The Thing In The Mine

by J. R. Ayers

  “Alive, but barely. He’s in a coma. Looks like he’s suffering from hypoxia. We need to get him out of here, like now.”

  George helped the other men load Kevin on the stretcher they found in the Kennedy Chamber and the medic affixed an oxygen mask to Kevin’s mouth and gave him a shot of epinephrine to facilitate breathing. “Get him top side as quickly as you can,” the medic said. “I’ll radio dispatch to send a Medi-Vac helicopter to transport him as soon as you get him up there.”

  The rescue team members carried Kevin through the opening in the rock pile and moved on to the elevator while George checked for methane gas with a RKI Eagle 2 meter.

  Satisfied that the levels were tolerable, he ventured further into the mine looking for Ed Mackay. He found him a hundred yards inside tunnel number two hunkered down behind a dust curtain sucking on the last remaining psi of a self rescuer unit. He was incoherent and so weak from blood loss, shock and oxygen deprivation that George had to carry him on his shoulder to the elevator. He kept repeating one phrase: “Buddy, Buddy’s gonna get me, Buddy’s gonna get me.”

  Two of the rescue team members and the medic helped George get Ed loaded on the elevator and they all rode up together just as the top in the new excavation tunnel began to groan and tremble. As the elevator stopped at the pinnacle, a large plume of black dust roiled up the shaft and settled like a cloud over the men. They hustled out of the elevator and rushed Ed to a waiting ambulance.

  The wives and family members of the other miners had heard the news of the rescue and were trying to push their way past mine officials to get at the rescue team for answers. Joe Nash, hearing the commotion, left Lori’s side to see what was going on. In the turmoil, no one seemed to notice the elevator slowly descending back into the dusty depths of the tunnel.

  Helen Mackay was frantic to get to the ambulances where they had placed Ed and Kevin while waiting on the helicopter. Jan Dixon and Shelia Townsend were just as frantic to know what was going on with their respective husbands. Everyone was talking at once, and no one was making much sense. A reporter from channel eight had wormed her way through the gathering crowd and stuck a microphone in Jess Phillips’ face demanding he give her a detailed update.

  Feeling she should do something to help, Lori hurried over to assist Joe with crowd control. Together they managed to keep everyone well away from the barricade around the elevator shaft. Neither one of them paid any attention when the elevator rose up from the shaft and stopped at the top of the containment cage. The door flew open and Buddy Sayers came rushing forward with a shovel held high above his head. Hit them! Kill them all, the Thing in his head screamed.

  Buddy ran straight for Jess Phillips, his eyes wild and red as blood. He was screaming, something unintelligible, and laughing insanely at the same time. Joe saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Buddy take a swing at Phillips’ head. The blow missed Phillips, but the blade of the shovel caught the reporter on the right shoulder knocking her to the ground.

  Before he could think, Joe drew his service weapon and took a few steps toward Buddy. “Drop it!” he barked. “Drop it now or I’ll shoot.” Buddy turned to face Joe and raised the shovel over his head. “Drop the shovel!” Joe shouted. “I swear, I will shoot you!”

  Sensing impending danger, the crowd parted around Jess Phillips as if by magic. Phillips paused long enough to help the reporter to her feet before hurrying away to the relative safety of his pickup truck.

  Snarling and foaming like a rabid dog, Buddy began to advance on Joe. It was clear he had no intention of dropping the shovel. Feeling he had no choice, Joe squeezed off two quick rounds which caught Buddy square in the chest. He went to his knees, faltered, and finally fell face first onto the muddy ground.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One of the medics checked Buddy for a pulse, but there was no doubt in Joe’s mind that he was dead. The stunned crowd began to inch closer to the body and Lori hurriedly shooed them back while Joe just stood by his cruiser slowly shaking his head back and forth.

  He stayed that way until Major Gaston showed up an hour later and relieved him of his service weapon. “Standard procedure,” the Major said. “Anytime a trooper fires his weapon in the line of duty, we have to put them on leave until an investigation is complete.”

  Joe knew the rules. He didn’t much like them, but rules were rules after all. He turned over his side arm then removed a shotgun from the trunk of his cruiser and handed it to Gaston. “This will all shake out okay,” Gaston said. “Just a routine investigation, more paper work than anything.”

  “How long will it take?” Joe asked. Gaston shrugged and pursed his lips.

  “Shouldn’t take any more than a couple of weeks. Most of the time will be spent interviewing all these witnesses. Having a city patrol officer as a prime witness will be a big plus too. You don’t have anything to worry about, Joe. You didn’t have any choice.” Gaston paused and looked intently into Joe’s eyes. “We have counselors available, you know. They might be able to help you deal with this.”

  Joe looked past Gaston’s shoulder at the paramedics loading Buddy Sayers’ body into the back of a white panel van. “Where are they taking him?” he asked.

  “Over to Stephenson, I suppose. They have a bigger facility to do the autopsy in Beckley, but , hell, half their staff’s in Stephenson helping out over there. Don’t worry yourself, Joe, they have everything under control.”

  Easier said than done, Joe thought. Easier said than done.

  A large crowd had gathered around the admin building where Jess Phillips and representatives from Wilcox and MSHA were going through the difficult task of telling the relatives of the dead miners about the men’s unfortunate fate. Now that a Medi-Vac helicopter had taken off with Kevin and Ed inside, and Buddy Sayers’ body was being removed from the scene, reporters from several news outlets, microphones in hand, descended upon the crowd in hopes of finding someone who might offer a comment about one of the deceased miners.

  Lori waited until Major Gaston moved on toward the admin building before joining Joe by the cruiser. “How do you feel?” she asked. Joe shrugged and looked down at his hands as if they were something utterly foreign to him.

  “I just killed a man, Lori,” he said softly. She slipped an arm around his shoulder and took one of his hands in hers.

  “I know how you feel,” she said. “It’s an awful thing taking a life. But, like me, Joe, you didn’t have a choice. He would have brained you with that shovel.”

  “I know, but damn, it sucks just the same.” She let go of his hand and wrapped both arms around his waist.

  “If there’s anything I can do, you know I will,” she said, her voice muffled to some degree by his rain slicker.

  A car drove onto the property and, given the overload of vehicles parked helter-skelter on the gravel lot, slid into an open spot a couple hundred feet from the admin building. Glen Harper got out and began working his way through the crowd toward the office, but Lori attracted his attention with a wave of her flashlight and he veered off in her direction.

  “Thought I’d see what I could do to console the bereaved,” he said after exchanging greetings.

  “You can start with Joe,” Lori said. “He’s the one who had to shoot Sayers.” Glen shook Joe’s hand and said,

  “Sorry Joe. I heard it on the radio driving over here. You okay?”

  “I’ve been better,” Joe said. “Just a little hard getting used to it. I’ll manage, I expect the miner’s families are gonna need you more than I do right about now.” Glen looked over toward the admin building and nodded.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right there.” Then he added, “It’s gonna be a long day. After I’m finished here, I have to get ready to preach a funeral for the sheriff and one of the deputies. Ya’ll are comin’, right?” Both Lori and Joe nodded and Glen said, “Joe, you don’t have to go if you’re not feelin’ up to it.”

  “I’ll be there,” Joe said qu
ickly. “Those men were fellow police officers. I didn’t know them personally, but it’s the least I can do to show my respects.”

  They all fell silent for a while, Joe and Lori contemplating the events of the evening, Glen staring at the elevator and the pitch black mountain beyond. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “Something evil came out of that mine.”

  “Glen,” Lori said hesitantly.

  “No, I’m sure of it,” he asserted. “They unearthed something straight out of hell. They just keep diggin’ and drillin’ with no regard for what they might be turnin’ loose. It’s irresponsible, that what it is.”

  “Glen, please.” He locked eyes with Lori, determined to say his peace.

  “Okay, you tell me what made those men go crazy like that. I knew Charlie Waddell. I’ve known him for years. He would never do something like he did in town the other day. Something was inside him, I tell you. Some. . . thing made him kill like that.”

  Sensing an argument brewing, Joe suggested he and Lori get a few hours sleep before the funerals. “I’ve been relieved of duty, so there’s no reason to hang a round here,” he explained. Lori was quick to agree.

  “Now that I know Kevin and Uncle Ed are at least alive, I can relax a little I guess.”

  “See you at the church? Joe asked.”

  “Yep, two o’clock,” Glen said.

  Joe turned to leave and Lori caught him by the arm. “I meant what I said earlier,” she said. “If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.” Joe searched her eyes for a moment and said,

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “We both wear the uniform, don’t we?”

  Joe was hoping she had a more personal reason, but at that point, he’d take what he could get.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Joe had nightmares when he finally managed to fall asleep and all his dreams revolved around Buddy Sayers. He saw Sayers beating Lori with a shovel until blood spurted from an ugly gashes in her head. Frantic, he reached for his service weapon to stop the attack only to find his holster empty.

  With Lori bleeding on the ground, a grinning Buddy now turned on Joe, swinging the shovel above his head in irregular circles, the blade whistling through the air like a bladed pendulum, inching ever closer to Joe’s face.

  He woke up in a cold sweat and looked at the clock. “Damn, nearly noon.”

  Out of bed, into the shower, dressed in his best ceremonial uniform, fortified with three cups of black coffee and he was ready to hit the road.

  Almost ready.

  His hands shook noticeably as he keyed in a text to Tina asking about Chandra. She texted back a minute later: heard about the shooting. Sorry it had to be you. Chandra’s fine. U should get some rest.

  She sounded half civil, Joe though as he buffed out a shine on his Florsheims. That gave him a second or two to think, and wonder. Lately, it had seemed like World War II whenever he asked about Chandra. And now she sounds like she’s actually concerned about me, Joe mused. Go figure.

  He didn’t have time to do any more figuring. After leaving Captain Ross a voice mail saying he would be by the office later to complete any necessary paper work, he packed jeans a polo shirt and sneakers into a tote bag, hopped in his cruiser and headed for Stephenson. The considerable drive gave him time to think and reflect. He hated like hell having to shoot Buddy Sayers. The mine officials had identified him as an employee of the mine, a security guard it seemed, a coincidental nugget of information not lost on Joe.

  Charlie Waddell had been a security guard at the mine as well. Possible connection? It seemed more and more feasible, especially since both men appeared to be hell bent on killing as many people as possible. And as far as Joe could tell, for no apparent reason.

  Maybe Glen was right. Maybe there was something in the mine that affected the men to the degree that they became maniacal killers. But why weren’t all the men affected? The Friday swing shift crew made it through their shift without going bonkers. Same with the rescue crew. There was no indication that they were about to turn into murderous monsters, at least not yet anyway.

  If something from that mine was responsible for turning the two men into cold-bloodied killers, it had nothing to do with spirits or demons or other such ghosties, Joe figured. But he had to allow that there was the off chance that prolonged excavation had released some type of toxic gas, which may have had an adverse effect on the men. Joe was by no means an expert in toxicology or geology, but he did have enough common sense to know that the area where the miners were drilling and cutting was as ancient and undisturbed as any part of the planet. Who knew what might be trapped in all those layers of coal and rock? Certainly not me, Joe concluded.

  Another unanswered question kept worrying his thoughts. Both Waddell and Sayers were above ground employees. Why were they affected, but not the underground workers? Was there something in the air around the buildings or equipment lots that may have altered the men’s personalities when they breathed it in?

  Of course Joe didn’t have the answer. Why do care anyway? he asked himself. You’ve been relieved of duty, remember? Routine procedure though it may be, the thought of being suspended made Joe feel as if he had done something wrong. He had replayed the shooting over and over in his mind hoping to convince himself he had no choice in using his weapon. Maybe you could have got to his feet and taken him down with an ankle strike, he thought for the thousandth time. You could have used his weight and aggression against him and put him on his back. You were trained, damn it, did you have to shoot the man?

  A light rain began to spot the windshield and Joe used the distraction to clear his mind of his self deprecation. It won’t do any good to keep going over this, he thought. What’s done is done. The important thing now is to try and help the others find out how and why all this happened.

  He switched on the wipers, leaned back in his seat and willed himself to think about anything besides Buddy Sayers.

  The Stephenson Pentecostal Holiness Church on Main Street was packed when Joe arrived for the first funeral. He parked in a back lot and made his way to the front door where Lori was waiting just inside the vestibule. “I saw your car turning off the highway,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

  “I said I would,” Joe said.

  He took a moment to look her over. The dark blue dress and three inch heels she wore made her look much different than the uniformed patrol officer Joe was used to seeing. Her hair was down around her shoulders and a hint of eye makeup and rouge added to his assessment that Lori, in addition to being an accomplished law enforcement officer, was what he could only describe as a beautiful young woman.

  “You look nice,” she said, flicking away a bit of lint from the lapel of Joe’s service blouse.

  “That was supposed to be my line. What’s with the civies?”

  “I just thought I’d take a break from the uniform,” she said. “Why, you don’t like it?” Joe leaned back and let his eyes drift up and down her body a couple of times.

  “I don’t know yet,” he finally said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was talking to my third grade history teacher.”

  She made a sour face and raised a finger to her lips. “A little decorum please. We are at a funeral after all.”

  They entered the church proper and found seats near the back next to Mayor Brinkus. After whispered reciprocal greetings, they settled in to listen to Glen Harper eulogize Sheriff Broderson and Deputy Barnes.

  After the service, Glen walked out with Joe and Lori. “Thanks for coming,” he said shaking Joe’s hand.

  “It was my honor,” Joe said. “Please let me know when the other services will be held.” Glen said he would and then excused himself to offer a last word of condolences to Sheriff Broderson’s widow.

  “How about something to eat?” Joe asked Lori. She thought about it for awhile before saying,

  “Alright, but it has to be some place nice. And I have to get out of this dress first. I’d
almost forgotten how uncomfortable panty hose are.”

  The some place nice turned out to be Young Chow’s Chinese restaurant on Pikeview Drive in Beckley. After stopping by Lori’s house where both of them changed clothes, they drove the twenty-five miles to Beckley with Joe explaining that he didn’t know of any place in Wyoming County where they could get a decent rumaki.

  An Asian woman met them at the door and asked if they would like to sit by the waterfall. “Long as I don’t have to get wet,” Joe said struggling to suppress a smile.

  The woman escorted them to a table by a display of fake bamboo trees and plastic tropical plants. An artificial pond complete with a five foot high waterfall was built into the center of the elaborate display. Joe could see multi-colored gold fish and baby carp swimming happily in the perpetually flowing water.

  He sat across from Lori and looked her over. She looked even more beautiful under the pink and red and purple glow of the overhead lights. She’d put her hair back up and pinned it in place with a pair of decorative chopsticks, an apropos touch that Joe found quite charming. She’d changed into a pale green, sleeveless sundress and strapless sandals that matched her faux leather handbag to a tee.

  She saw him looking and smiled. “What are you gawkin’ at?”

  “You. You're beautiful.”

  You would think a twenty-five year old woman would be too mature and worldly to blush at a simple compliment, but blush she did. Her cheeks colored and she lowered his eyes from Joe's direct gaze. He thought she looked exactly like a school girl out on her first date.