“What did he say?”
“He said they never found the crew and that the other three men from the rescue team all died.”
“Died… how?” Sam asked.
“Mostly accidents. One made a simple mistake. His carabiner wasn’t attached properly to his harness and he slipped, falling to his death. Another one tripped and got his neck caught around his rope, snapping it instantly.”
“And the third one? You said there were four men in the mine rescue team. What happened to him?”
“Apparently, he simply clutched his chest like he was having a heart attack or something, and died.”
“Any chance he was exposed to some type of toxic gas?” Sam suggested.
“Not a chance. They were all wearing protective heat exposure suits and breathing apparatus.”
“All right. I need to talk to this guy… what’s his name?”
“Ilya Yezhov. But I’m afraid you can’t talk to him.”
Sam let the name sink in. “He’s Russian?”
“Yeah. This is a combined Canadian, American, and Russian project. Our mine rescue team were struggling to put a team together within the first twenty-four hours. Apparently one of their crew was recently injured. Yezhov was on his way to Alaska to do some joint training, and so was seconded for this mission.”
“All right.” Sam nodded. Given their location, it made plenty of sense where they’d dragged their resources from. “So why the hell can’t I speak to him?”
“He’s not on the island anymore. He insisted on being airlifted straight away back to Alaska.”
Sam frowned. “Really? Why?”
“Yezhov had a very different theory about what happened to my men in the boring machine and his rescue team.”
“Go on. What was his theory?”
“He says they were all killed by Skinwalkers.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Skinwalkers?” Sam asked, a wry and incredulous curl forming on his lips. “What the hell are they?”
“It’s old Navajo superstitious bullshit. Something about evil witches hiding in tunnels or something.”
“Navajo… as in the Four Corners region of the U.S.?”
“That’s the one.”
“So, what’s an old superstition from the south doing up here?”
“I don’t know. We employ a lot of local people from the Yupik tribe up here. For some reason, they seem to share a lot of similar fears and superstitions as the old Navajo Indians from long ago.” Gallagher gave him an all-knowing and superior grin that suggested it was all madness. “Go figure, hey?”
“Right.” Sam nodded. He wasn’t very superstitious himself, but in his experience, he’d learned that superstitions, like all longstanding myths, were often based on some truth. “All right. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Ignoring the conversation, Tom was harnessing up. Sam soon joined him, after giving the winch operator a crash course on how slowly to lower them, and cautioning him not to retract the line until they contacted him by radio. He reinforced the lesson by saying, “We don’t know if there’s an open vein of magma down there. If you hear us say get us out of here, we mean bring us out fast!”
The winch operator turned pale. “Yes, sir. I’ll be ready.”
Sam clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Now, the rest of the signals will be one word, and we need precision. ‘Stop’ means right now. Just in case we’re coming right down into the hot stuff. Got it?”
He gulped. “Yes, sir. Got it. And I guess ‘slow’ means slow down?”
Sam suppressed a grin. “That would be a good guess. Are you ready?”
The winch operator had caught the grin. He took a deep breath and risked a quip of his own. “The question is, are you ready?”
Sam replied, “I was born ready!”
Sam buckled into his own harness, and then checked Tom’s, while Tom simultaneously checked his. As well as the DARPA-inspired thermal suits, they both wore a fully enclosed face-mask with a built-in radio, and carbon fiber air tanks attached to their backs, capable of providing up to two hours of air. At this stage, they still didn’t have a clue how hot the air was down there, or whether any poisonous gasses had been released.
Sam stepped into the edge of the opening and flicked on his 3000-lumen dive light. The entire sinkhole lit up like an ancient vault being opened to the sun for the first time. He could see that the dark, glassy walls of the cavern suggested it had been formed by some sort of volcanic event a long time ago. He shined his flashlight downward, and discovered that the sinkhole traversed in a steep, but manageable thirty-degree slope. He could see a rough indent gouged into the rocky slope where the Big Bertha boring machine had obviously slid downward. The sinkhole was so deep his flashlight couldn’t reach its bottom. If the slope continued at that angle, there was at least some hope they’d still find survivors.
The air inside was still. No sign of molten lava or superheated gasses appeared to be coming from the suspected fumarole. He glanced at his Parallax MQ-2 monitor. The sensor was used to detect lethal gasses. The unit indicated, at least for the time being, that the air was safe. The sensor was capable of detecting all the gases that would typically be found underground, including LPG, i-butane, propane, alcohol, hydrogen, and smoke. It was a critical piece of equipment that could mean the difference between their life and death.
If this was a fumarole, they could expect all the invisible killers. Gasses such as carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide, hydrogen chloride, and hydrogen sulfide were commonly released in the form of steam.
For all their banter, the situation was deadly serious. If the heat was caused by a fumarole, toxic gases a superheated steam were all a possibility. Whatever caused this, was already deadly and it was only Sam’s confidence and experience that drove him forward.
He checked his KGZ-10 oxygen sensor. While toxic gases were their greatest concern, the monitoring of oxygen was also critical. Low levels of oxygen fail to sustain human breathing, while anything above the standard 21 percent found in the natural atmosphere can be just as dangerous in a highly combustive environment. Right now, the device was reading 19 percent, or just below atmospheric, and well within the ability to sustain adequate oxygenation.
Tom looked at him and then at the safety harness. “We could easily walk down there, you know?”
“Sure. But let’s keep it on. We still don’t know what really happened to the first rescue team. If we get into trouble, I’d much rather have a safety line to pull us back up.”
Veyron checked that the two lines would run smoothly over a makeshift pulley system on the edge of the opening.
Sam said, “Veyron, it looks like we can walk down there. Just make sure you leave enough slack for us to descend, but if you see the cable start moving quickly, stop it. Also, if we get into trouble, you’ll need to pull us out quick.”
“I’ll look after it,” Veyron said.
Despite his bravado, Sam did have a little apprehension. They were being lowered into a hole of unknown depth, and unknown composition at the bottom. It was rather like being lowered down the throat of a volcano, except that he felt relatively certain there wasn’t an active pool of lava at the bottom. If there had been, the temperature wouldn’t have been falling… he hoped.
He and Tom had agreed to keep their chatter to a minimum to avoid confusing the operator. It was one thing to do so with their own crew, who were used to it, but using another auxiliary crew could be more dangerous. They didn’t want this guy to miss an emergency command by getting caught up in their usual banter.
They descended the steep slope slowly, carefully placing each foot so they didn’t slip. The winch operator was releasing the cable at a rate of fifteen feet per minute, and it felt like they were crawling. Sam peered downward, trying to see something through the oncoming dust. The lights were almost worse than useless, reflecting off the suspended dust like headlights in a snowstorm.
After ten minutes, with no bottom in sight, Sam
spoke into his radio. “Increase speed of descent to twenty feet per minute.”
“Copy that,” the winch operator replied.
They continued walking down the steep slope for nearly twenty minutes before reaching the bottom.
Tom’s calm voice sounded in his headset. “Slow.”
Sam felt a slight jerk as the operator immediately dialed back their speed to under four feet per minute, but it was only another five minutes before the ground below leveled out. To his relief, the only lights were those coming from his and Tom’s headlamps. No hot magma right here, anyway. His suit regulated his body temperature at the optimum 98.6 degrees, so he wouldn’t have felt the heat unless the temperature on the bottom was more than the suit could handle, but they would have seen the red glow of fiery molten rock had it been anywhere nearby.
Sam used his more powerful hand held flashlight and swept the room in a slow arc. The boring machine should have been right there, but neither he or Tom could see it.
“Not again,” muttered Tom.
Sam said, “Where did it go?”
Chapter Eighteen
“We’re batting a thousand,” Tom continued.
Sam smiled. “Come again?”
“First, we can’t find a ship right where it went down, and now we can’t find a seven-thousand-ton machine that’s sixty feet in diameter. Don’t you think there’s something wrong with this picture?”
“There’s definitely something wrong with the first piece. As far as the second is concerned, what puzzles me most is why dust, animal bones, and a cowboy hat flew up from here when the machine landed. If the floor were wet, I’d have thought it punched right through into a vein of magma and melted.”
“That would make sense. Except, as you pointed out, the floor in here is dry as some of the bones that came up with that wind.”
Sam’s eyes followed the grooves in the ground where the boring machine had slid down the steep slope. The tracks disappeared into a new tunnel. He took a compass bearing. The tunnel headed due south. To the right, a second tunnel disappeared toward the north.
He shook his head and laughed. “Is it just me, or does it look like the head of the boring machine kept turning after it slid down the slope?”
“You think it’s pulled itself through the tunnel?” Tom asked.
“Must have.”
“I think you’re right. The question is, however, how far could it have gone?” Sam untethered himself from the lines. Speaking to the winch operator, he said, “We’ve reached the bottom. Still haven’t found the boring machine, her crew or the rescue team. We’re going to have a quick look around. We’ll let you know when we’re back on the line.”
Veyron answered. “You didn’t find the boring machine?”
“No.”
“You’re having a rough week, Sam. That’s two for two…”
“Thanks, Veyron. I’m still working on fixing both of those stats. We’ll be back soon.”
Sam checked his Parallax MQ-2 monitor and KGZ-10 oxygen sensor. There were no lethal gasses present, and the oxygen levels were consistent with normal atmospheric levels. Now free from their safety lines, the first order of business was to explore the extent of the chamber. Sam pointed behind him and started to move toward the nearest wall, indicating he’d go clockwise. Tom nodded and walked with him, intending to go counterclockwise when they got to the wall. Sam found the first opening.
He marked the southern tunnel with a fluorescent orange crayon and kept going. Before long, he’d also found an opening that he assumed pointed toward the Seward Peninsula. Again, he marked it with the fluorescent crayon and moved on. Only a few minutes later, he met Tom coming from the opposite direction.
“This isn’t a sinkhole,” Tom announced.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a volcanic dome. They must have bored too close to the ceiling, and the remaining rock wouldn’t hold the weight of the machine. There are lava tubes extending to the north and south back there,” Tom answered, indicating the direction from where he’d come.
Sam shined his flashlight at the main tunnel to the south, where the boring machine had left deep grooves cut into the obsidian floor. “Shall we go check out the fate of the machine operators?”
“All right,” Tom said.
The ground had a shallow layer of loose sand, the top quarter-inch or so was like the sand that had blown out of the sinkhole when it first caved in. Their feet left prints in the fine red sand, and revealed black sand below it.
At first, they chatted as they walked, putting forth theories on how erosion could have occurred in the tubes, when no wind or water was present to cause it. That led to joking speculation that occasional floods occurred from breeches in the roof of the tubes. Neither believed it, though. It stood to reason that if floods occurred, there would be standing water, or the tubes would be filled by the sea. Instead, it was dry.
The tunnel meandered like an ancient river, constantly trying to find an easier path for its desired course. Sometimes it dipped as much as thirty feet downward, while other times turning sharply to the left or right. The tracks were easy to follow, being carved several inches deep into the obsidian tunnel. At times, the markings struck the walls and even the roof, as Big Bertha appeared to ricochet from each wall of the ancient lava tube, while her powerful motors continued to pull her forward.
Sam said, “Have you ever heard of a lava tube that extends miles into the earth?”
“In general, lava tubes are pretty short. A few hundred feet at most. Not many are as long as a mile.”
“So, you think we’re just about at the end?”
“Yeah.” Tom wore a supercilious grin. “Of course, it might be just like the Kazumura Cave.”
“The what?” Sam asked.
“Kazumura Cave, on the Big Island of Hawaii.”
Sam nodded. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was some sort of recollection of hearing about the behemoth lava tube. “Go on. What distance did they survey it at?”
“The cave is located on the eastern slope of Kilauea. Kilauea is the most recently active volcano on the Big Island…”
“How long!”
“It was measured just over forty miles in length and a little over three and a half thousand feet deep.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam stopped. He checked his watch. They’d been walking for nearly thirty minutes. “All right. So, the boring machine… it could be miles farther in, couldn’t it?”
“Yeah. What do you want to do?”
“Let’s turn around. We’ll return this afternoon with more equipment for a prolonged expedition.”
Back at the main volcanic dome where they’d first entered the lava tube, Sam stopped again. His eyes focused on the slope toward the surface, where the boring machine had slid down. The gradient somehow appeared softer from the bottom up. Most things did. It was no more than thirty degrees and the stone was solid. It wasn’t formed from gravel. It was obsidian.
Tom smiled. “What are you thinking?”
“Do you think we could drive one of those military Humvees down this slope?”
Chapter Nineteen
Cloud Ranch, Southwestern Colorado
Brody had pushed his horse as hard as he dared through the afternoon to reach the homestead on Cloud Ranch. After racing to the bunkhouse on his lathered horse, he found the place empty. He ran to the main ranch house, which was similarly deserted. Frustrated, he turned in a circle, wondering where everyone could have gone. A short distance from the house, he spotted someone coming out of the barn, a woman. He sighed in relief. It was his older sister in the complicated relationships of his tribe. Whites would have called her his cousin, the daughter of his mother’s older brother.
“Jenn!” Brody had had a crush on Jenn Williams since he was a toddler and she a pre-teen. Never having found anyone to take her place in his affections, he still dreamed she could be his someday, knowing it was nothing but a dream. She didn’t gi
ve any sign of returning his worship of her, but she still showed her affection for him as a brother.
Since he couldn’t have Jenn, he’d used the few times he’d been in town since going to work on the ranch to find a woman like her. It had proved impossible. Jenn, in addition to being beautiful, was smart and tough. He’d have settled for anyone as beautiful as her, and maybe a little less sassy.
Jenn’s lustrous black hair usually hung down her back in a thick braid. Dark brown eyes set wide, a straight nose with just the slightest upturn at the tip, and the high cheekbones representative of their people formed a pleasing face, culminating in an unusual pointed chin. She wore no makeup on the ranch, but her smooth brown skin needed none. Unlike many tribal women her age, she hadn’t begun to thicken through the body from consuming too much of the food introduced by the white man or from having children. Brody didn’t know why she was single.
Jenn had used her influence with her boss when Brody had applied for the cowhand position. He had no experience around cattle, but he knew his way around horses. He credited her with his getting the job after his buddy Kevin told him about it many years ago. Since then, he and Kevin had corresponded a few times and they got together when Kevin visited his mother’s family on the reservation. Neither had ever married.
“Brody, what’s wrong?” Jenn asked, looking at his disheveled appearance. Her brown eyes held an expression of concern.
“It’s Malcom! We have to rescue him.” He grabbed her hand and started to pull her back toward where his horse was tethered.
She took one look at the horse and stopped, digging in her heels and forcing Brody to stop as well. “Brody Frost! What have you done to this horse? He’s not going anywhere, and we’re not going anywhere until you’ve taken care of him.”
“Jenn, I think Skinwalkers have Malcom. Where is everyone, anyway?”
“Skinwalkers! Brody have you been drinking?” She leaned forward and sniffed his breath, hastily retreating from the stale stench of fear. “Let’s sit down. Tell me the whole story.”
The Sam Reilly Collection Volume 3 Page 34
