ADVANCE PRAISE FOR THE QUARRY
“Mark Gunnells is ready to thrill fans once again with his tale of ancient evil, The Quarry. Once this beast of a book gets its hooks in you, it won’t let go. Gunnells’ voice is stronger than ever and instantly recognizable as his own—the first sign of a truly great writer. Count me in as a big fan, already looking forward to the next one!” —James Newman, author of Midnight Rain, People are Strange, and Animosity
“Mark Allan Gunnells is one of my favorite new authors, and The Quarry is a terrific first novel. It has a great premise, wonderful characters, and the plot carries you along effortlessly. I highly recommend it.” —John R. Little, author of The Memory Tree and The Gray Zone
Copyright © 2012 by Mark Allan Gunnells
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously.
An Evil Jester Press eBook
www.eviljesterpress.com
All Rights Reserved
No portion of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any electronic system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the authors. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Peter Giglio
Cover Artist: David Naughton-Shires
ISBN-10: 0615598439
ISBN-13: 978-0615598437
THE QUARRY
Mark Allan Gunnells
EVIL JESTER PRESS
New York
To Tom and Billie, who gave me confidence and encouragement at a time when I really needed it. This book wouldn’t exist without you guys.
A special thank you to Pam Wylie for help with this story. Whether I had a question or needed a tidbit of information about Limestone College, she was there with an answer.
Prologue
Crumbling
June 27, 1987
NEWS TRAVELS FAST in a small town. And Gaffney, South Carolina, in the summer of 1987, though hardly as small as Cowpens to the south or Blacksburg to the north, was no exception.
So, when the ground around Lake Limestone crumbled into the waters, the news was not only big; it couldn’t travel fast enough.
The crumbling started just past 8 on Friday night. And by the first light of dawn on Saturday morning a massive crowd had gathered at the end of O’Neal Street by Timken Gymnasium, at the back edge of the Limestone College campus. People from all around town milled about the street, talking amongst themselves, spreading rumors and swapping gossip, just waiting to see what would happen next.
Police were present on the scene, and numerous city officials. Sawhorses were used as barricades to prevent curious observers from getting any closer to the lake, and a reporter from the local paper, The Gaffney Ledger, interviewed neighborhood residents, trying to cut through the speculation and tall-tales to get a clear picture of what had transpired.
It was almost 9 a.m. when Benjamin Childers joined the group. He’d heard about the commotion on the radio that morning and driven over in his old beat-up Ford. Leaving the truck parked in the nearby cemetery, Ben ambled over to the still growing group that clogged the intersection of O’Neal and Griffith. He hung near the back, not speaking to anyone, just listening, trying to glean the latest news. He dismissed much of what he heard. Everything had the taint of exaggeration or ill-informed conjecture. He scanned the crowd for a trustworthy face, hoping someone would have the straight story and be willing to share.
Hearing his name called, Ben turned to see Edgar Masters. Edgar stood several feet away, clearly keeping his distance from the crowd. He looked haggard—dark bags hanging under his eyes like rotten fruit, and his complexion pale—as he leaned against a large oak for support, looking much older than his 57 years.
Ben hoped he looked better but doubted it. Truth was that time had been unkind to both men.
Ben and Edgar met in the late ’40s. A couple of young bucks not long out of high school, they’d worked for the Campbell Limestone Corporation, mining from the Quarry. They were close friends for the better part of a decade. But after the mine closed in ’51, the two men drifted apart, despite still living in the same small town. Within days of the mine’s closure, the Quarry filled with water from an underground spring, and Lake Limestone was born.
“Hey Eddie,” Ben said, shaking the other man’s hand in a stiff, formal way, as if they were strangers meeting for the first time. “How ya been?”
“Arthritis has been flaring up something awful with all the rain we been having lately, but otherwise can’t complain.” Eddie paused, looking down. “Well, guess I could, but wouldn’t do me no good. Was sorry to hear about Myra.”
Ben grunted in response. His wife had passed away over a year ago. Cancer. He couldn’t recall Edgar’s face at the funeral.
After a respectful silence, Edgar glanced over at the sawhorses and yellow police tape and said, “Can you believe this shit?”
“So what’s the skinny? You heard anything from a source you can rely on?”
“Yeah, talked to Felder.”
This got Ben’s attention. Curt Felder had been their foreman at the mine, and he was currently sheriff. “What’d he have to say?”
“Apparently, last night a big chunk of land around this end of the Quarry just caved right into the water, took part of a parking lot back behind one of the dorm buildings with it.”
“You shittin’ me?”
“Just telling ya what Felder told me. Luckily, with it being summer and all, wasn’t no cars in the lot. Felder says it caused some kind of tidal wave or something, crashed up against the side of the dining hall. And that’s what they’re really worried about right now.”
“The dining hall?”
“Yep. Seems like it ain’t over yet, still got ground crumbling and sliding off. The land’s been ate-up right to the edge of the dining hall. If it keeps on, they’re afraid the whole building’s just gonna tumble right into the water. Building inspector done condemned it, turned off the electric and gas just in case.”
“Jesus Christ, what a mess. They shouldn’t have ever built the dining hall so close to the Quarry anyhow.”
Edgar nodded and chewed on a ragged thumbnail. “Well, problem is there’s only a handful of us know what’s really what when it comes to what’s down there, and if we tried to tell anybody else they’d just ship us off to the loony bin.”
Ben sighed heavily and stared down at his shoes. The history that Ben and Edgar shared—the history shared by all who’d worked the mine on Felder’s crew—had driven a wedge between them while, alternately, forging them together forever in a secret fraternity of silence and fear.
Suddenly weary, Ben decided to stop beating around the bush and ask the question he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted answered. “So, what they think caused it?”
“Felder says they ain’t sure yet.” Edgar shrugged and shot Ben a lopsided smile. “Popular theory is that all the recent rain loosened the fill-dirt. Army Corp of Engineers is flying in later today to do some tests. Course, I been standing out here damn near an hour now and seems everybody has an idea or two.”
“Such as?”
“Been a lot of talk about all the tunnels from the mine, some think maybe they started caving in or something.”
“Well, I can think of one tunnel in particular I pray to God caved in.”
“Amen to that. You know, I heard Brenda Jenkins saying she thought the whole campus was gonna go under.”
“The whole campus? Why would she think a crazy thing like that?”
“Said she’d heard that those old m
ine tunnels were up to four or five miles long, running all under the school grounds.”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh at this. “That’s ridiculous. Hell, probably the longest tunnel wasn’t no more than five hundred feet or so.”
“You know how Gaffney is. Truth gets stretched thinner than the hair on my head, and each person that tells a story throws in their own embellishments and such. By the time a story gets done being passed around this town, ain’t got much resemblance to what actually happened.”
Ben’s laughter dried up, his expression souring. “Funny thing, with all the wild tales that go around about the Quarry, ain’t no one would guess that the truth is even wilder.”
Silence settled between the men for a few moments, the air thick with humidity and the buzz of curious onlookers.
Edgar grimaced and said, “So you think it’s because of what happened the day we closed the mine?”
“Well, that’s the first thing popped in my head when I heard about this. Yours too, I’d reckon. That’s why I headed straight over without having my morning coffee.”
Edgar shook his head vigorously, his whole body trembling. “No, just can’t be. It’s been decades. Why ain’t nothing like this happened before now?”
“No way to tell, not for sure. What’s Felder got to say about it?”
“Tried to bring it up to him, but he didn’t want to hear it. You know, I think he may have actually convinced himself that none of that crazy shit even happened at the mine.”
“Well, if he did, more power to him.” Ben looked blankly into the distance and heaved a sigh. “Wish I could do the same.”
“Yeah, me too. So what should we do now?”
“Nothing we can do…except wait and watch.”
Edgar went back to chewing on his nails, a nasty habit he’d given up years ago, until this morning. He started to speak several times but closed his mouth with hardly a grunt. Finally, he squeezed out some words in a thin, whispery voice. “What do we do if…?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, looking rather intently at his old friend.
Edgar cringed away from the naked terror he saw reflected in those eyes.
“But whatever we do, it’ll start with a lot of praying.”
From The Gaffney Ledger, July 22, 1987, article by Gene Phillips
Almost a month after Lake Limestone claimed nearly two acres of the college property as its own, city officials have declared that the crisis is over. This comes as a great relief to the Limestone College administration as well as the entire community of Gaffney. There was a cost to the school, namely the loss of a parking lot, but as Dean Gregory said, “There was no loss of lives or facilities. This could have been so much worse.”
It was feared that the Stephenson Dining Hall was going to be forfeited to the waters of the lake as the land eroded right up to the edge of the building. However, several engineers from a variety of agencies and institutions, including the U.S. Army, have declared the building to be structurally sound, and the grounds around the lake to be stable. Many in town are still worried about the possibility of a repeat incident, but city and school officials are working hard to allay those fears.
President of Limestone College, Bert Sanderson, said, “I want to assure all faculty members, students, and their families that the danger has passed. Limestone is a safe campus, and we would never put anyone at risk.”
However, he did go on to remind people that Lake Limestone, while picturesque, is still a hazard. Because of the depth of the lake, reported to be close to 400 feet deep in places, and the suction created by the underwater tunnels from when the site was a limestone quarry, swimming, fishing, and even boating are prohibited in the lake…
Part One
Down Below
March 2010
Chapter One
I MUST BE out of my fucking mind, Emilio Gambrell thought as he snuck out of his dorm room at just past 1 a.m. He gently eased the door shut, not wanting to wake his roommate. Phil would ask questions, and Emilio didn’t want to explain himself.
And why was he doing this? A very good question.
Sure, Dale had asked him to, but that didn’t obligate him. Not by a long shot. They could get into serious trouble for this, maybe kicked-out-of-school kind of trouble. No friendship was worth that.
But there was never any doubt Emilio would do what his friend asked. He always did.
Dale Sierra possessed powers of persuasion that made people do things they didn’t want to do. Only that wasn’t the worst of it. Dale made people want to do things they shouldn’t. Not that he was a bad guy or anything. He just had that certain something, impossible to define, that made him good at selling mischief.
Thinking about it too much was headache-inducing.
Emilio crept silently past the RA’s room at the end of the hall, feeling a bit like a cartoon character pantomiming on tip-toes; a silly and unnecessary precaution, considering that Wally Pitman was Emilio’s RA.
Wally didn’t take his position as Resident Advisor very seriously. He allowed parties, tended to overlook students with booze in their rooms (despite Limestone being a “dry campus”), and never enforced the “no members of the opposite sex after midnight” rule. And when he was supposed to be on duty patrolling the halls between 11 p.m. and 3 a.m., you could bet he was fast asleep. Not surprisingly, Wally was the most popular RA in the Fort dormitory.
But even if Wally were a stickler for rules, that shouldn’t have posed a problem. There was no curfew to worry about; if Emilio wanted to take a stroll at 1 a.m., he was free to walk to his heart’s fill.
The problem was Emilio. He was a terrible liar, and the most innocuous, innocent questions tended to reveal his pettiest sins. He often worried that eye contact alone was enough to cast his deepest secrets into daylight, but somehow, taking deep breaths and keeping his head down, he managed.
He exited the dorm through a back door and hurried down the hill, across a dimly lit parking lot toward Stephenson Dining Hall. The squat, square building was completely dark; cafeteria staff wouldn’t be arriving to start breakfast for several hours. To his left, the murky waters of Lake Limestone reflected wavering light from a crescent moon.
Everyone in town called Lake Limestone the Quarry.
The Quarry…
A beautiful sight in the moonlight, a postcard snapshot, but something about the still lake, glistening with a frosty glow, made Emilio uneasy.
Emilio shook his head and told himself that he was being childish, but deep down he knew he was right. Dale, though good at making things seem easier than they were, was playing too fast and loose this time, and Emilio was apprehensive for good reason. He’d already tried to talk Dale out of it, but Dale was one of those people who seemed untouched by doubt or fear. He wouldn’t be dissuaded.
As Emilio approached Stephenson, he zipped up his jacket then buried his hands in his pockets. His breath puffed out in the mid-March air, little smoke signals that drifted up around his head before dissipating. The weather had started to warm recently, spring making its presence known, but tonight it seemed that winter was making one last grab. Wind stung Emilio’s face and made his eyes water. Mother Nature was even telling him that he shouldn’t be out on this fool’s errand.
He went around the left side of the building, across the wooden deck that jutted out toward the Quarry. The boards creaked softly, adding to the night’s spooky soundtrack. At the back of the dining hall, the ground sloped steeply toward a grassy clearing. There were no lights here, but Emilio thought he could detect movement on the far end of the incline.
Descending at a jog, Emilio stumbled, fell onto his rump, and slid the rest of the way down the hill.
Dale’s throaty laughter erupted in the distance.
Swallowing his embarrassment, Emilio trotted over to his friend. Only when he was next to Dale could he make him out in any detail, and what he saw made him gasp. Part of Emilio had hoped this was just a prank—that Dale didn’t really i
ntend to go through with his reckless plan. But one look at what Dale was wearing, and all hope was dashed.
Dale’s tall, lanky body was covered in a dark skin-tight wetsuit; a scuba mask rested on top of his head; flippers finned his feet. He wore two air tanks—not on his back like Emilio would have expected—down around his hips, one on each side.
Dale smiled, his teeth shining in the darkness, like the grin of the Cheshire Cat in Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
“What took you so long?” Dale said, not bothering to lower his voice. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”
Emilio cringed at Dale’s volume and instinctively replied in a whisper, as if to compensate. “I wanted to make sure Phil was asleep before I headed out.”
“You think your roommate would give two shits about you going out so late?” Again, Dale was loud, as if putting on a show. If ever injured from Lacrosse, Dale would have a great run in the theater department.
“Maybe not, but better safe than sorry.”
“Not a philosophy I can get behind, buddy. I’ve never been one for playing it safe. You’re probably right, though. Anybody else sneaking out of their room in the wee hours of the morning might not warrant much notice. With you, on the other hand, Mr. By-the-Rules, the move screams ‘suspicious activity.’ ”
“Well, excuse me for not being the reckless daredevil you are.”
“I’m working on it, I’ll get you there.”
“Jackass,” Emilio muttered.
Dale chuckled and turned back to his preparations.
Emilio was silent while he watched his friend adjust the tanks. Finally he said, “At the risk of sounding like Mr. By-the-Rules, are you sure there’s nothing I can say to change your mind about this?”
The Quarry Page 1
