by Sean Wallace
“You named your drill Jewels?” Alma asks, looking amused. “Bit presumptuous on your part.”
“Not Jewels, Jules. Like Jules Verne.” I say.
Alma raises her eyebrows.
“. . . The author of Journey to the Centre of the Earth?”
“The one and the same. Pretty clever, right?” I say.
“Imagine that! A well-read prospector,” she says.
I beam at Alma and she shakes her head and chuckles.
“Well, just remember, the offer still stands. Father has a business proposition for you. He thought you’d enjoy the scenery during the meeting.”
“That’s swell. But he can talk to me about it on the ground, where I like to be,” I say.
“Well, if you ever think about upgrading, you know where to find us,” she says.
“. . . Upgrading?” I ask, and I can feel my face turning up into a grin as I do.
Alma furrows her brows in confusion.
“Remind me,” I say. “I remember this one fella, Erwin? The one you were sweet on?”
“His name was Ervin. And I was not sweet on him. His parents are good friends with mine. I thought he was a bimbo.” Alma says, rolling her eyes.
“Right. Now, remember how he’d always show off that airship his pop bought him? Regular drugstore cowboy; he’d ask any girl who passed him on the street if they wanted to take a ride to Paris with him—”.
“He did not ask every girl,” Alma laughs.
“Right, right,” I say, waving my hand. “So correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve been hearing he got into some trouble with air traffic control recently. I heard – again, correct me if I’m wrong – that when he stopped through customs on his way back from Singapore, they found him with a case of herbal liqueur under a stack of silk.”
Alma looks down and scratches her wrist.
“It’s true,” she says.
“Now I ask, what do you think good old Ervin was up to yesterday?” I ask.
“He’s still in jail. His parents are so ashamed of him they won’t post his bail,” Alma says, trying to suppress her smile.
“That’s a damn shame. Know where I was yesterday?” I ask.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I drilled twenty-two miles out from the quarry and struck a gold bearing quartz vein. Surfaced and sold enough gold to Avery Jewelers to pay for the next three trips to the grocers. Got back in my drill, drilled down to the speakeasy in Twin Pike, and you know what I did there?”
“You had yourself a Scotch,” Alma says, smirking.
I grin.
“I had myself a Scotch,” I nod.
“Fair point. Now let me make mine . . .”
Alma pushes me the pouch of rejected stones, opens the cash register, and slides a few coins into my hands. I glance down at them for a moment before nodding and pocketing them.
“Good deal,” I say.
“The price is always right down at Around the World Curios,” she says in a singsong voice. “Now are you going to beat it, or am I going to have to give you the bum’s rush?”
She winks, and it makes me feel weak in the knees.
“One more thing,” I say.
I reach into my satchel and pull out the small black spiral I’d been saving, and set it on the counter top.
“A fossil?” she asks, picking it up to examine.
“An ammonite,” I nod.
“Hmm. It’s in pretty good condition. How much you asking for?” she asks.
I can feel my cheeks flush and I clear my throat.
“. . . It’s um, not for sale. I’m giving it to you,” I say.
Alma looks up at me then, and for the first time in a long time, she looks like she doesn’t know exactly what to say. I use her rare moment of stunned silence to regain my composure.
“Well, since it’s yours now, you could sell it. But you’d be breaking a poor old prospector’s heart,” I say, tracing a tear down my cheek.
Alma looks up at me with those beautiful brown eyes, and raises an eyebrow.
“So level with me. You got a never-ending supply of gold, crystals and gems at your fingertips, and out of all that, you decide the best present to give a girl is an old dead animal?” she asks.
“Well, yeah. This was more interesting,” I say. “Thought it suited you.”
Alma stares at me for a moment before her lips curl up into a smile.
“I love it, Lloyd. It’s nifty.”
I give her a nod and turn to walk away before I melt.
“Hey!” she calls after me. “Don’t be afraid to come back soon. If you got any more iron pyrite you want to get rid of, I mean.”
“I’ll be back in soon, then.” I nod. “With some iron pyrite, of course.”
“Berries. Don’t take any wooden nickels.”
Alma winks at me again, and I can feel my heart singing. Walking out of the shop, I look up into the sky, at all those little specks darting across the clouds, and I almost feel bad for all of them.
They don’t know what it really feels like to fly.
I may be goofy over Alma, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget about the other lady in my life.
The hike down the quarry always goes by quick. I step off the trail and head out to my shed, pulling my key out of my pocket. I stick it in the padlock and swing the doors open.
And there she is. Faded and half a century out of style, and still one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
“Morning Jules,” I whisper.
Roughly the size and shape of an automobile with the treads of a tank, Jules is a dull bronze with gold-tinted studs and panels. Her drill is about half as long and twice as tall as the rest of her. She’s got a few dents and I’ve had to repair her glass windows several times after surfacing in the past few months, but she’s as resilient as they come. And someday when I’m dead in the ground, she’ll still be running, providing for my children and their children alike.
There’s no stopping a bird like Jules.
Mobile drills were invented back in the tail end of the eighteen hundreds, fueled by the California gold rush. They never really caught on too well – wildly expensive and intricate, not many gold miners were keen on making such an investment. On top of that, drills are complex and require not just an understanding of how to operate and maintain them, but of the geologic surroundings you’re boring into. After several fatal accidents, the bad publicity was enough to dampen what little interest there was for drills, and they stopped being produced entirely soon after.
Drills made a comeback in a different way a few years later, when the Central Pacific Railroad thought that an underground railway would be a worthy investment. They refurbished old mining drills and commissioned a handful of special drills for the job, big ones that could collect mineral deposits and pave the way for a steam engine at the same time. I remember being a kid; sitting on my grandad’s lap as he showed me the old newspapers he kept from that time. I remember that big leading drill, the Star Garnet, and how massive she looked in that faded old picture, surfacing out of a crater in all her gold and black glory. It was something spectacular.
And then, airships were conceived, making all forms of extended travel across the ground obsolete. The Central Pacific Railroad shut down not a year later, and their drills were either stripped of their metal or lost to time. It took me many months and a lot of dough to track down all the missing parts for old Jules.
But the old girl has paid for herself five times over these past few years.
I climb up her footholds and twist open the hatch, dropping my satchel, canteen, and lantern down into the passenger’s seat. I lower myself down in and pull the hatch closed behind me, pulling my key out of my pocket and turning it into the ignition. Jules’s dashboard lights up, and I make sure to double-check her oxygen levels and air tank before I back her out of the shed.
“What do you think, Jules?” I ask her. “Feeling lucky today?”
I don’t hav
e to take her far out into the quarry before I find a good spot to start drilling. I yank my pen out of my satchel and quickly mark on my map where I’m going down, and make a quick estimate of where I’ll go. I want to keep close to yesterday’s route, just in case that vein went on farther than I thought.
And more importantly, to see if I left behind any iron pyrite.
Smiling at the thought of getting to see Alma again so soon, I prep for descent. With everything in place, I turn the lever and grip onto the wheel. With a quick buck, Jules swivels on her sides and her drill roars to life, dipping into the ground. Dirt and gravel sprays out of the way, and after a few minutes, I push on the pedal and let her sink into the hole.
There’s always a brief moment of darkness, when I’m engulfed in dirt and earth and all I can hear is the roar of my drill.
And it’s exhilarating.
After that moment though, Jules’s automatic lights flicker on, and I can see the gravel and rocks smearing across my window as we tunnel downward. I measure our decline, and when I’m sure we’re about a half mile down, I turn her horizontal and set her on a straight course.
It’s smooth sailing from here on out, no real need to do much of anything except check the filters every few minutes. Normally I pick up a newspaper at Marla’s Diner to bring down with me, but I was so set on going to Around the World Curios I didn’t stop by this morning. I reach to my satchel to pull out the book I’ve been reading, but I stop, remembering I finished it yesterday down in Twin Pike.
With a sigh, I sink back in my seat and let my mind wander back to Alma. I should invite her to come down with me during one of my digs sometime. Someone like her would be able to appreciate this – burrowing through stone and dirt as slow or fast as you please, no traffic control to tell us to stop or go or pull us over for inspection. A world of treasure at your ready and the means to go wherever you want.
Real freedom.
As I trek along, I decide now would be a good time to check the filter. I turn around and pull out the drawer along the panel behind me, catching a small sample of the contents of the containment tank. A flurry of pebbles and rocks. I pick one up, and immediately see the streak of shimmering yellow stained into its sides. Not iron pyrite. Real gold.
“Attagirl Jules!” I yell.
I yank the lever into reverse and stomp on the pedal, backing her up before I let her swivel down and bore into the sides of the tunnel. Drilling down and back up from a gold-bearing tunnel is always a good way to tell how deep a vein runs. I wonder if this is left over from yesterday’s vein, or if I’ve come across a new one. Two gold loads in as many days, boy that would be swell. I wait a few minutes before I let Jules descend.
And suddenly, there’s no sound. No roar, no cracking rocks splintering apart, no pebbles hitting my window. For a moment, I think I see light.
Jules bucks hard, and I go lurching forward. My satchel and the filter both go flying against the window.
We’re falling.
I don’t have much time to think about what could be happening. I fly out of my seat and hit the window, and I quickly wrap my hands over my head to shield myself.
Jules hits the ground of whatever we’ve fallen into with enough force to crack the windows. We go rolling, and I claw forward, trying to get my grip on something, anything. After getting tossed around for what has to be a few yards, we land upright, and I fall smack-dab on my ass, back into the seat.
I sit still for a few moments, my heart pounding in my chest. I feel pretty banged up and sore, and my cheek is stinging something fierce, but for the most part, I think I’m okay. I snap out of it quick when I realize Jules’s drill is still roaring away. I quickly lean forward and grab the lever for the drill and turn it off. As the rumble of the drill dies down, I lean forward to observe the damage.
The crack could have been worse. Old Jules’s windows are thick so the whole pane didn’t shatter to pieces, but a few shards seem to have broken loose. My cheek. I reach up and sure enough, I feel a piece of glass imbedded in my skin. I grit my teeth and yank it out, my eyes watering as I do. I glance out of the windows, trying to make heads or tails of my surroundings. Did I fall into an underground cave? I can’t really see much of anything through the web of cracks. I suck in a deep breath and stand up to twist the hatch open. I just hope the damage Jules took isn’t too bad.
I swing the hatch open and immediately, I notice a dim light pouring down above me. How on earth is there a light source down here? I pull myself up and I jump down onto the ground.
And there’s a gun being pushed into my face.
A man dressed in working slacks and suspenders points a gun at me, his eyes narrowed.
“On your knees,” a gruff voice barks from behind me.
On reflex I swivel on my heels to turn around. Another man stands behind me pointing a gun, this one wearing a dark suit and a fedora.
“I said on your knees, palooka!” the man in the suit yells.
I cough as I feel a foot stomp onto my back. I put my hands up and go limp, slamming down to the ground, utterly confused and scared shitless. The foot is removed, and I look up, trying to get my bearings.
There’s a series of lights on the ceiling illuminating the cavern I’ve fallen into. I follow the cables with my eyes before I realize I’ve fallen into a tunnel. A massive tunnel. I redirect my gaze to the men that have me at gunpoint, about half a dozen, all of them in work clothes, and all with holsters. I bite my tongue, forced to stay quiet as several of them climb up to inspect Jules. As I look over to the man with the suit, he catches my eye and immediately advances upon me.
“You a cop? Huh!?” he barks, walking up to me.
“W-what? No! I’m just a miner!” I yell.
“Bullshit!” he snarls.
“Hey, Robbie. Come check this out!” one of the other men calls from inside Jules.
Robbie glances down at me and sneers, kicking up dirt into my face as he stalks over to Jules. I have to fight the urge to yell at them to stay away from her, but I catch myself. They have every advantage here – I’m lucky I ain’t dead right now. I keep my head low and decide to button up and listen.
“He says he’s a miner. You fucking believe this guy?” I hear Robbie scoff.
“I think he’s telling the truth,” I hear someone else say from inside Jules. “Look at this stuff. What kind of copper would come down here with no gun?”
“So what is this thing then?”
“It’s a drill, you know. From when they were making these tunnels all them years ago.”
“. . . Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“So what do we do with him? Should we . . . ?”
“Hmmm. No. Not yet. We should take him to the boss. Jackie is gonna want to see this.”
Robbie walks back over to me, pocketing his gun and looking down at me in amusement.
“Okay, miner. Why don’t you take a little walk with us?”
A pair of arms pull me to my feet, and I weigh my options. There’s no way I can fight these men off, and even if I did, they’d shoot me down before I got five feet away from them. I glower at Robbie, but stagger along in time with them.
“Hey, what about his drill?” One of the workers yells.
“George, Louis, you two stay here with it. I’ll send some more of the fellas up to help you figure it out.”
And with that, a gun digs into my back and we go marching off. I should be thinking about how to get out of this mess. I should be thinking about what horrible thing could be waiting for me, and what best way I can meet it.
But all I can think about is Jules, and if I’ll ever see her again. I turn around and try to steal one last glance at her, but in the dim light of the tunnel she’s already faded away.
I sit on the floor of the closet Robbie and the workmen locked me in, chucking pebbles from my pocket against the wall. They had marched me through half a mile of tunnel until we came to a manmade cavern filled with more workers, just like th
em. Pushing wheelbarrows, dragging carts, glaring at me. They shoved me to a small shack built right in the middle of it all. Despite its shoddy appearance, there was a relatively nice office on the inside. Not that I got a good look at it before they shoved me in here. I don’t even know how long it’s been.
It’s a good thing I ain’t afraid of dark, enclosed spaces.
My pebble bounces off the door and rattles across the ground. I reach forward, pick it up and throw it again.
I wonder if anyone will come looking for me. It’s not too farfetched. Sooner or later the boys down at Marla’s will notice I’m missing. And Alma, I told her I’d been mining down in the quarry when I saw her, she’d be able to tell them where I am.
And then I remember that up on the surface there are a dozen holes and tunnels branching off in every direction for miles. I sigh and sink back.
So much for that.
I hear footsteps against the floor outside, and I stop tossing my pebbles. The door opens and Robbie scowls down at me before snapping his fingers.
“On your feet,” he growls.
“Ain’t gonna give me a hand?” I mumble, pulling myself up.
“Stuff it,” he says.
I follow him out into the office, and he pulls out a chair for me by the desk.
“What a gentleman,” I say, sitting down.
Robbie reaches into his pocket and whips out a handkerchief, and throws it right into my face.
“Clean yourself off, you’re covered in blood and dirt and shit,” he barks.
I glare at him, but I take the handkerchief and run it over my face. The cut on my cheek must be bad, because it’s still bleeding.
“You going to tell me what the hell’s going on?” I ask.
Robbie gives me the crooked eye and cracks his knuckles. I sigh and look away, and just focus on wiping the blood off my face.
“Here’s how it’s gonna play out,” Robbie says. “My boss wants to come in here and have words with you. You’re gonna be goddamn respectful and you’re not going to act like a jackass. If it weren’t for Jackie, I’d have shucked and chucked you back in the tunnel where I found you. Remember that, and remember I have no problem disposing of you if you try anything or mouth off. There are an awful lot of places to bury a body when you’re this deep under. You hearing me?”