by Homer Hickam
THERE WERE TEN men on the Highcoal rescue team. Three of them—Bossman, Blackjack, and Shorty—were already in the mine. The rest crowded into Mole’s control room. Einstein got off the phone and addressed them. “I want you to stand by, gentlemen. Check your gear and be ready to go inside when I tell you.”
“What’s going on, Einstein?” one of the team members demanded. “We just heard rumors so far.”
“I’ll answer as best I can,” Einstein said, crossing his arms. “There’s been two explosions. What kind and what caused them, we don’t know, so we’re just calling it an event for now. Bossman, Blackjack, and Shorty are tramming into the escapeway to see how far they can get. I’ve ordered them out so I can turn the fans off, but as far as I know, they haven’t turned around. That’s not good. We might be pushing fresh air overtop the methane, which could set off another explosion. We have three miners unaccounted for. I think you all know them: Cable, Song, and Bum. We think they’re in or near the Six West section. We’re lucky the event occurred between shifts. We could have had dozens of miners trapped instead of three. But three or ten or twenty or a hundred miners, gentlemen, it doesn’t matter. You know why you’re here. After I get the situation stabilized, I’ll be sending you in there to get them. Be ready.”
The rescue team filed out, and Einstein turned to Mole. “Keep trying to get hold of Bossman. And what about Bashful?”
“Got a call in to Bashful, but his office says he’s out in the field. They’re trying his radio, and if they get through, they’ll patch him in. As for Bossman, you see me here with the inside phone in my hand. I’ve been flashing the pagers up and down the line.”
The outside phone rang and Mole picked it up, holding a receiver to each ear. “Hang on for Einstein, Bashful,” he said and handed over the phone.
“Bashful, this is Mr. Stein. Where are you?”
Bashful was all innocence. “On the south side of Highcoal Mountain. Why? Anything wrong?”
“We think there’s been an explosion in or near Six West section in the Atlas mine. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Bashful was silent for a long second, then said, “Why would I know anything?”
“Listen, Bashful, I can hear it in your voice. You’re many things but a good liar you’re not. So what happened?”
Bashful broke down and started blubbering. “We didn’t mean to do it! I told Birchbark we shouldn’t drill through those old works.”
Einstein glanced toward the mine map, his eyes traveling up the escapeway to the area he’d warned Cable about some months back. “Do you mean the old works up by Six block?” he asked.
Bashful confirmed Einstein’s suspicions. “Yeah. Birchbark said it would be okay to drill there.”
If it had been possible, Einstein would have crawled through the phone to choke the idiot on the other end. Instead, he remained outwardly calm. Bashful might be an idiot, but right now he was a useful one for what came next.
“Look, Bashful, let me explain it to you. It’s cold and the barometric pressure is low. That means that old section was exuding gas at a high rate. When you punched through with that hot drill head, or maybe hit a roof bolt and made a spark, it blew. At least that’s my working theory at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bashful sobbed. “Don’t send me to prison. I didn’t mean to do it!”
Einstein’s tone was deliberately soothing. For now he had to keep the man together. He could send him to jail later. “It’s all right, Bashful. Nothing’s going to happen to you. Who’s your rig team leader?”
“Birchbark. You want to talk to him?”
“Please.”
Einstein waited impatiently until the team leader answered. “I told Bashful this would happen,” Birchbark said.
“We’ll figure all that out later,” Einstein snapped. “Now listen carefully. I’m going to hand you over to Mole. He’ll give you the GPS coordinates for Six West. I want you to put a hole down on the entry and take a gas reading. Can you do that?”
“I can put the hole down, Mr. Stein, but I don’t have anything to read any gas coming out of it.”
“That’s okay. By the time you punch through, I’ll have sampling equipment in your hands. We can run the sample through our gas spectrograph here.”
“Getting out here ain’t easy,” Birchbark said. “You’ll need a dozer. Luckily we got one to drag our rig.”
“All right. We’ll get one. Hang on for Mole. He’ll give you the GPS numbers.”
Einstein handed over the phone to Mole, then went to the mine map and studied it some more. The inside phone rang and he answered it. It was Bossman. “Where are you?” Einstein demanded.
“Three block and we’re turning around. CO is rising. We’re getting a methane reading that I don’t like either. I de-energized the jeep back on Two block. We’ll walk back to it, and if the reading is low enough, we’ll tram on out.”
“You know what this means,” Einstein said.
“Sure I do. There’s likely a roof fall across both the intake and the return. Ventilation is fouled.”
“Hurry, Bossman,” Einstein said. “The fresh air that’s getting in may cause another explosion at any time. We’ve got to get the fans turned off.”
Bossman hung up. He waved Blackjack and Shorty back toward the bottom, toward outside, and toward safety.
Thirty-Five
9:24 p.m., Tuesday
Song finished hanging the curtain. She, Cable, and Bum were now sealed off in a hole that was clear of smoke. Cable was satisfied. “As long as we don’t get any bad air pushed in here, we should be able to hold out.”
Bum had not helped with the curtain. Rubbing his back, he’d sat down and not moved. “Nobody’s gonna come get us in time and you know it, Cable,” he said. “We’re gonna die.”
“Don’t talk that way, Bum,” Cable replied. “The rescue team is probably already on the way.”
Song took a drink of water. She had carried every water bottle she could find into the curtained area. “How long will it take for them to get to us?” she asked.
Bum answered, “Too long, no matter what Cable says. Einstein ain’t gonna rush in here. He’s a ‘by the book’ fool.”
Cable grimaced when a jolt of pain flowed up his leg. He waited for the torture to pass, then said, “Einstein’s no fool, but you’re right. He’ll go by the book. The rescue team will set up a clear air base at the bottom and then move in with maybe other teams hopscotching along. Then they’ll run into that roof fall. That will slow them down some.”
“If I didn’t have bad luck,” Bum griped, “I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”
“We need to let them know we’re alive and where we are,” Cable said. “Use that slate bar, Bum. Beat for five minutes on a roof bolt, wait fifteen, then beat again. Remember your training.”
Bum shook his head. “I can’t. My back hurts and I’m starting to feel dizzy.”
Song wearily picked up the slate bar. “All right, I’ll do it,” she said. She chose a roof bolt at random and hit it with the tip of the bar. It only made a dull thunk. “They’ll never hear that through all the rock over us!”
Cable encouraged her. “Einstein has acoustic listening devices. He can hear it.”
“He don’t have one in his pocket,” Bum grumped. “Them things are in Beckley. It’ll take at least a day to get them over to Highcoal and get set up. Pound away, girl, but it won’t do no good.”
“Bum, will you just put a zip in it?” Cable demanded. “You haven’t changed in all the years I’ve known you. You were a great linebacker, but when the other team got ahead, you just gave up.”
Bum blazed back. “You’re a liar, Cable! You’re still blaming me for losing the championship game, ain’t you? It wasn’t me who lost it, it was you.”
“We lost it together, Bum. We both gave up when that fullback came busting through.”
“I thought you had him,” Bum said.
“He was closer to you.”
Song had heard enough. “Are you two football heroes done reminiscing? If so, I’ll keep beating on this roof bolt while you sit there and do nothing.”
“I don’t care what you do,” Bum grumbled. “We’re as good as dead.” He turned on his light and flashed it across the remaining spare SCSRs, then he turned it out again.
Song went back to beating the slate bar against the plate of the roof bolt. She soon developed a mantra. With each thump she thought, Stupid men! At least it kept her going.
THE BELL HAD not rung at the steeple. There was no need. The people of Highcoal knew where to go. They were gathering in the church and Preacher was presiding over them, not preaching from the pulpit, but walking along the aisles, putting his hand on the prayerful, which was nearly everyone in town who wasn’t at the mine engaged in the rescue. It had been a spontaneous thing for them all to come to the church, to sit in the pews and pray for Cable and Song. As for Bum, well, he was a coal miner and that was enough to earn him prayers that he might be saved, and in more ways than one.
Rhonda, Rosita, and Young Henry came in with trays of food and set up a coffee station. It was likely going to be a long night.
Before long, the piano player showed up in her big red hat and the congregation rose to sing. Men from the mine rotated in and out, keeping everyone apprised of what was going on. The constable showed up too and took Preacher aside for a word.
“Square’s awake.”
“Hallelujah!”
“He had quite the tale to tell. It was Bum who pushed him over the mountain. Turns out Song and Square were trying to be detectives. When Square saw Bum stealing coal, Bum tried to kill him. It was also Bum who probably killed Stan. I got folks who saw Bum’s truck out near Stan’s property on Sunday.”
Preacher’s anxious expression reflected his concern. “And now Bum’s inside with Cable and Song.”
“Yep. I just wanted you to know so you could send up some prayers that are specific-like. I’m going to tell Bossman and Einstein now, though there ain’t a thing they can do about it.”
“They can pray too, Constable.”
“Well, you’re right about that, Preacher,” the constable said and then headed for the mine.
THE MEDIA WAS moving into Highcoal. A trickle of satellite trucks at first, then a flood of them. It was all going out live. Once again, miners were trapped in a dirty, stinking coal mine. Since there were only three miners trapped, the big-time reporters hadn’t flown in, at least not yet. The networks were depending on the local talent from Charleston, Huntington, Bluefield, Beckley, and Roanoke. It was a Beckley station that first interviewed Governor Godfrey after she roared into Highcoal with a state police escort. She took the microphone away from the young reporter and started to explain everything about the Highcoal mine. She was an instant hit. Soon, nearly every reporter was clamoring to have her on the air.
Omar’s was opened to sell candy bars, crackers, and coffee to the always-hungry reporters at only a moderately inflated price. The governor commandeered a back room in the store and was soon holding forth. Dressed in a revealing jump suit and wearing a white helmet, she demonstrated before a phalanx of television cameras how an SCSR worked, what a gas detector did, and drew on a marker board a layout of the mine. “Rescue teams set up clear air stations,” she explained authoritatively, “then move forward, keeping communications open.”
The governor was having a fine time, although, at appropriate intervals, she carefully wiped away a tear before it had a chance to spoil her perfect makeup. Someone asked her if she knew any of the miners inside. “Oh, I know them all,” she said. “The mine superintendent, his estranged wife, and his faithful companion Bum. We are very good friends.”
This aside created an explosion of interest. A miner and his estranged wife were together and trapped in the mine! Now, there was a story. The top network and cable reporters received the word. Get down to West Virginia now!
MOLE’S CONTROL ROOM was packed with foremen and engineers. Einstein had called them in to apprise them of the situation. “Each of you has expertise I might need,” he said. “So what I want you to do is to keep yourself available. You can set up camp in Cable’s office or you can be at the church. Just as long as I can track you down in a hurry. First man I’d like to talk to is you, Vietnam. I want to hear everything you know about Six West, what equipment is in there, where the curtains are hung, anything you can tell me.”
“Bossman’s made it outside, Mr. Stein,” Mole reported.
“How about Blackjack and Shorty?”
“Them too.”
“Good. Shut the power down. Everything.”
Mole picked up the phone to make the call.
A few minutes later, Bossman clumped in, his face grimy with sweat and dust. He looked a bit sheepish. “Well, here I am,” he said.
“Glad to see you’re okay,” Einstein said, but there was no trace of gladness in his voice.
“You have a right to be mad, Einstein,” Bossman said, taking off his helmet and giving his bald head a good scratch. “But I needed to see what the situation was.”
“And what is the situation, Bossman?”
“Well . . .”
“Did you find a roof fall?”
“No. But I didn’t feel the air moving either. There must be an obstruction.”
“But how much and what kind—you have no idea, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
Einstein jabbed his finger at Bossman. “From here on, we’re going to do this by the book and only by the book. You understand?”
“Sure. But that’s Cable in there, Einstein. And Song . . . well, everybody in Highcoal’s crazy about her. And Bum, though he’s a rat bastard, he’s one of ours too.”
Einstein raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’t care about them?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just that you’re so cool and collected about everything.”
“What I am is unemotional, which is a good thing to be in a situation like this. Now, get over to the bathhouse. Your rescue team is there. Check them out. Make sure they’re ready. I’m going to put a bore hole down on Six West return to test the air. I’ve got another rig putting a hole into Five block intake to test the air there too. When I get those readings, we’ll know better what to do next.”
Bossman nodded agreement. “Just don’t wait too long, that’s all I’m saying. You know what happened at Sago.”
Einstein knew very well. At the Sago mine in 2006, with thirteen miners trapped after lightning had set off a methane explosion, incessant delays had followed, all perfectly explainable and by the book, but twelve men had died who might have been saved if the rescuers had gone directly to them.
“All right,” Einstein agreed. “I’ll remember Sago. You don’t forget Brookwood or Crandall Canyon.”
In 2001, at an Alabama mine named Brookwood, a dozen rescuers had rushed inside after a methane explosion. They had inadvertently sparked another detonation, killing them all. At the Crandall Canyon mine in Utah, three rescue works had been killed while desperately trying to burrow through to trapped miners.
Einstein and Bossman stared at one another, at an impasse because of these contradictory events. You had to be safe, but you had to be quick too. Bossman blinked first. “All right, Einstein,” he said while putting his helmet on. “But just remember, those three miners down there can’t breathe a book.”
Bossman went out the door, heading for the bathhouse. Watching him through the window, Einstein saw the constable stop the top foreman and lean in for a word. The constable continued on toward the office and came inside.
“Got a minute?”
“Make it quick.”
“Sure. Here’s quick. Bum shoved Square off the mountain and murdered Stanvic. Some kind of coal rustling scam. I need to arrest Bum.”
Einstein shook his head. “Constable, we don’t even know where Bum is.”
“Wel
l, when you find him, let me know. I got a pair of handcuffs for him. Consider him dangerous.”
The constable left, while Einstein processed this new wrinkle. “What’s the status of that air spectrograph?” he demanded, just to break the silence that had enveloped the office. Everyone in it had heard the constable. The news would soon be rippling all over Highcoal.
Mole looked up from his console. “It just arrived, Mr. Stein. I told them to set it up in the red cap classroom.”
“I told you to keep me apprised of these kinds of things,” Einstein griped.
Considering he’d just learned of the spectrograph’s arrival from the contractor who had delivered the thing, Mole started to snap back at Einstein, but then thought better of it. He held his peace. The MSHA inspector was under a great deal of stress. Mole saw no good reason to add to it.
SONG DROPPED THE slate bar and sat down beside Cable. “I’m beat.” She emptied the water from a plastic bottle, then tossed it away. She looked at the roof, listening, but there was nothing going on up there as far as she could tell. She looked around. “Where’s Bum?”
“I don’t know. The way he’s been guzzling water, maybe he had to take a leak.”
“I don’t trust him, Cable. I think . . . wasn’t Stanvic on your football team too?”
“The center.”
“So he and Bum knew each other very well, right?”
“Of course.”
“Can Bum drive a coal truck?”
“Sure. He drove one for Fox Run for a while before I hired him on.”
“Listen, Cable,” Song said urgently. “I think it was Bum who pushed Square over the mountain and I think he probably killed Stanvic too. He’s capable of it. He’s always angry, he’s violent, and he sleeps on the job. Maybe that’s because he works at night hauling coal that’s not his, then takes drugs to try to stay awake.”
Cable went over the accusations, which matched what he already thought. “I guess right now, it doesn’t matter,” he concluded. “We’re going to have to depend on each other, including Bum, to get out of this.”