by Bruno Miller
Ben could hear the cart coming down the shaft now and bolted for the door. He made it just in time to hit the switch and stop the rapidly descending cart before it shot past the room altogether. He wanted to kick himself for not investigating the generator sooner. All the time spent bringing gear topside could have been reduced significantly if they’d known about this. Or maybe they would have broken the whole thing with the weight they were moving.
None of that mattered now. He only needed it to work this one time. Moving as fast as he dared, he loaded the dynamite and climbed into the cart. Bracing himself and the crate, he hit the switch and waited. The cable squealed as it slipped in the overhead pulley, and a loud grinding noise came from the generator. For a moment, he thought the whole thing might fall apart right then and there.
The grinding turned into clicking that slowed and ended with a louder clank. The cable went taut and the cart launched forward, up the incline at an unexpected rate of speed. Ben wasn’t prepared for the sudden start and nearly fell backward. The box of dynamite slid across the bottom of the cart toward him, but fortunately, he was able to catch it with his foot before it slammed into the rear wall.
A few seconds ago, he had been worried about making it to the top, and now he found himself wondering how he was going to stop when he got there. Would the cart slow down and stop automatically, or would he have to grab the switch at the top? Ben eyed the brake lever and wondered if he’d made a huge mistake. Maybe the higher gear was too much for an unloaded cart.
The end of the line was coming up fast, and Ben started applying pressure to the brake handle. But he was discouraged by how little impact his effort had on the speed he was traveling. He was in big trouble if he couldn’t get this thing under control—and fast. At this rate of speed, there was no way he’d be able to hit the switch. He pictured the cart launching him and the dynamite through the container when he reached the top.
Ben repositioned himself so he could use both legs as leverage and put everything he had into moving the brake handle. He felt the steel tube attached to the brake handle bend a little, but he kept the pressure on, and eventually, the wheel began to grind along the track. It was working. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reach the switch because of the way he had wedged himself between the brake lever and the cart wall.
The cart was only creeping forward now, but the cable was spooling up fast with slack overhead. The second he let go of this brake, the cart would head back down. He couldn’t hold this position much longer before his legs gave out. He thought about calling out to the kids for help, but there was no time, and the chances they would hear him were slim. Not only that, but if things went wrong, he didn’t want them anywhere near this dynamite.
Transitioning the load of the brake to his shoulders, he freed his right arm and was able to walk the box of dynamite up the side of the cart and onto the rail. Now all he had to do was figure out how to exit the cart with the box and land on his feet. Ben went over the process in his mind a couple of times and decided to make his move on the count of three.
“One…two…” He was interrupted by the sound of cracking wood; the noise reminded him of a tree being felled. The cable above his head had tangled in one of the support timbers and had started to fray. Ben could hear the tension as the cable began to hum.
Pop. The pulley directly over the cart exploded, and the cable shot forward into a tangled mess. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and Ben felt the cart start to roll back down into the mine.
He let go of the lever and rolled out, landing back-first on the hard rock. He winced as sharp bits of gravel dug into his skin, but he managed to bring the crate down safely on his chest. His little maneuver worked, but it came at a price. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and it took a few seconds to recover. Small flashes of light, induced by the strain, danced around his peripheral vision. While regaining his composure, he managed to catch a brief glimpse of the mine cart before it rolled out of sight.
It was gone in an instant, but he could certainly hear it. The roar of the runaway cart intensified as it gained speed, reminding Ben of an old wooden rollercoaster he’d been on as a kid, but maybe one that was about to come off the tracks. He sat still for a minute and waited for the inevitable crash. But as the lights began to flicker, the sound grew faint and eventually disappeared. Was the mine really that deep? He shuddered to think that he or the kids could have ended up down there if the cable had snapped sooner.
He had to look at the box of dynamite for a second to believe he’d actually pulled it off. But there was no time to celebrate or rest. There was a gunfight raging outside, and he’d been gone too long already. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the crate and made his way back out to the trucks. He headed straight for the pickup that had been parked out by the front gate. It was the same one they’d been forced into when they were first captured and blindfolded. He was glad now that he’d had Martin bring the old rusty Ford inside the compound and park it near the others. His original intent was to have Martin use the truck to drive to Cloverdale. That was until he got a closer look at the rusted-out piece of junk. Ben quickly decided the truck wasn’t up for the journey; however, it was perfect for this very short one-way trip.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The distant gunshots rekindled Ben’s sense of urgency. Not that he needed a reminder, but they gave him a boost of much-needed adrenaline. He was close to putting his plan into action. And in his opinion, the hard part was over.
Ben slid the box of dynamite onto the passenger seat inside the old Ford and slammed the door shut. Next, he ran over to the Blazer and retrieved the half-smoked cigar he’d stuffed into the ashtray and a short length of paracord from the console. He wouldn’t have saved the cigar, but at the time, he didn’t want to risk offending Jack and told him he was saving the rest for later. He had no intention of ever smoking it and forgot it was even in there, thankfully; otherwise, he would have thrown it out long ago.
Ben turned to head back to the pickup and saw Brad and Emma hiding under the overhanging deck with Carlos and Rita.
“It’s all going to be over soon. I promise.” He made sure to make eye contact with his kids. They were scared, and rightfully so. The gunshots weren’t letting up. In fact, it sounded like the fight was escalating. Ben hoped they had enough ammunition to hold off the moonshiners for just a little longer.
Ben did his best to run back to the truck while trying to get the cigar lit. He pulled on it a little too hard, though, and the dried-out, two-day-old tobacco caught fire instantly and nearly choked him. He spat hard in an attempt to clear the taste from his mouth before selecting a suitable stick from the ground and jumping behind the wheel of the pickup. He pumped the pedal as the engine struggled to turn over. Finally, it came to life, the fan belt screeching as he revved the engine. Content that it would stay running, Ben left it to idle while he turned his attention to the dynamite.
Shifting the smoldering cigar to the far corner of his mouth, Ben squinted through the smoke as he cut a short piece of fuse and prepped one of the eight-ounce sticks of dynamite. He set the fused explosive next to him on the seat, and instead of putting the knife away, he jammed the six-inch blade into the dashboard, directly above the steering wheel, as far as he could sink it in. Using the paracord, he then strung multiple loops of cordage around the steering wheel and the knife handle, which he used as an anchor point.
The moonshiners were parked about fifty yards down the trail, below the first turn. From the compound’s gate, it was a straight shot to the first switchback, and Ben figured the paracord would keep the wheel straight enough to make sure the truck reached that point. The stick he planned on using to wedge the gas pedal to the floor would ensure it arrived with speed.
He left the cord loose enough to steer for now. When the time came, he’d tighten everything up with a quick pull on the tail end of his unfinished knot. There was only one thing left to do now.
“Joel, it’s time. Open
the gate. Over.” Ben didn’t wait for a response and secured the radio to his belt again. He sized up the stick and broke it off where he needed it to be before putting the truck in gear. Pulling the cigar from his mouth, he took one final breath of smoke-free air.
“All right, let’s do this.” Ben shoved the cigar back into his mouth and put both hands on the wheel as he pushed the pedal to the floor. The trail inside the camp was smoothed over with years of leaf and pine needle litter, and with a half box of dynamite riding passenger, he was grateful for that. And other than the back tires spinning out occasionally, he had no problem maintaining speed on his way to the gate.
He was relieved to hear Joel’s voice on the radio and even more so when he reported back that the gate was open. It was a good thing, too, because Ben was now rounding the last row of container homes and lining up on the last stretch of road before the gate. If he hadn’t heard back from Joel, he fully intended on ramming his way through, but that was plan B.
Ben spotted Martin first. He was right by the pallets where he’d left him and looked on with wide-eyed disbelief as Ben went sailing by. Next, he passed Sandy and Allie hiding behind the makeshift guard shack, and finally, there was Joel. He was crouched down alongside one edge of the open gate. Ben blew past them all in a cloud of dust and the truck began to shake over the rougher section of trail outside the fence line.
This was it! Ben puffed hard on the cigar until he saw the end glow bright red. It only took a second for the fuse to catch and reach the point of no turning back. He tossed the lit stick of dynamite next to the crate and jammed the stick between the gas pedal and the seat. He was already working on opening the door with his left hand while using his other to line up the wheel.
As best as he could, he aimed the truck for the switchback section of the trail and the moonshiners’ vehicles below it, then pulled the paracord tight. One last check to make sure there weren’t any upcoming trees and he jumped as far as he could from the truck. He hit the ground hard and tried his best to roll with the momentum.
He was hurt—he could feel it in his back and the right side of his ribs—but he needed to make sure the truck found its target, or this was all for nothing. He winced as he clutched his side and tried to sit up.
Watching the old Ford bounce violently down the crater-strewn trail gave Ben concern that the dynamite might go off early. If that happened, he’d have to hightail it back to the camp so they could close the gate and prepare for an all-out gunfight. But he didn’t want to think about that right now; he wanted to catch his breath and watch the moonshiners get blown back to the Stone Age.
The truck was still going strong, although it was now leaving a trail of black smoke as it careened down the mountain.
“Come on, hold together.”
It took the truck longer than Ben thought possible to cover the little bit of distance left to the switchback, but when it finally did reach the ledge, it didn’t disappoint. The old Ford hit the switchback with enough speed to launch off the edge and propel itself some thirty feet through the air and come crashing down onto the Suburban below. It landed on the roof like it had been dropped out the back of a C-130, crushing the entire upper half of the SUV down to the doorframes and blowing out all four tires simultaneously.
The whole thing was a spectacular display of destruction, but there was no explosion. Ben watched as some of the moonshiners started to come out of their hiding spots in the nearby brush to take in the chaos and damage the truck had caused. Ben felt for his Desert Eagle and prepared to fight his way back to the gate. He couldn’t believe there was no explosion. What happened? He was halfway to his feet when the dynamite blew.
The force of the explosion and the resulting shock wave knocked him face-first to the ground, where he stayed for a few seconds as debris rained down around him. He thought about the Bronco he’d blown to pieces in Missouri and how some of those pieces weren’t that small. He rolled over and looked skyward to make sure he wasn’t about to be hit by any large fragments.
The sound of the explosion still echoed off the adjacent mountains as it made its way down the valley. When the dust and smoke cleared, Ben scanned the trail below the switchback for vehicles and bodies but only found a lone burning tire in the bottom of a three-foot-deep crater.
The Suburban and the pickup loaded with the dynamite were nowhere to be seen. One of the other trucks was on its roof and burning out of control, but it was so mangled that Ben couldn’t tell which one it was. The other truck was some twenty yards off the trail and wrapped around a large oak tree. The three smaller pines in front of the oak hadn’t been strong enough to stop it and lay shredded in the truck’s wake. There were parts and pieces everywhere, some hanging from nearby trees that had managed to survive the blast. But no movement.
Ben stood up slowly for the second time and brushed himself off. His right side was hurting pretty bad, but there was no blood. The landing had also tweaked his back enough that it hurt more than usual, and now that he was standing, he noticed that his left knee was hurting as well. At this point, there wasn’t much on him that didn’t hurt, if he was being honest, but he’d survive. These aches and pains were going to linger for a few days, though; that much he could tell.
“Dad… Dad.” Joel came running out of the compound and down the trail toward his dad. Ben doubted that any of the moonshiners had survived the explosion, but he didn’t want to take any chances just the same.
“I’m fine. I’ll come to you. Come on, let’s get back inside the fence.” Ben was too slow, and Joel reached him before he could stumble more than a few feet. Joel went to his left side and helped him stand so he could take the weight off his knee.
“Come on, I’ll help you.” Joel checked back over his shoulder as they made their way back up the trail and toward the camp.
“We’re good. I don’t see anyone. I think that pretty much wiped them out.”
“I should hope so.” Ben coughed and realized the cigar was still in his mouth, although it had gone out long ago. He plucked the bent remains from his lips and flicked it into the woods.
Thanks again, Jack.
Sandy, Allie, and Martin met them at the gate.
“Ben, are you all right?” Sandy ran to his other side and helped support him as well.
“I’m good. I think I can manage on my own.” They slowly let go and Ben took a few steps on his own. The last thing he wanted to do was stop using his knee and allow it to stiffen up any more than it already had. He needed to walk it off. It still hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as when he first stood up. It was bad enough he was about to get behind the wheel for who knew how many hours.
“You sure?” Allie asked.
“Yeah, thanks. I need to keep moving it.” Ben continued walking slowly.
“That was some impressive driving there, man. What the heck was in that truck, anyways?” Martin was wide-eyed and obviously still keyed up from the excitement.
“That…was half a box of dynamite.” Ben stopped for a second and looked back at the carnage, but there were still no signs that anyone had survived.
He should have been able to relax but couldn’t. And just because they successfully defended the camp didn’t mean he wanted to alter their plans and hang around any longer than necessary.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As the five of them made their way back to the others, Ben continued checking over his shoulder. It was his nature, and he couldn’t help it. He’d recover from his wounds and bruises, but if they let their guard down and something happened to one of the kids, he would never recover from that.
They found Emma and Brad hiding alongside Rita and Carlos in the same spot under the overhanging deck. Brad was standing out in front of the others, holding his gun at the ready.
“Come on, guys. It’s all clear. You can come out now,” Joel called out. Ben was going to add to what Joel had said and remind them all that they weren’t in the clear yet, but he decided not to. Let them enjoy the moment
while it lasts. They’d all worked hard enough and deserved to celebrate the small victory.
All three dogs rushed Joel and Allie as they approached the group, then slowly made their way around to sniff the rest of them one at a time. Martin seemed slightly more at ease around the dogs this time but was still apprehensive when Gunner gave him a thorough going-over with his nose.
“It’s okay. You’re one of us now. He likes you. See? He’s wagging his tail.” Emma tried her best to convince Martin the dogs wouldn’t hurt him. He reached down cautiously and gave Gunner an awkward pat on the head and smiled at Emma. But it was obvious that Martin wouldn’t be taking any of the dogs with him in the Scout, not that Emma would ever agree to that arrangement anyway.
Ben was just happy to see his daughter participating in the conversation. After all that had taken place in the last twenty-four hours, he was certain she would have withdrawn into her own little world by now. He expected to find a much more reserved version of Emma who was closer to the person he’d seen for most of the trip here. Maybe the kids were getting used to this new way of life. That sounded crazy to even think, and it was scary to admit.
Carlos approached Ben with his hand out. “I just wanted to thank you again for giving us a second chance.”
Ben shook his hand and couldn’t help but wince as his side throbbed in pain at the movement. It was going to be a long drive to Cloverdale.
“Dad, are you okay?” Emma came close and put her hand on his arm.
Ben smiled at her. “I’ll be okay. It’s just a bruise.” There was no point in telling her what he really thought: that he’d probably broken a rib or two and it hurt every time he inhaled.
“Well, you’re lucky, considering how fast the truck was going when you jumped out,” Joel pointed out.