The man shook his head. “Don’t know, sir. But it looks to be a big one.”
Patrick nodded. “I’ll be on my way within five minutes.” The man took off, leaping from the front porch to summon others as Patrick spun to face his wife. “I have to go, Fee. You know I do.”
“Of course,” she whispered. “I will await word here with Rose.”
He took a step toward her before pausing when she instinctively matched his pace backward. “I must go. If there is any way to save the men, I have to help. No man should die in such an inferno.”
Fiona bit her quivering lip, blocking the hallway. “Remember that, Patrick. No man, including you, should suffer such a fate.” She met his startled gaze before stepping aside and allowing him to rush to his room to find heavy boots.
When he returned to the hallway, she handed him a light jacket and a glass bottle of water. “’Tis foolish as I’m sure they’ll have water for you.” She shook her head, chagrined as he stared between her and the bottle a moment.
“Yes, they will, but it won’t be from you.” His fingers caressed hers a moment as he accepted the bottle before he ran from the house, leaving Fiona on the porch, watching him until he disappeared down the street.
When he arrived at the Granite Mountain Mine yard, smoke billowed from the mouth of the shaft. Flames burst over the collar of the mine, heating the immediate area and singeing anyone who ventured too close to the edge. Patrick nodded to the foreman, who stood to one side of the shaft, his eyes filled with a barely discernible panic. “Why aren’t we dousing the fire?”
The foreman shook Patrick’s hand as Patrick was a low-level mining executive as well as a trained helmet man. “The firemen don’t want to cause a downdraft by pouring water onto the burning cable and timbers. They fear the smoke underground could worsen if we take such action, harming even more men.”
Patrick scratched at his head. “How are you planning to reverse the draft to create an updraft to get as much smoke from the mine as possible?”
“I’ve ordered the reversal of the fan’s flow at the Spec Mine, hoping the downdraft there will cause an updraft at the Granite, expelling the smoke. They’ve done the same at the Rainbow and Gem Mines.”
“You’re doing fine work here, and I hope you’re successful. I need to join the helmet men.” Patrick slapped the foreman on his shoulder and moved past exam areas set up for doctors, then a row of ambulances and finally the undertakers. The hint of pink on the horizon heralded dawn’s impending arrival and the reminder that the men trapped below had been there for over six hours.
Next to one of the mine buildings, the man in charge of Anaconda’s Safety Crew gathered the helmet men around him to organize a rescue of the men trapped below. They were fondly called “helmet men” due to the large helmets they wore that carried the oxygen they needed while searching for survivors.
Although this was a North Butte Mining Company fire, all mining companies would work together to save the men clinging to life in the mine shafts below their feet. Most rescuers were miners, although a few were from the community. Patrick was one of a handful of nonminers and nonfiremen in the group. He had earned his place among the gathered men during a grueling training course the previous summer where just such a scenario had been acted out.
Patrick approached the group and nodded as he listened to the plans for trained helmet men to venture into the shafts. “We will use the shafts of adjacent mines, and we will work methodically in groups. You will always be in at least a pair. No one should work alone.”
The Anaconda man’s voice rose to a bellow. “I want no heroics. We’ve already lost good men tonight in rescue efforts. Men like Con O’Neill.” At the mention of his name, a murmur moved through the crowd as he was the well-respected foreman at the Anaconda-run Bell and Diamond Mines.
The Anaconda man held up the English-made Fluess breathing apparatus with its hoses, helmet and bags. “Remember, these are the best devices we have for now, but they aren’t perfect. They leak, and they are delicate. Don’t carry anyone. Don’t hit your head on the mineshaft. Don’t rub your belly on the ground.” The Anaconda man’s severe gaze pierced them all as he glanced from man to man. “Remember your training and walk slowly. You’ll faint if you go too fast. You’ll be hot and miserable down in the mine, but think of the men struggling to survive without oxygen.” He paused as he looked at the group huddled around him. “If you think your mask is leaking, come up, and we will fix it.”
He broke the men into small groups and finally got to Patrick’s group. “When you get between the 1800 and 2200 levels, you need to find the drifts that will take you toward the Granite. The Granite shaft has been ruined. We can still use the Spec, Rainbow or Gem cages if you get that far. Be methodical and work from the cage where you are let out. Remember, we are looking for survivors. We’ll have the task of recovering the deceased later.”
After a few moments where the men grumbled, he bellowed to gain their attention. “When you get to the different drift levels, you’ll have to go up and down ladders to find the men who were working on drifts where the cage didn’t stop.” He frowned fiercely as he looked at the men. “Keep a mental map in your mind how to get back to the cage. It’s your only way out.” A rough map had been drawn, showing the honeycomb nature of the drifts and mine shafts below them. “Some drifts have been sealed shut, and you’ll have to find your own way. Most of you are miners.” The man’s gaze rested on Patrick and a few others. “For those of you who aren’t but are trained to use the new equipment, your partner needs to be a miner.”
After a pause the gathered men muttered again. The foreman barked out, “Remember, the mine air is poisoned with smoke from the fire. Don’t become another casualty.”
Patrick nodded and was paired up with a stocky man with a faint brogue. “Call me Mac,” the man muttered. “Seems they want us as the second shift.”
He settled the small oxygen tank on his back and pulled the little bag over his front that aided in clearing the carbon dioxide. He carried the forty-pound helmet, waiting until the last moment to put it on. He flicked on and off his Ever Ready flashlight, frowning at the anemic illumination it provided. “How are we supposed to see with this?”
Mac shrugged and made his way to the cage as they were motioned forward. “I’ll lead but don’t lose sight of me.” They pulled on their helmets, adjusting them to ensure they were on tight, ending all conversation.
The cage lurched into motion, and they sped downward into the bowels of the mine. As they were lowered, the temperature changed from cool to warm to hot. One pair of men got off at the 1800 level; another twosome would get off at the 2600 level. Patrick and Mac got off at the 2200 level—2200 feet underground. A thick greenish-yellow cloud filled the air, and Patrick instinctively checked his mask to ensure it was on correctly. He saw Mac do the same before stepping from the cage. A few feet from the cage, they found three men gasping for air but without the strength to reach the cage. Mac and Patrick heaved them up and returned to the cage area, but it was empty, delivering other rescuers to a lower level. Mac ran to the signal booth next to the cage, pushing buttons that acted like a telegram to the surface of the mine as he signaled SOS.
After a moment, the cage returned, and Patrick and Mac loaded the injured men inside. Mac pulled Patrick off the cage, secured the door and signaled again. The cage zoomed upward as Patrick said a silent prayer for the men they had found.
They turned to the right and walked down a drift until they reached a ladder. Mac pointed up or down, and Patrick shook his head. They decided to head up and climbed the ladder. Once on the new level, darkness with an eerie tinge of green enveloped them, and they stumbled as their lights failed to guide them. They turned right as the drift should have had an opening to the Speculator Mine and the cage there. Patrick tripped and nearly fell into a wall. He glanced down, breathing heavily as he fought panic at harming his apparatus.
He slapped Mac on the back, and the
y paused. They combined their two lights, finding the previous opening leading to the Speculator Mine had been closed off by a wall of concrete, and the bodies of four men lay in front of it, dying while clawing at it, their eyes gaped open in a death stare. “Dammit,” Patrick muttered as he bent down to pat the shoulders of a few of the men. He rose, intent on finding survivors.
Mac and Patrick turned the other way, continuing down the drift when the air changed. It was a lighter gray, as though in a misty fog. Patrick saw Mac step to the side, failing to move as quickly as his partner and fell forward over the carcass of a dead mule. He grunted, grabbing at his chest to ensure his front pouch was in place and undamaged. He pulled himself forward, crawling over the mule and accepting Mac’s hand as he rose. They continued down the drift until Patrick walked into Mac, who had paused. After a moment, he turned right into a small alcove and bent forward. Patrick followed, and they discovered a man clinging to life.
They hauled the miner between them, dragging him down the drift, retracing their steps to the ladder. Once there, Patrick slung him onto his back and carried him down the steps. After they reached the 2200 level again, they half-carried, half-dragged the man to the cage.
“I have to go up,” Patrick yelled at Mac, motioning up with his hand. “I think I damaged my apparatus on the ladder.”
Mac nodded, rushing to signal for the cage. When it arrived, they joined the man aboard the cage and sped toward the top.
At their arrival aboveground, they pushed the miner out for immediate care. Hands grabbed them and pulled them free, allowing the cage to whir into motion again. Patrick collapsed on the ground, gasping for air as he ripped off his helmet. Mac shook his head, sending droplets of sweat in every direction, and Patrick did the same.
“Godawful job,” Mac muttered.
“Don’t know why I signed up for it,” Patrick agreed around a cough. “I think my helmet leaked there at the end. It’s like I could taste the gas.” He spat on the ground before his cough deepened.
“Let us know when you boys are ready to go down again,” the man from Anaconda called out. “We’ll get you new equipment first.”
Patrick glanced at Mac and nodded. “Soon. We need to find the men soon.”
They rose to speak with the foreman and the man ensuring the equipment was in working order. Time was running out for the men trapped below.
The following day, Patrick leaned against a wall near the mouth of the Speculator, his gaze distant as he shivered in a gentle breeze. The mine’s large metal headframe heaved and groaned as the cage whirred up and down, although no new survivors had been recovered in the past few hours. Patrick ran a hand over his blackened day-old clothes before pushing back strands of sweat-soaked hair slowly drying after his most recent trip underground. Squinting at the midday sun, he raised a hand to block out the bright light.
“No use hiding from what we’re doing,” Mac said as he plopped down next to Patrick with a sandwich and a bottle of pop. He took a long sip of the drink before gobbling down half the sandwich. “We need strength to help any survivors. A pile of food is over there. I’d get some before we go down again.”
Patrick rubbed at his reddened eyes and sighed. “I can’t imagine we’ll find any more survivors. We haven’t found anyone since yesterday.”
Mac shrugged. “You never know. They might be hiding down there, hoping we find ’em. Either way, our job’s far from over. Soon we’ll switch from survivor recovery to …” He sighed and shrugged again. “The families will want to bury their dead.”
Patrick squinted at him. “How many do they think are still down there?”
“Over one hundred. And I doubt many are alive.” Mac followed Patrick’s gaze to the steam belching from the Granite Mountain Mine shaft as thousands of gallons of water were poured down it. “Seems they decided to put out that fire.”
Patrick tilted his head. “When I spoke with the foreman, they didn’t think they’d get much more smoke out with the fans. I wonder how long this one will take to extinguish.”
Mac shrugged. “Don’t see that that matters. The damage is done. The men are dead.” He flicked a glance at his partner. “You’re lookin’ no better than the men we’ve found.”
“I didn’t make it home last night. I had to go to the office, meet with state inspectors and discuss financial concerns.” His yawn cracked his jaw. “I slept at my desk.”
“Well, I hope you’ll make it home tonight. We need rest if we’re to keep doin’ this job.” He rose. “We’re to go back down in twenty minutes.”
Patrick nodded and stood, heading to the food table. He ignored the nearby storage room—called the dry but which had been set up as an impromptu morgue—and the horde of family members who sought information as they looked there for their loved ones. They could access the storage area through a special entrance guarded by the Montana National Guard but had no means of entrance to the mine shaft or the recovery effort area.
He quickly ate two sandwiches, drank a glass of water and then penned a short note to Fiona before rejoining Mac as they prepared to venture underground again.
The next day Fiona Sullivan rapped on Lucas and Genevieve Russell’s door, Rose wriggling in her arms. The Russells were Patrick’s cousins and her only family in town. She kissed her daughter’s forehead to soothe her. When the door opened, Fiona bit back tears as she forced a smile at Genevieve. “We thought to see how our cousins are.”
Genevieve smiled and motioned for them to enter before calling for her husband, causing the distant piano music to cease. Lucas Russell strode into his front living room in finely tailored clothes with a distracted air as though thinking through a puzzle. His distant gaze cleared as he focused on Fiona and Rose.
“How are you, Fiona? And how is my cousin?” Lucas asked as he tickled Rose and took her from Fiona, setting down the child to roam about the living space. Genevieve pulled out a box of toys, and Lucas smiled as he praised her cleverness. He sat on the floor with Rose, playing with the dolls kept in the small box for her visits.
“Patrick left two nights ago. To help with the Granite Mountain Mine disaster.” Her voice broke on the word disaster.
Lucas watched her a moment. “I see.” He glanced to Genevieve, who nodded before joining him on the floor with Rose, who they considered their niece. “Vivie and Rose will stay here while we journey to determine if we can discover any news.” He kissed Genevieve on the head before rising. He pulled Fiona into a quick hug, ignoring her stiffening. “He’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
He shrugged into a jacket and pulled on a hat. “Vivie, we’ll be home as soon as possible.” When she smiled at him, he winked at her before ushering Fiona outside. They managed to leave before Rose noticed her mother’s absence.
“How did you know I needed to go to the mine?” Fiona asked as she matched his quick strides.
He chuckled, slowing down as he noticed her effort to keep apace. “If I hadn’t seen my Vivie in over two days, I’d be frantic. You’re too controlled, Fee. At some point you’ll have to let out a bit of that emotion.”
She sniffed and blinked away a tear. “I hardly believe a bout of histrionics would benefit anyone at this point.”
Lucas laughed. “You might feel better. And Patrick would know you care more about him than the measly paycheck he brings home each week.” He pinned her with a severe look. “And he would know better than to volunteer for such dangerous work simply for money.”
Fiona clamped her jaw shut, her grip on his arm tightening as she stared straight ahead.
“You can continue to freeze me out when you hear advice you don’t like. But you should consider what you’re doing to your husband. Are you more concerned you’d be left with a child and no support or are you worried about Patrick?” Lucas yowled as her handbag smacked him on his head.
“How dare you imply I only care about Patrick for money.” She vibrated with fury as she now walked beside him but refrained from taking his arm.
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“How would any of us in the family think any differently after two years of marriage where you treat him with such careful indifference?” Lucas handed her into a streetcar and kept silent as she found a seat while he stood. Crowds gathered around a newspaper office to read the latest headlines, while the post office flag flew at half-mast. He shook his head in dismay as he realized many walking on the street seemed to be tiptoeing, as though they feared trodding too heavily could lead to a cave-in on their missing loved ones trapped in the mines below them.
When they disembarked near the mine, they melted into a crowd of people searching for relatives. Lucas grabbed Fiona’s arm and propelled her toward the gate. “This is Fiona Sullivan, and her husband, Patrick Sullivan, works for the North Butte Mining Company. He’s also searching for men. We’ve had no word for days.”
The National Guard’s man pointed to a building in the distance. “Check the dry. He might be there. If not, check the list of men at hospital on the wall posted outside. If not there, I’d check the hospitals and then the funeral homes.”
Lucas nodded, tugging a recalcitrant Fiona beside him. “What’s the matter?”
Her cognac-colored eyes were wide, and her lips trembled. “I … I can’t go to the dry. Not there,” she breathed.
He paused, buffering them from those walking past as he leaned over her, his large hands on her quaking shoulders. “You want news of Patrick. We must seek out what we can.”
“The dry is where they bring the dead.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I … He can’t be dead.”
“Oh, God,” Lucas whispered, tugging her close for a moment as she fought a sob. “I’ll go through the dry while you review the list outside. I refuse to believe my cousin is dead.”
She stuttered out her agreement, her control shattered. “Thank you, Lucas.”
He left her reviewing the list and made his way inside the shedlike room. The building was called “the dry” because the miners kept their day clothes—or dry clothes—here for when they returned after their work in the mines, rather than having to venture forth into inclement weather in clothes soaked from twelve hours of exertion working to extract copper.
Resilient Love: Banished Saga, Book 7 Page 5
