The rubble was head-high, but Susan could see what looked like a gap at the top, so she crawled over chunks of rock in order to get closer. “This is Susan Farley,” she announced. “Can anyone hear me?”
“Farley?” a distant voice answered. “This is Mundy. Boss Atkins is dead. Johnson has a broken leg, and Liddy is unconscious. Her pulse is weak—and I’m worried about her. Can you dig us out?”
“I don’t know,” Susan replied uncertainly. “We’re about a hundred feet in. How far back are you?”
Susan heard the characteristic clatter of loose rock, and suddenly the other woman’s grimy face was there, peering through a small hole. “Another fifteen feet or so.”
“That’s a lot of rock to clear,” Susan observed doubtfully. “And we’ll have to put up new support beams as we go. That’ll take two or three days at least.”
“I don’t think Liddy will survive that long.”
“Okay, hang tough. There might be a faster way to get the crew out of there, but I’ll have to get an okay from Boss Cooper. And you know that chickenshit bastard. He’ll want to check with the warden. You’ve got air. What else do you need?”
“A first-aid kit and more water.”
“Howe can work on that while I go up and talk to Cooper.”
“Thanks, Farley, we won’t forget.”
Susan’s mind raced as she returned to the elevator, stepped aboard, and closed the gate behind her. There was a sudden jerk, followed by the usual clanking sounds, as the pawls were engaged and the cage rose.
Her idea was to drop a rope down through the ventilation shaft that connected Tunnel Five with Tunnel Four. The vertical passageway was narrow. Very narrow. But most, if not all, of the women were smaller than the average man. So the logic was there. But would that be enough? It was difficult to predict how Warden Brewster would react, because his decisions were almost always based on what was good for him, and Tunnel Four hadn’t been all that productive of late. So if forced to choose between spending hundreds of woman hours clearing a played-out lateral and removing gold-bearing rock from Tunnel Five, the heartless sonofabitch might go with the second option. Leaving the crew in Tunnel Four to die.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Four months earlier, after the bottom of the shaft that served Tunnel Three caved in, Brewster had left the crew in the lateral above to starve rather than invest the time and energy necessary to repair the elevator. All of which was on Susan’s mind as she left the lift and went looking for Boss Cooper.
After listening to her plan, he frowned. “I don’t know,” the guard said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Your idea might work—but we’d better check with the warden.”
“Yes, sir,” Susan said evenly. Well, you’re predictable if nothing else, she thought to herself.
It took nearly twenty minutes of precious time to reach the lowest level, or “main” as the prisoners referred to the large tunnel, and follow the tracks back to Shaft One. Most of the mine had a fairly reliable source of electricity thanks to the Cummins V12 diesel generator positioned near the main entrance. A long string of lights dispelled the gloom as they made their way down the corridor to Shaft One.
Then they had to summon the cage again and ride it up a level to the played-out lateral, where a pair of armed guards were waiting to receive them. Their job was to protect Brewster from the inmates, his own correctional officers should they decide to turn on him, and any Chimera who might find their way into the mine.
Cooper had to surrender his shotgun, and consent to a cursory pat-down, but that was nothing compared to what Susan was forced to endure. She was ordered to lock her hands behind her neck and spread her feet, so the guards could search for weapons. Not that squeezing her breasts and rubbing her crotch had anything to do with keeping Brewster safe.
Like the rest of the women in the Lucky Buckle Mine, Susan had been forced to endure the humiliating process many times before, and it never got easier. She kept her eyes forward, gritted her teeth, and tried to ignore Pete Pardo’s rank body odor as he pawed her body and nuzzled a cheek. “Uh-oh,” Pardo said, “this one is carrying concealed weapons. Two of ’em!”
It was an old joke, but Tom Olson never got tired of it, and laughed appreciatively. “You’d better let me check ’em out, Pete. Who knows? Maybe you’re wrong.”
And so it went until both men had groped Susan more than once and Cooper chose to intervene. “Save some for later, fellas. We’ve got a collapse in Tunnel Four—and Atkins is dead.”
He didn’t mention the women, injured or otherwise, but Susan didn’t expect him to. “Dead?” Pardo demanded incredulously. “He owed me half a box of .22s. The bastard.”
“You’d better get going,” Olson put in. Now that the guard knew about the cave-in, he was worried about how Brewster would react if the twosome were delayed.
Susan was ordered to enter the tunnel and Pardo gave her a pat on the fanny as she walked past. A line of dangling lightbulbs led her back to the natural cave where Brewster’s quarters were located. Susan felt the usual sense of fear as she brushed between a pair of makeshift curtains and entered what she thought of as “the lair.” A fitting analogy: Brewster was a beast, and he lived in a cave.
The relatively narrow entrance opened up into an irregularly shaped chamber that was about thirty feet long and twenty wide. The rocky floor was covered with overlapping mismatched rugs. The main furnishings consisted of a black potbellied stove, an imposing desk, and an enormous bed.
At the moment, a prisoner named Corly Posner was sitting on it with her back resting against the mahogany headboard. She was painting her toenails red, and when she looked up, the puffy black eye was plain to see. Though servicing Brewster had its privileges, not the least of which was escaping the sort of fate that had befallen the women in Tunnel Four, it had its risks as well. The warden’s temper being one of them.
Susan’s thoughts were interrupted as a Hudson’s Bay blanket was thrown aside and Brewster entered the cavern. He was wearing a waist-length leather jacket, khaki pants, and a pair of hiking boots. After placing his Fareye rifle in a rack alongside some other weapons, Brewster removed his jacket and turned to face his visitors. He had dark eyes, a formidable nose, and had chosen to shave his head rather than wear a halo of hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be up in Tunnel Five?” Brewster demanded, as he eyed Cooper.
Cooper’s feet shifted nervously. “Tunnel Four collapsed, sir. Atkins was killed—and what’s left of the crew is trapped.”
Brewster circled the desk and sat in a thronelike chair. “Okay,” he said calmly. “That explains your presence. Why bring her along?”
Cooper’s eyes flicked towards Susan and back again. “Inmate Farley believes there’s a way to rescue the crew in Tunnel Four in a matter of hours rather than days.”
“So rather than steal the idea, and claim credit for it, you brought her along to take the blame if I think it’s stupid.”
Cooper seemed to wilt under Brewster’s unblinking stare. “I thought she should have an opportunity to speak for herself,” he said lamely.
The warden laughed contemptuously as his eyes shifted to Susan. She felt as if his gaze were stripping her clothes off. “So, Inmate Farley, let’s hear this idea of yours.”