Red Helmet

by Homer Hickam

  Birchbark had already explained it, though it was clear Bashful didn’t want to hear the truth. “We drilled into the old works and lit off the methane in there. Just like I told you would happen!”

  “But how could it?” Bashful plaintively demanded. He knew he was in big trouble and his brain was working overtime to figure a way out.

  Birchbark shook his head. “Maybe we hit an old roof bolt, made a spark. What matters is we did it. That spout of fire out of our hole is proof.”

  Bashful stopped his pacing. “What if we fill that hole up, then leave? Pretend it never happened.”

  “That’s not possible, Bashful. We can’t run away from what we’ve done. For one thing, the riggers know it and they’ll tell everybody. Now, get hold of yourself. First thing we got to do is to stop up this hole. If there’s a fire down there, the air going through our shaft is feeding it.”

  Bashful shook a cigarette out of a pack and, after several fumbles, managed to light it. “I don’t know what to do,” he said between nervous, jerky puffs.

  Birchbark shook his finger at his boss. “Yes, you do. Call Cable!”

  Bashful licked his lips. “He’s going to be mad.”

  “No doubt. Likely, he’ll want to kick your butt. But before that, he’s going to need you.”

  Though he wasn’t thinking straight, Bashful sensed his salvation. “Need me? Why?”

  “Bore holes, Bashful. Bore holes.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Birchbark threw up his hands “Try to focus on what I’m telling you, all right? We’ve caused an explosion. It happened in the old part of the mine so maybe—and pray to God this is true—nobody’s been hurt. The mine is going to be evacuated, in any case. MSHA will show up, which means Einstein. Einstein’s a careful kind of fellow. He’ll want to test the air before anyone goes back inside. Bore holes is the only way to do that. We’re in the hole business, Bashful. Remember? After you call Cable and confess, call Lester and tell him to get the spare rig ready to go.”

  “So you’re saying they need me?”

  “Yes! Now, call the mine, then call Lester.”

  Bashful took a long drag off his cigarette, then threw it down. He went to his ATV, which was equipped with a mobile telephone. He picked up the handset and called Lester and told him to get the spare rig up to speed. Then he took a deep breath and dialed Mole’s number. Mole was his connection to Cable. But all he got was a busy signal.

  MOLE WIPED THE sweat from his brow with a red bandana. He was talking to Bossman, who had reached the bottom and called in on the wireless attached to his jeep. “I just talked to the lamp house,” Mole said. “Cable’s and Song’s tags are still hanging on the board, so it looks like they’re still inside. You know we should turn off the power. Otherwise, a spark might cause another explosion.”

  Bossman was quiet for a couple of seconds, then said, “Yes, but that means the fans will stop delivering fresh air too. Any sign of Einstein?”

  “He’s on his way. I expect him any minute.”

  Bossman flashed his light around the bottom. No lights flashed back. There were only empty mantrips. He had never felt so alone in the mine before. “All right,” he said. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to take my jeep and run down the intake and see what the situation is.”

  “Alone? Einstein is going to raise Cain if you do,” Mole warned.

  “So let him. How about the CO monitors?”

  “CO sensor just activated itself at Two West return. The sensors up on Six block are dead. I think that last explosion knocked them out.”

  Bossman thought things over. Two West was about a mile from the bottom. The carbon monoxide monitors had been activated one after another down the return, starting at Six block. They’d lit up in a hurry at first, all the way to Three block. Now the Two block sensors were beeping, but it had taken a long time for the carbon monoxide to reach them. That probably meant the expanding gasses from the two explosions were running out of steam. If the fans kept going, and the intake and returns were not obstructed, the carbon monoxide might be flushed out of the mine within a few hours. After that, it would be a simple matter of going to Six block and bringing out Cable and Song, presuming they were still alive.

  On the other hand, Bossman mused, if the explosions had occurred near Six West—and everything pointed in that direction—and the fans kept going, the intake air might draw smoke and gas back into the section where Cable and Song were probably located. Since Cable hadn’t called, Bossman had to assume he wasn’t able, either because he was injured or there was an obstruction between him and a pager, or the nearest pager to Cable was knocked out.

  With the information he had, Bossman made the best decision he could. “Keep the fans on,” he ordered Mole, then looked up as the manlift platform came dropping down. Two black caps Bossman instantly recognized got off. It was Blackjack Jemson and Shorty Carter. Blackjack operated a shuttle car on the day shift; Shorty was on one of the roof bolt crews on the evening shift. They were also rescue team members.

  “We heard you were down here by yourself,” Blackjack said. “So we came on.”

  “The other guys are getting the rescue equipment ready,” Shorty reported.

  It was good to see the two trained rescuers. Bossman rang Mole again. “Blackjack and Shorty are with me. We’re going to travel up the intake to see what’s what. If we can, I intend to go all the way to Six block and bring out Cable and Song.”

  “That’s crazy, Bossman,” Mole argued. “Everything up there is filled with carbon monoxide.”

  “Well, it may be crazy, but it’s what we’re going to do. I’ll call you at each pager to let you know where we are. Don’t leave the phone.”

  Bossman turned to Blackjack and Shorty. “We’re going in as far as we can go,” he said.

  Blackjack frowned. “If this is a rescue, rules say we’re supposed to wait for MSHA to give us the go-ahead.”

  “I know what the rules say, Blackjack,” Bossman snapped. “This ain’t an official rescue, not yet. And I, for one, don’t intend to wait around when there’s a chance we can just scoot in and bring Cable and Song out.”

  “Bossman’s got it right, Blackjack,” Shorty said. “At least we’ll know if we got a clear path inside.”

  Blackjack gave it a short ponder, then nodded his agreement. Bossman’s wireless beeped. “What?” he demanded.

  It was Mole. “Einstein just drove through the gate. Anything you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him I just left, heading inside.”

  “He’s going to go off like dynamite.”

  “Let him,” Bossman snapped, then switched off and waved Blackjack and Shorty to the jeep.

  SONG WAS BENT over, clutching Bum beneath his armpits, dragging him one excruciating step at a time. She had attached to his belt three fresh SCSRs, and the battery and lamp Cable had stored in the box on his jeep. She had the other two spare SCSRs clipped to her belt. She felt like a deep sea diver laden with lead.

  The smoke was thick, her SCSR wasn’t delivering much oxygen, she was hot and exhausted, and she ached all over. Her hands lost their grip and she fell backward into the gob, and there she lay, gasping for breath. When she sucked in and got nothing in return, she took her SCSR off, threw it away, then opened up a fresh one she took from Bum’s belt. She also gave him another shake. “Wake up, Bum! I’m tired of dragging you!”

  Bum didn’t wake up. She had found him lying next to Cable’s jeep, which had protected him from the falling roof. He had groaned a couple of times but that was all. “Why are you men so heavy?” Song griped, then grabbed his arms and kept pulling, the heels of his boots leaving wavy tracks in the gob until they passed through the curtain. Immediately, she dropped him, then knelt down and took several deep breaths. When she was revived, she looked around, her light flashing along the rib where she’d last seen Cable. He was slumped against it with his head down. She crawled over to him and gave him a good
shake. “Cable! Come on! Get those eyes open!”

  To her relief, he raised his head. “Sorry, jus’ a nap . . . needed it . . .” His speech was slurred, and when he looked at her, his eyes were unfocused.

  Song shook him again. “All the way awake, Cable. Come on!”

  He blinked a few times, then seemed to climb out of whatever deep pit he had visited. “You made it,” he said. He flashed his light around. “Did you get Bum?”

  Song sat down beside Cable and took off her helmet and gave her head a good scratch, which felt good. “I got him, but I wore out an SCSR doing it,” she griped. “I brought the spares, but I’m wearing one of them.”

  “You can stop breathing off it. The air in here is okay.”

  She unclipped her nose clips and sniffed, then coughed. “It doesn’t smell okay.”

  Cable looked at his gas detector. “That’s only the smoke. If it was carbon monoxide, you wouldn’t smell it anyway.”

  Song flashed her light back at the curtain. “I think the CO is real high out there, Cable. The smoke is thicker too. I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

  “I know Bum will appreciate you going after him,” Cable said.

  “Why do I doubt that?” She rested for a moment more, then asked, “How are you?”

  “It feels like somebody drove a steel peg through my leg, but I’m hanging in there.”

  “What made you sleepy if the air’s so good in here?”

  “I didn’t say it was good, just okay. The CO is getting higher. We’re too close to the fresh air intake.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “Ordinarily it would be, but see your curtain flapping? That’s bad air pushing in on us. With all that rock down on the intake, the air pressure is quite a bit less but it’s still there, enough to suck the bad air in on top of us. We need to move. You know where you and Preacher put up those timbers? That would be a good place to go. There should be plenty of air in that cut and we can curtain ourselves off and wait it out.”

  Song was too tired to move. She slumped against the rib. “What happened, Cable? What caused this?”

  Cable started to say something, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d be guessing, so I’ll just say I don’t know.”

  “I don’t think I have the strength to move you both,” she confessed.

  “You just have to move Bum. I’ll crawl. But first, I want you to splint my leg.”

  “With what?”

  “There should be some wedges around. Just two flat boards is all you need. You can use strips from the curtain rolls to tie them on my leg.” He looked at his detector. “Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “The CO is already a couple of percentage points higher. Get the splints, please. We’ve got to move right away.”

  Song took a deep breath that turned into a long sigh. “All right, Cable. No rest for this weary red cap. Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

  BOSSMAN FINALLY ANSWERED the insistent pager at the intersection of Two block. Its light was flashing, and Mole was shouting over the speaker: “Anybody there? Anybody there?”

  “I’m here,” Bossman growled.

  “Oh, hey, Bossman,” Mole replied. “Einstein’s here. He wants a word.”

  Bossman grimaced and prepared himself to get royally chewed out by the MSHA safety man. Surprisingly, Einstein’s voice was modulated. “What’s your situation so far?” he asked.

  “Everything’s open to Two block on the escapeway. CO’s up a little but not too bad.”

  “Good,” Einstein said. “Now, turn around and come out.”

  “What’s that, Einstein? I can’t quite hear you.”

  Einstein’s tone turned edgy. “You heard me well enough. Get out of there. I’m killing power to the mine just as soon as you get off the manlift.”

  Bossman hung up the pager phone. “Lots of static,” he said to Blackjack and Shorty, then checked his detector. The CO had risen considerably. “Put your SCSRs on,” he ordered.

  IN MOLE’S CONTROL room, Einstein hung up the phone just as Rabbit Cole, the lamp man, walked in. He was holding three tags. “Here’s the ones still in the mine, not counting Bossman, Blackjack, and Shorty.”

  Mole glanced at the tags. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” he snapped. “Who do they belong to?”

  “Cable, Song, and Bum.”

  Mole was incredulous. “Bum? He can’t be inside. He just probably forgot to move his tag when he came out.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rabbit said. “I’ve looked for him everywhere, even called his house. Vietnam says he didn’t see him on the mantrip and none of his other buddies on Six West said they saw him either. Matter of fact, they said they ain’t seen him since lunch.”

  Mole thought it over. “Bum sometimes sneaks away in the gob, takes a nap. He’s missed the mantrip out before.”

  Einstein glowered at the dispatcher. “You’ve got one lousy operation around here, Mole.”

  “It ain’t, neither, Einstein. I mean Mr. Stein. Cable runs a good outfit. He’s just sorta got a soft side when it comes to Bum. Bum takes advantage of it, that’s all.”

  Einstein raised his eyebrows. “Well, now they’ve got themselves trapped in the mine together.”

  There was no argument against a fact, so Mole asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Have you called in your rescue team?”

  “Yep. Bossman’s the leader. Him, Blackjack, and Shorty, you know where they are. We got seven other men on their way.”

  “Okay. Call Fox Run and get their team over here too.”

  “Already done it. They got six men on their way with their rescue gear. It’ll take ’em about an hour.”

  Einstein went to the marker board and started a list. “We need drill rigs. At least three, I’m thinking. Two in the field and one as backup. We need GPS fixes for Six West. I want a hole into the section for an air sample.”

  “I got the GPS numbers already figured out,” Mole said. “Come to think of it, Bashful’s crew is out near there already. If I can get hold of them, what do you want them to do?”

  Einstein’s eyebrows lifted again. “What’s Bashful doing way over there?”

  Mole shrugged. “Drilling for gas like he always does.”

  “When and if you contact him, I would very much like to speak to that young man.” When Mole hesitated, Einstein said, “Now, Mole, now!”

  Mole picked up the phone and dialed Bashful’s warehouse. He wasn’t there, but Lester was and Lester happened to be Mole’s brother-in-law. “You get hold of Bashful,” Mole ordered him. “And don’t give me a second’s worth of crap. I want to hear his voice in five minutes. You hear?”

  Lester heard.

  SONG TIED THE last knot around the makeshift splint. She’d found some short planks, and they’d been the right length. When she pulled them tight around Cable’s leg, he had nearly passed out from the pain. He worked through it, then wiped the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve. “I’m going to start crawling,” he said. “You pull Bum.”

  That was when Bum suddenly groaned and sat up, looked around, then tore off the duct tape that held his SCSR mouthpiece in place. He spat it out. “Pull me where?” he asked, rubbing his head. “What the hell happened?”

  “How are you, buddy?” Cable asked.

  “I’ve been better,” came the sullen reply. “I asked you what’s going on.”

  “I think there was an explosion toward the main line. Then a few minutes later, another one. We’re going over to a crosscut and curtain up. Can you walk?”

  “I reckon.” Bum’s light fell on Song. “Hey girl! What you doing down here, honey?”

  “She saved your life,” Cable apprised him. “And don’t call her a girl. She’s a coal miner, the same as you and me.”

  Bum laughed. “Says who?” He got to his knees and turned on his helmet light. “You and the girl can stay here, Cable, but I’m gonna walk out.”

  “You won’t get far.
The escapeway is full of smoke and there’s a roof fall blocking the way.”

  Bum flashed his light back to Cable and then Song. “Females in the mine have always been bad luck. It’s her what probably caused this.”

  “Don’t talk like a fool, Bum. I told you Song saved your life. She put up that curtain behind you, then went out and pulled you in here.”

  The spot of Bum’s light moved to Cable and played along his leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “He has a broken leg,” Song said. “Too bad it wasn’t yours.”

  Bum ignored her. He swiveled his light around, studying everything.

  “You should turn your light off when you don’t need it,” Cable said.

  “You sure like to give orders, don’t you, Cable?” Bum sneered. “How about you, girl? You want to tell me what to do?”

  Cable put the spot of his light into Bum’s eyes. “Leave her alone, Bum.”

  Bum insolently flashed his light back into Cable’s eyes. “I ain’t never gonna take no more orders from you. I quit your stinking mine, Cable. What’s your detector say, anyway?”

  “CO’s rising; methane is within limits. Now, listen, Bum. You’ve quit and that’s fine. Resignation accepted. But until rescue comes, we’ll need to work together.”

  Bum took a breath, then moved his light out of Cable’s face. “Beat up as you are, I’m the one who ought to give the orders.”

  “So what do you think we ought to do?” Cable asked.

  Bum crawled over and took the detector from Cable’s hand. He studied it, then handed it back. “Well?” Cable demanded.

  “We should curtain up at that crosscut you said,” Bum answered contritely. He felt along his back. “I’m pretty stoved up, though. Not sure I can curtain much.”

  Cable and Bum put their lights on Song. She knew what that meant. “Well, if you two strong, tough men will let me,” she said, “I’ll drag you both to the cut, then hang the curtain. Then I’ll sweep up the gob and maybe polish the floor. Or how about I do the laundry?”

  Neither man answered. Song shook her head and said, “Come on. Let’s go find some fresh air.”