Tentatively she pulls out her own tag and hooks it on the nail labeled 15.
“Harris…”
Before she can say it, I cross back to the front of the cage. “It’s just insurance — we’ll be up and down in a half hour,” I say, hoping to keep her calm. “Now c’mon, your Cadillac awaits…”
With a sharp yank, I pull the lever on the steel door. The lock unhooks with a thunk, but the door weighs a ton. As I dig in my feet and finally tug it open, a mist of cold water sprays against my face. Up above us, a drumbeat of thick droplets bangs against the top of my construction helmet. It’s like standing directly under the edge of an awning during a rainstorm. The only thing between us and the cage is the metal safety gate on the cage itself.
“Let’s go…” I say to Viv, reaching down and twisting the latch at the bottom of the gate. With one last pull and a final metal shriek, the gate rolls open like a garage door, revealing an interior that reminds me of the Dumpster where I found Viv’s nametag. Floors… walls… even the low ceiling — it’s all rusted metal, slick with water and covered in dirt and grease.
I motion to Viv, and she just stands there. I motion again, and she hesitantly follows me inside, desperately looking for something to hold on to. There’s nothing. No banisters, no handrails, not even a fold-down seat. “It’s a steel coffin,” she whispers as her voice echoes off the metal. I can’t argue with the analogy. Built to carry as many as thirty men standing shoulder to shoulder below the earth and to withstand any random blasting that might be happening on any level, the space is as cold and bare as an abandoned boxcar. The thing is, as thick drops of water continue to drumbeat against my helmet, I realize there’s one thing worse than being stuck in a coffin: being stuck in a leaky coffin.
“This is just water, right?” Viv asks, squinting up at the mist.
“If it were anything bad, those other guys would never’ve gotten in,” I point out.
Flipping a switch on the front of her helmet, Viv turns on her mine light and stares down at the directions for her oxygen detector. I flip on my own light and approach the intercom, which looks like the buzzer outside my old apartment building. The only difference is, thanks to years of water damage, the entire front panel is covered with a thick mossy film that smells like wet carpet.
“You gonna touch that?” Viv asks.
I don’t have a choice. I press the large red button with just the very tips of my fingers. It’s caked in slippery goo. My fingers slide as I hit it.
“Stop cage,” I say into the speaker.
“You close the safety gate?” the woman’s voice buzzes through the intercom.
“Doing it right now…” Reaching up, I grab the wet nylon strap and drag the garage door back into place. It screeches against the rollers and slams with a metal clang. Viv jumps at the sound. No turning back.
“Just one more question,” I say into the intercom. “All the water down here…”
“That’s just for the shaft,” the woman explains. “Keeps the walls lubricated. Just don’t drink it and you’ll be fine,” she adds with a laugh. Neither of us laughs back. “Now, you ready or not?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I say, staring through the metal grate at the emptiness of the basement. The way Viv’s light shines over my shoulder, I can tell she’s giving it one last look herself. Her light points toward the fire alarm and the telephone. On the other side of the wall are our metal tags. The only proof of our descent.
I turn around to say something but decide against it. We don’t need another speech. We need answers. And whatever’s down here, this is the only way we’ll get them.
“Going to thirteen-two,” I say into the intercom, using the same code from before. “Lower cage.”
“Thirteen-two,” the woman repeats. “Lowering cage.”
There’s a grinding of metal and one of those never-ending pauses you find on a roller coaster. Right before the big drop.
“Don’t look,” the woman teases through the intercom. “It’s a long way down…”
38
“You there yet?” Sauls asked, his voice breaking up as it came through Janos’s cell phone.
“Almost,” Janos replied as his Ford Explorer blew past yet another thicket of pine, spruce, and birch trees as he made his way toward Leed.
“What’s almost?” Sauls asked. “You an hour away? Half hour? Ten minutes? What’s the story?”
Gripping the steering wheel and studying the road, Janos stayed silent. It was bad enough that he had to drive this piece of dreck — he didn’t need to listen to the nagging as well. Flipping on the radio in the truck, Janos turned the dial until he found nothing but static.
“You’re breaking up…” he said to Sauls. “Can’t hear you…”
“Janos…”
Slapping his phone shut, he tossed it into the empty passenger seat and focused back on the road in front of him. The morning sky was crystal blue, but from the nonstop bending of the two-lane road, and the claustrophobia from the surrounding mountains, this was a tough drive during the day, let alone at night — especially if you’d never done it before. Add that to the late hour of Harris and Viv’s arrival, and they may’ve even turned off for a snack, or even some sleep. Whipping around yet another curve, Janos shook his head. It was a nice thought, but as he realized an hour ago when he blew past that diner in Deadwood, it’s one thing to stop for food or toiletries — it’s quite another to set up camp before you reach your destination. If Harris was smart enough to get them this far, he was also smart enough to make sure they didn’t stop until they got to the very end.
Welcome to Leed — Home of the Homestead Mine, the billboard said along the side of the road.
Janos breezed right by it, recalculating the timeline in his head. Even if their jet got off immediately, they couldn’t have arrived before midnight. And if they didn’t get in until midnight, they had to sleep somewhere…
Making a sharp left into the parking lot of the squat sixties-era building, Janos read the signs in the neighboring storefront windows: Out of Business… Lost Lease… Gone to Montana. Sauls was at least right about that — Leed was definitely on its last legs. But as he parked his car and eyed the neon Vacancy sign out front, it was clear at least one place was still open: the Gold House Motel.
Janos opened his door and headed straight inside. On his left, he noticed the metal rack of tourist brochures. All of them were faded by the sun, every single one of them — except for the one entitled The Homestead Mine. Janos studied the rich red, white, and blue colors of the pamphlet. The sun hadn’t faded it a bit — almost as if… as if it’d just been exposed in the last hour or so.
“Hiya, there,” the woman at the front desk called out with a friendly smile. “So what can I do for you today?”
39
My stomach leaps into my chest as the cage plummets. For the first few feet, it’s no different from an elevator ride, but as we pick up speed and plunge down the shaft, my stomach sails up toward my esophagus. Jerking back and forth, the cage bangs wildly against the walls of the shaft, almost knocking us off our feet. It’s like trying to stand on a rocking rowboat as it bottoms out under you.
“Harris, tell her to slow down before-!”
The floor of the cage heaves violently to the left, and Viv loses her chance to finish the thought.
“Lean against the wall — it makes it easier!” I call out.
“What?!” she shouts, though I can barely hear her. Between the pounding of the cage, the speed of our descent, and the rumble of the waterfall, everything’s drowned in a never-ending, screeching roar.