And the Hills Opened Up

by Oppegaard, David

  “You ever been hungry, Billy? So hungry it feels like something’s chewing on your guts, making them ache?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Johnny Miller sat forward, settling his hands flat on the table and he stared into the boy’s eyes. “You don’t know? Well then, I’d say you ain’t never been hungry enough to know what I’m talking about.”

  “I guess not.”

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about a goddamn thing, kid. You ain’t lived long enough to know what it’s like to grow up. The pressures that build in a man till his head feels like it’s going to burst.”

  Billy took a step back.

  “You think life’s all home cooking and warm blankets. How your pa’s cheek smells nice after he shaves.” Johnny shook his head like an invisible fly was buzzing around him. “But you wait. You just wait and see. Someday you’ll run into something bad, something real bad, and you’ll wish it was just being hungry and maybe you won’t feel so high and mighty anymore, with that stubby nose of yours all stuck up in the air.”

  Billy turned and bolted for the door. Chains rattled as the criminal jumped from his seat and thrashed about, pulling at the ring in the floor. Billy ducked his head, pumping his arms and legs. More ugly words came from inside the general store and the boy tried to outrun those, too, dodging the dim figures of more adults as they gathered in the fading light.

  16

  A new breed of weariness seeped into Hank Chambers’ soul as he stared into the dark barrel of Milo Atkins’ revolver, a vast and all-encompassing fatigue that had nothing to do with the horrors he’d witnessed in the mine below and everything to do with the number of fools in the world. So many fools, covering so much of God’s fertile creation. What could their purpose be? And in what poorly-lit hour had they been conceived? Throughout his entire mining career—heck, throughout his whole damn life—fools had been dogging Chambers at every turn, weighing him down like rocks in his pockets. They’d nearly killed him a hundred times beneath the ground—not minding their chisels, their hammers, the tightness of their knots—and now one more fool was trying to get him killed. It was enough to drive a man plumb crazy.

  But he had to keep his head on straight. Bonnie was expecting him home for dinner and to drink as much water as she saw fit. He would drink whole jars of water, one after the other. He’d fill himself with so much water his body would puff out and gurgle when he walked—

  “Lord, Hank. You stink to high heaven. What are you covered in, anyhow?”

  Chambers spat on the ground, trying to regain his senses. Harder now. They wanted to run off like wild horses, all skittish with nerves and fever.

  “It’s gore, Milo. Something in the mine killed my men.”

  “I heard. Three of them, is that right?”

  Chambers looked past the sheriff and counted four others, including Leg and Henry Jameson. Nobody had a gun except the sheriff.

  “More than that, Milo.”

  “How many, then?”

  Chambers turned around, looking for the sun. It had already set behind the hills, throwing the whole town below in shade.

  “About all of them, I’d say.”

  The sheriff’s jaw went slack. Chambers could hear the cogs grinding inside the young man’s brain, needing a bit more lubrication in the July heat. The sheriff lowered his gun a bit and let out a big guffaw, glancing at the men behind him. Leg Jameson tittered with him, but his mute son Henry and the two old loafers, Butch Hastings and Larry Nolan, did not make a sound, their somber eyes glued on Chambers. Some men expected the worst, some did not.

  “All of ‘em, you say? Huh. That fever you’re running is worse than we all thought.”

  Chambers shook the fuse cords in his hand, wishing he could light them with the power of his mind alone. Every second that passed was one more second toward the death of them all. That Charred Man would find his way to the mine’s opening sooner or later, like water finding a hole in a dam.

  “Don’t mistake my sweat for madness,” Chambers said, taking a step toward the sheriff’s gun. “I know what I saw down there. Some creature got loose, tore into the men, and killed them all. I’m blowing the mine so it doesn’t do the same down in camp. Every second you hinder me you risk your own imminent death, Sheriff.”

  Atkins smirked and motioned at him with the revolver.

  “You stay where you are, Mr. Chambers. I like ghost stories myself, but I’ve never heard of anything killing seventy some men. Nothing except what you’re attempting here.”

  Butch Hastings, one of the old general store loafers, cleared his throat. He had rheumatism in both hands and it made them shake as if they had a mind of their own.

  “What about the two adits? It’d get out through them, wouldn’t it?”

  Chambers nodded at the crate of extra dynamite and fuse caps.

  “There’s enough sticks left to close those, too, if we get lucky and have the time. I figured it would follow me up to this entrance first, though. I felt it hunting me. ”

  A fly lifted off the ground and circled round Chambers, intrigued by the slickness and odor to his clothes. The wind had died down. The hillside was so quiet you could hear the fly buzzing and everyone breathing, including the horses tied to a post outside the dry house. Atkins was squinting like he had a headache and a toothache at the same time, his eyes darting from Chambers to the mine entrance and back again.

  “What’s really going on, Hank?”

  “I told you already, Sheriff. I’m not to going to make up a lie to make you feel better. The truth is strange enough already.”

  Atkins frowned and scratched his chin.

  “Why don’t you set down that cord and we’ll check out the mine together? You show me the seventy men murdered, as you say, and I’ll let you blow the mine, even if it costs us both our jobs. We’ll create a big old tomb for your crew. We’ll even get Father Lynch to bless the whole affair.”

  Chambers swatted the fly away, which just looped around and came back again. Like the conversation they were having.

  “Fine, Sheriff. Let’s do it your way.”

  The foreman dropped the blasting cord on the ground and stepped back, holding his hands in the air. It was growing clear to him that there was no good way out of this situation, that he’d finally run into the King Fool himself, and that he might not survive this last foolish encounter.

  “Thank you, Hank. I know—”

  The sheriff stopped in mid-sentence, whatever grating thing he was about to say suddenly wiped clean from his mind as he looked over Chambers’ shoulder, eyes widening at what he saw there. The foreman swore softly and closed his eyes, apologizing to his wife in his mind.

  The sheriff lowered his gun and Chambers turned around so he was facing the mine’s entrance. He couldn’t make out anything except dark.

  “You saw it, didn’t you?”

  “I might have. I might have seen something walk past.”

  “Big hands, like claws?”

  “I don’t know. Could have just been a shadow. Or a regular man.”

  Butch Hastings shook his head.

  “I saw it, too. Wasn’t no regular man. Never seen anything that moved like that.”

  Chambers bent over and picked up the pile of cords again, hoping they still had time. Atkins licked his lips, eyes still fixed on the mine’s entrance.

  “Maybe you got me spooked, too. Maybe you spooked everybody.”

  “The Charred Man. That’s what I call him, Milo.” Chambers touched the end of the cords to the lantern’s open fire. They smoldered for a moment, then caught in a dozen sparking strands.

  “You should all get back now.”

  Atkins broke from his paralysis and looked down at the fuse cords, which had already burned a foot down.r />
  “Jesus Christ, Hank. This is going to kill the town. We lose the mine, the whole show is going to close up. We’ll be a ghost town by fall.”

  “There’ll be other towns, Milo. Now, you and Henry grab that crate and haul it around to those adits. If it’s truly up here with us and we seal it in, I doubt it’ll make it to those adits faster than men on horseback.”

  Chambers handed the lantern to the sheriff, who looked like he was finally catching on. The foreman started forward, moving before he could think too much. He caught up to the burning section of cord, passed it by, and headed unarmed into the mine. He thought about how any day you worked underground could be your last. How every miner knew it and accepted it as a risk he could not get around, not with prayer nor luck nor goodness.

  Still, it felt strange, knowing you were entering a mine for the last time, realizing you would not emerge to see the stars again. The feeling pushed Chambers’ summer fever away and flushed it out of him. When he sprinted into that first big room of the Dennison Mine, hollering for the Charred Man to come out and fight, to fight him like a goddamn man, Hank Chambers felt stronger than he ever had in his life. Strong enough that when the Charred Man did find him, smelling like burnt copper and smoke, Chambers was able to wrap his arms tightly around the clawing devil until he heard an enormous blast, a thunderclap that brought the world to an end.

  17

  The street outside the Runoff Saloon was filled with curious residents of the Copper Hotel and a dozen mining wives who’d come downtown to find out why their husbands had not yet returned home though it was nearly eight-thirty. The men stood clumped together in one group discussing the shootout while the women stood in another and speculated about the whereabouts of their men. The saloon’s owner, Madam Petrov, had already come out to speak with both groups, assuring everyone that not one miner was currently in the saloon, either in bed or on a barstool.

  Bonnie Chambers stood among the women, trying to ignore the idle chatter around her and eavesdrop on the men.

  A hand touched her shoulder.

  “Bonnie?”

  She turned, heart fluttering, but it was only her friend, Susan Logan, mother of the loudmouth, red-headed Jess Logan, spreader of gossip and alarm.

  “Did Hank say anything to you about the men working late?”

  “No,” Bonnie said, wondering if he’d said something she’d missed. “I can’t say he did.”

  Susan shook her head as if she’d expected as much. She was a thick-shouldered woman who wore her dark hair in a tight, nest-like bun.

  “Maybe they found a new seam?”

  “Could be.”

  “That’d be nice,” Susan said, her round face brightening. “More work for everybody.”

  Bonnie nodded, as if she cared two bits about more work. As far as she was concerned, they could run out of copper tomorrow, close shop, and head directly for the Rawlins’ train station.

  “Still,” Susan said, “it’s getting late, even for that.”

  Bonnie’s gaze drifted past her friend toward the hillside south of town. The evening light was going from blue to black, yet she could still make out the Dennison Mine’s dry house and storage shed, small as they appeared from such a distance.

  “You think they—”

  A flash lit up the hillside, followed by a loud bang. Everyone in the street turned their head in the direction of the explosion, the women around Bonnie gasping in unison. Dust blanketed the hillside, obscuring the mine’s entrance and the buildings outside it. Bonnie felt her heart squeeze in her chest, a painful, aching contraction, and then she found herself pushing through the crowd of dumbfounded women and men as if propelled by a great wind.

  By the time she’d moved beyond the gawkers, Bonnie had come to her senses enough to realize she’d need a lantern if she wanted to hike the half-mile to the mine, perhaps some proper footwear as well. She stopped at the general store, which was dark and empty. As she’d expected, both Leg and Henry Jameson had both run off half-cocked, likely out of their heads in their excitement to join the sheriff’s little expedition. Bonnie, who knew her way around the store as well as anybody else in town, made her way to the counter in back, found the lantern, and lit it with one of the white phosphorus matches Leg kept beside it in a little tin box.

  The lantern bloomed like a sun being born. Metal rattled at the front of the store, making Bonnie jump. A stranger sat at the sheriff’s desk, his wrist and ankles wrapped in chains.

  “Howdy, ma’am.”

  Bonnie, who didn’t have time for pleasantries, declined to respond. She went around the counter and examined the shelves, which could have used a good scrub. She plucked an oil lamp off the shelf, checked it for fuel, and lit it from the counter lamp. In the increased light she noticed a pair of boots on a bottom shelf. She took off her shoes and tried on the boots—a little big, but they’d do.

  “They haven’t fed me dinner yet.”

  She tightened the laces on each boot and knotted them.

  “You mind bringing me something to eat? I can see they’ve got some ham on that middle shelf there.”

  Bonnie picked up the second lantern and went back round the counter.

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’m sorry, but good men are in trouble out there. You’re going to have to wait for your dinner.”

  The stranger lowered his head.

  “My luck has not held today.”

  “Yes,” Bonnie agreed, “but you are not the only one.”

  And she was out the door.

  The air cooled now that it was fully dark and the stars had come out. The surrounding hills, a shade lighter than pitch black, absorbed the growing starlight and sat hunkered against the sky. Bonnie crossed the valley floor as fast as she could, watching the rocks at her feet so as not to trip or step on a rattlesnake. Enough time had been wasted without more bother like that.

  A cloud of dust from the explosion drifted down from the mine’s entrance, rolling across the valley floor. Bonnie coughed and bowed her head, covering her mouth with her free hand while the lantern flickered in the other, the flame struggling with the thick air. The dust limited her sight so much she did not see the figure until she was plowing into his chest with the crown of her head.

  “Ooof.”

  Bonnie shielded her eyes against the grit and raised the lantern.

  “Randy Bale?”

  The boy sniffed and wiped at his mouth. His eyes looked red and wet and scared.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What happened?”

  The boy dropped his gaze to her feet.

  “They blew the mine shut.”

  Bonnie clucked her tongue and peered up the hillside.

  “On purpose, you mean?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mr. Chambers had me stay at the dry house while he went down into the mine. He was gone a good while and I fell asleep on a bench in there. When I woke up, I saw Mr. Chambers talking with Sheriff Atkins and Leg Jameson and some other fellas. They was looking into the mine kind of strange like. Then Mr. Chambers was torching a pile of fuse cord and the other men were running down the hill like scattered hens, taking their horses and a crate of sticks with ’em.”

  Randy Bale paused to swipe at his nose again. Fresh tears were running down his cheeks.

  “Then Mr. Chambers ran back inside the mine.”

  “Back inside?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Right into the entrance, past the burning fuses. And then the whole thing blew to Kingdom Come.”

  Bonnie swallowed. The cloud of dust had rolled past them and the air had cleared.

  “What about the other men?”

  “They never came out after their shift, far as I know. Not a one.”

  “And the sheriff? Where’s he a
t?”

  “They ran off soon as the mine blew. They weren’t headed toward town, though. More like to the south. I hollered after them, but they didn’t heed.”

  Bonnie passed Randy Bale and started up the hillside, bending forward to adjust for the grade.

  “The mine’s shut, Mrs. Chambers. The ceiling dropped right in.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “You want me to go back up with you?”

  “No. You’ve done enough today, Randy. You head back into town.”

  “I’m sorry about your husband.”

  “Go on, now.”

  The boy took off like a jackrabbit across the valley floor. Scree tumbled down as Bonnie climbed higher, peering up the slope. She hadn’t been to the mine since the previous spring when she surprised her husband with a stein of beer, but she knew the hillside well enough to see the blast had changed its face. If she hadn’t had the dry house to aim for, she might not have been able to place the mine’s entrance at all.

  Because the entrance was gone.

  Blown up and buried in rock.

  Tremulations crept up Bonnie’s legs. They worked their way up her thighs and stomach like a bunch of prodding fingers and they made it hard for her to breathe. By the time she reached the dry house, she had to set her lantern down and lace her fingers behind her head to find her air. Even the flat grade beneath the mine’s entrance was gone, the patch where the miner’s hung out before their shifts, laughing and bragging with each other while their lunch pails swung about in their hands.