mouth was already parched. She allowed herself a swallow of water and insisted Barrett drink one, too, in spite of his protests.
His phone was crushed and hers low on charg
e, so she powered it down after she checked the time. It was almost four o’clock in the afternoon. Had the Thorn brothers started trying to dig them out via Oscar’s entrance? Or might they have decided the best way was to go through Hatcher’s property? It grieved her to think how Barrett’s brothers and parents must be frantic with worry, Oscar, too.
But you had to go through with it, didn’t you? she chided herself. No matter that it put Barrett’s life at risk or flew in the face of good sense. She deserved the consequences of her bullheaded determination, but Barrett and his family did not.
Anger at her helplessness bubbled up. But people don’t always get what they deserve, now do they? she thought.
Bree hadn’t. Her own mother hadn’t. Right then in the crippling darkness, she remembered her mother’s soft touch, always smelling of scented lotion. She missed it desperately, craving the chance to hold her mother’s hand again.
The memory doused the anger and lit her with a new determination. She and Barrett would get out of this and she would go to see her mother. Period.
Enough with the sentimentality. Figure out an escape plan, she commanded herself.
She played through the scenarios in her mind. There was only one way out and that was to get across to the tunnel. Could she leap across the chasm? Even running at full speed, she doubted she could make the jump, especially in her weakened and hungry state. Barrett most certainly could not. So how were they going to cross the gap?
The only workable idea she could think of was the long metal ladder left to rust for who knew how long in the forgotten cavern. She got up and examined it. It had to be at least fifteen feet, made of heavy iron, built to last. Pressing a foot to the rungs, she figured the metal was as sound as it needed to be. It only had to support her weight long enough for her to get across. Then she would summon help somehow. She’d just have to pray that she could get a text out or scream loud enough that someone would cut through the lock on Hatcher’s gate, if that was indeed where she wound up.
If...if...if.
Barrett joined her. “No way,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“I’m just testing out an idea.”
“Well, quit it ’cause it’s a very bad idea.”
