Written in the Scars

by Adriana Locke

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her in my brain, wiping my eyes with the back of my dirty hands. I can taste the acridness of the coal, feel the acid on my skin. Feel the sting in my eyes from the putrid dust.

  Clearing my throat and spitting out a mixture of saliva and soot, the bitterness burning my mouth, I turn to my friends. They’re looking at me.

  Down here, I’m the man in charge. I have the training, the hours upon hours of sitting in a classroom and being lectured on this very thing. I know what to do, but looking around, feeling the realness of the moment, I know one thing: all that training is bullshit.

  My lungs tighten in my chest as panic begins to take root.

  “How we getting out of here, Ty?” Jiggs asks again. “What’s the plan?”

  I look at his face, barely a speck of skin showing through the blackness smearing his features. His eyes are wide, pleading with me for an answer.

  Jiggs swallows, moving his weight from one side to the other, and I know he’s about to lose it. That’s going to use up what oxygen we have down here and make this worse for all of us.

  “I’d say we’re sealed. We aren’t getting out up the ramp.” I nod behind Jiggs to the wall of rubble that used to be our road out. Racking my brain for protocol, I put together a plan. “They’ll drill an air shaft as soon as they think the ground is stable.”

  “How much oxygen do we have?” Cord asks.

  “Enough,” I say with more certainty than I feel. “We can’t panic, can’t go using it up by being stupid. The best thing we can do right now is to stay calm.”

  “Stay calm,” Jiggs mutters, blowing out a breath. “Yeah fucking right. We’re trapped below the fucking surface and you want me to stay calm?”

  It’s in his voice—that ripple that comes right before someone loses their shit. I can’t blame him, but I can’t let it happen either.

  “Hey,” I say, my tone not one I usually use for my brother-in-law. “You want to make it out of here to see your wife and baby?”

  The words drench him like a bucket of cold water. I ignore Cord’s look, the one that asks if I really believe that’s possible, and keep my gaze settled on Jiggs.

  “Because you losing your cool down here isn’t going to help anything,” I say.

  “My wife is up there!” Jiggs shouts, the words all too loud in the tight space. “I need to get out of here!”

  I grab him by the shoulders and shove him backwards. “Guess what? My wife is up there too,” I remind him, standing so close our noses nearly touch. “Your fucking sister? Remember her? So stay fucking calm, man.”

  His breath is hot on my face, his nostrils flaring as he waits for the next words out of my mouth.

  Cord places a hand on each of our shoulders. “Settle down, boys,” he says. The calm in his tone eases the tension between Jiggs and I, and we both blow out a breath. “We’re gonna get out of here. Let’s just ease up and get comfy because it could be a long minute.”

  ELIN

  “Ladies, please listen to me,” Vernon says, squatting down in front of us.

  I look at his face through Lindsay’s hair. At first I only see his mouth move through the tears, fear gripping me in its strongest hold, blocking out his words. But when I make out “Ty,” I pull away from Lindsay.

  “ . . . aren’t sure what caused it yet. Most of the crew escaped, but we haven’t located Ty, Jiggs, Cord McCurry, “Grunt” Salis, and Shane Pettis.”

  “What do you mean you haven’t located them?” Lindsay wails.

  “We don’t know where they are.”

  “Could they have gotten out?” I ask, not bothering to attempt to halt the trail of tears flowing down my face.

  Vernon stands and joins his associates in a tight line. “It’s possible. But, ladies, I think you should prepare for the fact that they may be trapped below.”

  “No . . .” Lindsay cries, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  I sit, my posture rigid. I can’t wail, can’t sob, can’t ask questions. My body starts to shake, my body temperature plummeting, and I know one thing: I’m in shock.

  TY

  The water drips down the walls, pinging into puddles. The sound chirps through the little room created by the cave-in.

  It could be relaxing, in the right situation. It reminds me of the little fountain Elin had one time in the living room until Cord drank too much and knocked it over, breaking it into a million pieces.

  “Okay, let’s get a plan,” I say, pulling myself together. “Does anyone have their radios?”

  “The battery died on mine a few hours ago, before all this shit,” Cord says. “I have it, but it’s no good.”

  Jiggs looks around. “I have no idea where mine is.”

  “Mine was lying in water,” I say, tossing the remnants of my shattered radio in a pile of coal across the room. “Battery is toast.”

  I survey the room. “Do we have any food in here?”

  “How long you think we’ll be stuck down here?” Jiggs asks.

  “I don’t know, honestly,” I admit. “But probably longer than we care to admit.” Again, I ignore a pointed look from Cord. “So, food. Lights. What do we have?”

  Cord stumbles into the back corner and rummages around. A few minutes later, he steps into the light of my headlamp. “We have one lunchbox.”

  “That’s mine,” I say. My lips press together as I fight myself from snatching it from his grasp. I know there’s a little note from Elin inside, as well as my lunch—the last thing she might ever do for me. My fists clench at my sides as I rip my eyes away from the metal bucket.

  “Let’s hope Elin packed you some good shit,” Cord says.

  Hearing her name out loud rips through my soul. I wonder where she is and if she knows. I hope someone is with her, comforting her, telling her it’ll all be okay somehow. That someone is lying to her.

  “We probably need to save our lamps,” Cord points out. “It’s gonna be dark as hell down here if we don’t.”

  “This is hell,” Jiggs snorts.

  “No, you’re right,” I say. “Let’s get a safe place to sit and save our lights. We’ll flip one on at a time every now and then.”

  We begin clearing out a space on the floor for the three of us. We take pieces of rubble and build up a little pad over the mud and water that seems to never stop trickling in. We work silently, none of us making eye contact, like if we don’t look at the others, maybe this won’t be real.

  We sit in a circle of sorts, Cord to my right, Jiggs to my left, my lunch box tucked in beside me.

  “If we get real creative,” Cord says, “we could convince ourselves that we’re around a campfire. Especially the way these headlamps flicker and light up this little spot.”

  “We’ve had some good ones,” Jiggs remembers. “Remember the one we had at Old Man Denham’s farm back in our freshman year? We nearly let every single head of cattle out of that field.”

  I chuckle at the memory. “Not our best decision, boys.”

  “Nah, but it makes for a good story,” Jiggs laughs. “Shit, that was the night I talked Lindsay into going out with me.”

  “I remember that,” I say. “We were at The Fountain. She said she’d go for a ride with you if you beat me in a game of pool.”

  “And you let me.” Jiggs laughs, but there’s no denying the layer of sadness that creeps into the tone. “Thanks for that, Ty.”

  Shaking my head, I look at the small patch of black between us.

  “Ty?”

  I raise my head slowly until I’m looking at Jiggs. His eyes are filled with a look that can only be described as pure fear, a look I’ve never seen on him before. A look that rips me to the core.

  “Yeah?” I reply.

  “We’re gonna get out of here, right?”

  “Sure, we are,” I say, forcing a smile to make my uncertainty a little less obvious. “We’ll be hearing the drill soon. We just need to be patient.”

  The air stills as we all decide whethe
r we believe me or not. The drill will come. I do believe that. But will it come in time? And will it do any good? Those are two different questions.

  “Hey,” Cord says, rustling us out of our thoughts. “We need to save these lamps.”

  Our lungs all fill with air as we realize what this means. Total. Darkness.

  One at a time, our lights go off. First Cord’s. Then Jiggs’.

  “Here we go,” I whisper, raising my hand to my helmet and flicking my lamp off too.

  The pitch black settles over us on the cold, wet floor of hell.

  ELIN

  The paper cup twirls in my fingers.

  Around.

  Around.

  Around.

  The water inside sloshes against the sides, threatening to spill out. It won’t be cold if it does and touches my fingers. It’s sat in there too long for that.

  We’ve been in this room for six, maybe seven hours now. In some ways, it feels much shorter than that and in others, so much longer.

  I should be getting home from work right about now.

  Holding my stomach and closing my eyes, I remember my plan to tell Ty that we are having a baby.

  I should be doing that now. Not . . . this.

  The water ripples across the cup and I fight to focus on it. Sleep prickles at my consciousness, thanks to the shot by Doctor Walker. Of course, I had to tell him I was pregnant and when I realized that another person would know before Ty, I had a complete meltdown.

  I look up as a knock sounds gently on the door. Vernon’s head pokes around the corner.

  “Can I get you ladies anything? Anything at all?” he asks.

  “My husband and brother and friend.”

  His face falls. “We’re trying, Mrs. Whitt.”

  “Try harder.”

  “We’re discerning their location now. I’ll update you as soon as I know more.”

  “You have to find them,” I implore. “You don’t understand . . .”

  A part of me feels bad. It’s not his fault, not specifically. Ty chose to go to work even though he knew the risks. But Vernon chose to be the face of Blackwater, so surely he expected some venom from me. If not, he should’ve reconsidered his decision.

  “The Pettis family is in the room next to you and the Salis family too. If you would like to see them, it’s the door on your left.”

  I nod, but have no interest in seeing them at this point. I don’t even know them, not really, except Sharp, whom I loathe.

  “And we haven’t located any family for Cord McCurry. Do you ladies have any idea where to find them?”

  My heart lurches in my chest and I look at Lindsay. “We are his family.”

  “I mean blood family.”

  “You don’t understand, Vernon. We are his family.”

  He nods, not understanding, but getting my point.

  “There is a Reverend Mitchell here to see you,” he states. “Would you like to see him?”

  “Yes. Please,” Lindsay speaks up.

  “We’re holding all visitors unless you give us their names specifically. Is there anyone you’d want to see besides your attorney and doctor?”

  Lindsay gives them the names of her parents. My heart breaks at the fact I don’t have my parents here.

  “Um, Ty’s mom is on a cruise. I’ve called the cruise line and they’re trying to reach her, so if she calls, please put her through. But I’m doubting she’s reachable.”

  He looks concerned for a brief moment before smoothing out his features. Eric Parker told us when he visited earlier that Blackwater would try to segregate us from outsiders until this is resolved. He suggested we stay here for proximity purposes, but to fight for access for whomever we wanted to see. So far, we haven’t wanted to see anyone.

  “The media is asking if you have a statement . . .”

  “They should contact Eric Parker if they have questions,” I report.

  “Very well. I’ll send the reverend back.”

  I watch the door for the Reverend Mitchell’s silver head to pop around the door.

  “Did you choose pink and silver because it’ll match the Reverend’s hair?” Ty laughs, stretching his legs out on the tailgate of the truck.

  Moon Mountain is lit up with a million fireflies twinkling around us. I press my cheek against his chest and cuddle against him.

  “No, I picked it because it’s pretty,” I say, listening to his heart beat.

  “You know what else is pretty?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  TY

  “You think I’m pretty?”

  I watch the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen blush at the idea. How could she not know? How could she not have a clue that she’s all I think about as she sits in front of me in math? How does she not understand she’s all I’ve thought about when I’m alone since she showed up to our school ten days ago?

  “I hope you’ll think about being my girlfriend.”

  Her blush deepens as I try not to do something stupid and ruin my chances before I get this locked down. I’m afraid to say too much, smile too big, touch her too much just in case I’ll burn any points I’ve managed to get with the gorgeous new girl in class.

  “Really?” Her voice is soft, just like the faint scent of strawberries in her hair. “You want to go out with me?”

  “Who wouldn’t want to go out with the prettiest girl they’ve ever seen?”

  A light flickers to my right. It’s weak, an almost brown hue instead of the yellow light that usually comes out of the headlamps. Cord’s face sags, bags evident under his eyes. “Everyone good?”

  We all nod because anything more would be a lie.

  The light flips off again and the darkness takes over.

  “I fucking hate the dark,” Cord laughs. “I always leave the light on in the bathroom down the hallway at night because I hate waking up to pitch black.”

  “My dad always said you’re safer in the dark because the odds are even between you and whatever is after you,” Jiggs relays. “I don’t think this counts.”

  “This fucking sucks,” Cord says, blowing a breath. “I need a fucking shower and I don’t know if it’s more to get clean or warm up.”

  Everything is damp. Even the little platform we built now has water just below the tops of the rocks. The chill is settling in our bones, making our bodies ache.

  “Better get used to this not sleeping stuff,” I say. “Lindsay is having a baby, you know.”

  “Yeah . . .” Jiggs voice trails off and I know he’s considering our situation. But I need his spirits up. We need to stay as positive as we can for as long as we can.

  Until we can’t.

  I can’t go there. I feel like I should, to prepare, but how do you prep for . . . that?

  “You’re naming it after me, right?” I ask instead to distract me as much as anyone.

  He snorts, the sound making me grin. I can imagine him shaking his head, rolling his eyes—but I have to imagine it because, although he’s a foot away from me, I can’t see him.

  “Lindsay thinks it’s a girl,” Jiggs says.

  “So, Cordelia, right?” Cord asks.

  “No, assholes. I’m not naming my kid after you two,” Jiggs laughs. “After we get out of here, I might not want to ever see you again.”

  “I feel you there,” I sigh, making them both chuckle.

  “And as cold as I am,” Jiggs says, “I might go along with her plan to move to Florida.”

  His voice softly carries through the cavern as he begins to cry. “Fuck it, you guys. I just want out of here. I’ll move wherever the fuck she wants. I just want her.”

  The silence we’ve come to know intimately takes over once again as his crying tapers off. Our breathing rattles through the room, the drips of the water piercing the stillness. It’s like a scary movie, and we’re waiting on the predator to jump out.

  “You know,” Jiggs gulps, “if we d
on’t get out of here . . .”

  His voice breaks again and I reach for him but can’t find him in the dark. My chest tightens as I scoot my ass along the jagged rocks until I’m beside him.

  “Listen to me,” I say, “we’re gonna get out of here.”

  “Maybe,” he says, his voice raw, “maybe not. But, you know, at least Lindsay will have—”

  “Look,” Cord interrupts, his voice booming over Jiggs’. “Shut up about this ‘maybe not’ bullshit. Okay? They’ll come for us. You know they will.”

  “Yeah . . .” Jiggs says, sniffling. “This isn’t fair, man. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Elin says we all have a purpose in life,” Cord says, his voice even.

  “What?” I ask, irritation heavy in my tone. “To come to the pits of hell and die? I object.”

  “Maybe—” Cord is cut off by a faint sound that isn’t our voices, isn’t our breathing, and isn’t water.

  It’s the sound of a drill.

  ELIN

  “Have you eaten anything?” Dr. Walker looks at me, then Lindsay, and back to me again.

  I shake my head no.

  “You both need to eat. For you and the babies.”

  Looking away to the paint-chipped walls of the conference room, tears blur my vision. My heart is broken. My soul ripped to pieces. My mind unwilling, unable, to consider my life in any way other than with a happy ending with my husband.

  My brain spins out of control. If I don’t keep it focused on a memory, a plan, an idea, it starts wondering where he is, if he’s hurt, in pain, cold.

  If he’s dead.

  Bile creeps up my throat, singeing the already burnt tissue from multiple trips to the bathroom before now. There’s nothing left in my stomach. There can’t be. Just the by-products of the agony I’m in.

  I miss his smile, the way his laugh washes over me and makes me feel like everything is going to be okay. I need that. I need that now.

  “Please be okay,” I whisper. “We need you. You promised me you’d come home. You promised me you wouldn’t lie.”

  “Can I get you ladies some fruit?” Dr. Walker asks.