by Andrew Dorn
“And it shouldn’t,” Emmeline murmured back. “It shouldn’t.”
“Oh, My God!” Simon said.
Emmeline turned her head his way and mouthed “What?”
“The pod!”
She had no idea what he was he talking about but Anna certainly did. She eased out of Emmeline’s hug with a gentle pull and stepped straight to the geologist.
“Do you think it’s possible?” she asked, eyes ablaze.
Simon shrugged but the intensity in his eyes matched Anna’s.
“I don’t know but if someone could...”
“It would be my dad,” Anna declared.
“What are you talking about?” Emmeline asked.
“The pod,” Simon said with hope in his eyes. “It’s a super-strong emergency bunker, built in such a way that it could survive almost anything, short of an overhead nuclear detonation.”
“Hecho en Mexico,” Arturo interjected, in a reverential voice.
“It’s made of the strongest plastisteel on the planet and it’s designed to offer shelter for up to 14 days to two persons in relative comfort,” Gerry added.
“It even has its own self-contained oxygen station, automatic and impervious to outside conditions, be it water, cold, heat or in the case of Frank’s situation, even complete mine collapse.” Simon grabbed Emmeline’s hand.
“If Frank reached the spud, that’s our nickname for the pod,” he clarified, “he would have access to basic human necessities like a sleeping cot, dried packages of food and medicines and insulated tanks of water.” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “But there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The spud has an electromagnetic low-frequency transmitter, which can permit above-ground rescuers to communicate with the person inside!”
Simon couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
“If we can find a transmitter, then we can listen for Frank’s transmissions!”
There was a heavy sigh.
They all turned to Anna who was pointing down the hole.
“Problem is, we don’t have a surface transmitter. It’s in the sinkhole, with the rest of the administration building.”
Simon looked up at the airship floating above the clearing.
“Perhaps we have another way.”
He turned to Captain Ballard.
“I hear you,” Ballard said. “Let’s go find out!”
As they jogged to the waiting airship, Simon noticed Anna in conversation with Declan, her spirit up from before. Maybe it was a long shot, but the act of doing something, of trying to help, always worked miracles on broken psyches.
“Are you able to scan for specific radio frequencies?” Anna said, jogging alongside the co-pilot.
“Yes, we sure can,” Declan answered. “We have the latest gear aboard.”
They all arrived at the ladder hanging from the Starwind. Ballard climbed up first, followed by Anna, Emmeline and Declan.
“We’ll wait right here,” Gerry said, wheezing like a locomotive. “We don’t want to crowd the bird for nothing, right Arturo?”
“Si.”
Simon nodded, clasping the engineer on the back. He climbed up the ladder and a minute later, stood next to Ballard, seated on the left side of the cockpit. Declan had offered Anna his co-pilot’s position, but she opted to stand back alongside Emmeline.
Simon pointed out to everyone in the cockpit on what frequencies Frank should be transmitting... if he had made it to the spud in time.
Ballard nodded and started the scan. There weren’t that many frequencies and a few minutes later, the scan ended with a loud beep from the receiver.
“No positive results,” Ballard said, his voice low.
“Can you scan again?” Simon inquired, deflated by the result. It had been a gamble for sure, but he had always been an optimist which sometimes could cause let downs... like in this case.
“No problem.”
The hiss of radio noise spewed from the speakers once again, a shrill noise in the cramped cockpit. With every switch in frequency, the sound wavered in intensity until it died out altogether. Simon was reminded of an ocean wave hitting the shore in a steady, rhythmic fashion.
There was a minute bleep from the cabin speakers.
“Just a minute!” Simon said, with his hand in the air, waving for silence. “Listen!”
Ballard had hit the pause button right after Simon’s warning. The number on the display read 166.6 kHz, a frequency used by the pod.
Simon held his breath as the hiss of static noise filled the cockpit. A minute went by, then two, but the bleep he had heard, or thought he had, was gone.
“Sorry, I thought I heard something,” Simon said, staring at the red numbers on the display.
There was a burst of static noise then a voice rang out. The signal was broken up and distorted but Simon recognized it at once.
And so did Anna.
“Dad!”
The static noise exploded again in the cockpit, drowning the voice out, but not before a last series of words could be picked up.
“... repeat... stay...”
Anna gasped involuntarily.
“... away...”
20 Directives
MAJOR JIM REDDING’S boots hit the ground with a satisfying thump. He stretched out his long frame, which a basketball player would not have frowned upon, and sniffed the air. The distinctive odor of pines and musk but also of decay filled his nostrils. They had arrived at the perimeter fence of the Wachibou mine in fair time, despite equipment failures.
His unit was composed of 2 Oshkosh L-ATV (Light Combat Tactical All-Terrain Vehicle), 4 supply trucks and 39 men and women. He could also summon air cavalry if needed, complete with missile-equipped UAV’s... if things got really hairy but he also knew those reinforcements would take their sweet time in coming.
They were setting up base at the outermost edge of the designated zone. It was an orchestrated ballet of pitching up tents and setting up equipment which Redding had entrusted to his Second-in-Command, Lieutenant Lenny Monroe. The freshly appointed Lieutenant barked orders in a clear voice as the men went ahead with the tasks at hand. They were well-trained, but they were not battle-hardened by any means. This deployment, unscheduled and rather out of the ordinary, would make a suitable exercise, something Redding thought they had skimmed over these last few weeks.
“The latrines aren’t even up yet and it already stinks to high heaven,” Monroe said, walking over to the Major.
Redding couldn’t help but guffaw at the young man’s colorful description. He appreciated his companionship, professionalism and discretion, qualities he deemed essential to any high-ranking individual. Monroe was still rough around the edges but he would make a solid leader.
“It’s not the stink that bothers me, Lieutenant. It’s what’s behind it.”
Lenny’s posture stiffened as he sensed his commander’s serious take on the situation. He was right. This was no laughing matter.
“True, sir. We might have to deal with more than foul odors.”
Redding nodded, staring at the countryside. They were about ten kilometers from the zone of intervention. From his spot on the hill overlooking the area, he could see the vast sinkhole which had engulfed the mine.
“Should we start the operation once base is up, sir?” Lenny asked with a nod to the hole in the distance.
“Yes.”
“Understood.”
The lieutenant nodded, saluted smartly, spun on his heels and strode away. Redding watched him go, lost in thought. He was the only one around with a sense of what they could be facing in the next hours. He had received a report from General Walton Welles, his superior officer. The General’s brief had been succinct: they had declared the area contaminated after further discussions with the mine’s owners, a company based in Chicago, and a satellite survey of the area.
His mission’s parameters were unusual in that some of the objectives were l
eft to his discretion. His first directive was to control the contamination. To contain its expansion and smother it, if possible. The overarching goal was to stop it from spreading to populated areas. It had been fortuitous the mine was situated in such a deserted area. The few towns spread across the northern counties were small with an overall population numbering in the thousands, not millions.
The secondary goal was to eradicate the cause of the contamination. The method of destruction would be dictated by the chain of events and by Redding’s threat assessment. General Welles had been clear on this: his people would not be at risk for nothing. The contamination would be wiped out, plain and simple.
That had been the mission Redding had accepted and planned for.
But then the General had a change of heart.
And the mission changed.
Redding grimaced inwardly as he reflected on the changes. He had never been one to question orders, but these new ones triggered concerns. High Command had insisted on another objective for the mission and were adamant that the General see to it, even if it went against his recommendations. Hands tied, the General had agreed to the new requirements with a curt nod before dumping the problem unto Redding’s lap.
The Major had listened to the General’s new directives with a growing knot to his gut.
He didn’t like where this was going.
Not one bit.
The third goal was to retrieve, by any possible means, the root cause of the contamination.
Redding fumed. The retrieval made no sense to him. There were way too many unknowns to elaborate on what they were up against, let alone bring it back. For all he knew, the cause of contamination could be a new-fangled virus. How could he bring back a damn virus? His unit was a CST, a Civil Support Team, and not the Centre for Disease Control. The CDC had trained staff for these kind of missions, with specialized equipment and labs.
He was military.
Sure, he had hazmat training and some equipment, but nowhere near the level required for an intervention involving viruses.
But those were the orders... and he would obey them.
But he didn’t have to like it.
He knew whatever the sludge was, he would do his best to stop it from spreading.
Before it reached large population centers.
Command might call for him to bring some back for study but he had already decided otherwise.
He would lead his troops into the contaminated zone, locate the cause of this mess and at the first sign of danger... he would blow it up real good.
There was no other way to be sure.
21 Sinkhole
“I’M GOOD GERRY, thanks.”
Simon was standing next to the engineer on the edge of the enormous hole. The bottle of spirits the engineer had passed around was almost empty as the group considered what to do about Frank Curtis.
They had all been astonished to discover Frank had managed to find shelter inside the spud. Gerry still couldn’t believe it. The bunker had been anchored in the far corner of level 16 but somehow Frank had managed to locate it, to everyone’s surprise and relief.
The group of men and women had grown closer as they deliberated what to do next. Anna particularly liked chatting with Declan. The co-pilot’s easy-going attitude and natural charm was a great match to her own outlook on life. They soon became fast friends and were seen agreeing on most things.
The only person removed from the discussions was Gwen Rutledge. The security chief had made a show of appearing for a few minutes but once the decision had been reached to explore the sinkhole and search for Frank, she had taken off with strong warnings about meddling with stuff you don’t understand and waiting for the army. Simon had watched the Polaris zoom away and knew instinctively she meant trouble. For reasons her own, she had chosen to keep to herself and ignore others, not the best approach when facing chaotic events. Counting on the support of others was the basis for human relationships and to simply shun it aside like Rutledge did was a poor decision.
Still, she did have a point.
It was true that Frank had warned them to stay away.
It was also true Major Redding had ordered them to stay put while he was en route.
Three hours had come and go, and the Major was still a no show, yet it didn’t invalidate his original order.
They all agreed to give it a shot anyway.
Because of Frank’s devotion to his people. They all felt they should at least do something, instead of lounging around while he was in trouble. It was characteristic of a team used to working together that prompted their decision. When one of your own was in trouble, you had to act.
Nobody else was in a position to do it.
They were the only ones that could.
And so they would.
The team would consist of Simon, Emmeline and Anna along with Declan Penney. The co-pilot had chosen to step forward after a short talk with Captain Ballard and Simon was glad to have him. In fact, he was reassured. The young man was physically fit, with a quick mind to boot. They were somewhat short of hands anyway with both Gerry and Arturo still nursing injuries. Besides, both men were hungover, victims of Gerry’s Irish spirits. They would better serve the team by providing support.
“Here, you can use this,” Declan said, handing over a radio receiver to Simon.
“Thanks.” Simon tucked the radio inside his backpack and turned to the others standing in a group behind him.
“Everyone ready?”
Emmeline and Anna both acknowledged in tandem but a voice from above had them all glancing upwards. Captain Ballard, head jutting from the Starwind’s cockpit window, was beckoning them to come closer.
“I have Major Redding on the line!”
The group made their way underneath the hovering behemoth. Ballard had a deep frown on his face.
“He says the sludge has progressed on his position, forcing him to retreat further away. He’s working on finding another route to us, but he fears the entire area is now encircled.”
“My God,” Anna said.
“He confirmed he wouldn’t make it in time, not before sunset anyway...” Ballard said. “We are on our own... for the moment.”
They all kept silent as the news hit them. This was not what they had anticipated.
“Are you sure you want to go down the sinkhole by foot?” Ballard asked, focusing his gaze on Simon. “Why don’t we use the Starwind? We’ll save time.”
There had been a long discussion on the matter. Ballard had suggested using the airship to get the team straight to the sinkhole’s floor. There had been much arguing on both sides, those for and against, but in the end, they had settled for going by foot. It was Emmeline who made the case for a fast way to evacuate in case of immediate danger.
And the Starwind was their best chance.
It was a lifeboat now, their lifeboat. The ship needed to remain a safe distance out from any potential risks. The sludge had consumed a tunnel in mere minutes and they still didn’t understand how it worked, the danger it posed. It could erupt like a volcano for all they knew. And if the airship was flying above it when it did, they could kiss their lifeboat goodbye.
“No Captain, we spoke about this. Lifeboat remember?” Simon said.
Ballard nodded.
“But we would appreciate it if you had the ship ready to go,” Emmeline interjected. “Just in case.”
The captain acknowledged in silence before holding a finger up. “Hold on a second, I’m coming down.”
A minute later, he found himself shaking hands with each member of the team.
“Good luck,” Ballard said, bumping fists with his co-pilot. “I will keep watch on your progress and wait for news from Redding.”
“Thank you captain,” Declan said.
“Ok, then,” Simon said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
They had gathered up supplies for the expedition by going habitat to habitat, hunting through each module for whatever would be
useful, and could be carried. The bounty had been slim but even if it had been otherwise, they only had two backpacks to work with. Simon had a beat-up, but functional, 30 liters Deuter ACT Trail, which he used for hiking. It was lightweight and had numerous pockets which helped to expand its comparatively compact size.
Anna, aware of her dad’s love for packing all kind of gear ‘just in case’, had searched his module and came up with a treasure trove of neatly stored stuff. He had always taken good care of, what he loved to call, his good stuff. She had retrieved his brand new Gregory Alpinisto 35 backpack as well as a 70 meter dry rope but was disappointed his climbing harness, which she had seen him wearing on ice climbing hikes, was nowhere to be found.
They had packed both bags with food, mostly chocolate and protein bars but also with an assortment of nuts, dry roasted almonds, and apples. Gerry found an old utility belt and gifted it to Declan, along with assorted tools. All four had enough water bottles for a two day hike. Emmeline carried a sling bag stuffed with all the medical supplies she had managed to collect, notably from the Starwind’s emergency kit. It wasn’t much but it would do, unless someone broke an arm or a leg.
After a final nod to the others, the four explorers walked out to the rim of the hole.
“Ok, we need to find a way to get down there, without killing ourselves.” Simon said. “Anna, what’s the length of that rope again?”
“70 meters.”
“That’s not enough to get us down there.”
“Not unless we go by steps,” Emmeline said.
She had stepped over to a steep drop-off at the edge of the hole. The cliff wasn’t a perfectly vertical rock exposure. Because of the way the mine had been exploited, with the use of tunnels and passageways at various depths, the cliff was a serrated affair, with ledges and exposed platforms. The sinkhole had altered the topography of the mine but some of its internal framework was still discernible, and even better, accessible.
“We can use those ledges to climb down in stages using the rope to repel down.”
Simon, Anna and Declan walked over to where Emmeline stood. She had one hand on a bar of reinforced steel that had been bent in odd angles, like some kind of abstract work of art. Down below lay the stuff which had been stored inside the hangar: automated dumpsters, various building supplies, helmets, electrical rigging equipment, drums of grease, even a SmartDozer.