by Finn Bell
I manage only a single step back, my foot still in the air, before I’m pummelled back and down. The deluge of falling earth is so incredibly fast, so hard and heavy, that it knocks me flat, pinning me in an instant. I try to take a frantic choking breath but my mouth is full of dirt and I can’t move my chest to inhale as the crushing weight on top of me gets heavier and heavier. Can’t move. Can’t escape. I—
* * *
THE FOUR MEN IN THE DARK
Andrea Chen and her two daughters are sitting in front of me, cross legged in the mud of the tunnel. There’s a hungry look in their eyes, somewhere between pleading and expectation. They’re not saying anything but I know they want me to read to them from the book I’m holding and I want to. I’m really trying but my hands won’t stop shaking no matter how fiercely I grip the pages. I can’t make out the words.
Eventually I decide to go back to my past, further back than before, and imagine myself fixing a mistake I made. Only I can’t because I’m stuck in the mud. So I focus on the blurring words again.
Then a voice starts calling from far away beyond the tunnel, faint but insistent. I can’t make it out but it won’t stop. And it’s making it harder to concentrate on the words as it gets louder, but somehow stays muffled. “I just need some time,” I yell to the Chens, having to raise my voice over the muffled screams. Then as my mind slips uneasily from one nightmare to another I’m suddenly awake and coughing violently. I try to open my eyes but there’s so much dirt caked on them that I’m forced to shut them again immediately.
“It’s ok, take it easy, just breathe,” I hear a voice say, and with the disjointed memory of the halfway conscious I remember that he’s already said that to me. That I regained consciousness at some point before but couldn’t hold on. I make an effort to slow my breathing between bouts of coughing. Try to keep myself calm as, piece by horrible piece, things start coming back to me.
“There, it’s ok, I’m going to help you sit up more,” the voice says before lifting me under my arms and dragging me so that my head and chest are more elevated. The bout of coughing this move elicits is even more violent, but when it’s over my breathing feels a little easier.
“No, don’t use your hands,” he says, stopping me as I automatically lift them to my face again.
“Keep your eyes closed, there’s too much mud on them. I’m going to clean it off ok,” the voice says, his voice, I realise.
I had meant to say, “Ok,” but when I try to speak it triggers more coughing.
“Don’t try to talk yet ok. There’s too much mud. I think you swallowed some,” he says as he wipes my face clean and I nod once, carefully.
After some more work on his part I’m able to keep one eye open, and through it make out the haggard, dirt-encrusted, bleeding face of James Chen in the dim light of a lamp. There’s a pile of rubble beyond him that I realise is where the tunnel caved in. I also realise that I’m on the inside of that cave-in and the rest of the world is on the other. We’re blocked in. Then I remember Remu and immediately start scrabbling blindly around me for my gun. It has to be here somewhere.
“No, it’s ok. He’s not here. You don’t need the gun. It’s ok. Look, I mean don’t look. Here. I’ve got your gun here,” he says as he puts the familiar shape of my pistol into my trembling hands. Then puts his hands over mine as he suffers through his own bout of coughing. I try to speak again but as soon as I draw enough breath from the dirty air I only succeed in joining him with more coughing.
“I don’t know how stable this is. We should get further into the tunnel. The air is clearer further down. We’ll go over to the light ok? Do you think you can stand? Just nod,” he says.
It’s only once my breathing slows down that I begin to sense the various aches and pains the rest of my body wants to share. My chest really hurts, along with my head, stomach, feet, hands, arms, legs, back and neck. But otherwise I’m fine.
Until James tries to help me up by looping my arm over his neck so he can lift me up next to him. That’s when I realise the previous aches and pains were really just foreplay, and the searing agony that spears into my side when I try to straighten my body was just waiting for the perfect moment. I try to force myself to stand up but my body simply ignores me and tries to curl itself around the pain at the same time. The result is a clumsy, excruciating shuffle where James half carries, half drags me further down the tunnel. Within a few steps the pain builds to the point where I’m light headed and my breath races in my chest as if I’m running. Even the gun I’m still gripping begins to feel too heavy to hold on to.
“Oh! Oh no. Wait. Sorry. Wait,” James says and quickly moves himself in front of me, shifting our positions so that my body is held up from the opposite side. In response the pain immediately fades all the way down to just really bad.
Then, as I look down to where the pain is, I see something sticking out of my side. In the feeble light it looks almost black against my clothes. It’s a piece of wood. The piece sticking out is about the size of my fist. I don’t know how deep it has gone inside me. Instinctively I reach down to it but then stop myself, thinking, “One thing at a time”. We’re several paces further, having reached the small camping lamp, when James lowers me gently to the ground. The air is indeed cleaner here than it is back at the slip.
“Remu,” I manage to croak out in a voice that doesn’t even sound like mine. Still gripping my gun, vaguely pointing it into the darkness although I’m not sure I have the strength to lift it right now.
“What?” James says, leaning in front of me, busy cleaning my face with the bottom of his shirt.
“The man,” I manage to say a little louder, while nodding in the direction of the dark tunnel.
“Oh him. It’s ok. You shot him. It was bad. I think you hit him in the face, maybe more than once, he just flew back. And then he got up and ran further into the tunnel. But it’s ok. He dropped his guns, both of them. And the lamp. I’ve got them right here, see. And there’s blood. His blood. Look,” James says as he grabs the little lamp from next to me and holds it further away so the light falls on a shotgun and pistol lying together in the mud. Guns, I think, plural. And to think I had confidently stepped into the darkness and just stood there waiting for him to reload a shotgun he didn’t need. In my daffodil hat. Fool’s luck.
“See,” James says as he swings the light further to illuminate a trail of blood leading further into the mine.
I got you Remu. You’re bleeding and alone somewhere in here, in this perfect blackness. Good, I think. I’m only sorry he’s not lying dead right here.
“He won’t come back now that the police are here,” James says with a confidence I don’t share. “And thank you. You saved my life, I had—” James says, shaking his head. “Thank you.”
He looks like he might cry but is fighting down the emotion. Which reminds me that I should probably start acting like the police around here.
“Are you ok?” I rasp out as my mouth and throat slowly regain moisture.
“Yes I’m—” James says, then, as if his own thoughts are interrupting him, he suddenly grips my shoulders with both hands. “My family! Are they ok? There were shots and that explosion, I—”
“Yes,” I manage before his shaking of my shoulders makes me cough again.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, letting me go.
“It’s ok. Your kids are fine. Your wife is fine. She was shot but she’s ok, nothing serious,” I say. “Now I need you to take that light and put it right here next to me. Then bring those guns over here, put them behind us.”
“Can you breach that shotgun?” I ask. As James does so I continue. “Are both barrels empty?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Good. Put it over by the slip and hand me that pistol,” I say, only now loosening my grip on my gun, putting it down in my lap, positioned so I can grab it quick in case Remu decides to rush us. James seems unafraid, but then given what he’s been through maybe the prospect of Remu Blac
k rushing out of the dark doesn’t compare. And of course, I think ruefully, he doesn’t need to be scared anymore, the police are here.
When he hands me the pistol I’m unsurprised to find it’s a Norinco 9mm, a cheap Chinese copy of a Russian Tokarev. They’re favoured by the criminal underworld, especially gangs, because they’re reliable, easy to buy on the black market and almost impossible to trace. I check the clip to find it’s fully loaded.
“You know how to shoot?” I say to James.
“Not really,” he says, sounding uncertain.
“It’s easy. Here’s the safety, that’s on and that’s off,” I say. “Keep it off. You hold it in both hands, firmly like this, and don’t close your eyes when you pull the trigger. If he comes at you aim low for the stomach. One shot won’t be enough to stop him, so if you have to shoot don’t hesitate, just keep pulling the trigger until he’s down. Do you understand?”
“Yes, but I—” James starts to say.
“Say it back to me, show me what I just showed you,” I say as I hand him the pistol. As James repeats what I told him I can sense the fear rising in him again.
“I don’t understand. It’s over now right? Everyone will be coming in here, it’s just a small slip, they can dig us out and—” James’ voice rises, tainted with desperation. For a moment I doubt whether I should give him a gun but I realise I don’t have a choice. I can’t stand and the pain in my side aches so badly I can barely think straight, and there’s a warm wetness spreading down my hip. I know I’m bleeding but I don’t know how bad it is. The simple truth is that if Remu Black is still alive then he’s got nowhere to go but back here. Wounded, trapped and angry. We need to be ready. Or, I add to myself, James needs to be ready when I’m not.
“James, there’s no one out there,” I say. “It was just my partner and me. We weren’t even looking for you. We’re pretty far off the track and the search parties aren’t anywhere near this area. It took us hours to get out here and it was snowing heavily by the time we made it. My partner Tobe – I don’t know if he’s ok or if he got hurt when that soil slipped. It’s possible he’s already on his way to get help but we can’t assume that. It’s ok though, they know where we are and if we don’t check in they’ll come looking, but it may be a long time before they start. And with the snow it could take even longer. We may be in here for a while,” I say.
“But we can radio out, call or something?” James says.
“I don’t have a radio with me and there’s no cell phone reception here. I’m sorry,” I say. “We’ll just have to wait. They will come for us. In the meantime we’ve got weapons and it’s not too cold in here. We can do this James.” I watch James as he cradles the pistol in front of him in both hands, staring out at the darkness. I take up my pistol again, more for comfort than vigilance.
“And thank you too, for digging me out,” I say. “How long has it been since the slip happened?”
“It’s only been a short while I think,” James says. “Maybe 10 or 15 minutes. It all happened so fast but when he, when Remu, ran away there was so much dust I couldn’t see what happened to you. I thought you were going to step out at any moment but then you didn’t. I felt around and found part of your head was sticking out. I got you out quickly. I’ve been yelling and listening at the slip, trying to get in contact with someone on the other side but it’s been silent. I think there’s too much rock and dirt maybe.”
“Do you know how big this mine is?” I ask.
“No. We’ve only been here for a while, maybe a few hours. It’s hard to tell because I was blindfolded and tied up. We came this far in and then he untied me. I thought he was going to kill me and bury me here. I thought it was over,” James says, looking away. “This was only a few minutes before you came.”
As I take a moment to look around I spot a few empty cardboard boxes lying on their side, misshapen and sagging from the moisture. They don’t look too old, at least not older than a few years. Which means someone has been in here at some point, but there’s nothing else to give a clue as to what Remu was doing here or why he brought James. Aside from bringing him to this place to kill him and hide the body maybe. There’s nothing else in here but dirt and rock.
“Was there anyone else? Did you see or hear anything that could suggest that it’s not just Remu in here?” I ask.
“No, I’m pretty sure it was just us, even with the blindfold on, it’s only been us the whole way I think,” he answers.
“James, do you know why this happened, why they broke into your house, why they took you?” I ask, taking my trembling finger off the trigger as he settles across from me and leans back against the opposite wall of the tunnel. It gives me a chance to inspect him more closely.
He looks bad – dirty, bruised and haggard – and I realise he must be exhausted because the last part of him sitting down is more of an involuntary fall as his legs give way. Odds are he hasn’t slept in more than two days and has been traversing some rough country out in the frozen wilds to get here. I’m surprised he’s not in worse shape. But maybe he is, your body can lie to you for short amounts of time. His current energy and ability may just be down to the adrenalin shot all this action has given him. Him and me both, I think. The body borrowing energy from itself to try and survive. We’re both going to be paying for this exertion very soon.
“No, they just burst in,” he says. “I told them we don’t have any money or anything valuable but they ignored me. They searched all through the house, like they were looking for something. But they didn’t tell us anything. Then they tied us up and blindfolded us. I know we were together at first, me and my family, but then they moved us apart and there was shooting. I heard the police from outside trying to negotiate with them. Then there was a gunshot and a big explosion and I was thrown down the old trapdoor in the kitchen. I thought it was an accident at first and hoped that maybe I could get away, get help, but it was on purpose.
“This man, Remu, he was there and he took me, and then we just kept walking. The whole time I was so tired. I got away from him last night. I escaped and ran for a long time but he caught me again and brought me here. I’ve been thinking about why this has happened to us but I don’t understand. We didn’t do anything.”
“Did he say anything to you, ask you any questions?” I ask, gingerly shifting position to try and ease the ache in my side, still not ready to open my clothes and actually look at the wound.
“No. At first he just ordered me around, then later on he talked to me, almost like we were friends. But he never told me where we were going or what was going to happen. Or what he wanted,” James says, shaking his head.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“In the bush about halfway between Waipori Falls and Nicols Falls,” I say. “Not much civilisation out here but we’re not too far from the road. They’ll find us, it’ll just take some time.”
Ok, now what? I badly want to go and find Remu. Preferably dead. So at least I don’t have to keep peering into the dark like this.
“What’s your name?” James asks.
“Sorry, forgot my manners when I got buried back there. I’m Nick Cooper,” I say, not looking away from the tunnel but holding out my left hand to him.
“I’m James Chen, but I guess you already know that,” James says, grasping my hand. “And thank you again. That was a very brave thing you did coming around the corner like that.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say. “Now, nice as it is to sit and chat for a bit, we have a few things that need doing and decisions to make. So let’s get on the same page. Our first problem is time.”
“You mean how long it will take for help to come?” James asks.
“Yes. Let’s plan for the worst. We’ll assume Tobe, my partner out there, doesn’t get word out. By 7:00 p.m. tonight there will be questions when we haven’t checked in. We logged our time so people know when we left and where we went. If they come out here they’ll still have to search for us as we’re a fair d
istance off the main track. By then it will be dark and the snow will slow things down even if they brought dogs. And there’s no way a helicopter could land anywhere near here. They may be forced to wait until tomorrow. I’d guess worst case, we have to stay here overnight,” I say, taking out my cell phone to check the time, surprised that it’s already past 5:00 p.m. “That means maybe 16 to 18 hours. Maybe a bit more.”
“That’s a long time,” James says. “I don’t think this light will last that long.” James puts the pistol he’s holding down in his lap and takes up the lamp, turning it over.
“Batteries,” he concludes. “And it’s not too bright now. Oh, and I’ve got this. He dropped it when he ran but I don’t know if we should risk using it. This tunnel seems unstable already. Look what that shotgun did; we might bring down the whole mountain on top of us if we use this.”
James holds out what looks like a small, thick cigar and upon inspection I realise it’s dynamite or some kind of explosive in a thick cardboard tube with a plastic blasting cap and a pull tab. I’ve seen the mechanism before. Easy to use – pull the tab and leave, and a while later everything goes bang. So this was the plan Remu, I think as I weigh it in my hands. Kill James Chen and cave-in the mine behind you. Angus Wu said there’s hundreds, maybe even thousands of old mines out here. No one really knows exactly how many or where. And the gangs are busy people. How many of the mines already have dead bodies in them?
“I’ve got about half power left on my cell phone,” I say, coming back to the here and now and checking it. “So that will give us maybe two hours’ worth of light just from the screen if we don’t use the flashlight function. Whichever way you look at it we’ll have more time in here than light. Question is, how do we use it?” I say. I can’t help thinking how bad it will be stuck down here in the dark.
