by C. Cervi
“I’m supposed to stay here to keep an eye on things tomorrow. I’ll come let you know and then it will be up to you to move fast.”
Aaron nodded and, once again, heard the creaking of the passage opening and, although he strained to listen, he couldn’t hear the sound of footsteps. Whoever these people were, they knew how to move quietly.
Aaron hadn’t noticed the pressure of the knife release, and was surprised when the voice came from farther away.
“One more thing,” it said. “Watch out for the cat. He prowls at night.”
Aaron gasped. They hadn’t included the fierce animal into their plans. Something else was bothering him also, and he whispered quickly. “How did you find out about our plan?”
He waited but, after several minutes with no answer, he turned slowly. Whoever had been there was gone now. Crossing the room, he climbed back in bed, but lay awake for a while, thinking. This time tomorrow night, everything would be different. Either they would succeed and be free, or . . . he tried to stop his mind from going over that possibility. What he did know for sure was that one way or another, by tomorrow night, they would be out of this place.
C
hapter 20
A small beam of sunlight shining on his face woke Aaron the next morning, and the warmth that the ray brought with it gave him a sensation of hope. Aaron woke Keith and the two decided that they would let Philip know about their plans. They would let the other prisoners know later, using Emily to help spread the word among them. Aaron kept an arm over the boy’s shoulders as he went through a mixture of emotions—excitement, fear, sorrow over the fact that things were happening too late for his brother. He seemed to settle on excitement though, and his eyes were shining as he and Keith made their way out the door. Aaron hung back for a moment—if things went right, this would be the last time he would ever see this room, and not one fiber of his being would miss it. Shutting the door solidly behind him, he looked down the long hallway filled with closed doors—each one representing unimaginable sorrows. Aaron wondered just how many people had come and gone behind those doors over the years. As he walked down the hall, the voices of those that were gone seemed to cry out to him—pleading with him to end the suffering, and by the time he joined his brother in the dining room, and looked around at the faces—faces full of pain, and hopelessness—his burden had grown much heavier.
“You can’t take the weight of the world on your shoulders, son.” He heard his father’s voice reminding him. “All it will do is crush you, and the rest of us will be a good man short.”
A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered his father’s words. But then, Emily looked up with eyes that held years of sadness, and he knew this was one burden he wouldn’t be able to set down. He would just have to hope that he could hold up long enough so that the weight of it didn’t end up crushing them all.
Cody and Doyle worked with Aaron and Keith during the morning hours again, and Aaron divided up the gunpowder among them, leaving some for Grant to retrieve later. Aaron had volunteered to set all the gunpowder, but Grant had told him one person being gone for an extended period of time would be more noticeable then if they took turns. All morning, each of them had taken one or two pouches of gunpowder and set it in various locations. They all knew that it wouldn’t take much for the shaky mine to collapse. The rest of the distractions they had planned depended primarily on Grant, and he had assured them that he’d been able to get everything in place the night before.
Grant had Cody and Doyle move to another chamber once everything was set, and Aaron and Keith were left alone. They had worked in silence for some time, struggling to make sure they met their quota, before Aaron decided he needed to sit down. Keith worked himself to the ground slowly, then looked at his brother and grinned.
“I feel just I like I did after the first day of busting broncs,” he said.
Aaron thought back to that day. He’d been working with Keith for weeks, teaching him how to sit the saddle—to move with the powerful animal underneath him, to know when it was important to hang on and when it was better to just let go. Keith had done better than anyone expected, and was only thrown twice on his first day. Aaron remembered how Keith had limped around for days afterward—bruised and sore.
“Keith,” he said, picking at a small splinter in his hand. “I . . . well, . . . I don’t know if I’ve told you lately that I’m proud of you.”
He was confused when Keith, suddenly, turned away from him.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew the way I feel inside,” Keith said, his voice quivering.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m trying hard, Aaron. But I’m just not like you. I’m not as brave . . . I . . . I’m scared.”
Aaron’s breath caught in his throat. “Little brother, who ever told you that being scared means you’re not brave?”
Keith turned to him—his gaze questioning.
“Everyone gets scared Keith—any man that tells you he doesn’t is lying. Being scared isn’t wrong, but allowing that fear to stop you from doing what needs to be done is. I don’t think there’s ever been a man born that ended up in battle who wasn’t scared. The difference between those men and a coward is that a coward runs from his fear instead of facing it head on, and conquering it. I haven’t seen you do that—and I don’t think you’re going to.”
He looked at Keith then, hoping that what he’d said had been comforting, and smiled when his brother nodded.
The sound of water sloshing drew their attention, and Aaron looked up to see Emily standing in the entrance to the chamber. There were tears in her eyes, and he wondered how much of their conversation she’d heard. Pushing himself up, he walked over and took the water bucket from her, carrying it to Keith. When he turned around, she still hadn’t moved.
“What is it?” he asked gently, reaching for the small bundles that held their lunch.
“I . . . I’m a coward,” she answered just barely loud enough for him to hear. “When my father needed me . . . when it mattered the most, I . . . I couldn’t move. It was like my legs were frozen and I . . . I . . . he . . .”
“Don’t, Emily,” Aaron interrupted her. “That’s in the past. You have another chance now—a chance to face your fears.”
He paused and placed a hand on her slight shoulder. “This time—you’ll do fine.”
The young girl looked up at him—eyes brimming with tears, then wiping them away she asked determinedly. “What do you want me to do?”
The rest of the day seemed never ending as Aaron and Keith continued to work, but it wasn’t until after Emily brought the second water bucket that Aaron started to get anxious. He had no way of knowing when the signal would come, and even the smallest sound caused him to jump. The last part of the day dragged on as slowly as the first with nothing out of the ordinary. By the time Grant came and told them it was quitting time, Aaron was half convinced that it would be morning when they finally got out of the mine.
The air was fresh and cool as they stepped out of the tunnels, and the moon was shining brightly. Countless stars twinkled in the sky, sending out what light they could offer. He couldn’t have asked for a better setting. There was a restlessness among the prisoners as they made their way back to the house—nothing that could be visibly seen, but an energy that Aaron had never felt before seemed to have settled over them, and he knew Emily had done her job of informing everyone to be ready.
In the dining room, the prisoners waited patiently as the Gardener passed out the food. Aaron watched the older man as he shuffled among the prisoners. For just a moment, the man looked up and their eyes locked. For some reason, Aaron’s meeting from the night before flashed through his mind and the voice belonging to a man he couldn’t see. Aaron glanced up at the Gardener again and, this time, he knew he was looking at the man that had held a knife to his back—the man that had asked for help, and was offering his in return. Aaron continued to watch him closely as he finished handing
out the plates of boiled potatoes and dry biscuits. They didn’t make eye contact again, but when he handed Aaron his plate, he whispered to him quietly. “Soon.”
Aaron’s stomach suddenly knotted and he had to force himself to eat. Keith looked at him questioningly across the table, and Aaron gave a slight nod. He was glad Keith had already eaten most of his food, because he didn’t touch the rest of it. Emily too had picked up their silent communication and she and Keith together slid their plates across to Philip. Blissfully unaware, the boy accepted the food gratefully.
A few moments later, everyone stood and deposited their dishes. Aaron’s nerves were raw as the prisoners headed for the stairs. He looked around for the Gardener and spotted him coming in from the kitchen. Aaron knew from the look on his face that this was it. He quickly walked to the older man.
“It’s time,” the Gardener said—his voice urgent. “My friends and I will be waiting for you at the end of the canyon.”
Aaron gave a quick nod and turned to leave, but the man reached out and stopped him. “You have to finish this,” he said. “You’ll never make it out of the canyon if you leave them alive.”
“I know,” Aaron answered, then headed for the stairs.
He had already brought up the idea of just making a run for it. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to change his mind—in his heart he knew that even the healthiest among them would never be able to outrun their captors. His own brother was in worse shape than any of them.
“Grant, it’s time,” Aaron yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
The bigger man immediately got everyone’s attention, trying to ward off the panic visible on their faces. As he gave instructions, Aaron made his way to Keith.
“Are you ready?” he asked, putting a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.
“Aaron, I’m not sure about this,” he answered, his eyes questioning—searching his brother’s face.
Aaron had been dreading this moment. Keith’s part was to lead the prisoners into the canyon, and get them as far away as possible. Aaron had seen to it that this task fell to his little brother and it had taken some convincing, but Keith finally agreed.
“Keith, these people are counting on you,” he said, pushing his own concerns aside. “We don’t have much time. You know the signal. When you hear it, you and the others stop and wait for us. If you don’t hear it, then you run—as far and as fast as you can.”
Keith put his hand over his brother’s, communicating with him in a way that words never could.
“All right, everybody, come with me,” Keith said, and within moments, the prisoners were out the front door.
Aaron turned to Grant—the rest would be up to them.
“Let’s go,” he said, turning toward the door but the expression on Grant’s face left him with a nagging worry.
On the front porch, he and Grant separated. Time wasn’t on their side—even seconds counted. Ignoring his pain, Aaron forced himself to run. He pulled off his belt, stopping at the corner of the house, and quickly emptied the contents. Striking a match, he held it out, praying Grant had done his part. The flame licked against the side of the house and Aaron watched as it quickly spread across a large portion of the wall. He smiled and hurried to the next corner. Grant had come through, and the corners of the house were soaked with kerosene. After Aaron had the next corner lit, he hurried over to the laundry shack. By the time he got there, the building was blazing and Grant was standing with two torches, gazing out toward the mine. As Aaron raced to join Grant, his mind was with his brother. The mine was so unstable, and the gunpowder so touchy that the chances of them making it out of the tunnels alive were slim. He worked to push those thoughts from his mind, determined to return to his brother.
“Let’s go,” he said when he got to Grant, reaching for one of the torches.
He drew back in surprise when Grant pulled it away.
“What are you doing?” Aaron demanded. “We have to hurry; they’re going to smell the smoke.”
Grant turned to Aaron with a tortured expression on his face. “I can’t.”
Aaron felt his heart sink. “Give it to me then.”
“No!”
Aaron stepped up to take one of the torches, and Grant suddenly turned fierce. “I can’t let you do it. He . . . he’s my brother.”
“Yes, and my brother is out there somewhere in the dark, running for his life, along with a lot of other innocent people. We can save them, Grant—help me.”
Aaron watched as Grant fought an inward battle, but he knew he’d been defeated when Grant turned away from him.
“No,” he said again. “I’m sorry.”
Something suddenly snapped inside of him and Aaron screamed as he made a wild jump at Grant’s back. He took the bigger man by surprise, knocking him to the ground. The torches went in two different directions. One of them rolled in the dirt and went out. Aaron jumped up and grabbed for the other, but Grant had hold of his leg and pulled him back to the ground. Aaron spun around just in time to partially block a blow. Grant’s fist went wild, landing on Aaron’s injured shoulder. Aaron cried out and threw a punch of his own. His blow connected hard with Grant’s jaw, and the man staggered backwards. Aaron turned and reached for the torch again, but this time it wasn’t Grant that stopped him. A fierce growl sounded from behind him. Spinning around, he brought his hands up just as the large, black animal made a leap for his face. As his body hit the ground, he could feel the cat’s claws digging into his flesh. His head landed hard against a rock, and the world suddenly began to roll in waves. In the background he thought he could hear Grant yelling. The cat was heavy—crushing his chest—he couldn’t breathe. The yard started to spin and he felt sick to his stomach. Just when he thought he couldn’t hang on any longer, the weight was suddenly gone, and he struggled to bring air into his lungs. From somewhere came the sound of Grant screaming. He had to get up. They were running out of time. He managed to roll himself over—the torch was just to his left. Dragging himself across the ground, he closed his hand around it, then commanded himself to stand, but he couldn’t move. He had pushed himself too hard, for too long, and his body had finally given up.
“Not now,” he cried.
Using his last bit of energy to roll onto his back he looked up at the sky—the stars only a blur. “Please,” he prayed, “help me.”
Heaven seemed to hear his plea, and out of the darkness he watched as an angel made its way toward him, running on feet that barely seemed to touch the ground—robes flowing, surrounded in white light. When the angel drew near it bent low, whispering something in his ear, then taking the torch from his hand, ran toward the mine. Aaron turned his head and watched. Blackness was surrounding him, threatening to take him away. He tried to focus on what the angel had said—the words slowly came together one by one and then he understood. He looked toward the mine again, watching until the light from the torch disappeared, then reached out a hand in her direction.
“Oh, Emily . . .”
As a deafening explosion caused the ground to shake and rocks began falling around him, he felt himself mercifully slip away.
A voice was calling, urging him to wake up.
I know that voice. I’m coming.
Aaron fought his way through the mist, moving toward the pleading tones.
“Can you hear me?” Keith’s voice was full of panic. “Please wake up.”
Aaron groaned and forced his eyes open. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the first morning rays.
“I’m okay,” he said.
Keith nodded, blinking back tears. “It’s over,” he said. “We’re free.”
Aaron’s heart leapt at the words.
Free . . .
He could smell smoke in the air, and the scent brought back memories from the night before—memories of Grant, of an explosion, of . . .
“Emily,” he gasped, trying to sit up.
“Easy, easy,” Keith said, reaching out to help him.
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Aaron felt another pair of strong arms encircle him, assisting him to sit up. He turned and looked at Grant. The bigger man lowered his head, refusing to meet his gaze, but Aaron was too tired to waste any energy on him at the moment.
“Where’s Emily?” he asked, taking hold of the front of Keith’s shirt.
The tears that Keith had been valiantly holding back now spilled over. He grasped Aaron’s hand, pulling it gently from his shirt.
“She . . . she didn’t.” His voice broke and Aaron closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were set with steely determination.
“Help me up,” he said, holding out a hand to Keith.
Keith looked hesitant, but helped his brother to his feet.
Aaron slowly walked toward the mine. He couldn’t feel any pain—his body had gone numb, and with it his heart. There was no entrance visible anymore, just a mountain of rocks. He continued on straight toward the pile and when he reached it, he fell to his knees, and began digging through the debris.
“Aaron, what are doing?” Keith asked quietly, coming up behind him.
“I’m not leaving her here,” he answered.
“Aaron, she’s . . . we don’t even know . . .”
“I’m not leaving her here,” he said again. “I promised . . . I promised.”
He continued to struggle with the rocks and, a moment later, Keith was down on the ground, working beside him. Aaron reached for a large stone, trying to push it out of the way. As he struggled, two large hands reached out and shoved it aside. Aaron looked up, and the tears streaming down Grant’s face made him turn away. When he did, he noticed that Philip, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, had also come up beside him. Within moments, Aaron found himself surrounded by the other prisoners. Without a word everyone went to work, moving stones and debris. The sun was high above them before Emily’s body was pulled from the rubble and laid gently on the ground. Aaron could hear Philip sobbing beside him, and wondered why he didn’t feel the desire to cry. He knew he should—should feel grief for the young girl who had given everything for them. Instead he felt nothing but a deep, cold emptiness. He bent over her, struggling to pick her up despite his injured shoulder.
