by David Haynes
Vinson looked up, his expression changed in an instant. He looked interested all of a sudden.
“Visitors? Like who?”
“I don’t know. We heard Fisheries are on the prowl. Wondered if they’d come knocking?”
Vinson shook his head. “Not seen anyone since you left yesterday.” He stood up. “I’ll get started on the belt, get it patched up before the fuel arrives. I don’t mind pulling a double today if you’re running tonight.”
He walked out, leaving his cup of hot coffee untouched.
Draper exchanged a look with Flynn that reinforced everything they had said about Vinson last night.
“Have I got it wrong or was Mike not all that pleased to see us?”
“Should’ve seen his face when he came out of his camper,” said Meg. “Looked like he wanted to kill someone.”
Puckett slapped his eggs onto his plate and smothered them with hot sauce. “He needs to get laid, that’s what he needs. It’s written all over his face.” He forked some egg into his mouth.
“Funny that,” started Mercer. “I’ve seen the same expression on your face too. For about ten years now.”
Puckett ignored the comment. “I’ve worked with some strange folk, men who kept themselves to themselves, but Mike’s one on his own, that’s for sure.”
Nobody said anything but it was obvious what they were all thinking.
Draper stood up and looked at his watch. “Fuel will be here any time in the next hour or so.”
He pushed the door open and was about to step through when he heard Puckett say,
“Boss, you got a minute?” His voice was muffled as he tried to force down his breakfast.
Draper stopped and turned. Puckett was coming toward him, wiping his mouth.
“What is it?”
Puckett looked around uncomfortably. “In private?” he asked.
Draper shrugged and walked outside with Puckett at his heels. They walked back toward the trucks.
“You okay?” Draper asked.
“Sure,” Puckett answered. “I just wanted to ask you something... something kinda sensitive.”
Draper stopped and looked at him. “Huh?”
Puckett wiped his face nervously. His hair was bleached white and his skin was tanned. He had always been a kid to Draper but he felt like he was looking at a man for the first time.
“I’m very fond of Meg. I’d like to ask your permission to date her.” He looked petrified.
“My permission?” He almost laughed. “You’re both old enough to make those decisions for yourselves, Puckett. It’s not my permission you need, it’s Meg’s.”
“All the same, if you forbid it then that’s where it ends.”
Draper did laugh then. “Forbid? This isn’t the seventeenth century!”
Puckett just stared back at him. The kid was clearly anxious and was trying to do things the right way. There were plenty who wouldn’t. Draper felt slightly touched by it.
“I appreciate the gesture, Puckett. As far as I’m concerned, you have my permission to ask her. Okay?”
Puckett beamed, and for a moment Draper thought he was going to cry. Puckett was stupid sometimes and a harmless blabbermouth but in all the years he’d known him, he’d never seen or heard of him doing anything mean to anyone. Besides, if he knew anything about Meg, it was that she could look after herself. She didn’t take crap off anyone.
“Thanks, boss.” He pushed his hand out. “You’ve got yourself a wonderful daughter there.”
Draper shook his hand and nodded. “I do.” Puckett trotted back to the kitchen.
Should he have quizzed him more? Should he have asked what his intentions were? He smiled to himself and climbed inside his camper. He could see they got on well together and he made her laugh, but that was a long way from marriage proposals and father-in-law interrogations. Hearing her being happy was just about the best experience he’d had in the last few years. Long may it continue.
He changed out of his clean clothes and climbed into the dirty jeans and shirt he’d hidden inside the cupboard. They were cold and a little damp. Back to reality.
*
Draper paid the delivery driver, and with that his credit card was at its limit. There would be no more fuel. Not that they would need it. The delivery driver, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but at Black Pine Creek, said it would probably only be another week or two before the mining roads became impassable.
It was bad news. Draper needed at least another three weeks in order to make any money. The crew started where they had left off – digging the bedrock out of the cut. It was nowhere near as rich as he’d hoped but opening up a new cut this late would be stupidity itself. It would take at least a week to strip the ground and then another week getting down to paydirt. They had what they had. He just hoped sooner or later they would hit something big.
A few more days drifted by with things going back to normal on the claim. Draper worked almost round the clock now, except for two or three hours when he was asleep or trying to eat. A strange sensation was creeping around in his stomach. He had a feeling it was desperation. The more he thought about how little time they had left, the harder the anxiety and stress twisted his nerves. He knew the lack of sleep was playing a major role too.
On the third night, a savage wind blew in, bending the trees and whipping up the creek. Nature’s roar was almost deafening. On the wind, Draper felt the kiss of something soft and cold on his cheeks. Snow. It was gone within seconds, maybe two or three flakes at the most but it was there. Somewhere not far way, the snow was falling thick and fast.
The bedrock continued to fight against them, damaging the vehicles and sapping whatever strength and energy was left in them. For Draper, his season had been short; for the others, they had already put in nearly two months with Bill Johnson. He could see them flagging.
The only good thing to come out of the last few days was the tusk. Mercer had dug it out of the ground at the top end of the cut. He thought it was rock at first, such was the gray color and texture. But then, tipping it into Flynn’s waiting truck, he jumped down and climbed into the back of the truck as it was moving. Flynn knew nothing about it but when they reached the plant, Mercer was standing with the tusk held high above his shoulders. It was beautiful. Although they had all seen them before, with the exception of Meg, it was always an exciting moment.
It had a cash value, of course, but that wasn’t the real reason. It was prehistoric and it captured the imagination of miners who were digging in dirt that hadn’t been moved for millions of years. Other than that, the sluice box looked no better stocked than in previous weeks so there was nothing to get too excited about.
On the same night as Draper felt the first snow, another tooth went on the excavator bucket. As soon as it happened, he cursed loudly into the black and fathomless sky. It wasn’t just because he was running out of spares either. It meant a drive back to the container. It meant going back inside.
He drove along the dirt track, passing Vinson who was loading the plant. They had walkie-talkies but Draper had given up trying to pass the night having the occasional conversation. If anything, Vinson was climbing back inside the shell he had never fully climbed out of. No matter, as long as he did what he was supposed to and didn’t pass any more challenging comments, they were good.
He pulled the excavator in front of the container to allow the lights to penetrate the darkness inside. With relief, he saw the corner was bathed in light and there was no sign of anything weird or crazy in there. Nevertheless, as he climbed down and stood on the threshold he felt his heartbeat climb to a new level. He touched the Beretta’s grip and looked inside. The anxiety was almost crippling. What was he waiting for? Another vision? He looked down at his feet and shuffled them. Perhaps he was subconsciously delaying going inside but he thought he saw something that didn’t belong.
He dropped down and picked it up. At first he thought it was a leaf, but there weren’t any deciduou
s trees close by. Certainly not ones with tubular foliage. It was a cigar butt. He held it to his nose. No mistaking the smell either and because it still smelled so strongly, it had to be relatively fresh. It was an inch long and about as round as a quarter.
None of the crew smoked at all. Not one of them. That was unusual but not unheard of these days. He rolled it in his fingers, turning to look down at the plant. He could see Vinson in the floodlights. He was climbing out of his cab, walking toward the plant to complete another inspection, no doubt.
There was only one man Draper knew who smoked cigars and had any interest in Black Pine Creek, and that was Dave Burgess. Had he been here without Vinson knowing? It was unlikely. Even without the rest of them here, if Burgess had stood here and smoked a cigar he would have seen or heard Vinson on the claim somewhere. He would have made contact with him, if only to ask where everyone was. Was Vinson hiding something? Why would he?
He stuffed the cigar into his pocket. Some ideas about why Vinson would keep Burgess’s visit a secret were starting to form in his head. Thoughts about what had happened the last time he walked into the container vanished from his mind. Whether they were better or worse than what was now floating about in there, he couldn’t say, but at least they were distracting.
He knew one thing for certain. He needed to make contact with Burgess and find out what the hell was going on. He walked quickly to the shelf, pulled down a tooth and walked back out without once looking into the corner. He could feel the spiteful tickle of stress in the back of his skull.
22
Draper waited for Mercer to come out of his pit. He’d stayed on the cut all night with Vinson, and at six told the other man to finish up and get some rest. Vinson had nodded and given a mock salute. It was the same gesture he always gave, but Draper now wondered whether it was in jest or something else entirely.
Mercer jumped a little when he opened the door and saw Draper standing there.
“You look like hell,” he said. “Bad night?”
“First snow,” Draper replied. “You don’t look too hot either.” And Mercer didn’t. Bruised crescents the color of thunderclouds hung below his eyes.
Mercer looked past him. “Just a flurry, eh?” His eyes didn’t look only tired, there was something else in there too. What was it? Worry, anxiety or something worse? Loss of faith maybe? Maybe he was losing belief in Draper.
Draper nodded and pushed the thought aside. “I’m going down the track to call Burgess again. Just wanted to let you know.”
Mercer stepped down. “Everything okay?”
“Just tired, that’s all.”
“That’s it, I’m taking the night shift from now on. You’ve done your bit, Scott. We might only get a couple of weeks and we can’t afford to go a man down.”
“I’m...”
Mercer shook his head. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m not listening. I need some breakfast.” He walked away, shouting over his shoulder, “Let me know what Big Dave’s got to say, then get some rest.”
Draper watched him disappear into the saloon. He was too tired to argue and his mind was full of ideas about Vinson and Burgess trying to stab him in the back. It seemed ridiculous to have the thoughts at all, and yet at the same time it seemed entirely plausible. Each time he talked himself out of one train of thought, it came around the track in the opposite direction and met the other one head-on. If it weren’t for Lewis seeing the truck heading this way, he might have dismissed the cigar nub as something blown in on the wind. It still could be, but there was a bad feeling in his stomach and it wouldn’t go away.
The sky was still dark. It would be more than an hour before the sun attempted to break through. There hadn’t been a single star all night. Clouds of differing hues of darkness had hung above their heads, making the gloom feel heavy and aggressive. He grabbed his keys and drove off the claim, glancing at his cell and waiting for the signal to come back. He had a feeling the day wouldn’t be much brighter than the night had been.
It felt like he had been driving for only a short time before the network came back into range. He knew it hadn’t been a short drive, the signal didn’t appear until roughly the same place each time. But his mind had been working non-stop since leaving the claim. He couldn’t afford to be paranoid about Vinson and Burgess, not until he had something more concrete. Of course, even if he did get hold of Burgess there was no guarantee he would admit anything underhand was going on. But Draper thought he might be able to hear it in his voice, detect it somehow. What would he do then? That was the question.
If Vinson was trying something then...
The phone beeped to indicate a message had been left on the answering machine. He drove a little farther, to where a pull-in had been carved into the trees, and stopped the truck. Hopefully the message was from Burgess.
It wasn’t. It was from the tanker driver bringing the fuel. He was delayed and wouldn’t be there until after three that afternoon. Draper checked his watch. That wasn’t too bad, only a few hours. It was lucky it wasn’t longer.
Draper called Burgess but the line was completely dead. Nothing on it at all. He tried it again and then checked the service. Four bars.
He pulled back onto the track and drove a little farther then stopped. The signal was at full strength now but the result was the same. Complete silence. A dead line. He sighed. What could he do now? He could ask Vinson again, tackle him about the cigar, but that wouldn’t go anywhere. He rubbed his eyes. He needed some sleep.
What about the guy who’d seen the yellow truck coming up this way? Burgess could fill an entire truck cab on his own. He was difficult to miss. If the driver could identify him, at least give a tell-tale description, then he would have enough to talk to Vinson again.
He drove on. The wipers flicked into action, smearing grime and dust all over the windshield. At least it was rain and not snow again. The track undulated gently and the creek periodically flashed past the window like a bolt of lightning through the trees. He pushed down on the gas pedal a little harder, impatient to reach Lewis.
The truck crunched over the dirt, hurling stones and gravel into the treeline. The heavy vehicle twitched and fought with him as he tried to keep it on the narrow track. He wasn’t thinking about anything other than what he was going to say to Vinson when he returned.
The loud blast of a horn made him jump, making him realize just how far his mind had wandered. The fuel tanker was coming his way and he was on the arc of a bend. The track dropped away steeply on his side of the road, down to the creek – but if he could swing across the track, he could make it all the way across and into the trees. Hopefully avoiding any of the larger pines.
He cranked the wheel to the left and felt the back end of the truck slide out. He hit the gas again, snaking it across the dirt, driving straight into the trees. Just before he closed his eyes, he saw the angry expression of the tanker driver grimacing down at him.
The tanker roared on up the track, its horn blaring across the valley. Draper felt his heart hammering in his chest, his hands turning white, so tightly were they wrapped around the wheel. He released his grip and sank back. He was getting himself into a terrible state, a state that had nearly seen him total the truck, and himself.
By luck rather than judgment, the truck hadn’t collided with anything. That was something at least. He climbed out and walked the few steps back onto the track, all the while taking deep breaths. The air was cool and clean and even the light rain felt good. Being paranoid or having some crazy persecution complex was ridiculous. There was a simple explanation for all of it.
On the other side of the road, he could see a dark gap between the trees. The ground disappeared sharply on that side all the way down to the creek, but the gap was different. It was wider, darker somehow. It seemed man-made.
He looked both ways to make sure nothing was going to come and wipe him out, then stepped across. It was man-made. It looked like a road had been carved out through the trees,
down the fifty-foot drop to the rear end of a truck. A truck with a bright yellow cab.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He put a foot down the bank and one of his arms around the trunk of a tree. The truck’s front end had gone into the water but the creek looked shallow from where he was. The rest of it was angled steeply downward. So steeply that Draper couldn’t see in through the narrow back window. He needed to get down there and check if anyone was hurt. The tire marks in the soil suggested it was a recent accident.
He tried to edge down farther, trying to extend his reach on the tree by using his fingers to hold on. It was a bad idea, he knew that, but he did at all the same. One slip and he would fall all the way to the bottom, bouncing off whichever tree happened to get in the way. He didn’t have a reinforced steel chassis to protect him, just his bones, and there would likely be a few broken ones by the time he hit the creek.
His fingers started to slide. He braced his foot and hauled himself back up. There was no way he could get down there and back up without help. His cell was in his pocket but Mercer wouldn’t have a signal. At that moment, not having satellite phones seemed like a really bad mistake.
He scrambled back up. He could continue another half an hour down to speak with Lewis or he could go back and get help. He looked down the bank at the truck again. He had no choice.
*
Mercer was scribbling on the tanker driver’s pad, accepting the delivery, when Draper’s truck skidded back onto the claim. Both Mercer and the driver looked at him like he was an alien as he jumped out.
“Can you grab Flynn and an excavator and come with me?” Draper called. He marched past the two of them toward the container. The driver opened his mouth to say something but Draper held his hand up. “Sorry about that. Bit of an emergency.”
He walked past without waiting for the abuse about the near-collision earlier. There were some cables in the container and hopefully a harness or something else he could use. He didn’t think he would be able to bring the truck up, but he could use the excavator and some ropes or cables to lower himself down the bank to look in the truck.