My heartbeat races as much as I try to steady it. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
I need my husband. I need to hear his voice.
Quick steps lead me to my purse in my bottom desk drawer. Shaky hands tug at the zipper and retrieve my cell.
“Let him be home,” I whisper as another tug rips through my insides. “Please. Let him be home.”
Tears build in the corner of my eyes as I unlock my screen to see no missed calls and no texts. It’s ten o’clock, seven minutes past, to be exact, and I can’t fight the flicker in the back of my mind that it’s odd I haven’t heard from him at all.
I tell myself he’s probably just exhausted and grabbed a shower and fell asleep as I find his name in my favorites list. My finger is on his picture, “My Love” printed across the top, ready to drop and place the call when a knock reverberates through my classroom.
ELIN
My hand hovers over his name and I teeter on the verge of not answering the door and going through with the call. That answer is made for me.
It pushes open and Mr. Walters, the elementary school principal, pokes his head around it. “Elin?”
Blowing out a hasty breath, I sit the phone down. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Walters. Can I help you?”
He steps through the opening.
I suck in a soft breath.
Gloom is written all over his tight features. He clears his throat and stands tall. “I don’t really know how to say this, Elin, but can you get your things and come with me, please?”
“Um, sure. Is . . . is everything all right?”
A million thoughts run through my head—have I been fired? Has someone filed a report against me?
“Blackwater Coal called the office a few minutes ago and asked that you come to their headquarters immediately,” he says softly.
“Why would they do that?”
I’m afraid to ask, but even more terrified of the answer. When Ty got hurt, they called my phone and asked me to meet the ambulance at the hospital. My phone hasn’t rung today. I check it again. No missed calls.
Why would they call the school?
It occurs to me, just as a slight quiver to Mr. Walters’ composure sets in, that I might prefer that question to remain unanswered. My legs go numb, as do my hands that reach furiously for my things.
He’s talking, but I’m mentally removed from this moment. It’s some sort of survival mechanism, I’m sure. If I can just come up with a decent reason, it will make it all right.
Maybe Ty tested positive for drugs and I need to pick him up?
Instantly, I’m relieved at the idea. That we can deal with.
Yes, I’ll pick him up and rip him a new asshole and make him get professional help this time. Real help, not some self-detox in the—
“ . . . accident, Elin.”
My head jerks to the front of the room.
“What did you say?”
He’s watching me like you look at the family standing beside a casket, like you want to seem all warm and familial, yet you’re afraid in their current state they may completely melt down. It’s a look that’s friendly, yet mixed with sadness, and one I hate. It’s also one I can’t process at the moment because my mind is stuck on that one little word.
“Accident?” I ask, my voice too loud for the room. “What accident? Who’s been in an accident?”
“I’m honestly not sure,” he says and I believe him. The lines on his face soften. “They just asked that you arrive as quickly as possible. Can I give you a ride?”
The car flies down the highway, past the fields now waiting on spring to arrive for the next crop. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, nothing feels different than any other Thursday morning, except I’m in Mr. Walters’ car going a wild rate of speed as I try to get ahold of Lindsay.
Every time it rings, it goes dead.
“Shit!” I say, ending yet another failed attempt at getting through. “I can’t take this.”
My head falls in my hands and I force air in then out of my lungs. My heart is beating violently in my chest as every worst-case scenario fires through my brain.
“Elin, if it was anything incredibly wrong, don’t you think we’d have heard it on the radio? Or gotten some wind of it in the media?” His hand lands on my knee and I stare at it. It feels heavy, the weight of it sitting awkwardly on my leg. He withdraws it quickly.
“I don’t know,” I reply, wishing he’d shut up. I know he’s trying to help, but I need to think. I scroll to Ty’s name and call his number for the hundredth time.
Straight to voice mail.
My hand shakes uncontrollably as I concentrate on my breathing and I try to convince myself this is going to be okay.
Feeling my phone buzz in my hand, I jump. “Hey!” I say as soon as I swipe it on. “Lindsay? Where are you?”
“Heading to Blackwater.”
The one word etched with a sob so deep, so distressing, it shatters what’s left of my nerves.
It must be Jiggs. They wouldn’t call her if something happened to Ty.
My breathing becomes jagged as I see my brother’s face, hear his stupid laugh, imagine his eyes lighting up as he teased me growing up about what I got for Christmas.
I nearly drop my phone.
Dear God, let him be okay. Let them all be okay. Let this be some stupid meeting about healthcare or 401K’s.
“What did they say?” I ask, my voice crackling with the tears I’m trying desperately to hold back. “Did they tell you anything?”
“No. They just said I needed to come to the headquarters as soon as possible.”
Tears roll down my cheeks as she cries into the phone. “Are you alone?” I ask.
“Yes. I’m driving myself. I’m on Five Mile Road now, almost there.”
“I think you’re just ahead of me,” I say, spotting a blue car a mile or so up the road.
“Why are you out here?” she asks, sniffling. “Did they call you too?”
I nod, then realize she can’t see me. “Yes.”
“Oh, Elin,” she says, sobbing once again. “What can it be?”
“Linds, stop. We’ll be there in just a minute. Maybe it’s nothing,” I offer, although I don’t believe it. Not the way this has gone down.
I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“I’m here. I’ll see you inside,” she says and disconnects the call.
I look at Mr. Walters and he offers me a sad smile, so I look away. Pity isn’t wanted. There’s no reason for it. Everything is going to be okay.
ELIN
We pull to the front door and I spy Lindsay’s car in the emergency lane, but I don’t see her anywhere.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Mr. Walters asks.
“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride,” I say, jumping out of the car before it’s to a complete stop and heading for the glass doors with Blackwater Coal printed in black across the front.
The warm air smacks me in the face, making my perceived suffocation even more real. I look frantically at the faces in front of me.
Men, women, some in suits, some in mining vests. Some wearing glasses, others hardhats. The one thing in common: the look of devastation and fear on their faces.
“I’m Elin Whitt,” I sputter, slamming my purse on the counter. “Someone called.”
For a brief moment, no one moves. I look from face to face, willing one of them to step forward and give me answers.
“Follow me, Mrs. Whitt,” a large, burly man says. He starts down a long hall, turning to me as he walks. “I’m Vernon Trent, Chief Officer of Safety with Blackwater.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, peering through windows into offices as we come to the end of the hallway. I don’t see Lindsay. “I need to find my sister-in-law. She got a call too.”
A hiccup catches the rest of my words. Vernon stops at the doorway to a closed room. “She’s in here. Please, follow me.”
“This better be some stupid meeting a
bout insurance . . .”
The door opens and I spy Lindsay pacing along the far wall. She turns as I enter, her mascara-streaked face racing towards me. I catch her in a hug, our arms winding around one another. I can’t cry. I won’t. Everything is going to be okay.
“It’s fine,” I say as promisingly as I can. “Shhh. Everything will be fine.” Brushing her hair away from her face, I pull back to see her face. “Have they told you anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Ladies.” Vernon’s voice fills the room, a commanding, yet kind tone that has us turning on our heels. He’s standing at the front of the room, flanked by a woman in a navy blue skirt and jacket, pearls, and her hair curled like a ’50’s housewife. A man stands on his other side in a crumpled looking black suit and tie. None of them look pleased to be standing in front of us.
My stomach drops to the floor and I squeeze Lindsay as tightly as I can.
Vernon looks at his associates before clearing his throat. “We have some bad news. Please take a seat.”
TY
My eyes open. I cough immediately, gasping for air, as my sight takes in an awkward, unfamiliar scene. The lamp on my helmet illuminates the floor of the mine and the dust that’s permeating the air above it.
What the fuck?
My face is pressed into the wet, slimy ground and when I lift it, a sucking sound shatters the silence of the darkness around me.
Shivering, I try to get my bearings.
“Pettis! Stop!” My voice rings out through the mine, over the piercing equipment and past Cord and Jiggs, the two men that stand between me and him. “Stop!”
He looks at me over his shoulder. “Calm the fuck down, Whitt.”
“No!” I shout, laying down my hammer and starting towards him. If he keeps at that angle, the ceiling will give and land right on Cord.
Pettis’ laugh drifts over the sound of the machines and I realize that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.
“Stop, Shane!” I scream.
He turns to go back to the mining machine but realizes what I meant. He pulls back but it’s just a moment too late.
The entire cavity we’re in starts to shake—the walls, the floor, the ceiling overhead—knocking me off my feet.
“Run!” I scream, my voice drowned out by the sound of chunks of black carbon toppling out of the seam and crashing in. “Get out!”
The noise of the equipment stops. The shouts of my crew melting away. The lights go out as my vision goes black as the walls literally close in on me.
I try to move my legs. I look behind me, where my body should be, but my head won’t turn fully and the light won’t make it through the dust anyway. I can’t see them.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my head not sure what in the hell is happening. There is no pain, or I can’t feel it if there is. Struggling to make it to my elbows, my legs pressed to the ground, Cord’s voice sounds from somewhere through the silt.
“Anyone hear me?” His voice is ragged and his words break as he begins to cough, undoubtedly expelling the debris floating in the air.
“Over here, Cord,” I say, moving the air out of my face with my hand. Particles dance in the light, swaying to a song I don’t hear.
I can’t remember where everyone was when the walls gave way.
Where was Jiggs?
Combing through my memory bank, I have him placed to my far left. By the shaft leading out.
Please, let him have gotten out of here.
I rack my brain for our location underground, thinking back to the map in my packet before we descended a few hours ago. We weren’t incredibly deep, which would’ve given some of the guys a fighting chance to get out if they got a jump on it.
The odds are decent Jiggs made it.
What are the odds we’ll get out?
Panic begins to set in, constricting around my chest. They aren’t good, pretty fucking slim, but I have to stay calm. See who else is in here. Figure out how to stay alive.
Kicking my feet, I feel the weight moving until they’re free. They’re tight and sore and feel like dead weight, but they’ll move. Yet with each swing, there’s more pain.
“I can’t move,” Cord groans.
I roll over, wincing as my back and legs scream in pain. Blocking it out, I look around as I stand.
The dust is beginning to settle, the pungent smell of coal ripping away at my nostrils. The only sound is Cord struggling somewhere in front of me and water trickling to my right.
My headlamp shines in a circle as I turn, illuminating the destruction at my feet.
The wall to the right, the one we were mining into, has collapsed. I shine my light in front of it, to the last place I saw Pettis as he mined into an area that hadn’t been bolted and secured. There’s nothing but a heap of rubble about ten yards in from where he stood.
Gagging, I bend over at the waist and dry heave into the abyss.
“Shit.” Cord barks from the other side of the little cavity formed by the cave-in and I stand, shining my light towards him.
“You over there?” I ask, my boots slopping through the mud as I stumble over lumps of coal and broken ceiling timbers.
“Yeah.”
I see movement along the far wall, a few yards from me, and finally spot his face. It’s as black as the coal on top of him, just the whites of his eyes poking out from the heap.
I clear his body from the debris and help him to his feet. His eyes are wide, a trickle of blood mixed with the soot running down his cheek.
“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” he asks.
A stillness settles over us. He feels it too because he looks away.
Instead of answering him, I take a deep breath. “Anyone hear me?” I call out.
Silence.
“Can anyone hear me?” I say again, moving my light to the front of the room.
The slope leading out of the hole is completely blocked, sealing us off from the rest of the world.
As I start to feel the weight of what that means, I see movement beneath a pile of broken black rock.
“Shit,” I say, moving that way. Cord is behind me, his hand on my shoulder, as I guide us both.
We knock the rubble away, Cord focusing on the guy’s legs as I work on the torso. Once the face is clear, I wipe frantically at the face to identify him.
The chest starts to move more quickly, and the man begins to cough and wheeze. Whoever he is, he’s alive.
His eyes open and when they lock on me, a weak version of my favorite smile in the word flashes at me.
ELIN
Lindsay grabs my arm as we sit on a ’70’s-patterned sofa. Her nails dig into my skin and it hurts, but I kind of like it. It keeps me present. Takes away from the numbness beginning to hit my nerves.
“Ladies,” Vernon says, “this is Greta VanBraun with Blackwater and Reed Fascinelli with the Mining Safety Board. I regret to inform you that there’s been an accident underground today.”
“No,” Lindsay sobs, her eyes wide with panic. I reach for her, pulling her to me, tears streaming down my face.
“Who’s hurt?” I ask, my throat burning from the emotion.
A hint of a look of surprise glints across Vernon’s face. It’s just enough that it hits me straight in the gut, and I know there’s more to it than that.
My arm sags off Lindsay’s shoulder as I stand, even though my legs shake under me. “Someone is just hurt, right?”
“Mrs. Whitt, will you please sit down?”
The look on Greta’s face chills me to the bone. I fall into my seat. “Where’s Ty?” I ask, my voice so clear it even surprises me. “Where’s my husband?”
“Mrs. Whitt, please—”
I cut Greta off. “Please spare me all the pretty language and answer my question. Where are my husband and brother? Where is Cord McCurry? If they’re at a hospital, we need to get to them.”
They don’t speak, but they don’t need to. The look on their faces says it all.
The vo
lume of my wail screams through the room. Lindsay pulls me into her, her tears hot against my cheek. My ears are assaulted by her sobs aimed straight against my eardrums. But none of it matters.
Not anymore.
TY
“Can you move?” I ask Jiggs.
He groans and begins, with precision, to move his limbs. “Yeah,” he coughs. “I think so.”
Cord and I help him to his feet. He staggers a bit until he gets oriented.
“What the fuck happened?” Jiggs asks, taking off his helmet and feeling his head, wincing.
“Pettis was mining over there. I remember telling him to stop and he looked over his shoulder and everything started moving,” I reflect. “That’s all I remember.”
“Who else is down here? Who else . . . you know, made it?” Jiggs says the words with a break to his voice, like the situation, the reality, is starting to smack him in the coal-black face.
“Us.” The words ring around the space, sending a chill through all of us.
I put it out there plain as day because it’s the truth and the sooner we accept it, the better. It’s the first thing we learn in training. To stay cognizant of your situation.
This is our situation.
“Fuck,” he hisses, looking around the darkened cavern. “How in the fuck are we getting out of here?”
I glance at Cord, who’s looking at me. He knows what I know—that there’s a blind man’s shot in the dark that we’ll ever get out of here. The odds aren’t good. They’re shit, actually. They’ll try, I know they will, but I also know the numbers and factors and that we are fucked.
Before Jiggs can see my face, I turn away from him. Tears dot my eyes, the saltiness burning my cheeks in what must be cuts and scratches.
I haven’t even checked to see if I’m bleeding. What does it really matter now, anyway?
Squeezing my eyes closed in an attempt to stop the tears, I see Elin. She’s lying in our bed, her shy smile printed on her pretty lips. My hands clench at my sides, my tears just running harder now, because I would give anything to climb in that bed with her, soot and all, and hold her until I stop breathing.
Written in the Scars Page 21