Relic

by Gretchen McNeil

  “I hear they’re really cool,” Greer says. “First time they’ve been exposed in fifteen years and the old bridge disappears right into the—”

  “We are not pussing out on this trip!” Rob cries. He pounds his fist against the table in disgust. “This is our last summer to do anything remotely crazy. How many years have we all played by the rules? For what? So we can go to college and crack under the pressure?” He pushes himself to his feet, staggering as he finds his balance on the gently rocking boat. “No fucking way is that going to happen to me.”

  We all know who Rob is talking about and why this summer bucket list means so much to him.

  “You’re not David,” Jack says quietly.

  “Not even close,” I add.

  “I know,” Rob says, gazing out onto the black lake. “Which is why I need to do this.”

  “But the fisherman . . .” Sonya begins, then lets her voice trail off.

  “What about him?” Rob asks. “He was drunk, probably fell out of his boat and was lucky to swim to shore. We’ll call it in to the Lake Patrol in the morning and they can go pick him up.”

  I shake my head. “He wasn’t drunk.” I know drunk. That guy might have been whacked out of his mind, but he was stone-cold sober.

  Jack gently squeezes my hand but says nothing.

  “Did you see what he was wearing?” Sonya continues. I appreciate the fact that she won’t let Rob bully her. “His shirt said ‘Super Bowl XVI Champions.’ When was that, the nineties?”

  “January twenty-fourth, 1982,” Terrence recites, staring up at the ceiling. “San Francisco Forty-Niners defeated the Cincinnati Bengals twenty-six to twenty-one in what would be their first of five championships in the next fifteen years.”

  “Damn,” Graham says. “How do you remember that?”

  Terrence smiles. “When it comes to my Niners, I remember everything.”

  Sonya won’t be sidetracked. “Did anyone else notice that he wasn’t even wet? If he’d fallen out of his boat and swam to shore, he’d have been soaked.” She may claim over and over again that she doesn’t want to be a cop, but there’s something in Sonya’s brain—her attentive eye, her ability to draw conclusions—that thinks like one.

  “Maybe he passed out on the sand until the sun went down,” Rob counters.

  “Terrence would have seen him,” I add. “When he did a lap around the island.”

  “The Man of Squaw Creek,” Terrence says sagely, “can come and go as he pleases.”

  Frankie rolls her eyes. “Lay off the bedtime stories already.”

  “I’m telling you guys,” Terrence says, shaking his head. “That shit is real.”

  Rob throws up his hands. “Maybe he crawled into the woods. Maybe he had sunstroke. Maybe he fell out of the goddamn sky. Who cares?”

  “Look,” Jack says calmly. “We all need to take a deep breath and calm down.” He’s always good at defusing tense situations. I swear that boy could sell Raid to an ant colony. “I know having that guy stumble into our camp was creepy. I’m not ashamed to admit it: he scared the hell out of me when he attacked Annie. But it was hot today, and sunstroke makes perfect sense.”

  “Exactly,” Rob says. “Which has nothing to do with Bull Valley Mine.”

  That’s not entirely true. I won’t go back to the mine. I know what the fisherman said, remember it distinctly. And worse, I remember the abject terror I saw in his eyes. Something about the old mines scares the crap out of him.

  Should I tell my friends? Will they accuse me of being paranoid?

  “I think we should go for it,” Frankie says.

  “Me too,” Terrence adds.

  “Us four,” Graham and Greer say in unison. I’m not sure which of them sounds more eager to agree with Frankie.

  Jack turns to me and smiles. “Annie, what do you want to do?”

  I glance at Sonya. Her eyes are pleading with me, begging me to say no. And I want to. I really do. First the sheriff’s deputies, then the mysterious man from the woods, both warning us against the mine. Was my brain playing tricks on me or was there a connection?

  But then there’s Frankie, all ballsy and fearless, and wouldn’t she just love some time alone with my boyfriend?

  “Annie, we shouldn’t do this.” Sonya stands in the doorway, hands bracing the jamb as if she’s afraid she might lose her balance.

  Dammit. What am I supposed to say? She’s right, I know she is, and she’s practically begging me not to go through with this.

  “It’ll be fine, Son.” I can’t even look her in the eye, I’m so ashamed. I can’t pretend I’m doing it for her own good, when I know, deep down, I’m only agreeing to this trip because Frankie did.

  She opens her mouth to say something, then her eyes drift to Frankie. Can Sonya read my mind? “I see,” she says at last.

  “You can still stay on the boat,” I say rapidly. “We won’t be gone long.”

  Sonya arches an eyebrow. “Stay on the boat by myself? I don’t think so.”

  I sigh. She’s pissed off, and Sonya’s never pissed off. She stands in the doorway, pressing her arms against the wooden frame so forcefully I can see the muscles in her forearms trembling. I’m overwhelmed by guilt.

  Finally, she drops her arms to her sides. “Fine. We’ll go.”

  “Sweet!” Rob cries. “We’re all agreed.”

  Without another word, Sonya gives me one gut-wrenching look of disappointment, then turns and walks back to her bunk.

  No regrets.

  TEN

  “SO IS THIS WHERE YOU KILL US AND STASH THE BODIES?” Frankie asks. She stands in front of a dark opening in the side of the hill. The entrance shaft to Bull Valley Mine.

  “Just yours,” Rob says. He tosses her a Maglite, which she catches with one hand.

  Frankie’s putting on a good show, but I can sense her apprehension as she stares into the depths of the mine.

  We’ve all been unusually quiet since Rob rounded an inlet and piloted the boat up the increasingly narrow and twisty Squaw Creek arm of Shasta Lake. With the diminished water level, it’s more of a lazy river strangled by barren, Mars-like terrain than the full-bodied lake I remember from my childhood. Mud flats near the shore give way to rock-strewn slopes stretching sixty or seventy feet to the trees. When I was a kid, the water would lap at those Douglas firs, but ten years of drought have seriously lowered the waterline, and as we snaked past headlands and peninsulas, we could see the newly exposed waste of early twentieth-century industry: a concrete road that disappears into the water; a steel trellis bridge, debris-strewn and decrepit, rising from the depths then ending abruptly; an overturned mining car, its rusting wheels impotent and forgotten.

  The water became shallower and shallower, the terrain more remote, until finally Rob cut the engine before a parched expanse of dried mud and orange stone, and coasted the houseboat to the rocky shore.

  The old path to the mine entrance is still visible: a light line traced up the side of the hill, ending at a plateau. I’d have thought being buried beneath fifty feet of water since World War II would have wiped away all traces of the man-made path, but its boundaries are easy to see, easier to follow, as if it has been in constant use for decades.

  Old concrete foundations dot the hillside, lonely slabs standing perpendicular to the rocky ground, like some kind of early twentieth-century monoliths built to long-forgotten gods. A mud-crusted tire and rim, thin like a bicycle, lies halfway down one steep section of the slope, in a state of suspended animation as if it might continue its slide at any moment. Here and there, a rusting metal tool of some unidentifiable shape and purpose, reminders that at one point in time, this was a bustling commercial area.

  But that was almost a century ago. And now, as I stand in front of the small, black hole peeking out from amid the jagged stone cliff, the absolute last thing I want to find down there is another human being.

  Greer smooths the ends of her bob then pulls out her phone and snaps a selfie in f
ront of the entrance. “I thought it would have a sign,” she says, clearly disappointed.

  “A neon marquee?” Frankie asks sarcastically. “‘Welcome to Bull Valley Mine’?”

  Greer’s face falls. “No, just . . . I don’t know. A wooden marker or something.”

  “The water would have rotted the wood away,” Graham says with a glance at Frankie, practically begging for approval.

  Which she isn’t about to give. “I guess.”

  Sonya stares into the dark interior, paralyzed. “How do we know it’s safe?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Terrence says, standing close to her.

  “According to historical records,” Jack says, “the mine breaks up into different shafts about two hundred feet inside.”

  “Which gives us lots to explore,” Rob adds.

  Terrence nods. “Sweet.”

  “What about flash floods?” Sonya asks. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t peeled her eyes away from the black hole.

  Greer turns to Frankie, wide-eyed. “Floods?”

  “We haven’t had rain since March.”

  Jack points up. “And not a cloud in the sky.”

  But Sonya isn’t done. “That mine has been underwater for decades. The water could have eroded the structural integrity. It could collapse at any time.”

  “Collapse?” Greer grabs Frankie’s arm.

  Graham kicks the ground with the toe of his sneaker. “This is bedrock, Greer. Totally safe.”

  “Actually,” Frankie says, running a finger over the exposed rock, “this is sandstone. The mine should penetrate varying layers of shale and andesite before opening to natural limestone caverns below the water level. But I doubt we’ll get down that far.”

  Graham looks like a puppy that’s just been kicked by its mistress, but Greer stands with her mouth open, awestruck. “How did you know all that?”

  Frankie waves her hand, dismissing her earth science knowledge as if it’s nothing. “My mom works for the California Geological Survey. This is part of her study zone.”

  “That is so hot,” Greer says, breathless.

  “Sandstone or shale,” Sonya says, more to herself than to anyone, “the variety of molds and fungi that are probably growing on the walls of the mine could be toxic.”

  “Ew?” Frankie says.

  “What can that do?” Greer asks, her eyes wide.

  “Mycosis,” Sonya replies, itemizing the list on her fingers, “ringworm, skin infections, sinusitis, meningitis.”

  “Cut it out, will you?” Rob says. He shoves a Maglite into Sonya’s hands. “Either come with us or wuss out and stay on the boat by yourself, okay?”

  “She’s not going to wuss out.” Terrence drapes a long arm around Sonya’s shoulders. “I’ll be there to protect you.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “From the mold or the floods, Lancelot?”

  “Both?” he asks, as if not quite sure.

  “See, Son?” I wink at her. “Nothing to worry about.”

  Terrence beams. “Consider me your personal tour guide to all things dark and creepy.”

  Sonya looks as if she’s not sure which she’s more afraid of—the mine or Terrence.

  “Time for some rules!” Rob says. He stands in front of the mine entrance and faces us, arms folded across his chest like a sultan, and I fight to keep from rolling my eyes at the irony of Rob Kang imposing any kind of rules. “Rule number one. No one wander off on your own. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day searching for you if you get lost, okay?”

  Terrence hugs Sonya close. “Okay!”

  Frankie fake yawns, fanning her hand delicately in front of her mouth. “Rule number two,” she says, ennui dripping from every syllable, “stop boring us to death.”

  Oh yes, because she’s so much cooler than the rest of us. Barf.

  Rob points at her. “Rule number three. Frankie is the exception to rule number one.” He smiles at her. “Go ahead and get lost, babe.”

  “Okay, okay.” Jack grasps my hand and grins. “I promise not to let go.”

  He flips on his Maglite, then without another word, I’m pulled into the darkness.

  ELEVEN

  THE THIN, RUBBER SOLES OF MY SNEAKERS CRUNCH AGAINST dry gravel as I follow Jack down the mine shaft. We crouch low—knees flexed, backs hunched like arthritic old men—as we inch our way forward. The shaft is cut at a sharp angle, making the confined space feel even more constricting, and I fight to keep my breaths steady and calm in the increasingly claustrophobic tunnel. Ten feet beyond the entrance the air is already cooler, and the skin on my arms and legs prickles from the rapidly dropping temperature. I blink repeatedly, trying to get used to the wall of darkness after the bright sunshine, and I squeeze Jack’s hand even tighter as we trek deeper into the earth.

  Behind us, silence. Seriously? No one is following?

  “How’s the weather down there?” Rob shouts from the entrance.

  “Too scared to find out for yourself?” I’m more than a little ticked off that Rob accused Sonya of being a coward while he’s too chickenshit to lead the way.

  Jack snorts. “Oh, that Rob Kang,” he says, loud enough so his voice carries. “All talk, no cock.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Frankie says. Her voice is closer than Rob’s, and I realize she’s following us, silent as a ninja. Figures that she’d stay as close to Jack as was humanly possible without climbing over my cold, dead body.

  There’s movement behind, and the meager sunshine from the entrance fades as, one by one, our friends enter the mine. Small circles of feeble light dance against the rocky walls of the tunnel as a half dozen flashlights spark to life.

  “Watch your step,” Jack says. He points his beam at the ground and a group of stones comes into view. They glitter like crystals and have a decidedly pink hue.

  I stop and crouch down, adding my beam on the odd stones, noticeably different from the drab, striated rocks that make up the walls and floor of the tunnel. “They certainly don’t look like sandstone.”

  “That’s because they’re not.” Frankie nudges one of the strange rocks with the toe of her shoe. “It looks like halite.” She places her flashlight on the ground, aimed at the small pile, and picks up one of the rocks, a brick-shaped specimen about the size of a loaf of bread, then holds it to her nose. After a few sniffs, she sticks out her tongue and licks it.

  “I’m glad you finally found someone who wants to make out with you,” Rob says.

  “Better kisser than you are,” she fires back without missing a beat. As much as I hate her, I do have to appreciate how she throws it right back in Rob’s face. “It’s salty. Definitely halite.”

  “Are you sure?” Sonya asks.

  “Yes.” Frankie doesn’t like being questioned. “I did a science fair project in middle school on isometric crystal formations,” she says haughtily. “Halite is a crystal, commonly known as rock salt.”

  Rob fake sneezes. “Nerd.”

  “Look at this,” Jack cries a few feet ahead.

  I pick my way toward him through scattered halite rocks and discover a low wall of them blocking the tunnel. There’s a hole right in the center, leaving just a foot or so of the halite bricks blocking our way.

  “Deputy Weller wasn’t kidding about keeping people out,” Jack says.

  “Or keeping something in,” Terrence adds.

  Somehow in the close quarters of the mine shaft, his words seem particularly ominous.

  Frankie continues to examine the stone in her hand. “There aren’t any halite deposits nearby.”

  “Hot,” Graham and Greer breathe in unison.

  “Maybe the water moved them?” Jack suggests.

  “Doubt it,” I say, still focused on the remains of the wall. “Look at the way it’s built. Symmetrically stacked like a brick wall. Someone did this on purpose.”

  Frankie turns the brick over in her hands. “Besides, the only halite deposits in California are way down near Death Valley.”

  “Okay,
okay.” Rob takes the rock from Frankie’s hand and tosses it onto the ground. “The pink rocks came here by magic. Whatever. Who cares? Can we get this show on the road, please?”

  “Rob’s right.” Jack takes my hand and steps through the hole in the halite wall. “This way, milady.”

  As we continue downward, I can’t shake this weird feeling that’s come over me. Why did they block the mine shaft? Was it to keep us out or, as Terrence suggested, to keep something else in?

  But Jack doesn’t seem a bit worried. If anything, he’s moving with increased energy, pulling me faster and faster down the shaft. Suddenly, the tunnel evens out, and I feel Jack’s hand pulled from my grasp. I stop abruptly. “Jack?”

  “Oh my God,” he breathes, his tone reverential.

  “What is it?”

  There’s shuffling from ahead, and when Jack speaks again his voice booms from far away. “Annie, you’ve got to see this.”

  I scan the tunnel with my flashlight. No Jack, and my beam seems to get swallowed up by the blackness. What the hell? He promised not to let go of my hand. That lasted all of ten minutes. “Where are you?”

  “Hurry up,” Frankie hisses in my ear. “Or do you want us to leave you behind?”

  Wouldn’t she just love it if I disappeared down here . . .

  I shuffle forward, pinning my flashlight beam to the low ceiling of the shaft. After only a few steps, the small disc of light vanishes completely and a rush of air blows past me, sending a chill down my spine. I can feel the openness around me, and as I tentatively straighten, I press my hand above my head, just to make sure I’m not going to crack my skull against solid rock. I stand to my full height, concussion free, and gaze around the darkness.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Jack says. My eyes are better adjusted now and I can see the beam from his Maglite piercing the inky blackness a few feet in front of me. “It’s got to be thirty feet high.”

  I tilt my head back and angle my light in the same direction. Above, I can barely make out two fuzzy circles of light against the smooth rock ceiling. “Did we come down that far?” I ask. It seems impossible there could be so much open space above us.