by David Haynes
“It’s comin’!” Puckett shouted and then fell back in a heap.
“Why don’t we just chain it to the excavator? Before any of you fools hurt yourselves?” Meg’s suggestion was the most logical, but male ego was at work and logic had gone out of the window.
Draper stepped up and forced the jemmy in the small opening. It was too tight, too narrow to let the slim end of the bar in but he tried anyway. He used everything he had to force it open, feeling muscles bunching and threatening to cramp up. It wasn’t worth getting injured over. He pulled away and let the crowbar drop to the ground.
“Seems like somebody had some fun.” Flynn picked up a shell casing and threw it at Puckett’s head.
Over by the vehicles, the sound of Vinson revving the rock truck made them all turn in that direction.
“Told you he was good.” Mercer threw his shirt at Draper and picked up the crowbar.
“Step aside and open your wallets.”
Draper heard Meg tut behind him but she stayed where she was.
Mercer heaved and forced the jemmy between the two doors. A terrible whine accompanied his grunts and slowly the door started to open. Just a crack at first as the build up of dirt slid away from the opening.
“Come on!” Mercer snarled as the door lurched wider.
Draper stepped away as a faint but unpleasant smell drifted out of the container.
“Smells like shit in there,” Mercer agreed. He dropped the crowbar and grabbed the edge of the door with his hands. Flynn stepped forward to help but Mercer waved him back. “Don’t count if you help.”
He gave a bestial roar and threw his whole body into the effort. The door opened fully but inside there was only darkness.
Mercer stepped back. “I didn’t say anything about going inside first.”
“I bet you feel like a real man after that, Ray,” Meg said but there was no malice in her tone. At least nothing like the previous night.
Flynn was closest to the front and he stepped across the threshold first. “Anyone got a flashlight?”
His voice echoed off the steel interior.
Vinson came down the slope toward them. “Did someone ask for a flashlight?” He walked over to the container and handed it to Flynn who hadn’t yet gone any deeper inside. Vinson had a small gas can in his other hand.
“Smells bad in here.” Flynn stepped forward and shone the beam around the container. “Generator’s over in the back there.”
For some reason, nobody else walked inside to join Flynn. The smell wasn’t strong, it wasn’t stomach-churning, but it left a sour taste in their mouths.
There was some banging around inside then silence. The flashlight’s beam was stationary and Flynn was just a shadow in the gloom. The light was pointing toward the floor but what it was illuminating was hidden from the others.
“Alright in there, Flynn?” Draper shouted.
“Boss.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Boss, you need to come back here.” He’d never heard Flynn’s voice like that. When he rarely spoke, his voice was loud and strong, as if it was straining to come out.
“What is it?” Draper took one step inside but no more.
Flynn whirled around and shone the flashlight in his face. “Just come back here.”
9
Flynn moved the beam again and Draper followed it toward the back of the container. It was full of tools and equipment, all of it neatly stacked on shelves. Once they got the power supply sorted, someone would need to do an inventory and see what they had.
“What is it?” He could hear the others stepping inside now but the deeper into the gloom he walked, the stronger became the sense that something was wrong.
Flynn pointed the flashlight at something on the floor. It took a moment for Draper’s eyes to adjust.
“A boot,” Flynn said. “A boot with a leg attached to it.” He traced the leg with the beam until it disappeared beneath a rack of shelves.
Draper felt his heart rate rocket in an instant. The leg was clad in faded jeans and apart from a couple of holes in the fabric, it was intact. He looked at Flynn and then back at the leg.
“Are you going back there?” Flynn asked.
The shelves, running parallel with the wall of the container, had been pulled out by a couple of feet but they were stacked with timber so he couldn’t see what was behind. He thought he might know though and it made him feel sick.
Flynn was already holding the flashlight out to him. Draper took it and stepped over the leg. If anyone was going back there, it was going to be him. The boss.
“What is...?” Mercer asked Flynn. “Jeez.” He answered his own partially formed question.
Draper sidled around the bottom of the rack. Pressing tight to the rear wall, he could feel the cold metal prodding into his back. He had never suffered with claustrophobia before but with the smell and the feeling of dread building in his guts, he wished he were somewhere else.
He held onto the shelving and peered around the edge. The flashlight was jammed against his body and it lit up only a small section of the space.
He wriggled and felt the shelving move. “You might want to move back,” he said to the others. If it toppled over with all that timber on it, someone would get hurt.
It was enough for him to bring the flashlight around fully and he immediately wished he had left it where it was.
A figure was slumped against the wall, pressed into a small space they had made for themselves. A shotgun lay against their chest. The barrel pointing upward at what was left of their head. The steel behind the body was two shades darker than everywhere else. He turned the light away and closed his eyes.
By the time he scrambled back out from behind the shelving, the others were filing out into the sunlight. He stepped out and took a deep breath. “Suicide,” he said and spat into the dirt. His mouth was tinged with the clammy, musky smell of the container.
“What do we do?” Puckett asked. For once he didn’t sound like an excited child.
Draper handed the flashlight back to Vinson. “Reckon you can get the generator running?”
Vinson looked at him like he was a lunatic. “In there? With...”
Draper nodded. “Once the fresh air gets in it won’t smell so bad. Can you do it?”
Vinson shuffled his feet. Here’s a test, thought Draper. I know what the others are made of, what about you?
Flynn chipped in. “I’ll go. It looked in good order, at least what I could see of it.” He took the flashlight and gas can out of Vinson’s hands and stepped inside.
Draper patted him on the back as he passed him. He turned to the others. “I’ll drive into town and make a phone call.”
He started walking toward his truck. “Want me to go?” Mercer shouted from behind.
He turned. “No, see if you can get the plant running. You might want to have a look at where they got their water from, I didn’t get down that far.”
He could see Meg standing beside Mercer. For all the world she looked like a little girl again. He wanted to put his arms around her but he knew he couldn’t. She wouldn’t allow it. Vinson was standing on his own, staring at his feet. He looked lost too.
He continued toward his truck and listened to Mercer passing out instructions to the others. It was a bad start.
*
By the time he returned to camp, it was after noon. The signal on his cell had been absent until he was a good way down the track. Down there, the sun had been warm on his skin, almost enough to make him perspire. On the drive back up to the creek, little by little the sun was vanquished. The track became a dark tunnel again, enclosed by the black pines growing tall on either side. It suited his mood better than the sun.
The operator said they would send the state troopers. He wasn’t to move or otherwise interfere with the body. Whatever interfere meant. Whoever the dead guy was, he’d tried to hide himself away to do the deed… to put the cold barrel of the shotgun under his chin and pull the trigger. Th
inking about his motives, his reasons for doing it, were things Draper pushed aside. He’d been down a similar road himself and reliving it wouldn’t do anyone any good.
He pulled up in front of his detached camper and got out. The troopers would be out as soon as they could but in the meantime he had to try and keep things moving along. He needed to take the crew’s minds off the corpse and onto mining. Dead man or not, the mine had to run.
Flynn had got the generator working and the saloon was now powered. Draper opened the refrigerator, smiling when he saw the amount of beer stacked inside. Priorities were important at a time like this and the cold beer indicated them perfectly. He walked out of the back door, glancing briefly at the container. A low hum came from inside.
He found Mercer down by the plant. “How’d it go?” the big man asked.
Draper shrugged. “Troopers are coming out.” He looked at the excavator’s arm rising and falling down in the cut. They were loading dirt onto the waiting truck.
“I’ve got them scooping up the dirt the last crew left behind. Reckon we’ve got a day’s worth.”
Draper nodded. “Then we’ll have a clean out and see what’s what.” He looked at the plant. Flynn was standing on the gantry spraying lubricant all over the place. “Is it working?”
“Seems to be but the water pump’s all clogged up. Vinson’s down there trying to fix it.”
Draper nodded again.
“You okay, man?”
He could feel Mercer’s eyes on him. He looked back at him and smiled. “Sure. Not the sort of start I was hoping for though. I didn’t expect to find that on our first morning.”
“Poor bastard,” said Mercer and then paused. He scratched his cheek and swatted a bug away. “Wonder who he was.” There was no question in the comment.
“One of the guys Burgess said ran off. I’ll give the troopers Dave’s details and they can check with him.”
“Poor bastard,” Mercer repeated and then slapped Draper on the back. “Doesn’t mean anything though, Scotty, we’re still gonna get some gold out of this ground.”
Vinson appeared from the thick bank of black pine beyond the wash-plant. “Pump’s running, try her now,” he shouted up at Flynn.
Flynn nodded and started the plant by pressing a series of buttons. Each one started another process running. Within seconds the machine was vibrating and rattling. Water sprayed from the high-pressure jets, sending a cloud of watery mist down on them.
“I reckon you ought to load the first scoop,” Mercer said. “Seems fitting for the boss to do that.”
Draper stood for a moment, watching a few rocks run up the tailings conveyor and spill out as waste. These rocks had been in the plant since it had last run two years ago, washed clean and now spat out. Once they got running properly, someone would have to keep their eye on the tailings pile to make sure it didn’t back up.
“I reckon you’re right,” he replied, walking back toward the camp to get the spare bulldozer.
“Here, take this,” Mercer shouted after him.
He turned to see a walkie-talkie spinning through the air toward him. He caught it.
“Found them in the container.”
Draper gave him the thumbs-up. Had the dead man been holding one? He didn’t remember seeing one in his brown and withered hand.
Within half an hour he had forgotten about the dead man in the container. He had sent the first load into the wash-plant and taken the bulldozer to the far end of the existing cut to test the ground. The creek ran from the mountains, down the side of the camp and then swung around to the west in a wide arc. He hoped that by staying as close as possible to the creek, the ground would be less likely to have a layer of permafrost. Even at this time of year, permafrost was still a problem and could stop a cut in its tracks. He lowered the ripper-claw on the back of the bulldozer and started dragging it through the dirt. It moved through easily, indicating his selection was correct.
He smiled, lowered the bulldozer’s blade and pressed the call button on the walkie-talkie. No time like the present to start stripping the next cut.
“Ray?”
“Yep.” Ray’s voice came back loud and clear.
“Why don’t you get the other dozer and bring it up here. I could use some help.”
“Copy.”
Draper had always found this part of the job meditative. It was laborious and boring but also strangely satisfying. He just drove backward and forward pushing the overburden away, gradually sinking lower and lower, removing layer upon layer of the earth until the bedrock was exposed and with it, hopefully, a layer of gold.
He watched Mercer driving up and down some twenty yards from him but in perfect synchronicity, working together as they had done for so many years. He’d taken it for granted, they probably both had, but it felt glorious to be back doing what he loved best again.
They worked together for the next three hours, pausing only briefly to discuss how wet the ground was getting. The thaw was making the top part of their cut almost unworkable. The ground was becoming a mud-bath and the bulldozers were sliding. They decided to adjust the cut to avoid that parcel of land. It was blissfully distracting from everything but it couldn’t continue.
Flynn’s voice came over the radio. “Boss, you better come back, the cops are here.”
Draper cringed, brought back to reality with a bump. A vision of the dead man’s shattered skull exploded in his mind.
“On my way.”
“Want me to come?” Mercer asked.
Draper looked over at him and spoke into the walkie-talkie. “Thanks but I’d rather you just keep going on this.” He lifted the blade and drove back to the camp. When they were cleaning out the wash-plant tomorrow, he’d have one of them construct an access road to the new cut out of overburden so the trucks could get up and down easier.
He passed the existing ground where Meg and Puckett were working to finish it up. Meg looked so small in the cab of the rock truck, so fragile. She looked at him as he passed but just as he started to raise his hand she turned away. He realized for that split-second his heart had been booming in his chest like some love-struck teenager.
He found Flynn in an excavator by the plant. He was loading material into it.
“Going well?” he asked.
“She’s hungry alright,” Flynn replied.
Draper smiled. “Where are they?”
Flynn hooked his thumb toward the plant. “Up there. I told ’em where he is.”
“Vinson with you?”
“Down with the pump, checking on it.”
“When he gets back, tell him to go give Mercer a hand clearing the ground.” Draper climbed out of the bulldozer and walked across the creek to the camp.
Two state troopers were standing outside the container, talking and laughing with each other. The last time he’d had the company of two men in that uniform, things had been a little more frantic.
“Mr Draper?” The taller of the two stepped forward. His smile was warm and relaxed despite what he knew was waiting for him inside the container.
“That’s me.”
“Okay sir, so if you want to show me where the deceased is, we’ll take it from there.”
Draper stepped inside the dark container and looked around the side of the door for a light switch. The steady hum of the generator was reassuring and a row of strip-lights hanging precariously from the ceiling pinked into life. The glow they threw down was eerie. Although the odor he had detected earlier had all but gone, it still felt off in there. Unwelcoming.
“He’s in the back, over there.” Draper pointed but the troopers didn’t move. Maybe they could sense it, maybe they just wanted Draper to show them exactly where the corpse was, but they didn’t move. They waited for him to go first.
“I don’t know if there’s enough room for all of us back there,” Draper said but moved anyway.
“Have you been here long, Mr Draper?” one of the troopers asked.
“Got h
ere this morning,” he replied without turning.
“Bad start, huh? You own it?”
“No, a man called Dave Burgess owns the land. He’s down in Haines but I’ve got his number in my truck.”
He reached the generator and stopped. It was a chaotic scene. The shelves were leaning against each other as if they were dominoes ready to topple and the timber was on the floor in a cross-hatch tangle. Other items had been thrown across the floor. It was like a hurricane had blown through the container.
“Something wrong?” The tall trooper was next to him.
“It was down here, his leg was on the floor there. And the rest of him was trapped behind the shelving.”
The trooper took his flashlight and shone it at the floor.
“I don’t get it,” Draper said. “It wasn’t like this before, none of this was here.” Had Flynn moved the body? It was unlikely but what other explanation could there be. The only thing on the floor now was a boot – a dirt-covered boot.
“Maybe it was disturbed,” the trooper offered. “Can we get behind there?”
Draper nodded. “It’s pretty tight but I managed earlier.”
He handed his hat to Draper and stepped toward the gap.
The other trooper was walking around the container shining his flashlight at the laden shelves.
After a few seconds of grunting, the tall trooper squeezed himself through the gap.
“Sure it was here?” he shouted.
“Sure,” Draper replied.
“Nothing here now, although this wall’s had a good coat of something.”
Draper shook his head. “I don’t get it. There wasn’t just me who saw it. One of the other guys...” He bent down and picked up the boot.
“Wolves,” the other trooper came toward them. “It’ll be wolves that took it. Made all this mess.”
