by J K Ellem
Beth stared at the beautiful pendent in her hand. She suddenly felt a shiver up her spine. Beth looked up at Ryder, their eyes locked, both women thinking back to the trunk they had found in Sam Pritchard’s shed and the morbid collection of jewelry and personal items he had collected.
Ryder smiled. “Now you’re giving me the spooks, Beth.” Beth still felt unsettled.
They panned their flashlights around. Unlike the main tunnel they had been down, this smaller tunnel had no remnants of anyone. No rubbish. No debris. Nothing. The ground and rock walls were bare, untarnished, not vandalized or disturbed.
Beth let out a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s all I’ve had on my mind these last few years.”
Ryder touched Beth’s shoulder. “I almost wish he was down here. That way we could shoot the shit out of him then leave him here where he belongs.” She patted Beth. “Come on, let’s go a little farther. Then we’ll head back out. We could both use a drink.”
Beth smiled and pocketed the pendant. It was probably nothing. She shouldn’t be so obsessed. But she couldn’t get the image of Pritchard’s face out of her mind; those dead eyes staring at her through the windshield of his truck as he drove at her. The photo Ryder had shown her, the vacant look of someone who had no conscience, no remorse, no soul. Beth forced a smile, trying to wipe Pritchard’s face from her mind. “I know a great place back in town. First round is on me.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Ryder replied.
Jessie scooped up the lantern while Pritchard groaned, both hands clutching at his face, blood streaming through his fingers. He lashed out wildly with a bloody fist, but she ducked under the blow meant for her head and ran from the chamber.
Outside Jessie didn’t pause, her mind already made up. She turned right, away from the direction Pritchard had been working, and sprinted down the tunnel, the light bobbing up and down as she ran for her life, too terrified to look back to see if he was giving chase.
She hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when the tunnel forked.
“Shit!” She needed to get to the surface, find a way out, but she had no idea which tunnel to take, left or right? Both looked the same. One could take her deeper into the mine, the other could take her to the surface. Jessie could feel panic rising in her throat and she forcibly made herself calm down.
Then she had an idea. It could be totally absurd or it could save her life.
She stepped forward into the entrance of the right tunnel and sniffed the air. It was dank, still, musty with an earthy tinge. She did the same with the left tunnel: stepped a few feet into it and tested the air. It was also musty, but not as earthy, not as strong. A whisper of air touched her cheek. She had no choice, Pritchard would be on her in moments, she had to choose, precious seconds were ticking away.
Jessie chose the left tunnel, praying it would lead her to the surface.
Moments later Pritchard arrived at the same fork where Jessie had just been. His face was twisted with rage and blood dripped from a deep gash that ran across his cheek up to the edge of his eye socket. The bitch had nearly sliced his eye open. How stupid could he have been? He allowed himself to be manipulated. He cursed himself as he looked at the two tunnels in front of him.
He smiled, his teeth coated red with blood. His anger subsided a little. She knew nothing. Neither tunnel would take her to the surface. He studied the dirt floor and saw the slightest blemish of churned dirt heading into the left tunnel. But instead of going after her, he turned and walked casually back the way he came.
50
By the time the water had reached Shaw’s waist, he had managed to shift the post only an inch. The timber was rotten at the base but it wouldn’t move any farther.
It was pitch black, the only sound he could hear was the rising water as it lapped against the walls and the stone steps that were somewhere up and to his right. He had memorized where the steps were before Tanner had gone, taking the only source of light with him.
Tanner had explained that the chamber flooded every twenty-four hours, rising to the ceiling before eventually subsiding and draining away to leave it dry once more. It was the ebb and flow of some underground river.
Shaw kicked his heels back into the base of timber post, the task made more difficult and less effective because the water was slowing the momentum of each kick. No matter how hard he tried, it would not budge.
The problem needed another approach. He emptied his lungs then slid down the post until he squatted underwater, the small of his back near the base of the post. He could feel with his fingers where the wood was splintered and worn. Leaning forward he tugged repeatedly against the rope, pulling at the base of the post, wishing he could hold his breath longer.
After the fifth attempt, Shaw broke the surface and realized the water line had progressed past his waist and was now up near his ribs.
He slid below the surface again but this time he gripped the base of the post backward, with both hands. He angled forward under the water like he was fighting up the street against a brutal wind. Shaw tensed his thighs and shoulders and pushed forward, trying to straighten his knees, pulling with his entire body.
The post didn’t move.
Shaw tried again.
Nothing.
He broke the surface and rested for a moment. Now the water was nearly at his chest. It was rising faster, the rate of flow of the underground river increasing. Shaw cleared any thoughts of drowning in this dark and miserable place. He would die one day, but it wouldn’t be here and it wouldn’t be now. He had to problem solve. Never give up, there was always a way. He just had to find it.
This time, taking a deep breath so he could stay down longer, he reversed the laws of physics on the post. Instead of a pulling motion, he slid under the cold black water and planted his feet in front of him and leaned back against the post with one shoulder. He needed to apply the full force of his body, starting with his toes, then up through his knees, pushing back with his thighs, and engage his core, chest, and shoulders into one integrated motion against the post.
In the cold blackness Shaw tensed, settled for a moment, then locked every joint and bone in place, one behind the other. He gritted his teeth and slowly let out his breath as he pushed back against the post, releasing a stream of bubbles of expelled air as he grimaced. He was determined not to break the surface, no matter what, until he was free.
Jessie ran as fast as she could, lantern raised, the sound of her breathing echoing off the tunnel walls. The tunnel ran straight and true and her heart jumped a beat when the floor started to gently slope upward. She had picked the correct tunnel, she was heading toward the surface and out of the nightmare.
Maybe Pritchard had picked the wrong tunnel. Maybe he had given up. But as she ran there was a thin thread of doubt in Jessie’s mind. She tried to push it aside and berate herself for being so negative. She had escaped after all. She had trusted herself, been courageous, not given up, allowed her anger to propel her into action. Stop being such a pessimist.
Pritchard hadn’t given chase. She was safe.
Once outside in the fresh air she would find help. She’d make it to a road, flag down a passing car. Then she would bring the police back here. Yes, she could see it now. They would find him, arrest him, throw him in jail or worse.
Then her mind drifted again. He’s done this before, he must have. He was organized, had it all planned out, brought tools, water, and resources with him. Nothing left to chance. He’s kidnapped other women. Knew what he was doing.
Nothing left to chance? The words echoed over and over in Jessie’s head as she ran.
Ahead the edge of a side tunnel came into view on her left.
Jessie slowed. Panic boiled in her gut.
She sped up again.
Keep going straight, keep going on, she told herself.
Nothing left to chance?
Then the thin thread of doubt in her mind became a length of spun yarn. Th
e length of spun yarn wove itself into a piece of cloth. Then the piece of cloth grew fully into the shape of Sam Pritchard who was standing in the dark, just inside the rim of the small side tunnel.
Jessie passed the opening.
Her eyes darted to the left. Her skin prickled. Something moved, a swath of darkness, something emerging, reaching out to her, a specter of pure evil unfurling toward her.
Jessie screamed.
Her world tipped sideways. Her vision bloomed pure white before darkness folded over her.
The post had moved, he was certain. Maybe less than an inch, but it had moved. Underwater, Shaw pushed back harder, ignoring the pain in his chest, his lungs starving for air. His thighs burned and his shoulder throbbed where the post cut into his collarbone. He growled like a rabid dog fighting for its life, every muscle straining, resisting the urge to breathe. The stream of expelled air from his mouth turned into a gush as he pushed, struggled, screamed, and fought. There was no air left in his throat or lungs. It had been replaced by tearing pain and searing heat.
The base of the post moved another inch back, grating against the ground. He could feel it. Shaw adjusted his stance, dropped his center of gravity more and heaved one last final time.
The post gave way, snapping at the base where the timber was most rotted. Shaw stumbled backward under the water, suddenly free of the post. He slid his looped arms down and out from underneath the post, but to his horror, instead of rising, he sank. With his arms tied behind his back he sank like a deadweight. He thrust up off the ground and broke the surface, took a gulp of air before gravity pulled him under again. As he sank to the bottom again, he balled up then slid his bound hands under his heels and out in front of him. He clawed upward with his hands and broke the surface. Finally, with his hands and arms in front instead of behind his back, he could float better. He took a moment to orient himself, catch his breath, the sodden rope still tight around his wrists, but he was free.
In the darkness he dog-paddled to where he thought the steps would be. His fingers, then his knees finally found the hard edges of the steps. He pulled himself out of the water then collapsed on the cold stone.
Shaw got to his feet, hands outstretched in front, a blind man trapped in a world of perpetual darkness. His fingers touched the wall and he followed it until he felt the edge of an opening, the entrance arch of the chamber.
Outside the light was dull, but not completely dark. As his eyes adjusted, lines, edges and shapes started to form—the outline of a tunnel, distant light chasing the darkness away.
Shaw stumbled forward toward the light, shivering, his teeth chattering, his mind prioritizing: get ropes off, find a weapon, get warm. Somewhere lower on his to-do list was to find both Tanner and Hoost, and kill them. But that would have to wait until his situation improved.
But they would remain on his list. Anyone who knew Shaw well, knew that once he made a list, he always ticked each item off. No matter how long it took.
While outwardly he was quiet and unassuming, there were times when pure vengeance was the only thing that kept him going. “We are all animals,” an instructor had once told him, “separated by varying degrees of civility.”
51
The ceiling rippled. Pockets of bats huddled and quivered, gray and furry. Beady-eyed, they regarded Shaw as he stumbled underneath. Some took fluttered flight, dark blurs of spiral movement, in and out of the muted light.
The floor was a carpet of broken rock and splintered shale, ready to trap an ankle or slice open a shin. The going was slow and tedious. Traversing the terrain with the use of a flashlight would have been difficult, but with no light to guide him, it was downright hazardous. He imagined he was deep in the mine, on the lowest level. An injury down here would be a death sentence, condemned to a lifetime of stumbling and crawling in the dark.
But the farther he went, the brighter it was, and soon he found the source of the light.
A hundred feet from the drowning chamber he found a small alcove, lit by a solitary light bulb. A staging point no doubt used by Tanner and his men, maybe an old miners’ hide, in case of rock fall. It had a folding table and chair, and a hard case storage tub. Shaw sat down on the chair and worked on the ropes with his teeth, the light above his head making the task easier. It took him a good five minutes of biting, chewing, twisting and pulling but the ropes finally came off.
Inside the storage tub Shaw found ammunition, plenty of it. Neatly stacked thirty-round magazines, but no assault rifle to slam them into.
Lodged down the side of the tub he found a compact flashlight with a hard rubber casing. Not the weapon he was looking for, but he took it and moved on.
The cave-like section soon opened into the mine workings, a myriad of shafts and tunnels, and it wasn’t long before Shaw realized he’d taken a wrong turn, had drifted away from the light, but he pushed on.
At times the ceiling descended, and Shaw had to squat and shuffle along on his haunches, pushing aside rocks and dirt with his feet until he could stand again. Other times it felt like he wasn’t in a tunnel at all. The walls narrowed at points until it became just a slit in the rock fascia and he had to turn sideways to squeeze through, millions of tons of rock and dirt pressing in and down on him as he moved through the bowels of the earth.
Somewhere in the darkness, beyond the glow of his flashlight, water trickled. At one point as he moved along he thought he could hear the surge of water sloshing and gurgling behind the rock, an underground river that would never carry a boat.
He moved in a bubble of light, total darkness following him. Once or twice he stopped and turned around, casting the beam behind him, certain invisible fingers of miners long since dead had brushed his shoulder. But there was nothing there, just a constant wall of black.
He panned the light back to the front again to see eyes, iridescent, luminous, staring back at him just before a shape scampered off into the darkness.
In some places, parts of the ceiling had been shored up, evidence of mine workings maybe a century or more old, the heavy beams and supports buckled and warped with age.
The air constantly changed as he moved. Some sections were cold, the air clear and sharp. Then a few steps farther along, the atmosphere altered, almost like he had passed through a physical barrier, the air warm and heavy, a thick vertical blanket, damp and musty, gritty on the tongue.
Some sections were dry and dusty, devoid of all moisture. Others were wet and glistening, the rock fascia bright and shiny, water leaking from somewhere above.
He had no compass. He had no map. Intuition was his only guide. At times it felt like he was descending deeper into the labyrinth, getting farther away from the surface. Other times it felt like the exit was just beyond the beam of his light, just past a curve or bend. But the journey went on, endless.
As Shaw pushed his way through the cramped and claustrophobic spaces, the weight of the entire planet pushing down on him, he wondered how many poor souls had toiled and died in this hellish place.
Then he hit a dead end. An impenetrable wall of fallen rock and dirt confronted him, blocking his progress. He looked up at the wall then started to climb, determined to find a way through. The thought of turning back was too daunting.
Hands and feet found footholds amongst the jumble of fractured rock that protruded from the compacted heap. He crawled his way to the top, realizing there were slabs of concrete in the mound that had fallen in a heap, mixed with dirt and debris. It was obvious a section of the roof had collapsed, bringing with it an upper level of the mine.
A thin gap was at the top and he could feel a breeze on his face as he reached it. He pushed through the gap on his stomach, hands clawing and dragging him, knees and shins scrapping, the jagged ceiling of rock grazing the top of his head until the mound of debris angled downward and he slid to the bottom, hoping he hadn't just climbed over the graves of the long forgotten who may have been trapped under the roof when it caved-in.
Then it all ch
anged. He had passed through a portal into another era in the history of the mine.
Shaw found himself standing in a large cavern with rounded walls and a curved ceiling that soared high above him. This was a new section where more recent work had been done. Shaw felt like he had moved from the civil war era into the post-industrial age. Old timber and rock was replaced by concrete and iron. The walls and high ceiling were skinned in smooth render. A row of electric light fittings ran the length of the ceiling; dead bulbs hung in wire cages.
Shaw turned and studied the mountain of debris he had just scaled. It wasn't as natural as he first thought. Heavy machinery had been used to push the dirt and rock to form a retaining wall, blocking off this section. But over time, as gravity took hold and the earth and rock settled, the top had slumped, falling away from the ceiling, leaving a gap at the top of the mound, allowing Shaw to climb through.
The ground on this side was wide and flat, scraped clean of any debris. The air was fresher than where he had been, and it moved, a soft breeze. Shaw switched off the flashlight. Seconds passed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. But the darkness was not total. A faint glow rimmed the cavern ahead of him. Shaw moved forward, the silhouette of large objects came into focus out of the gloom, the darkness getting lighter with each step.
A structure loomed ahead, man-made, square edges and straight lines. It was living quarters, built decades ago with tin sheet walls and glass windows now busted.
Shaw pushed open the door. The space was cramped. There were timber bunk beds with rotted mattresses, empty shelving, and storage boxes. Shaw turned on his flashlight and looked around the bunkhouse. It would have been used by miners, long ago, to sleep or rest between shifts. He found an old trunk under a bed and pulled it out. Inside was a mummified dead rat, a rusty can of coffee, and a tangle of old clothing, powdery with dust and mold spores. There was nothing here he could use.