by Andrew Dorn
He observed the video feed. Arturo and Gerry were nowhere to be seen. Where were they? Was it already lunch time? What was Emmeline pointing at? A wave of goosebumps crawled up his arm. Something was amiss, he could feel it in his bones. Then he saw it, at the bottom right edge of the feed.
A rubber boot.
It lay amidst broken-up chunks of rocks. He tapped on the screen and zoomed in to get a better look. The boot had familiar colors painted on the shaft, a flag with three vertical bands, one green, one white, one red.
The Mexican flag.
Vazquez!
“Shit!” Simon blurted out as he ran out of the room. “Come with me!”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s been an accident!”
They dashed down the tunnel as fast as they could, Emmeline a step behind the geologist. They came to the end of the passageway and bifurcated toward the ramp leading to the lower level. The lamp stand had been shoved aside from its original position, throwing warped shadows across the area. Simon saw at once that a tremor had toppled the stand. But what had caused the tremor? Why hadn’t he noticed it? With the lighting shoved out of whack, Simon took a bearing then hurried down the slope. The incline was treacherous, slick with dust, which he noticed had not been there before.
“Watch your step,” Simon said, with a glance back to Emmeline.
In the semi-darkness of the work site, Simon pulled out a tiny but bright flashlight he always carried and aimed it ahead. The spot illuminated the bottom end of the incline and revealed the way to where the men had been working. He rounded the final bend and saw a shape down in the dirt.
A man.
He skidded to a stop then got down to one knee next to Vazquez. The operator was stretched out on his back, unmoving, the drill at his side. There were bruises to his forehead but, as Simon noted with relief, the helmet had saved his life. It was split apart. That could have been his head, he thought with a shudder.
Emmeline held his wrist and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she said with calm certainty. “Strong pulse.”
Simon nodded then went searching for Gerry. There was a lot more rubble than expected.
Damn, how could the wall break apart like that?
He forced his way across the passage, treading between the rocks strewn everywhere. He spotted a SAD immobilized amid the rubble. There was someone draped over the side of the dumpster.
Gerry!
He cleared a path to the engineer, pushing rocks out of the way with his boot. He reached the machine and noticed a spot of blood on the metallic surface.
“Gerry! Are you all right?” Simon said, lifting his head to make out the extent of his injury.
There was a low groan from the engineer.
“Here, use this,” Emmeline said.
Simon turned his head, perplexed to see Emmeline at his side. He had not picked up the fact she had been following behind. She took out a compact emergency kit from her handbag and passed a rolled-up bandage. He nodded in appreciation and proceeded in wrapping the gauze around Gerry’s head. She looked on and was impressed by his skill at patching the wound.
“Ow, my head,” Gerry said, staring ahead with vacant eyes.
Emmeline shot a glance at Simon and after a silent agreement between them, grabbed the engineer under the shoulders and found a clear space for him to rest.
“Easy does it,” Simon said. “You got a nasty cut on your forehead.”
“What happened?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
At that moment, Vazquez sprung with a jolt and looked around, confusion in his eyes.
“What happened?” he asked.
“That’s the $64,000 question apparently,” Emmeline said.
“What’s that stink?” Gerry said. “It smells like sulphur or someone who can’t keep his liquor.”
Gerry was right. There was strong odor, pungent yet hard to identify. Simon stood up and went over to where Arturo had been working. The holes were all aligned in a neat pattern and Simon was again reminded why Vazquez was the mine’s best operator. His work was tidy and clean. The noxious smell was stronger here, at the face of the wall.
And it was coming from one of the holes.
Simon approached the wall and noticed this one hole which seemed to extend way deeper than the other ones. In fact it went beyond the range of the drill’s shaft itself, and that was impossible. Unless...
“Shit,” he said, a trace of alarm in his voice.
“What is it?” Emmeline asked, striding over to him.
“There’s a chamber on the other side.”
7 Trapped
EMMELINE SKIRTED AROUND the rubble strewn about the passageway and came to the half crumbled rear wall. “What happened?”
It was plain that an unexpected event had caused part of the wall to blow itself inward, injuring the workers.
“I don’t know. We were starting preliminary work, clearing out the way for you guys to take core samples,” Gerry said, gripping his head.
She heard Simon mutter to himself but couldn’t make out his comment.
“What could have done this, caused part of the wall to cave in like that?” Emmeline said.
“A bubble of gas, maybe,” he said, perplexed. “Or perhaps the vibration caused by the drill, though that’s almost impossible.”
Gas? Emmeline thought with rising apprehension. How can this be?
“Simon, we should leave, now!” She said with an urgency in her voice that stunned even herself.
He looked at her for an instant, confounded. Then it hit him.
“The Siberian virus!” He said out loud to no-one in particular.
“What?” Emmeline said.
“Never mind, you’re right. Let’s get out of here.”
His brain whirled back to a few years before when news broke of a team of miners that had died because they had drilled, by unfortunate luck, into a pocket of ice which held a long dormant, but deadly, virus. The men had died one after the other, victims of an extinct variant of the Ebola virus.
“Arturo, can you walk?” Simon asked.
“Si, I am right with you,” he answered. “But I need to get my boot.”
Arturo brushed aside dust and bits of rock then limped over to where his boot waited. He wondered how he had lost it in the fist place. Perhaps when the wall broke apart, he had been flung one way and his boot the other. He did not understand what had gone wrong: one moment he was drilling into the rock, with no issues whatsoever; then he wasn’t anymore and he was on the ground, the drill at his side, and a sharp pain in his head. A pain localized right behind his ear. It had passed, but he was still feeling queasy.
Emmeline realized Arturo wouldn’t manage by himself. The poor man couldn’t even slip on his boot.
“You go,” she said to Simon. “I’ll take care of Arturo.”
Simon nodded, his opinion of Emmeline rising as much as the heat in the cramped space. Gerry had begun walking away, wobbling with each step, obviously still semi-comatose. Simon grabbed his elbow to quicken the pace.
“Come on, Gerry.”
He glanced back to check on Emmeline’s progress. She had slipped an arm around Vazquez’s midsection and was following suit. Confident the operator was in good hands, Simon focused on the task ahead. They had to make it to the elevator, evacuate, then seal the shaft. The elevator was about 50 meters away but in the stifling heat and with Gerry’s added weight, he had the definite impression it was much further. They came to the central tunnel where the Maintenance shed was located.
The TTE! Simon thought, out of the blue. How could I forget? The Through-the-Earth radio gear transmitted messages using ultralow-frequency waves that could travel thru dozens of meters of rock strata. It was old tech, but it worked well for mines and other underground operations. He leaned Gerry alongside the shed’s corrugated metal facade.
“Can you stand upright for a second?”
Gerry nodded, waving
him away.
“I’ll be right back.”
Simon rushed into the shed and spotted the TTE gear, which had been installed the month before. It was a wall unit that could be converted to a portable one, if need be. It was bulky, and it needed an antenna loop, topside, to work, but it was reliable. He flipped on a switch. A light indicator flashed green, but then started to fade out after a beat. What gives? The light should have stayed on. His confidence dwindling, he gripped the handle of the wired receiver and forced the volume control all the way up.
“Level Zero, can you hear me? Over.”
There was no answer, not even a short burst of static. It was as if the machine was dead in the water.
“Frank, do you read? Anybody there? Over.”
He waited for a reply, but there was nothing but his rapid breathing. I have to calm down. I’ll be of no use if I start hyperventilating.
“What are you doing?” Emmeline asked, popping her head inside.
“I’m trying to get through to the surface,” he said.
“Any luck?”
“No. The TTE is dead. It won’t broadcast.”
Emmeline acknowledged the bad news with a frown.
“The elevator!” They both said, at the same time.
Simon dashed out into the passageway, grabbed Gerry once again and strode toward the elevator. The engineer grunted his displeasure, eyes like two thin slits in the surrounding lighting.
“My head is killing me.”
“We are getting out of here,” Simon said with a glance to Emmeline who had pulled up alongside, Arturo in tow. The four of them made their way to the end of the tunnel, then approached the elevator. The cab was nowhere to be seen. Just our luck, thought Simon. Emmeline reached the instrument panel, bolted near the wire mesh gate, and slapped the button to call the car. She waited for the usual confirmation but there was none: no chime, no light. Frowning, she tried again, with the same result. Simon wiggled his way next to her, pulling Gerry along. The engineer was getting heavier with each passing minute and he would be glad to hand him over to Nurse Mahoney once they made surface.
“What’s wrong?” The look of worry on her face reminded him of Victoria when she was upset.
“I don’t think the lift is working,” Emmeline said, turning to him.
“Let me try.”
Simon pressed the big circular button. His eyes went wide with disbelief. Emmeline was right: the lift was as dead as the TTE.
What is going on?
“It’s no use,” he said, glancing at the others.
“What?” Gerry said, stepping forward, nudging Simon aside.
“That’s impossible, the lift always works. It has to. Let me try.”
The engineer gripped the gate like a sailor holding on to a life vest. He muttered under his breath about the ineptitude of humans and non-engineers in particular. He slammed the button with his fist. It refused to light up. His features registered complete incomprehension.
“Damn! As impossible as it may seem, the electronics must be fried,” he said, shaking his head. Pulling out a keyring with a screwdriver attachment, he popped open the electrical panel box. There was a mess of wires inside, but no apparent damage.
“I don’t get it. The wiring looks good.”
“And the control chip?” Simon said.
Gerry used his small tool to pluck out the miniature electronic chip from the circuit board. He examined the part for 2 seconds then tossed it to Simon.
“Fried,” he said, swatting the panel’s door in rage.
Simon stared at the part in the palm of his hand. The chip had super-heated, transforming it into a messy grid of melted rivulets of silver.
“What could have provoked this?”
“I don’t know,” Gerry barked, his temper rising.
“Take it easy,” Emmeline said with a hand to his forearm. Simon watched with a dose of apprehension as she stood next to the hulking engineer. She was way smaller than him but it didn’t disturb her one bit. It was obvious she had dealt with temperamental people before. Gerry turned his head to her, still fuming, but settled down once he understood it served no purpose.
Emmeline turned to Simon. He noticed her right eye was half-closed. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, though I can feel a headache coming on.”
“You too?” He said, a look of surprise on his face. “So do I.”
An alarm went on in his head.
“Arturo, does your head hurt?”
The operator raised his hand and answered with a low grunt.
“It hurts.”
Simon caught Emmeline’s eye.
“We have a problem.”
8 Vision
“WHY DON’T WE give the dumpsters a go?” Gerry Patterson said with a hand gesture. “It’s our only way out of here.”
“Good thinking, Gerry,” Simon said.
The trapped four, as Simon had christened the group in his mind, turned around and made their way up a service tunnel, a cramped and constricted passage used by the SAD’s. At its end, a conveyor system allowed the dumpsters to lock into place and be transported to the surface via a vertical shaft. The conveyor, also autonomous, used an array of sensors embedded along the shaft’s electric track to monitor the dumpster’s position at all times. There were four dumpsters whose sole purpose was to haul the gravel out of the mine. Each SAD could carry the equivalent of 25 humans, about 2000 kilograms.
Gerry went to the conveyor’s manual override console housed inside a metal chest secured with a smart lock. He pressed his thumb against the lock and the chest’s door popped open. He pulled the door wide and surveyed the interior. To his relief, all the lights were green.
Taking a step back, he craned his neck and peered up the framework. It faded away into obscurity, out of sight, some 100 meters from where he stood. There was only darkness beyond, the illumination deemed superfluous for the machines navigating its length. Because SAD’s are too dumb to be scared, thought Gerry.
“I hope you guys aren’t afraid of the dark,” he said to the others with a nod to the shaft. “It’s pitch black up there.”
He studied the controls. They were simple enough. A short lever with arrows indicating ‘up’ and ‘down’ was the centerpiece with 2 switches for powering on the equipment completing the setup. Satisfied the machinery was operational, Patterson gave a thumbs up sign to the others.
“Emmeline and Arturo, if you will...” Simon said.
Emmeline nodded and approached the dumpster.
“Ladies, first,” Arturo said, bowing his head. She smiled at the man’s gallantry then climbed into the dirt-caked bin of metal, careful not to scrape a knee on the sharp edges. Arturo followed suit, with Emmeline giving him a hand as he clambered next to her. He sat down, and legs crossed, smiled up at her.
“This is not bad, comfort wise,” Vazquez said.
Emmeline decided it might be a good idea to hunker down, just to be on the safe side. She raised a thumb to signal Simon and Gerry they were ready.
“Keep your hands inside at all times,” Simon said. “We’ll see you outside.”
“Okay,” Emmeline replied.
“And enjoy the ride,” Gerry added with a guffaw.
Arturo looked up into the awaiting gloom. He hated the darkness. Though he had worked underground most of his life, he had never been comfortable with the shadows and the fears lurking within them. Inside the dark where childhood memories of a pseudo stepfather and his alcohol-fuelled violence. Though he had tried to hide, it seemed the shadows always let the bad man in, always sided with the dark.
“Ready?” Gerry asked, hand on the lever.
Arturo acknowledged with a tense nod. “Si!”
The conveyor rumbled to life with a jolt, jerking the dumpster upward. Gerry crossed his arms and beamed with satisfaction as he watched the dumpster glide up the shaft. There was a sudden vibration along the shaft’s framework, the entire armature groaning in protest.
&
nbsp; “What the hell is that?” Gerry said, looking up the shaft.
The dumpster halted in mid-air.
“No, it can’t be.”
The telltale lights turned from green to black, confirming the engineer’s worst fear.
“This is just great.”
He slammed the chest’s door with exaggerated force.
“Dead as a doornail... just as the elevator.”
“Guess we’re not going anywhere,” Simon said, eyeing the stalled dumpster.
“Guys?” Emmeline said, leaning over the side of the dumpster. “It’s a no go?”
“Afraid so,” Simon said, making his way to her.
The dumpster had stopped at ladder height, a manageable distance for the two passengers to climb down... if he stood by to help them. “Let me give you a hand.”
Emmeline nodded, disappointed their escape plan had fell off the wayside. She eased over the lid of the dumpster then used her arms to lower herself as much as she could.
“Let go, I’ll catch you,” Simon said, peering up at her.
She obeyed and he caught her by the waist then lowered her to the ground. Emmeline stared directly in his eyes and he was struck again by her hypnotizing gaze.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
“Now let’s get Arturo down,” Emmeline said, thrusting a finger upwards.
Simon nodded and a minute later, the operator was back on the ground.
“I don’t feel so good,” he said, teetering on his feet.
“We should get back to the main tunnel,” Emmeline proposed, an eye on the operator.
Simon nodded. His own head had begun to spin and his legs were like mush. He stumbled with an awkward lurch, putting a hand to the wall to curb the sensation of sinking into a whirlpool. Drenched in sweat, he resumed walking, using the back of Emmeline’s head, a few meters in front, as a target for his dwindling focus.
What’s wrong with me?
His stamina was draining out as fast as his heart was beating. He was on the threshold of a vast dark pool of nothingness and for the first time in his life, he had the unmistakable impression of bearing the weight of the world. Spots of deep red and gray flashed across his eyes and he began hyperventilating.
