Jasper Mountain (42 page)

George Barger continued to speak vehemently, his fists clenching and unclenching. The mine president held up his hand, presumably to stop George’s deluge of words, then he nodded. George trotted back to the crowd, his face smug with satisfaction.

“As stated previously, Doctor, only you are allowed through.”

“In that case, I will set up out here,” he replied cheerfully. “And you may bring the injured to me. Come, ladies.” He turned his back on George Barger.

“That’s not what Mr. Creely wants.”

The doctor smiled over his shoulder. “Well, Mr. Creely can’t always get everything he wants, can he?” Ambrose stalked away.

“Are you sure this is wise, Doctor?” Milena asked hurrying after him.

“I have no desire to be under the orders of Victor Creely. Next he’ll tell me who to treat, decide to whom I turn my attention.” Ambrose’s voice darkened. “Which man deserves to live and which does not. I’ll be damned if he controls any such thing. Not as long as I’m the doctor in this town.” He clapped his hands together. “All right, ladies! To work! We have a hospital to set up.”

Jack didn’t know if he was awake or not. Someone called his name, over and over, in whispers. Different voices. Why couldn’t he wake up? Why was he so cold, but his belly on fire? And damn it, nausea again.

“Jack?”

That’s right. The mine. Buried in the mine. A hand touched him.

“Pete?” he asked.

“Jesus, Jack, we thought you was dead.” “Nearly. I think Rolf kicked me.”

Another thump came from the dark. This time, Jack heard bone crunch. He gagged. The soft, moist sound of a head against rock broke the silence.

Jack heard Gentleman Bill crying, a soft shush of air and tears.

Thud.

“Rolfie.” Just a whisper from Digger. Thud.

A sob erupted. Jack thought that maybe it came from Pete. Or maybe him. Thud.

The dark grew heavier, a smothering shroud. Jack couldn’t move. He didn’t want to. Thud.

Something slid down his face, and he didn’t bother to swipe it away. No one could see him. Besides, they’d earned their place, these tears in the cavern.

They’d earned their place.

The sun provided a glorious setting, intense bloodred slashing the sky. A backdrop to misery. Isabella watched while men lifted one more body from the shaft and carried it to the tarp on the other side of the road. The simple tarp made a poor morgue, but it was the only option available outside the gate. Apparently there was some idiotic superstition regarding dead bodies on mining property, too.

A woman stumbled across the road to crumple beside the new body. Reverend McShane knelt beside her, speaking in low tones of comfort. The man never ceased to melt Isabella’s heart. She felt a tear and decided she must be exhausted, at the least; she grew way too sentimental around all this misery and suffering.

Suzanne came near, lighting the lanterns around the makeshift tent the doctor kept referring to as a hospital. Hospital indeed. The doctor was obviously an optimist. And a bit blind, as well.

Isabella returned her attention to the reverend until he finished with the woman, neighbors and others crowding around in support. Taryn visited each person in the morgue, living or dead. He prayed. He comforted. He caused Isabella’s heart to race and break, all at once.

Finally, he headed back to the hospital. He constantly moved from one to the other in his flock, never resting, never taking even the briefest moment for himself. Isabella couldn’t imagine. He caught her gaze and rewarded her with his gentle smile.

“I don’t think this is the safest place for you,” Taryn said.

“How kind of you to care, Reverend,” she answered, clinging to the small bit of pleasure in this awful situation. The minister thought of her safety. Isabella agreed with his sentiments. She didn’t enjoy commoners surrounding her. Many times when she looked up, one face or another glared at her, expressions filled with anger or distrust. Occasionally, a glance of pure hatred.

Then again, many spoke with her, welcomed her like she belonged among them. Some were even kind. Still, her options were limited, and she kept to the edge of the tent.

“Ben looks better,” Taryn observed with hope.

Six miners lay on cots, the doctor scurrying from one to the other, flinging orders to the ladies. Two of the miners didn’t look as if they’d live to see the next hour. Ben, the young man Taryn had just commented on, leaned over and vomited dark liquid. Isabella thought it looked quite a bit like blood. She turned away, her own nausea rising. She didn’t have the constitution for this. Not surprisingly, the Gypsy did. Milena bustled from cot to cot, caring for the filthy men, performing the most distasteful tasks without hesitation.

For a brief flash, Isabella felt a bit of guilt that she didn’t do more to help. Thankfully, the feeling disappeared as fast as it came. Such common work did not suit her at all. She’d done her job. They were all here, the rescue taking place, thanks to her and her magnificent powers of persuasion.

Really, she’d performed a miraculous task.

Taryn nodded to the latest casualty across the road. “It’s been a while since they found anyone. That man is Donny O’Toole. The first man they’ve found from Quinn’s team. They are that much closer to Jack.”

Milena headed in their direction, her black eyes locked on the preacher. “Reverend McShane.” She inclined her head slightly.

“Milena,” he answered and clasped her outstretched hand. “I’m pleased to finally officially meet you, though sorry about the circumstances. I’ve been meaning to speak with you, but so much is happening.”

“No apology is necessary, Minister.”

“Jack has told me much about you.”

“And he’s spoken of you, too. I am privileged to meet a man of God.” The Gypsy looked like she measured her words carefully, then forged ahead. “Minister, I cannot bother the doctor, but I need help.”

“Please. What can I do?”

“The rescuers do not search in the right place.”

“They are digging as close as they can to the collapse,” Isabella said, deciding she’d remained silent long enough.

“No, they are not,” Milena said, shaking her head. “Miles of tunnel web throughout the mountain. Jack Buchanan and his men are trapped deep within.”

“Rory and Quinn’s groups were close to the entrance when the explosion occurred,” Taryn said, realization creeping into his voice. “Jack’s team is deeper? How do you know this?”

“I know. Victor Creely admits it. If the rescuers continue this way,” Milena said, “it will be weeks before they reach Jack and the others with him. If at all.” She looked at Taryn with a helpless female expression. A familiar one Isabella used often herself. “I can feel his spirit, Reverend,” the Gypsy said. “He is alive.”

“I pray it is so,” Taryn replied, his voice quivering with the intensity of hope. How very interesting. The Gypsy was learning to use manipulation.

“I hate to point out bad news,” Isabella said. “If you can feel his spirit, doesn’t it mean Jack is dead?”

Taryn’s eyes snapped to her with shock.

“He is alive!” Milena said vehemently. “With others. And I can find them.”

Taryn smiled sadly. “Your intuition astounded Jack. He told me you knew things that seemed impossible to know.”

“Minister, I know of a back entrance to the mountain. Caverns and caves. Jack found me there, and he’d come from the mine tunnels. The way to help these men is not by blasting through more of the mountain, but by searching.”

Isabella felt a tether of silent understanding reach from Milena to the minister. Most disagreeable, actually.

“Then we must find a way,” Taryn said.

A knot twisted inside Isabella. Jealousy. She didn’t recall ever experiencing such a feeling before. She found she didn’t really care for it.

“There are scores of men,” Milena continued, “and all in the space where only a few can work. Many stand by and watch.” Milena turned her huge, dark, needful eyes to Taryn. Isabella had to admit, a neat trick. “Victor Creely will never listen to me. Will you suggest another search to him? One through the caverns on the other side of the mountain?”

“Absolutely.”

“Approach the King of the Jackals with care, Minister,” Milena warned.

Without another word, Taryn headed for the mine president. An eager puppy going to call out the coyote. Isabella took off after him, not sure why. She’d be stopped once she reached the gate. Sure enough, the wall of armed imbeciles led by George Barger barred her.

“Welcome, Reverend,” Barger announced with a flourish. “You may come through.” He looked pointedly at Isabella. “You may not.”

Damned if she’d ever let the little turd near one of her ladies again. It took everything in her not to scream. Unable to do anything else, she watched Taryn continue on, heading for the snarl of men.

And Victor Creely.

Lanterns dotted the mountain, some moving pools of light, some stationary. Milena watched miners disappear and reappear in and out of splashes of illumination. The entire landscape had turned eerie with the fall of dark. The stamping mill had stopped production, the huge last thrum echoing to silence. The sound had been a part of Jasper, and the peace the mountains offered felt strange.

The night wore on, the atmosphere of the Otherworld cloaking Jasper Mountain. Sometimes voices sounded close, yet men way beyond the gate spoke. Whispers fluttered, and apparitions wandered. Death walked, inside and out. Milena shivered.

The minister returned to the pool of light surrounding the hospital tent, his face as grim as the news he carried. “Mr. Creely insists the search is going exactly as planned,” he said to Milena, guilt clinging to his expression. “I tried my best to convince him of your idea. But he reports they are having great success, and ah …” He searched as though the words might be hanging in the air for him to pluck.

“Please, tell me,” Milena encouraged. “I realize they are not your sentiments.”

“He says he has more important things to do than reassure hysterical women on the fate of their men. He’s too busy making life-and-death decisions.”

“This is true,” Milena answered. “I fear more for the side of death. Thank you, Minister, for trying.” “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You are a man who listens and respects. Disappointment does not dwell anywhere near you, Minister.”

She inclined her head and left the tent, the privacy of night wrapping around her. She must think. Pray for a miracle. How could she convince men to come with her to the other side of the mountain?

Voices dropped into murmurs when she moved farther from activity. Even the doctor’s barked orders faded into distance.
“Shuv’hani,
help me. Please.” Nothing.

What was she to do? Look herself? What could one woman do inside a mountain? She alone would not be enough. Jack needed these men, their tools, and know-how.

Milena prayed for an answer as people came up the road continually, some without an emotional stake but simply curious. Some left to be sure children had care, some brought food, and others left to retrieve blankets. Supplies for a siege. The lanterns they held twisted their faces into ghoulish expressions by casting moving angles of light.

Milena kept watch and prayed through the night. In the dark of predawn, a short, grizzled man came up the road and changed course, headed for her, and swiped his hat off his head. “'Scuse me, ma’am. You been up here awhile?”