Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Oh crap,” groaned Chase.

  “Harland Topps?” Mercedes’ eyes went wide.

  The mine boss snapped his fingers and pointed at her, “That’s it, Harland…”

  “Oh, sweet Jesus,” she breathed, sliding back in her seat, “we are so screwed.”

  Chase winced at the thought, “Oh, this is bad…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Most of the buildings were interconnected, but stepping from the cavernous steel building that held a labyrinth of ore processing equipment, let them out facing the mine entrance. The cold blast and swirling snow was a severe departure from the warmth of the building where the kiln ovens melted the precious metals like butter. Mercedes pulled her coat closed, wrapping it tight, “Whoa,” she shivered, stepping out of the ankle-deep snow onto a wide, clear path that led to the closed barn doors of the processing plant.

  Darcel grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back into the snow, “Don’t walk there, I’d hate to see you get run down by an ore sled… Never can tell when one will come out of the mine.” He pointed ahead at the tunnel of tarpaulin draped scaffolding leading to the mine, “It won’t be so bad in here…” Once under cover he brushed the snow off himself. “I hate to say it, but you folks might want to stay the night…”

  Chase thumbed over his shoulder, “Our truck is all wheel drive…”

  “That might be,” replied Darcel, leading them into the mine, “but because of the winds, we usually get a lot less snow here in the canyon than out there on the flats. It can be two, three times heavier out there. It’s nearly five miles to the main road, and that trail will disappear under all that snow. If you slide off in one of those lows out there, you’ll be stranded there all night. In the morning one of the boys will take a heavy piece of equipment out there and plow to the main road.”

  Chase nodded reluctantly, “Sounds like the smart thing to do…”

  “You can use Stenich’s old quarters…” he ran his fingers through wavy hair, “which I guess, is actually your quarters now.”

  Mercedes made a face something akin to a pout, “I was really hoping to get back to the casino tonight…”

  “Once you got to the main road, if you make it that far, you still have a three-hour drive in good conditions,” Darcel reminded her. “I’m sure you’ll drive out of it at some point, but it’ll probably be more like a five or six-hour drive.”

  “I get it,” she nodded.

  “Which reminds me of a question I forgot to ask earlier,” said Chase. “I’m seeing a lot of expensive equipment, buildings, physical plant operations… How is it the mine was only accessed at a little over five-hundred-thousand credits? I’m thinking it should be in the millions…”

  “Old assessment,” replied Darcel. “Based on the value of the claim nearly fifty years ago. At the time Stenich, won it in a bet, it wasn’t an operating mine. Hadn’t been for at least a decade. Of course, he didn’t know that. My guess is, this guy… Topps, thought he’d mined it out and didn’t care if he gambled it away.”

  “How did it go from mined out, to this?” asked Mercedes.

  “Stenich hired me. I’m a geology expert. I found where the old operation turned away from the motherlode.” Darcel handed them helmets from a rack against a rock wall, putting one on himself. “Not sure if they strayed off course by accident, inexperience or design. But finding it again was pretty straightforward for me. Once I showed Stenich, he hired me on to run the mine and managed a loan for equipment and crews. We were profitable within two months.”

  Mercedes adjusted her helmet as they walked, “Do you think Harland Topps knows?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve been operational for three, four years now. And he has another mine in the area - about twenty-five miles up the road. My understanding is that the claim was originally for copper, but it keeps producing gold… Lucky bastard.”

  ■ ■ ■

  In what artistic masters and photographic professionals called the golden hour, or God light, the low, morning sun, poured in though the canyon entrance, turning the snow-blanketed landscape into a dazzling show of sparkling liquid gold.

  Mercedes squinted into the sun, hiking her collar, “Pretty... even if it is as cold as hell...”

  “Almost a shame to disturb it...” remarked Darcel without sarcasm. “But work must go on. And the boys need to get out to the main road to go for supplies. Let's hope the main road got plowed...”

  Chase looked around at the foot of snow covering the buildings, equipment and vehicles, waist-deep drifts in graceful arcs marking the corners of buildings and vehicles. “How much do you think is out there?” he nodded toward the flats between them and the road.

  “One of the boys took a walk at first light, got to waist-deep before even getting to the canyon mouth and turned back. Said he could see drifts well over his head. No telling how deep it is out on the flats.” He motioned toward the mine entrance, “They're putting a set of blades on one of the bore tanks now, so they can cut the trail to the road. It will take a while - you might want to grab some breakfast while you wait.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The ground rumbled, even through the floor of the building, the coffee in his cup showing rings of ripples. Chase swiveled in his chair and Mercedes rose to her feet, the two of them looking out through the mess-hall window as the mine's bore tank lumbered past. Its mass was low, the tracks three-feet wide, the impact ball-drill removed and replaced with a massive v-shaped plow. The driver and engineer sat completely protected in the armored hull of the flat-topped tank, driving with cameras and armored glass view-ports, the design devised to survive and drive out of a cave-in. “I almost feel sorry for the snow...”

  “I don't remember seeing that last night when we toured the mine...” commented Mercedes.

  “We never went into the active area of the mine where they were drilling.” He turned back to his food, “Let's finish up, and we'll warm up the truck and follow him out.” He sipped his coffee, ignoring the rumble as it faded, “So you think the mine was a good gamble? Think it will be good for us?”

  “I don't see why not. As long as...” she checked around her for other ears, “as long as he's honest with us on production. We're not going to be here to monitor anything - we'll have to trust his reporting and that he's not running another set of books. Stenich was here on a regular basis, he could keep an eye on his investment...”

  “So, we place someone here...”

  “It would have to be someone we trust...

  “Torn Dado?”

  “Someone who knows something about an operation like this,” she countered, pushing her plate away, “And I don't think it's a good idea to separate us. Let's face it, even if we were physically here to monitor things, we don't have a clue. Darcel could lie to our faces and we wouldn't know the difference.”

  Chase raised an eyebrow, “True. Unless he's convinced it wouldn't be healthy for him.”

  Mercedes smirked, 'You're starting to sound like me...” She pulled her coat on, wrapping it around her, “It's worth consideration. But maybe we need to consider tying him to the mine's success by way of incentive...”

  ■ ■ ■

  After taking a sip, Harland Topps set his frosted tumbler on the glass table, eyeing the Chief Deputy of Sheriffs across from him. “How is it that none of the devices we have at the Sandy Hill are transmitting? Are you not hiding them well enough?”

  The lawman watched beads of moisture run down the tumbler and pool on the glass surface before looking up, “No,” he replied calmly, “whomever is doing their security sweeps is just that good.”

  “What are your men saying?”

  “Man… I only have one inside. Leastways, only one that’s working for us, not them.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. He hasn’t seen or heard anything. Doesn’t even know who does their sweeps.”

  Harland picked up the tumbler, wiping his finger across the bottom, flicking the moisture on the carpe
t. “I find it rather difficult to believe that he or anyone else, has no idea what happened to Waldron… These people killed my son and there’s no evidence? No witnesses...?”

  The Chief Deputy stalled him with a wave, “Now we don’t actually know that Harland…”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s just as likely that he could be hiding out from that crazy, junkie girlfriend of his…”

  “She’s dead,” retorted Harland.

  “And if Waldron’s hiding out, he may not know that… He may just be waiting for the dust to settle. He’s done it before, you even said it yourself this isn’t the first time he’s disappeared.”

  “He’s dead,” shouted Zareth Topps as she stormed into the room, slamming a full liquor decanter on the glass table hard enough to make the Chief Deputy wince. “He’s dead,” she hissed in the lawman’s direction. “They killed my son. They found out who he was, killed him and buried him out there,” she motioned toward the open glass doors to the veranda, “in the desert somewhere.”

  The lawman raised a finger to make a point. “Zareth…”

  “No!” she pointed at him menacingly. “You don’t get to tell me what I know in my heart to be true. You’re not a mother, you don’t know… And they need to pay.”

  Harland nodded in the Chief Deputy’s direction, “The Chief has delivered the cigars…”

  Zareth tossed her long blue-silver hair over her shoulder, “Cigars? Like I did with that degenerate, Waycom Hill, after he propositioned me?”

  “Now, Zareth dear…”

  “You hush,” she snapped at her husband. She turned to the Chief Deputy, “He went to Waycom to ask for help - some guidance with the casino after his father Daritt passed away… which I suspect was Wacom’s doing…”

  “There was never any evidence of that…”

  Zareth slapped her husband, a resounding smack, that he didn’t bother to acknowledge. Then she sat on the arm of his heavily padded leather chair to continue. “Wacom declined, then accepted, under one condition; that Harland surrender me for his services, for a month.”

  “What kind of services?”

  “Whatever his perverted little mind desired…”

  “We turned him down,” offered Harland.

  “I…” Zareth thumbed her chest, “I turned him down.” She motioned to her husband, “This one didn’t do or say a thing. A disgrace. A man attempts to defile your wife… and nothing.” She tossed her hair, “And these people… they’re as filthy as Waycom was. Maybe worse.”

  “We just need to be patient. The cigars…”

  “The cigars took a year,” she interrupted, “the success was an accident. You don’t even know if these people smoke, you idiot. I’m not waiting another year, I want that casino… either burned to the ground or in our possession. Perhaps this time you won’t let someone buy it out from under you…”

  “They had someone inside the city…” complained Harland.

  Zareth pointed at the Chief Deputy, “We had someone inside the city! Fat lot of good it did us. And maybe when they’re dead, you can get back that silver mine you so stupidly gambled away…”

  “I am the Chief Deputy of Sheriffs,” he objected, indignant. “Not some lowly city clerk…”

  “Yes, I remember,” she ripped back. “Because when I seduced you and bribed you to get the cigar box evidence back, I also paid off the Sheriff’s house to promote you.”

  “You did what?”

  “Pssh,” she waved, “you really didn’t think you got it by merit, did you? By the Gods, you were bested by a lowly city clerk…” She rose from her perch on the arm of the chair and rubbed her hands together, “So, no more waiting, we do it my way.”

  Harland rose from his seat, “What way is that? What did you do, woman?”

  The Chief Deputy rose from his chair as well, “What have you done, Zareth?”

  “I’ve handled it. Like I always have to…” She touched her fingertip to her lips, “And I think we’ll change the name to The Waldron Casino. In his memory. It has a nice sound to it - I think he’d like that…”

  ■ ■ ■

  The frozen, compacted snow of the freshly-plowed trail from the Muerto Canyon Silver Mine, scrunched under the truck’s off-road tires, the bore tank several miles ahead, clearing the turn-off at the main road. Flat walls of cut snow rose four, five and six feet on either side of the trail, making the rough road look a little like a bobsled run as it wound its way from the canyon to the road.

  Mercedes adjusted the truck’s cabin heat and pulled off her gloves, “Am I just happy to get out of here, or is this shitty little road smoother than when we came in?”

  Chase eased the truck over a rise, “The compacted snow has filled in all the ruts and craters…”

  “So there’s an upside to single-digit temperatures - is that what I hear you saying?”

  “Two sides to every coin…” he replied.

  Six feet of snow wall on the left side of the truck turned into an instant blizzard with a whooomph, brick-sized chunks of snow thudding against the doors, hood and windows, the vehicle rocking as Chase punched the brake, sliding to a stop. “What the HELL was that?”

  They exchanged a glance, their shared military combat experiences instantly putting them in a familiar, yet terrifying, common frame of mind; “IED?”

  Chase shook his head, “Too small. Incoming? Where would it even come from?”

  Mercedes pointed up the trail to the road, “MOVE! Drive through it!”

  One glance at the long, open, winding, unprotected stretch of trail to the road and Chase slammed the shifter into reverse, planting his foot on the accelerator pedal, the trail in front of them cratering, whooomph, pelting the truck with snow, ice, rocks and dirt. “Where is he? Where is he?” Chase was twisted in his seat, his arm behind her headrest, the truck in a controlled backwards slide, the engine racing as he wheeled it back and forth, weaving, navigating the best he could. “Is he left, right or center?”

  Mercedes was torn between looking back to see where they were going and scanning the rolling terrain and surrounding ridges, “I don’t see anything…”

  “Please tell me it’s not coming from the tank… that this isn’t all just a setup…”

  “I can’t even see the tank from here.”

  Even as Chase wheeled the truck on the slick trail, his mind was working angles and impact points, “He’s elevated, check the ridges…”

  A spotlight mounted on the right side of the roof exploded, tearing a sizeable hole above where she sat, shattering the windshield on that side, the snow wall just beyond the truck blowing outward with such force, the passenger door window blew inward in nuggets, the cabin filling with ice chunks and flying snow, prompting a scream, the truck sliding, bouncing off the wall.

  Chase didn’t let up, fighting to maintain control, the engine roaring, all four tires chewing at the packed snow. “Are you hit?!”

  “I don’t think so, keep going!”

  “Didn’t intend on stopping if you were…” he grunted, the truck sliding across and slamming into the opposite wall on the left side of the trail, windows shattering, metal screaming, ice and snow filling the cabin. “I think we can kiss our rental deposit goodbye…”

  “He’s on the left.”

  “How far?”

  “Closest ridge is two-thousand yards…”

  Chase wrestled with the truck as it pinballed off the walls of snow, “Not going to hit that with a slug-thrower…” He glanced at her for a split second, realizing she was covered in blood, the sight of it making a spike of heat shoot up the back of his neck. “Make the call…”

  “What call?”

  “With your MOBIUS. Make the call.”

  “THE call?”

  “YES…”

  A metal-torturing sledgehammer blow hit the truck somewhere in the back, sliding the ass-end out of Chase’s control, spinning them, slamming them squarely backwards into a wall of snow and ice, burying
the back end as the wall collapsed onto the vehicle, pinning it. Throwing it into drive, Holt tromped the accelerator, all four wheels spinning, chewing, clawing to get free, the engine screaming…

  Starting to wiggle loose from the icy grip, Chase saw the distant flash before the holed hood rose off the engine compartment, riding a fireball upwards, the front end of the truck coming apart like a cheap toy, the fenders peeling backwards, one wheel and tire embedding itself in the snow wall across from them. It was instantaneous, the brain recording it in slow motion, ears ringing, body numb. He kicked the door open, his mind reeling, “Get out, Mercedes! Bail!” He knew he was shouting but he could barely hear himself as he staggered free from the mangled wreck, dragging with him a small backpack off the floor behind her seat, slinging it over his shoulder. Fire towered over the engine compartment, a pyre of black, oily smoke rising into the clear blue sky. “Mercedes! Mercedes...!”

  Staggering, fighting to keep his feet under him, Chase made his way around to the passenger side, the door still closed, Mercedes Huang slumped over in her seat. The mangled door, jammed in its frame, refused to give, smoke pouring out of the broken windows, the shattered windshield blackening from the heat. Scrambling back around to the driver’s side of the truck, just short of his grip, the open driver’s door buckled with a whang, torn from its hinges, imbedding into the snow, a shower of snow and chunks nearly knocking him off his feet. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, diving into the burning wreck. Grabbing a handful of her overcoat at the shoulder, he pulled her towards him, “C’mon Mercy… C’mon!” Dragging her off her seat, across the console and over his seat, he scooped her limp, motionless form into his arms, scrambling to the far side of the plowed trail using the snow wall as concealment. “No-no-no… Stay with me Mercy, stay with me…” Ten feet behind them, a section of the snow wall disintegrated, a small crater appearing in the trail, snowflakes hanging in the air like a cloud, the shooter firing blind, searching for his target.

  Mercedes in his arms, Chase hustled in a combat crouch, following the wall back toward the mine until he couldn’t go any further, the wreck nearly two-hundred feet behind him, the curve of the trail in front of him threatening to reveal their position to the shooter. Sinking to the ground, he pulled her onto his lap, holding her close, snugging her overcoat around her. “Stay with me Mercy…”