by Penny Lam
The heat of our bodies feels real. Vickie sobs into my shoulder. “Do you know anything?” she sputters out.
“Nope. Let’s go over and see what’s going on, okay?”
Her hands cup my face, clawing at me, pulling my mouth to hers for a desperate, hungry kiss. I get it. I need it, too. The comfort found in gnashing teeth and twisting tongues. Breathless, I push her away after a minute. “Keep it together, baby girl.”
Vickie tries to crawl across the cab, though. Shaking her a little, I reach down and pinch her nipple, hard. Her gasp and shriek reassure me. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m giving you an order. Sit your pretty ass down and buckle up, Vickie. We’re going to make sure Shep is okay. We’re going together, and we’re going now, so you are going to keep it together. Got me?”
Her brown eyes glaze over a bit, but she responds perfectly. As soon as her seatbelt clicks in, I’m off. Jim’s waving in the rearview.
You better be okay, Shep.
Shep
“We can’t move the boulder.” A headlamp shines through the tiny four inch hole. It’s Rick and some other guys. “It’s supporting the ceiling now. If we try to move it or drill into it, there’s going to be another collapse.”
Shit. “Bill’s not looking good. We need to get him out of here.”
“If we have to re-bolt the ceiling, it’s going to be at least two days before we can get this moved.”
I sit back on my heels. Rick brought some water, and John was trying to get a little of it into Bill. I was worried about his heart. When I’d checked his pulse a half hour before, it had felt weak and sporadic.
Based on the distance of the beam of light from Rick’s head, the four inch hole was about a foot and a half wide. A sheet of rock was propped, and above it were rocks ranging from pebble sized to basketball. My worry was the rocks at the base were supporting the boulder. If we moved them, we may move the boulder, and I believe Rick when he says it’ll cause another collapse.
A moan echoes behind me. Bill is coming to. John whispers as loud as he can. “Shep, he’s dying. We have to get him to a hospital.”
The pressure of the situation is worse than the pressure of tons of earth pressing in all around us. It seems like everyone is looking to me, the guy they think is a murderer, the guy they don’t trust, to get them out.
How do you like them apples?
“Rick,” I call, decided. “We’re going to have to try and create a hole big enough to pass Bill through.” John was smaller than Bill and I, so a hole large enough for Bill would mean getting John out, too. Me? I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.
“I’m not sure, Shep. Looks delicate.”
“It is. But Bill needs aid. Now. So we’re going to have to risk it. Let’s just go real slow. Do you remember Jenga?”
“Is that the wooden stick game?”
“You got it. We’re gonna go like that. Move the rocks that come out easy first. Then we’ll work on the ones supporting weight. Got it?”
With care, we began to tap and play with the rocks. I started small. Ones that rolled and pulled free without any effort. They were just extras, not supporting any of the rock that was currently protecting us from being crushed. Once we got them cleared, the hole had expanded to about a foot. Still not quite big enough.
Okay, now the tricky part. “Rick. I’m going to pull one, then you. Got it?”
“Yeah.” Rick didn’t sound like he got it at all. He sounded like he was going to be sick.
I picked a rock the size of an onion. It moved a little in my fingers but caught on some debris. Slowly, I twist it back and forth, feeling the shift and give of the rocks around it. It rolls free.
Exhaling, I wipe the sweat from my eye. “Okay, Rick. Find one that moves a little and wiggle it free.”
He does. Watching him shift it back and forth is more riveting, more stressful, than any Super Bowl. It pulls free and damn, it’s hard not to cheer. Rick’s smile is enough.
“Think Bill can fit through?”
I look hard, but no. Not without catching and pulling hard. “Nope. Pulling another.”
We work back and forth. It’s slow. The chatter of the miners behind Rick sort of wades into my brain, but I am too focused for it to make sense. I gather enough to know news crews are at ground level, and an ambulance, and…
Loved ones.
A tug in my chest makes me wince. I hope to hell that Buck and Vickie haven’t come. If I die inside here, I don’t want them to see my mangled, coal-blackened body. Yet I hope harder they’re there, waiting for me.
The hole is finally large enough for Bill. Rick dares a little holler and the boys gather round. All their beams are flashing through the hole, and it makes me ecstatic.
John comes behind me. “I’m gonna need a knife.”
The joy drops from everyone’s faces. Someone pulls a decent-sized pocket knife out and passes it through. “Okay, be ready,” he warns everyone. “Start the shuttle. You’ll need to hurry his ass up. Don’t worry about waiting for us.”
“Shit,” Rick cusses. “What’re you going to do?”
John frowns. “I’m going to cut his leg off.”
I follow John to Bill, who’s conscious again. His eyes dart in fear to me. I squat at his shoulders, my big, dirty hands gripping him and pinning him to the ground. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Shep?” Bill’s tone is weak but he sits forcefully and I have to pin him harder.
“Got a belt?” I ask John, ignoring Bill’s cries and pleas.
He does, pulling his jacket off and grabbing the belt at his safety pants. The reflective striping along his legs moves as he bends beside Bill and makes a tourniquet on the upper thigh. His hands are shaking.
“Are you up to this, John?”
It’s a dumb question and his look lets me know he knows it. “Nope. Are you?”
Was I prepared to cut a man’s leg off to save him? Not really, but I’ve done worse. “I can handle it. Let me know what you want me to do.”
Relief etches fine lines into John’s features. “I’ll hold him down and tell you where to cut. You’ll have to go fast, Shep. The longer it takes, the more he’ll suffer.” There’s a not-so-hidden message there. Don’t let him suffer because of the bullshit between the two of you.
Nodding, we switch places. He hands me the knife. First, I cut off Bill’s pants, just below the tourniquet. Then I hand the ruined fabric to John. “Make him bite down in it. His screams could bring the whole place down.”
Bill starts protesting, but John just shoves the cloth in his mouth, muffling Bill’s litany of curses for us.
“Okay, shine your light here.” John moves his head until I stop him, his beam illuminating the pale, exposed leg.
Bill’s bone is a compound fracture. I can see it poking, just under the skin. “Lucky me, I don’t have to break it,” I muse, but the urge to vomit comes right after. It takes a moment before I have it together.
The last time I cut into a body, it was dead.
Taking the knife in hand, I grip it hard. Then I cut. I cut fast. It’s like trying to cut a steak with a butter knife. John’s doing his part, holding a thrashing Bill down. We catch a bit of luck in the worst way. Bill tries to jerk his leg away and ends up tearing the last little bit of flesh. The stump breaks free and he passes out as I turn and throw up, heaving onto the coal-dusted floor.
“Shep,” John snaps. “We gotta move him now.”
I grab Bill’s bloody stump of a thigh and his other leg while John holds him by the armpits. We scuttle to the hole where Rick is ready. Laying Bill down, John passes Bill’s limp arms through to Rick. The guys on the other side pull Bill through.
I hear their dismay as the free him from the hole. But I also hear their shuttle going, and rapid-fire voices speaking into walkies, letting the surface know they’re on the way up. John pulls me into an unexpected hug.
“Thank you, Shep.”
Then he’s down on his
knees, scrambling through. The cheers that welcome him warm me.
“Your turn, Shep,” Rick calls through. His excitement is palpable. Cave ins don’t statistically go in our favor. This is feeling like a surprise success.
The rubble bites into my hands and knees as I get down to begin my own crawl through. But when Rick grabs my wrists and starts pulling, a pain tears into my shoulder. “Stop!” I hiss.
Rick says it before I realize it. “You won’t fit, Shep.” All those hours in our trailer, working out and pumping iron, have suddenly come back to bite me on the ass.
It’s hard to breathe. I can feel the press on my chest. “Give me some water, I order. Any food if you have it.”
Rick finds a bag and puts some protein bars and the water in it, then puts the bag securely into my hand. “Okay. We… we can try to pull you harder.”
The way the rocks are cutting into my back and chest let me know that only ends with my soft organs getting crushed. “Nah, it’s okay. Sit in front of me. Yep, just like that. Now put your feet on my shoulders. You’re gonna have to push me back through. Kick real firm, got it?”
Rick nods. I take a deep breath, then exhale hard, trying to empty my lungs and make my chest smaller. Rick kicks in, pushing hard. My flesh is scratched and it hurts like fuck, but I’m able to wrangle myself free.
Unfortunately, I got caught on the support shard on the way out. My escape is met with a low rumble and the hole disappears, kicking up dust again.
“Shit,” I swear, and sit back on my heels. Just my fucking luck.
Vickie
There are camera crews everywhere. Men in dark, heavy suits that look sort of like a fireman’s, but with reflective strips down the side and the name of the mine, Cedar Hill, embroidered on the back.
Men from the mine. Their faces are streaked with black, their eyes have the same resigned look Shep’s do when he comes home. Someone recognizes Buck and comes hurrying over to us.
Buck rolls his window down. I grab his hand, squeezing it so tight my knuckles hurt. “Where’s Shep?”
Just then a shuttle comes flying out of the mine. I can’t see anything specific because the ambulance is there, the paramedics grabbing a body from the shuttle and rushing it into the back. My mouth tastes like bile, but an ambulance is good, right? They don’t put dead bodies into ambulances?
“There’s been a second cave in. He’s the last one stuck.”
Buck doesn’t say anything, but he pulls his hand from mine and punches the dashboard hard and fast. The messenger and I both jump and stiffen, too afraid to say anything. “Sorry,” Buck mutters, wringing his hand. He gives it back to me and I take it again. I don’t squeeze so hard this time.
“He was still alive the last I heard, and he’s got supplies now. They’ve just gotta figure out how to unbury him.” The miner pats the truck and points to where we can park.
I wait for Buck to say something. To comfort me. To tell me everything is going to be okay.
“We never wanted him to go to the damned mines in the first place,” Buck mumbles. His head leans back against the seat, his eyes gently closed. Like he’s dreaming. “Shep was gonna work on cars with me. He bought the Yenko when he was fifteen and planned on fixing it up himself. But then his grandma got sick. Both of us working on cars wasn’t enough to keep up with her bills.” The story spills from him, a release.
“So when the bank threatened to take the trailer away, Shep went underground. It didn’t matter how much it scared us--me and his grandma-- he just did what he thought he had to. It kept the trailer, but barely. When she died, we were in the hole big time. I mean, how does that work? How do hospitals and banks expect people living in a goddamn trailer to pay back so many zeros?”
His eyes open and his magnetic gaze meets mine. I’m drawn into him, a moth to flame. “You ever wonder why we work so hard and stick around that cursed place?”
Yes, I’d wondered. “Just assumed you didn’t want to leave it. Sentimental value?”
Buck’s lip curls up and he goes back to leaning and dreaming. “Yeah, sentimental. We aren’t really that type, Vickie.” He says it soft, though, not angry. “We got a couple more bills to pay. It just feels like every time we get a little ahead, get something good, life comes around to kick us in the balls.”
“Shep’s gonna be okay.” It’s me saying it this time, and I mean it. “We can get out of the park together.”
“Yeah, baby girl. Together.”
We get out of the truck and go find the place with the other miners’ families. It seemed like everyone was called. Piece by piece we get that Shep was down with his boss, Bill, and another miner. I know from many swear-word filled dinners that Bill isn’t Shep’s biggest fan. When we heard that Bill was the one in the ambulance, I didn’t voice my worry that Shep was the one who put him there.
Night is falling and the temperature is dropping. Buck finds the emergency crew and snags a blanket from them. Draping it around my shoulders, he pulls me in tight to his bear-sized chest. My cheek presses against his warmth, the thump of his heart lulling me into relaxation.
People are giving us the side eye, and it’s no surprise. I’ve been living with them for long enough that rumors are bound to fly. But my chest is tight as I worry over Shep, buried underneath us, alone and in the dark. Frankly, I can’t give a shit what others are thinking about Buck and me.
There are huge emergency lamps set up. All around us is the low chatter of hushed whispers. No one needs to be here anymore, family and friend wise, beyond Buck and me. We’re the ones who have a loved one still trapped. But I know this is huge. Beyond gossip, beyond a fallout at the local bar. A cave in may even become national news, so practically the whole town is still here, waiting with us.
I feel Buck stiffen. When I glance up, his eyes are darting at the faces around us, challenging them. When I try to listen to the whispers, I realize why. They’re talking about our age differences. About how I live with two men and I’m not married. They’re talking about Shep, about how his parents disappeared.
People love a good story. I want to scream. A good story is Shep walking out from the mines alive. A good story is people minding their own damn business.
“Buck,” I sigh, squeezing him tighter. “Don’t pay them any mind. They just don’t know any better.” They don’t know what we have, how special it is.
“I know, baby girl,” he breathes into my hair.
All we can do is wait and worry and cling to each other.
Shep
It’s been fifteen hours. Despite the dark, sleep is impossible. I’ve rationed my food and water, pissed in a corner, and waited. The lamp on my helmet is flickering and it doesn’t have much power left, so I start rationing it, too.
Goddamn, it’s hard to be alone. All around me I can hear the crumble and shift of the shaft. It makes time fickle, because waiting for your death that could come at any second makes minutes feel like hours. My nerves are jangled, and I could really use a beer and a fuck and a reminder that maybe my life was pretty good in the trailer park.
Fuck. It hits me that the trailer is just in my name. Buck and I don’t share accounts, and I hold most of the money. He’s never been as good at saving, preferring to blow his paychecks as he earns them on beer and cigarettes. If I die in here, the bank will waste no time in kicking Buck and Vickie out and selling it off. Fuck if I know what they’d do with my accounts.
I’m not too far from thirty. Making a will never crossed my damned mind, and it should have. Risking the last of my lamp’s juice, I flick it on and find the pad and pencil John had down here. The pencil’s broke.
Finding the pocketknife Rick gave us, I clean Bill’s blood off and use it to whittle down the tip until a solid point of graphite shows. John’s papers are covered in mine jargon, so I flip it to the back and start writing.
I don’t know much about writing wills, but these are the final wishes of me, Gil Shepherd, in case I die in this damned mine.
/> My trailer goes to Buck Jackson, my friend and roommate. He can do whatever the hell he wants with it and all my stuff in it.
My money goes to Vickie Sampson. Vickie, use it to get out of the park and start making your dreams come true, whatever those dreams are.
And if someone would remember to put flowers on my grandma’s grave every now and then, in Cedar Hills cemetery, well that would be nice.
It doesn’t feel like enough, and I don’t know if it'll make a lick of difference if I die, but I feel better for having wrote it out. The good thing is, if I plant myself near the cave in, even if I get crushed they’ll probably try and dig out my body. I can hope, at least, although there isn’t much love lost amongst the miners if I die.
Shoving my stupid attempt at a will in my pocket, I head back to the cave in. There’s been non-stop rustling on the other side, and I’m guessing that’s them trying to dig me out. Whenever there’s a loud clatter, my eyes involuntarily glance up, expecting the worst.
My stomach’s growling. It’s the kind of hunger that hurts and leaves my mouth tasting like acid. It’s not even been that long, but I guess keeping so fit has its pitfalls.
And then… a beam of light pokes through. Higher than the last place. I see a support beam run through it. Rick’s voice pipes through. “You still doin’ okay in there, Shep?”
“Yeah. How’s Bill?”
A pause. “Alive.” Well, there’s that, I guess. “We’re gonna try to brace the roof and boulder a bit, then dig you out. It won’t hold long, but I think you can pop through, okay?”
“I’ll do whatever, Rick, if it gets me out of this hole.”
I stand, even though it’ll take a while. I’m too fidgety to sit still and wait. Pacing back and forth, I listen hard as the men work. There’s drills, and I catch the echoes of some support bolts being placed in the rock. But once those noises stop, all I hear is the grunt of men and crumble of dust as they move the rocks blocking the way out.
