Red Helmet (38 page)

“Hallelujah,” Song said.

Cable chuckled. “I didn't know Yogists said hallelujah.”

“Oh, we say a lot of things, Cable. For instance, this Yogist is kind of curious whether we're going to get out of this alive.”

“I told you we're going to be fine.”

“And I heard you. But can I believe you?”

Cable pointed at his helmet. “See this white helmet? You have to believe me. I'm your boss.”

“I thought you resigned.”

“It isn't
official until the end of the week.”

“Well, anyway, I own this mine, so I outrank you.”

“No, you don't. Your father owns this mine. A subtle but important difference.”

Song took a deep breath. The air out of the SCSR was still too hot. “Just keep us safe, Cable.”

“That's what I intend to do.”

Cable went to the jeep to get a fresh SCSR for Bum and a roll of duct tape. He activated the rebreather, strapped it around Bum's neck, then put the clips on his nose. He used the duct tape to hold the mouthpiece in place.

“Nice look for him,” Song said. “Too bad you didn't just tape over his mouth and forget the SCSR.”

“Let's put him on the jeep,” Cable said, ignoring her suggestion.

“Are you kidding? He's got to weigh two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“That's why I said ‘let's,' as in let us.”

Song took another deep inhalation, then allowed a long sigh. “All right, Cable. Let's save your little teammate.”

She knelt and lapped one of Bum's arms across her neck. Using the muscles in her legs rather than her back, just as Square had taught, she stood up, dragging the big man to his knees. His head fell forward and his black helmet fell off. “Hey, you're strong,” Cable marveled, picking up the helmet and jamming it back on Bum's head.

“Coal mining will do that for a girl,” she grunted beneath Bum's weight.

“What else does it do?”

“Makes her mean and lean, Cable,” she growled. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help me with this ugly brute? Remember you said ‘let's' as in let us?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Together, Song and Cable half-carried, half-dragged Bum to the jeep and stretched him out on it. Cable drove the jeep very slowly through the smoke, turning into the cut that led toward the face on Six West and, hopefully, clear air.

“Just about there,” Cable said just before another huge tremor shook the mine. A crib collapsed, and the header it was holding fell, swinging in a vicious arc into the side of the jeep. Cable yelled something, then the jeep was battered off the track.

Song was sent flying, landing hard in the gob on her back beside the crib on the other side. After a few seconds of shock, she pulled herself up. Dust and smoke hung in the air. “Cable, are you all right?” she called. There was no answer. Then she heard a splintering sound. She looked up and her heart turned to ice. Through the acrid smoke, she could see cracks racing through the draw rock. “God, help me!” she heard herself cry. It was decidedly not a Yogist's prayer.

Then there was a noise that sounded like a gigantic plate glass window struck by a sledge hammer. Song's desperate prayer stuck in her throat. The entire roof was coming down.

B
OSSMAN ENTERED
M
OLE
'
S
office just as another blip appeared on the seismograph. Mole pointed at it. “It's bigger than the first one,” he said in awe.

Bossman studied the jagged line on the monitor. Then he looked at the CO sensors. They were lit up to Three block on the return and to Five block on the intake. “Fire damp exploding,” he muttered, using the old miner's term for methane. “But where's it coming from?”

Bossman's eyes shifted to the big mine map on the wall. “This doesn't make sense,” he said to himself, although Mole was listening intently. “I fire bossed up on Six block myself and the methane level was normal.” He pondered a little more, then asked, “How're the fans?”

“All operational,” Mole said.

“Did you call Einstein?”

“Yeah, but I didn't talk to him. His voice mail said he's at the MSHA Academy giving a class for inspectors. I left a message.”

Bossman picked up the mine phone and called the bottom. “I want everybody out of the mine,” he growled. “Yes, everybody!” Then he called the lamp house. “When you think all the men on the day shift are out, let me know whose tags are still on the board. And tell any miner on the rescue team you see to report to the dispatcher's office.”

Bossman hung up the phone and turned to Mole. “Call the rescue team.”

“You think Cable and Song are still at Six West?”

“How the hell should I know? If they are . . .” He left the sentence unfinished, looked again at the mine map, then picked up his white helmet and plopped it aboard.

“Where you going?” Mole asked.

“Back inside.”

“But you just ordered the mine evacuated.”

“I know what I did. I also told you to call the rescue team!”

While Mole picked up the phone to make the calls, Bossman tore across the mine yard, waving at the manlift attendant to open the gate.

O
N THE AIRWAY
entry to Six West, Cable's jeep was beneath the header that had struck it and a pile of draw rock. On the other side of the entry, pressed against the crib that had saved her, Song lifted her head, then brushed off the fragments of the knife-sharp rock splinters that had fallen all around her. She played her light through the dust and smoke, saw the jeep, then crawled to it. Its motor was still humming. She fumbled with its controls until she had it turned off. If it was methane that kept exploding, she didn't want a sparking electric motor to set off more. She was just a stupid red cap, but she knew that much!

She heard Cable groaning and found him folded into the small space below the driver's seat. “I think my leg's broken,” he said through gritted teeth.

Song's spot of light moved along his leg. The bend in it told her Cable's suspicion was correct. “Tell me what to do,” she said.

“Help me out,” he said.

Song did her best, but she couldn't get any leverage. Finally, Cable reached up and grabbed the header with both hands and pulled himself up. He gasped at the resulting pain, but he worked himself hand over hand until his upper body was hanging over the lip of the jeep. Then he lost his grip and fell, landing on his back in the gob. He shrieked, then subsided into moans.

Song worked her way to him. “Cable?”

Cable took a long, ragged breath through his SCSR. “How far are we from the face?”

Song flashed her light down the entry. “I think maybe another fifty yards,” she said.

“Get me a crutch or something.”

“Cable, there's no crutch except me.”

He rolled himself over on his stomach, gasping as his broken leg flopped into the gob. When she put his arm around her shoulders and struggled to lift him, he said, “You can't take my weight.”

“Yes, I can. I've had you on top of me before. Remember?”

Cable managed a smile. “Guess I'd forgotten, it's been so long.” Then he added, “Too long, maybe.”

“This is no time to get romantic,” she chided, then lifted with all her strength. He grunted in pain, and so did she, but she managed to lift him until he could hobble along on one foot with her supporting him. It took what seemed hours but was probably no more than fifteen minutes before they got to their destination. Song let Cable down as gently as she could, then spat out the mouthpiece of her SCSR and took a quick breath. “I think this is good air,” she said.

“We need to put up a curtain.”

“I'll
get one.”

Song trotted off to where she knew the curtain material was stored. She unrolled the plastic sheet, estimated the length she needed, cut it off, and hung it where Cable told her to. For the moment, they were sealed off from the smoke.

Cable crawled to a rib, dragging his broken leg. He rolled into a sitting position, then wiped the sweat and grime from his face. “You hung that curtain like an expert,” he marveled.

Song shrugged. “I had a good instructor.”

“You wouldn't happen to have any morphine on you, would you?”

“I have a bottle of ibuprofen in my lunch bucket.”

“Go get it. I've got to knock this pain down a little so I can think.” Cable released the mouthpiece on the SCSR and took a tentative breath. “You're right. This air isn't too bad.”

“Check your gas detector to be sure.”

Cable did. “Acceptable,” he reported.

Song soon returned with the ibuprofen. She also brought a bottle of water from the box Petroski always kept near the face. There were plenty of bottles, so water wasn't going to be a problem, at least not right away. Cable swallowed four of the tablets, drank the entire bottle, then asked, “Did you see Bum after we ran off the tracks?”

“No, but I didn't look for him either.”

Cable looked grim.

“What?” Song demanded.

“Well, a miner never leaves his buddy behind.”

Song peered at Cable in astonishment. “Bum is not my buddy. Nor yours, I might add.”

“I know,” Cable said quietly.

Song had a furious argument with herself, then said, “All right. I'll go get him.”

Cable touched her arm. “No. Stay here where it's safe.”

Song made a hopeless gesture. “I can't just leave a man out there to die. Not even Bum. What would Preacher say? What would the church ladies say? They'd call me a pure snotty little witch again and this time they'd be right.”

Cable groaned as pain shot through his leg. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I'm sorry I made you stay behind with me,” he said. “You'd be safe outside by now.”

“Yeah, well, if pigs could fly and all that.” She stood up. “Any advice before I go risk my life for—I can't believe I'm saying this—Bum?”

“Bring along the SCSRs on the jeep. There's also an extra light and a charged-up battery in a metal box behind the driver's seat. Bring them too.”

Song nodded, then walked to the curtain and pulled it aside.

“Song?” Cable called after her.

Song turned. For some reason, the sound of her name on his lips made her think Cable was going to tell her something from his heart.

“Don't forget the light and the battery,” he said.

“I'm a woman, not a mule, Cable!” she snapped, then angrily pushed through the curtain into the entry. The smoke was like a thick gray wall. She put the SCSR mouthpiece back in, snapped the nose clip on, and pushed into it.

Thirty-Four

6:14 p.m., Tuesday

B
irchbark's crew were shoveling dirt into the open sore in the ground that had been created by the eruption from below. Bashful was pacing around them. “What happened?” he asked for about the tenth time.

Birchbark had already explained it, though it was clear Bashful didn't want to hear the truth. “We drilled into the old works and lit off the methane in there. Just like I told you would happen!”

“But how could it?” Bashful plaintively demanded. He knew he was in big trouble and his brain was working overtime to figure a way out.

Birchbark shook his head. “Maybe we hit an old roof bolt, made a spark. What matters is we did it. That spout of fire out of our hole is proof.”

Bashful stopped his pacing. “What if we fill that hole up, then leave? Pretend it never happened.”

“That's not possible, Bashful. We can't run away from what we've done. For one thing, the riggers know it and they'll tell everybody. Now, get hold of yourself. First thing we got to do is to stop up this hole. If there's a fire down there, the air going through our shaft is feeding it.”

Bashful shook a cigarette out of a pack and, after several fumbles, managed to light it. “I don't know what to do,” he said between nervous, jerky puffs.

Birchbark shook his finger at his boss. “Yes, you do. Call Cable!”

Bashful licked his lips. “He's going to be mad.”

“No doubt. Likely, he'll want to kick your butt. But before that, he's going to need you.”

Though he wasn't thinking straight, Bashful sensed his salvation. “Need me? Why?”

“Bore holes, Bashful. Bore holes.”

“What are you talking about?”

Birchbark threw up his hands “Try to focus on what I'm telling you, all right? We've caused an explosion. It happened in the old part of the mine so maybe—and pray to God this is true—nobody's been hurt. The mine is going to be evacuated, in any case. MSHA will show up, which means Einstein. Einstein's a careful kind of fellow. He'll want to test the air before anyone goes back inside. Bore holes is the only way to do that. We're in the hole business, Bashful. Remember? After you call Cable and confess, call Lester and tell him to get the spare rig ready to go.”

“So you're saying they need me?”

“Yes! Now, call the mine, then call Lester.”

Bashful took a long drag off his cigarette, then threw it down. He went to his ATV, which was equipped with a mobile telephone. He picked up the handset and called Lester and told him to get the spare rig up to speed. Then he took a deep breath and dialed Mole's number. Mole was his connection to Cable. But all he got was a busy signal.

M
OLE WIPED THE
sweat from his brow with a red bandana. He was talking to Bossman, who had reached the bottom and called in on the wireless attached to his jeep. “I just talked to the lamp house,” Mole said. “Cable's and Song's tags are still hanging on the board, so it looks like they're still inside. You know we should turn off the power. Otherwise, a spark might cause another explosion.”

Bossman was quiet for a couple of seconds, then said, “Yes, but that means the fans will stop delivering fresh air too. Any sign of Einstein?”