by David Haynes
He turned around and felt his knees buckle. There was a figure standing in the corner, standing with his back toward Draper.
“Hey, you!” he called, placing the bucket tooth on the floor. He reached down for the Beretta. “What do you want? This is private land.”
Nothing came back in return. Not even movement, no sign that he’d heard Draper calling.
He took a step forward. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
When he’d been a greenhorn working under Doug Mantle, there had been a dispute over the claim rights. Some guys had come in during the night and tried to take over. They tried to take the gold, the vehicles and tried to dish out some bruises too. The fight had been bloody and brutal but Mantle had kept the claim until someone caved his head in with a shovel three years later. It was the same guys, the same dispute that had never gone away.
Claim jumpers were rare these days but not unheard of.
“Listen, this is our claim, our property and if you’ve got a beef, take it up with Dave Burgess.”
Still nothing. No reaction at all.
Then it occurred to Draper. How had the guy got in there? It was locked from the outside with a heavy duty padlock when he arrived. Mercer always made sure things were locked away at the end of his shift. He could have got in while Draper was fetching the tooth, but why?
He felt a terrible sense of dread creeping over him. It made his stomach feel like it was full of ice.
“What do you want?” he asked, knowing he should just get out, lock the door and fetch Mercer.
He could see it was a man from his shoulders. They were broad, strong-looking shoulders with suspenders running across them. Old-fashioned trousers hung in baggy pleats from his waist, and filth covered him from head to foot.
“I said...”
Draper was cut off by the sound of grating. Of a hideous grating, grinding, industrial wrenching noise which filled the inside of his head.
The man turned slowly as if on a turntable. The volume increasing as he turned. He was being displayed, shown to Draper like a prize.
“No...” Draper took a step back but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the hideous spectacle. He reached down and withdrew the Beretta. This wasn’t real. He raised the gun and released the safety just as the man turned to face him.
“Hell. We’re all burning in hell.”
His voice was little more than a breath. A steaming, scorched smell of burning flesh. Of rancid hot dogs. The man raised his hand and pointed.
“And you’re coming down too!” He smiled a sick grimace.
Draper pulled the trigger, filling the air with gunshot. It was deafening but it was better than the awful sound of the other’s voice.
The flashlight’s beam was a haze of smoke but he kept his eyes glued to the same spot, his finger on the trigger, ready to release another shot if he had to. He breathed deeply and tasted the sour air as it passed down his throat.
When the smoke cleared, he could see there was nothing in the corner of the container. No slowly turning figure on a potter’s wheel. There was no voice either. Nothing except for the bass beating of his heart echoing in his ears.
He lowered the weapon but not the flashlight. Other than that he was quite unable to move. He stayed in the same place for what felt like an age until he heard Mercer’s voice.
“What the hell!” Mercer sounded out of breath.
“I... err... I thought I saw something back there.” It was all he could think to say. It wasn’t a lie either.
“What? In here? What was it?”
“I’m not sure. I mean it was...” What? What was he trying to say?
“A wolf? A wolf got in here.” Mercer made an assumption but Draper wasn’t going to argue with him. “I locked it earlier. How’d it get in?”
He felt Mercer staring at him, waiting for an answer. “Must’ve followed me.” He heard another set of footsteps coming in behind Mercer.
“Did you hit it? Is it back there?” Mercer took the flashlight from him and shone it into the corner.
“Can’t see it,” he said, taking a step forward.
“What’s happened?” It was Vinson’s voice. He’d taken his time getting up here, that was for sure.
“Wolf,” Mercer replied without turning around.
“I missed,” Draper said. “Took me by surprise and I missed. It ran out when I fired. It’s gone now.”
Mercer pushed the flashlight back into his hands. “You okay, buddy?”
Draper turned away from the dark corner for the first time in what felt like hours. He was glad it was dark because the smile he gave to Mercer wouldn’t stand close scrutiny. “Fine, just tired. Time to turn in, I reckon.” He yawned. It wasn’t a fake. “You too, Mike. Call it a night.”
“I’ll just go and power down,” Vinson replied and walked away.
He walked out of the container with Mercer and locked it. He saw now that Mercer was only wearing underwear and his boots. He was holding his rifle in his right hand.
“Thanks for coming out,” he said to Mercer. “But next time put some pants on.”
“Hey, these are record breakers. Nine days straight I’ve had them on. I’m going for double figures.”
Draper laughed despite how he felt. His stomach was still icy cold and he had a throbbing headache.
They walked back toward the row of campers.
“Have you pissed in your pants?” Mercer asked.
Draper looked down at the dark stain covering the front of his jeans. “I spilled some oil.”
They reached Draper’s camper and stopped. The sky had a pale tint to it now and some of the stars had already slipped away. Morning was coming.
“I’ll grab a few hours now and be back out by eight.” He thought about the bucket tooth on the floor in the container. “One of the teeth broke on the excavator parked down there. I was going to...”
Mercer yawned. “I’ll get Puckett on it first thing. Go get some rest, we can handle things.”
“Thanks.” Draper opened his camper. “You were fast, Ray. You were down there before Vinson.”
Mercer winked at him. “Speedy exits in the middle of the night with just my boots and shorts on? I’m something of an expert at it. Done it a few times, quite a few times.”
He walked away, leaving Draper shaking his head.
Inside the camper, Draper stripped his clothes off and bundled them up into a ball. He opened the storage locker under the bed and pushed the clothes inside. The jeans were ruined, there was no use in trying to wash them in the creek and he didn’t really want to wear any of the other clothes again. They felt tainted. He forgot there was three grand’s worth of gold nugget in his pocket. His pleasure at finding that had gone the instant the trophy-like statue in the corner of the container had turned toward him.
The face staring back at him… the face on the statue was his own. It was him. Complete with the bloody mask and expression of utter and complete agony and desperation.
It was him.
*
Another couple of weeks passed and the rain returned with a vengeance. Draper worked from eight in the morning until three or four on the following morning. The rain washed dirt into Resurrection Cut, turning it into a muddy pond but still he toiled, as did all of them, on ripping through the bedrock to find a pay-streak. It was hard, really hard. They went through nearly all the spare teeth for the excavator buckets and burned so much fuel that by the time the two weeks had ended, they were down to fumes.
He felt exhausted. Mining was tough so fatigue was to be expected. But there was a new drain on his energy too – the exhausting nightmares he suffered each time he closed his eyes. They started with a scratch behind his eyeballs, like someone had a finger poking around back there. They were vivid, startling and he woke each and every time in a cold, greasy sweat. All of them involved Tom Briggs and Mike Evans. All of them showed an alternative method for murder rather than the simple bullet his Beretta had discharged. One dream
kept coming back to him, time and time again, sometimes several times in one night. He was pushing his fingers inside Tom Briggs stomach, reaching inside, listening to the other man screaming, and pulling out another Tom Briggs and then another. Just like a Russian doll. His hands were covered in a crimson string of guts that stretched all the way from Black Pine Creek to Delta Junction in a vile glowing ribbon. The stench was putrid, even in his dreams he retched.
And all the time he felt observed. Someone, or something, was watching him from the periphery of his vision. Something with eyes that shone like rubies. It was stress, it had to be. He’d spent so much time thinking about Briggs and Evans that his brain had sucked up their blood like a dirty sponge.
Draper had driven partway to Chicken on the morning following the incident in the container. He made the call to have another consignment of fuel brought up but it wouldn’t be until later the following week. There would be an enforced shutdown for maybe a day or two. He cursed himself for such a stupid error. Running the plant twenty-four seven had eaten through the fuel supply faster than he’d thought, or planned.
It was a chance for a day or two off for whoever wanted it. A couple of days drinking if he knew them as well as he thought he did. He would stay and do some maintenance on the plant and vehicles, make sure they weren’t going to pack up on him.
Draper put the container on the scale and reset it. In the past, finishing a clean-up had been a cause for celebration. A chance for all the miners to get together, have a drink and celebrate the gold they were lining their pockets with. That was on other claims though. That had never been the case at Black Pine Creek.
He tipped the dried gold into the container and watched the counter on the electronic scales climb upwards. He knew from the weight in his hand and from experience that it was a better week than last week, or the previous. There were more nuggets, which was what he’d been hoping for, but it had to be a record-breaker to bring their total to anywhere near where it should be.
He walked into the kitchen holding the jar.
“Want the good news or the really good news?” he said.
“Give us the really good stuff!” Puckett shouted.
Draper held the jar up for them all to see. “This is what we found this week.”
“How much?” said Flynn.
“Forty-eight ounces,” Draper smiled. It wasn’t enough. Considering they had been running the plant through the night and the fuel they had burned, it was nowhere near enough. But it was a huge improvement on the last few weeks.
“Woohoo!” Puckett jumped up and ran around the room giving everyone high-fives.
“Better,” said Flynn and stuck his foot out to try and trip Puckett on his return trip. Puckett jumped over the obstacle.
“It is better,” said Mercer. “But it’ll get better still. This is just the start.”
Draper looked at him and nodded.
“So what’s the good news?” Meg asked. She was pushing Puckett away as he tried to hug her. He fell into Flynn’s lap and tried to plant a kiss on his cheek. Flynn shoved him and he fell onto the floor laughing.
“The good news is that you’ve got two days off.”
Puckett jumped up. “For real?”
“For real,” Draper replied. “I’ve reserved three lodges at Chicken Creek. You can have a hot bath, some decent food and I think, although I’m not sure, they sell beer down there too. There’s a tab waiting behind the bar for you.”
This time Puckett jumped up on a table and danced a pathetic jig. Some people were easily pleased. It was generous of him, he knew that, but they were a good team and there weren’t many who would have come to work for him. As bad a boss as Johnson was.
“You coming too?” Mercer asked.
“Not this time. I’m staying here. Need to make sure we’re fit to run again next week.” He turned to Vinson. “Mike, if you get me a list together of what needs doing on the plant, I’ll get on it. I might not be as fast as you...”
“No need,” Vinson interrupted. “I’ll stay.”
Draper held his hand up. “Mike, you need a break as much as anyone else. I’m happy to stay.”
“You’ve been putting in double shifts. You look like shit. It’s you who needs the break,” Vinson replied.
Mercer patted him on the back. “He’s right, Scotty.”
Vinson was spot-on of course, he was exhausted, but he could keep going for another month like this, no problem.
“I know the plant better than anyone, boss. Besides, I’m no drinker, and I actually enjoy washing in that frozen creek. It’s invigorating.” Vinson was standing up. He looked agitated, moving from foot to foot. He really didn’t want to leave his baby.
“Maybe one night,” Draper said. The thought of drinking an ice cold beer, away from here, and having a hot soak in the tub was certainly tempting.
“Settled then!” Mercer announced and clomped across the wooden floor. “We leave in ten minutes.”
“Oh, boss, before you all go. Can I have a look at the jar?” Vinson asked.
“Sure.” Draper walked across the room and handed it to him.
Vinson shook it around and held it close to his face.
“I can’t see it.” His voice was quiet.
“See what?” asked Flynn, who was sitting beside him.
“The nugget I found.” He handed the jar to Flynn and looked up at Draper. “It’s not in there.”
“Nugget?” Flynn asked.
Vinson turned toward him. “Big one. Biggest one I’ve ever seen anyway. Three, four grand’s worth.”
Draper felt all eyes turn to him. What was Vinson talking about?
“I don’t know what you mean, Mike? What nugget?”
Vinson smiled. It was a horrible grin, full of something other than humor. “You remember I gave it to you. You said you’d put it in the safe.”
Draper still couldn’t remember what he was referring to.
“The first night shift? Down at the plant?”
Draper had tried to blank that night out of his mind, for obvious reasons.
Nugget, nugget, nugget. Just before he’d gone into the container, Vinson had given him the nugget he’d found. But what had he done with it?
“I... err... I remember now. Just before I went to get the tooth for the bucket.”
“You put it in your pocket,” Vinson said. “Then you went off...”
Draper wished Vinson would shut up for a moment. He wished he’d stop grinning too. Just give him chance to get his thoughts in order while trying to avoid thinking about what happened inside that dark, metallic cave.
“You took a shot at the wolf,” started Mercer, “and pissed your pants. It’s probably where you left them.”
That was it. That’s where they were. Under the bed in the locker. The jeans had been covered in spilled oil. He shot a glance at Mercer. The look said, Thanks, buddy.
“It’s in the camper. Got oil down my pants and pushed them under the bed.” He grinned back at Vinson and was pleased to see the other man’s grin had lessened, not disappeared entirely, just lowered at the corners.
“I’ll get it out and add it to the total. Good job you reminded me.”
“No problem, boss. You wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea about that, would you?” Vinson wasn’t done yet.
“And what idea’s that, Mike?” The room suddenly felt charged. Vinson was on the verge of saying something that could end badly. Very badly.
Vinson looked around the room. Was he looking for allies? Whatever he saw, it wasn’t what he wanted. He was on his own.
“You wouldn’t want anyone thinking you were getting old, losing your memory. Not like me.”
Vinson’s attempt at discharging the atmosphere hadn’t worked. Not entirely anyway. Everyone in the room knew what Vinson was driving at.
Draper was aware that his knuckles were aching. He looked down at them, saw the skin was tight and white. He could feel a rage bubbling away inside. He wa
s tired – it wouldn’t take much pushing in the wrong direction for him to explode.
Accusing a miner of stealing was just about the worst thing anyone could do. Vinson hadn’t said anything outright and maybe Draper was just being sensitive because of prior events, but it felt close.
“Are we gonna stand around here all day, or go get a bath and some proper food?” Puckett put his arm around Meg but she gave him a dig in the ribs with her elbow.
“Hey!” he shouted but he held the door open for her. Flynn followed behind.
Draper watched Vinson stand up before he spoke. “Mike, you got a minute?” He turned to Mercer.
“I’ll follow you down. I just want to get things straight before I leave. Okay?”
Mercer stared at him for a second. Draper could see he wanted to say something but instead he took a look at Mike and then nodded.
“I won’t be leaving for another half-hour.” He clomped past Vinson, out into the daylight.
Vinson walked toward Draper, smiling as if none of anything he’d intimated mattered. He stood with his hands on his hips.
“The belt could do with patching up. Of course, it’ll need replacing soon enough. Want me to change it now, or wait till it goes? It might last the season, but I wouldn’t put money on it.” Vinson was straight down to business.
“Mike, you’ve got to be careful about what you say.” The anger was dying down but it was still there.
“About what? What did I say?” He shrugged.
“It’s how you said it. I wasn’t trying to hide that nugget, I just forgot I had it.”
“I didn’t say that. I didn’t think you were trying to hide it. I wondered where it was, that was all. It’s probably not that much to you but it’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. I was proud I found it.”
Was he being genuine? The man was difficult to read. He almost always wore a grin and it only changed subtly.
“Just be careful, that’s all. The last thing you want to do is call a miner a thief. That wouldn’t end well. For anyone.” He did his best to smile but it was a poor effort.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it. I hope I’ve not made anyone think that’s what I meant.”