The Zero Game

35

“Yeah… absolutely… we’re from Wendell,” I say, nodding to the big guy in overalls standing outside our car window. “How’d you know?”

He motions to my button-down shirt. Under his overalls, he’s sporting a Spring Break ’94 T-shirt with neon orange letters. Doesn’t take a genius to know who’s the outsider.

“Shelley, right?” I ask, reading the name that’s written in black magic marker across the front of his banged-up construction helmet. “Janos told me to say hi.”

“Who’s Janos?” he asks, confused.

That tells me the first part. Whatever’s going on down there, these guys are just hired hands. “Sorry…” I say. “He’s another Wendell guy. I thought you two might’ve-”

“Shelley, you there?” a voice squawks through the two-way radio on his belt.

“’Scuse me,” he says, grabbing the radio. “Mileaway?” he asks.

“Where you at?” the voice shoots back.

“They got me up top the whole day,” Shelley says.

“Surface rat.”

“Mole.”

“Better than deep-level trash,” the voice shoots back.

“Amen to that,” Shelley says, shooting me a grin and inviting me in on the joke. I nod as if it’s the best mining barb I’ve heard all week, then quickly point to one of the few open parking spaces. “Listen, should we…?”

“Uh — ya… right there’s perfect,” Shelley says as the guy on his two-way continues talking. “There’s gear in the dry,” Shelley adds, motioning to the large brick building just behind the metal teepee. “And here…” He pulls a key ring of round metal tags from his pocket and undoes the latch, dropping four of the tags in my hand. Two are imprinted with the number 27; the other two have the number 15. “Don’t forget to tag in,” he explains. “One in your pocket, one on the wall.”

With a quick thanks, we’re headed for our parking spot, and he’s back on his radio.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Viv asks. She’s sitting up slightly taller in the seat than yesterday, but there’s no mistaking the way she stares anxiously in her rearview mirror. When I was listening to Viv’s conversation with her mother, I said that strength had to be found from within. The way Viv continues to eye the rearview, she’s still searching for it.

“Viv, this place doesn’t have a single drop of gold in it, but they’re setting up shop like that scene from E.T. when the government shows up.”

“But if we…”

“Listen, I’m not saying I want to go down in the mine, but you have any better ideas for figuring out what’s going on around here?”

She looks down at her lap, which is covered with the brochures from the motel. On the front page, it reads, From the Bible to Plato’s Republic, the underground has been associated with Knowledge.

That’s what we’re counting on.

“All my friends’ dads used to mine,” I add. “Believe me, even if we do go in, it’s like a cave — we’re talking a few hundred feet down, max…”

“Try eight thousand,” she blurts.

“What?”

She freezes, surprised by the sudden attention. “Th-That’s what it says. In here…” she adds, passing me the brochure. “Before it was closed down, this place was the oldest operating mine in all of North America. It beat every gold, coal, silver, and other mine in the country.”

I snatch the brochure from her hands. Since 1876, it says on the cover.

“They’ve been shoveling for over a hundred and twenty-five years. That’ll get you pretty deep,” she continues. “Those miners who were trapped in Pennsylvania a few years back — what were they at, two hundred feet?”

“Two hundred and forty,” I say.

“Well, this is eight thousand. Can you imagine? Eight thousand. That’s six Empire State Buildings straight into the ground…”

I flip the brochure to the back and confirm the facts: Six Empire State Buildings… fifty-seven levels… two and a half miles wide… and three hundred and fifty miles of underground passageways. At the very bottom, the temperature gets to 133 degrees. I glance out the window at the road beneath us. Forget the beehive. We’re standing on an entire ant farm.

“Maybe I should stay up here,” Viv says. “Y’know… sorta just to keep lookout…”

Before I can respond, she glances back to her rearview. Behind us, a silver Ford pickup pulls across the gravel, into the parking lot. Viv anxiously eyes the driver, checking to see if he looks familiar. I know what she’s thinking. Even if Janos is just touching down right now, he can’t be far behind. That’s the choice: the demon aboveground versus the demon below.

“You really think it’s safer to be up here by yourself?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer. She’s still watching the silver pickup.

“Please just promise me we’ll be fast,” she begs.

“Don’t worry,” I say, swinging my door open and hopping outside. “We’ll be in and out before anyone even knows it.”