Digger 1.0

by Michael Bunker

  Ellis had his two tins of spreckle, but he’d need a few more things in order to properly check out the cave. Above his pallet on a shelf, he found his headlight—one of those flashlights that goes on your head, held there by an elastic strap. He didn’t like to use the headlight unless he absolutely needed to. The rechargeable batteries were priceless, irreplaceable, and couldn’t be recharged forever, and the small solar panel used to recharge the batteries took longer to charge four batteries than the batteries lasted. So he always wanted to have some charged batteries around, which meant that he almost never used the headlight. This cave find, however, seemed like an urgent enough case to justify bringing the light along. He’d only use it if for some reason the spreckle torch wasn’t sufficient. He also grabbed his hunting knife in its sheath and stuffed it into his pants pocket. The headlight went into his other front pocket. Now he wanted to get out of the house without anyone getting too curious about what he was doing. When you’re in charge, everyone else is always curious.

  He stopped by the kitchen and Caroline, the fifteen year-old brunette that everyone called “Kay”, was cutting vegetables into a big pot being stirred by Renny, and watched over by ten year old Karl.

  Kay looked up from the pot and smiled when Ellis entered the kitchen. “Where’re you off to?”

  “Can’t these boys be hauling water?” Ellis asked.

  Kay looked at Ellis. “No, they need to be learning how to cook.” She raised the knife and pointed it at him and smiled. “So answer the question. Where are you off to?”

  Ellis winced, but tried to make the reaction unnoticeable. “Just some things I have to check. You know how it is.”

  Kay gave him a sideways grin. “No… Ellis, I don’t know how it is. I do the same thing almost every day. It must be nice to have to ‘check on things’. Something new happening would be quite a nice change around here.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, little girl. And, you’re welcome to be in charge if you’d like,” Ellis said, and though he knew she’d never take him up on it, in a way he meant it. He reached over and took a chunk of green pepper and popped it into his mouth and smiled.

  “That’s okay,” Kay said, “you do a good enough job as leader. But if you ever start slipping, then Delores might want your position.”

  “She can have it.”

  Kay put on an artificial pouty face and stomped her foot. “Quit acting like you don’t love us, Ellis.”

  “Just because I don’t want to be in charge of you doesn’t mean I don’t love all of you. I’m just too young for this much responsibility.”

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Kay said as she stirred the pot. “You’re stuck. Now get out of here and go on your mystery adventure.”

  Ellis patted Karl on the head and winked at Renny. “You two young men take care of Kay for me.”

  “Ok, Dad!” Karl said without looking up.

  Ellis glanced back over his shoulder at Kay. “Don’t hold supper for me. I have some things I need to do.”

  “All right,” Kay shouted after him, “but if it gets close to dark and you’re not here, you know Delores’ll have the posse out looking for you.”

  The screen door slammed behind him. His next stop was the pillbox. The pillbox was a makeshift entrenched sniper post placed in a small copse of trees due west of the farm. Almost invisible from the road or from anywhere else for that matter, the pillbox had a direct line of sight at anything coming over Fontana’s Bridge. On most nights, someone (sometimes two or more people) would be posted in the pillbox to keep watch over the farm. It was far from a perfect defensive plan. The family didn’t own much in the way of weaponry. A few rifles and handguns. They had an old first generation night vision scope mounted on an antique Mosin for night work, but they didn’t expect to do much more than warn the others if an attack of any size was imminent. If a horde came and found the almost hidden bridge, and if the horde made their way across it, there’d be nothing left to do but the dying.

  Due to the difficulty in recharging batteries, the night scope was only activated when absolutely necessary. Their defenses were weak, bordering on non-existent if anyone were to come at them from over the bridge. More needed to be done, and Ellis knew it.

  The pillbox was basically a trench, four feet deep, four feet wide, and ten feet long that was covered with a roof made almost entirely of six foot sections of old telephone pole. The sections were laid side by side, lashed together with cabling and ran the entire length of the pillbox. The poles were laid with one end supported above the ground by huge rocks dragged down from Utah. The whole roof had been covered with carpet and then a couple of layers of tarp for waterproofing, followed by almost a foot of topsoil and sod. The sniper had four good-sized holes to shoot through that were large enough to give him or her a good field of fire, and enough clearance for the scope. It could be cold in the pillbox at night, but not having someone watch the bridge was not an option. During the day, they usually didn’t man the pillbox. Someone was almost always watching from the barn or upstairs in the house using binoculars.

  The reason he was heading to the pillbox now was that he knew he could get some sections of rope there. One of the chores family members did while on watch duty, if they weren’t sleeping or actively watching, was to make rope from straw. It was slow, laborious work, but they always needed rope, and they’d filled the pillbox with straw for warmth and, of course, rope making duty.

  Ellis popped down into the pillbox and grabbed a section of rope nearly fifteen feet long, and a couple of shorter sections that had just been started. By the looks of them, these ropes had been made by Delores. They were high quality and carefully constructed. Everyone knew Delores made the best rope on the farm. He’d have to come up with some reason for taking the rope if Delores asked, but he didn’t figure she’d find out about it until he’d already made a decision about when and how he should tell everyone about the cave.

  He was just coming out of the pillbox with his rope and the other materials he’d gathered for exploring the cave when he saw Chuck and Shooter sprinting toward him from the barn. Chuck had one of the family rifles—an M1A with a scope attached—and both of the young men were running like they’d seen something coming from the direction of the bridge.

  Looking down through the swales into the low end of the draw that ran through the valley and down to Fontana’s Bridge, Ellis could see there was a horseman standing on the bridge. The horseman had a small contingent of men with him, and he held aloft a white flag tied on stick that he was waving slowly back and forth. The group was stopped on the bridge—not advancing at all.

  Ellis saw Chuck pointing toward the bridge, not realizing that Ellis had already spied the visitors. He held up his hand for Chuck and Shooter to stop. “Shooter, you take the M1A into the pillbox and get ready. If you see my hands go up over my head, for any reason, that will be the signal to take out whoever is in charge. The man on the horse, most likely. If I’ve already taken that guy out, go down the list in order of rank, depending on if you can tell anything from that far.”

  Shooter nodded his head, took the rifle from Chuck, and headed toward the pillbox. Shooter was a crack shot. He would shoot if he needed to, and he wouldn’t miss.

  Ellis pointed at Chuck. “You head back and get everyone in battle positions. If they try to force their way in, y’all do your best to make them earn it.”

  Chuck nodded. He handed Ellis his belt and holster, with his favorite pistol, loaded and ready to go. Ellis took the rig and quickly put it on. He checked the pistol, then put it back into the holster.

  Chuck tarried for a moment. “You sure you don’t want me to come with you, Ellis?”

  Ellis was already shaking his head. “No. You know the drill. If they take me out, you’re next in charge. Make ‘em pay, brother.”

  “Will do.”

  ~~~

  Ellis dropped his spelunking tools by the pillbox. If I live long enough to go cave exploring, this’ll
have been a good day, he thought.

  He walked slowly down to the bridge. He wanted to take his time getting there. Every moment he could delay would be more time the family would have to prepare. Truth be told, they didn’t have much of a shot against any enemy who was willing to die to take the Valley, but the family would definitely make the incursion cost a lot.

  The pasture flattened out near the bottom, a hundred feet before the entrance to the bridge, and the draw ran down along the side of the bridge where water from the valley—whatever hadn’t been soaked up by the pasture or caught by the swales—would drain into the Solekeep. From there, Ellis could see that the bridge was occupied by a group of twenty men. Precious metal pirates from the look of them.

  The PMPs were different from the biker gangs or the other rag-tag militarized thugs who would terrorize anyone attempting to cross or salvage in the Basin. The PMP men always looked smarter, and acted with more intelligence than some of the more barbarous gangs. And the PMPs—most of them anyway—never spent a lot of time shaving or shaping their beards at all. But not all of the PMP’s were the same. Some were highly aggressive and murderous, while others operated more secretly, and according to some other, more archaic form of chivalry. Ellis took a deep breath. Who knew what kind of gang this was?

  Closer now, when he looked up at the man in front—the man with the white flag—he knew instantly that this was not the man in charge. A trick? The man on the horse was constantly looking down at another man a few rows back in the group. He’d look at the man and the man would give an instruction, or make a gesture with his hand. Afraid we have snipers, eh? Well, we do.

  The man on the horse pointed his finger at Ellis. “Not smart to come down here all alone, farmer.”

  “The alternative would have been unpleasant,” Ellis replied.

  “Get your hands up so we can see them.”

  Ellis shook his head. “If I put my hands up, you’ll be dead in less than a second, and I’ll be talking with whoever is really in charge.”

  The horseman laughed, but his laugh lacked authenticity. Ellis saw sweat bead on the man’s forehead. “You bluff,” the man said.

  Ellis shook his head again. “You think?”

  “Put ‘em up.”

  “No one has to die here, but if I put my hands up… well… someone has to die here, and that first someone will be you.”

  The man grinned stiffly, then looked down and to his right where the real boss stood. There was an exchange, and Ellis saw the horseman tense up. He hesitated before he turned back to Ellis.

  “Get your hands up, farmer, and then we can talk.”

  Ellis stared at the man. “There’s no need for anyone to die, friend.”

  “Get ‘em up.”

  Ellis shook his head. He didn’t want to see anyone killed. Why do things have to be this way?

  The horseman wiped his nose. “Just do it. I’m dead either way.”

  Ellis knew Shooter would take the shot, and that he wouldn’t miss. There was a reason they called him Shooter. He didn’t know what the horseman meant by, “I’m dead either way,” but he made no move to raise his hands. He waited, hoping something… someone… would intervene to save this man’s life, and probably his own. When the tension was almost unbearable, someone did intervene.

  “Ok. Hold up!”

  It was the real boss man. He stepped to the front of the group and stared at Ellis. “Not jokin’ are ya?”

  Ellis looked down at his boots, then back up at the man. “I am not, sir.”

  Boss Man jerked a thumb at the man on the horse. “That fella is a rapist and a murderer. Caught in the act. Death penalty’s already been declared on him.”

  “Not my problem,” Ellis said.

  Boss Man pulled a pistol from his belt and pointed it at Ellis. “Murderin’ rapist is everyone’s problem. Get your hands up.”

  Ellis shook his head. “I won’t do it. Besides, if I do, my man will shoot you next. And fast, too.”

  Boss Man squinted, looking up the hill and across the pasture. He couldn’t see the pillbox, but he knew someone was there. There was intelligence behind his eyes. “Your shooter must be good, you willin’ to risk your life and all.”

  “Good enough to get him… and you,” Ellis said. “And maybe a few more.”

  Again there was a long tense moment as men thought about what they might do. What they might accomplish. What they might gain. And whether it was all worth it.

  “I don’t need any enemies, and I don’t need to be dead,” Boss Man said. Without any threatening or fanfare, he turned and shot the man on the horse, who tumbled off it and to the ground.

  “Get off my horse,” he said, too late.

  Ellis could feel his pulse pounding in his neck. His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest. His hand went to his pistol, but he didn’t pull it. Involuntarily, he took a deep breath. The man on the ground twitched, and then was still.

  Ellis looked at the Boss Man.

  The Boss Man looked at Ellis.

  “A man with scruples about killin’. Interesting.”

  Ellis watched as the Boss Man mounted the horse the condemned man had been riding. He pointed to a few men and wordlessly commanded them to pick up the dead man’s body.

  “And what can I do for you people?” Ellis asked.

  “Nothing,” the Boss Man answered. “I just wanted to know what kind of people you are. And now I know.”

  Ellis shrugged his shoulders. “But what kind of people are you?”

  “Now you know.”

  When the dead man had been hauled away back over the bridge, the Boss Man turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he nodded at Ellis. “My name is Baron. Everything from the Solekeep up north past Casperville and up to Stanton-Lowville Prison, and east to the Scraps is now our territory as far as the precious metal business goes. You in that business?”

  Ellis stared at Baron. “No, we’re not.”

  “Good,” Baron said. “If you need us, leave word in Casperville and I’ll try to make an appearance. What’s your name, son?”

  “It’s Ellis. Ellis Kint. And there’s no one in Casperville to leave word with. It’s a ghost town.”

  “That makes it the best place to leave word, then. You’re smart. You figure it out. Oh… and one more thing, Ellis Kint. This bridge will get you all killed if you don’t do something about it. It’s hard to see from the road, but not for someone who’s lookin’.” With that, Baron and his team headed north back across the bridge, and disappeared through the brush and sage and desert grass that only partly occluded the way to Fontana’s Bridge.

  Ellis shrugged. What could he say to that?

  Chapter 15

  The tunnel in the back of the cave was dark. Not just any dark. It was that deep, penetrating darkness that reminded Ellis of death… or the grave… or the day of blindness and bodies hitting the pavement in downtown Dallas. Ellis peered down into that darkness and tried to make out how deep the cave actually was. He’d pushed the mammoth stone from the mouth of the hole far enough so he could make entry, and with the light coming through that small gap, he’d found himself in a small, carved out room about ten feet deep and ten feet wide. Near the rear of the cave and toward the north end, he could see the black vacancy of the tunnel entrance that headed down. Now, looking down into that tunnel, he was wondering if he even wanted to know where the passage led.

  Of course I want to know. But still…

  Ellis sat back on his bottom and began to assemble a spreckle torch. He grabbed one of the long sticks he’d brought with him and made an upward notch about six inches from the top of the stick. He began to wrap the short section of rope tightly around the stick, starting with a knotted end slipped into the notch, and then overlapping each circuit until he had a good three layers of rope covering the full six inches. He tied off the rope and then began to slather the torch liberally with spreckle, using the heat of his hands to melt the grease, and then letting it soak into
the rope. He continued to add spreckle until one of the tins was halfway used up. This torch should last for a good long time, hours if necessary, he thought. And if he doused it with dirt and not water, the torch could be reused several times before it would need to be re-wrapped.

  When he was finished with the first torch, he made a second one. This one would only be half as long, and wrapped with half as much rope. He needed to know how deep this hole was before he could even consider going down into it.

  He lit the smaller torch with his zippo, then laid flat on the ground and held the torch down into the hole. The tunnel entrance went straight down and the hole was about three feet in diameter. He saw now that there was a rebar ladder starting from the top of the hole and extending down into the tunnel. The light produced by the torch only allowed him to see down about ten feet, but he could see enough to reach out and test whether the rebar ladder was sturdy or not. It looked as though the entire entrance to the hole had been cemented, and the ladder, though rusty, appeared quite strong. The cement skirt extended down about six to eight feet, and then the hole was just bored right through clay and rock as far as Ellis could see. He now realized that most if not all of the rocks out there in the area they called Utah had probably come out of this hole.

  He dropped the torch. Might as well see how deep this puppy goes. He watched as the torch first dropped flat, and then tumbled end over end into the abyss, flames licking upward as if they were reaching for help. The light just kept falling and falling. Lord have mercy! How deep is this thing? The air whipped at the flame, and Ellis was afraid that the fall might extinguish the torch, but it did not. The long seconds seemed like minutes as the torch plummeted downward. He tried to count, but for some reason he stopped. Then the torch hit the bottom. Way down there. The flame looked like a glowing dot in the distance. Has to be a hundred feet or more, Ellis thought. Maybe one fifty. Way down below the level of the river, but it landed dry and still burned. No water had filled the hole.