Bone Rattle by Marc Cameron (best ereader for pdf .TXT) 📕

Cutter leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. “A stope?”

“Open room where the ore body widened out,” Horning said. “There’s a big one on the mountain above the old hatchery you’re talking about. You have to rappel over a hundred feet to get into it. You could easily fit four or five of these houses inside that one.”

“Those tailings should be fairly easy to locate,” Cutter said.

“I’ve got maps,” Horning said, tapping the side of his head. “Up here, but also on my iPad. I’ll drop them to your phone if you want.”

“Thanks,” Cutter said. “That will give us a start anyway.”

Horning rubbed his pup behind the ears and gave the computer mouse a click, bringing up a video. “Here’s what you can expect.”

Both Cutter and Maycomb crowded closer to the monitor. Cutter took more mental notes of the slide-prone earth around the entry, the old timbers, low-hanging rock, the dripping water, and the complete darkness at the edges of the headlamp’s beam. This particular mine – Horning called it an adit – was a simple tunnel, head high in most places, that ran straight into the mountain. “What are these pockets in the wall?” Cutter asked.

“Looking for other veins of gold?” Maycomb said.

“Good guess,” Horning said. “But those are where miners would stand to get out of the way of the blast when they were blowing more rock.”

“Are you kidding?” Maycomb gasped. “They’re what? Three or four feet deep?”

“Not kidding,” Horning said. “Remember, we’re talking the turn of the last century, the nineteen hundreds. Guess they weren’t too savvy about overpressure dangers to your innards. They just wanted out of the way of flying rock.”

“Is this one behind the hatchery?” Cutter asked.

“No,” Horning said. “This is up Perseverance Creek. I’ll drop you the maps of the ones behind the hatchery too.”

“Thank you,” Cutter said. “If you have a paper map as well, I’d pay you for it. Sort of a sailing thing. I navigate with GPS, but like to have paper charts.”

“Smart,” Horning said, startling the dog as he gave the side of his plaster cast an impatient smack. “I wish to hell I was going with you. I know every inch of those mines. There are two or three there that would make for good hideouts, I think.” He looked up, seized with a sudden thought. “You’ll need gear. I’m happy to loan you some if you want. From the sound of it, you’re a two- or three-light guy.”

“Or more,” Maycomb said.

Horning shooed the dog out of his lap and got up to putter around the room. “I like to carry at least two headlamps and a handheld flashlight.” He began to gather helmets, lamps, and climbing rope. “You ever rappel?” he asked Cutter.

Cutter gave him a thumbs-up. “Army Ranger. I taught high-angle tactics for a bit.”

“Good enough for me,” Horning said. He handed them each a climbing harness to try on and then looked through a box on his desk until he came up with a carbon monoxide detector and an O2 meter.

“You have to remember,” Horning continued, “it’s a kinetic environment down below. You’d think solid as rock – but things are always moving. ASAR – Alaska Search and Rescue – will come and get you off a mountain, but they don’t do mines. PD, fire department, the Troopers, Forest Service – none of them train to do mines rescue.”

“So,” Maycomb said. “Who do people call when they get in trouble – say, if someone is overdue from going into a mine?”

Thomas Horning rubbed a hand through his beard and then gave his dog another scratch behind the ears.

“Me.”

Chapter 41

Donita Willets played the beam of her headlamp across empty tin cans, half-melted candles, and rotting dynamite crates – all of it over a century old. She couldn’t help wondering if her bones might stay in this same dark hole until they, too, would be considered antique.

Levi had taken her to explore a couple of the other old mines above the hatchery, but never this place. He called it the Great Hall, and even he rarely came here. He’d always said he wanted to keep it secret, between himself and the few others who already knew about it. Too many trips to the opening would beat a trail into the fragile vegetation, and then everyone would be able to locate the otherwise unremarkable hole behind the unremarkable rock on the side of the mountain.

She’d thought him a little paranoid. This was too tough a hike for most vandals or the sort of people who dropped McDonald’s cups and beer cans on the ground. But now she was glad he’d left the place hidden.

Levi had tearfully gotten her settled before shimmying back up the rope, alternately sliding each ascender, and using the attached loops to slide step by step. He seemed to dangle there forever, but each foot upward left her feeling more and more alone, a tiny and insignificant dot at the bottom of this enormous space. He’d lowered another case of water down – she’d need that – and left the rope and ascenders hanging in place, in case she needed to get out.

Being stuck here terrified her, but it was better than the alternative.

Donita Willets wasn’t a large person to begin with, barely five feet tall. A hundred five pounds after a big breakfast. But the cavernous rock stope made her feel miniscule. As a child, she’d imagined mines would be quiet, tomb-like. In reality, they were a riot of noise – if you took the time to be still. Rocks fell from the ceilings and skittered down ledges at a near-constant pace, clattering to the piles of other rocks that had fallen before them. Water oozed from cracks and pores in the ceiling, tapping against wet stone or dripping into black pools. Once in a while, the mountain itself groaned, quietly, like it didn’t really want to bother her, but needed to crack its back or