The Zero Game

52

The rusted steel safety gate lets out a high-pitched howl as I tug it from the ceiling of the cage and send it pounding to the floor. The metal rollers spin as it crashes into place. We’re on the 4,850 level of the mine, finally settling into the cage that’ll take us the rest of the way to the top. Like before, I ignore the leaky water that drips from above and go straight for the intercom.

“Stop cage,” I announce as I press the goo-covered button. “We’re all clear — going to one-three.”

“One-three,” the operator repeats. The same level we started at.

“Hoist cage,” I say.

“Hoist cage,” she repeats.

There’s a sharp tug from above. The steel cable goes taut, the cage rockets upward, and as we fly toward the surface, my testicles sink down to my ankles.

Across from me, Viv’s eyes and jaw are clamped shut. Not in fear — in pure obstinacy. She lost it once; she’s not letting it happen again. The cage is banging back and forth against the wood shaft, raining even more water against the top of our helmets. Fighting to keep her balance, she leans back against the greasy walls, but the ride feels like we’re surfing the top of a moving elevator. Aside from a quick glance at the oxygen detector — “20.4,” she says — she stays completely silent.

I’m still breathing heavy, but some things can’t wait. Wasting no time, I open the Midas Project notebook.

“Wanna shine that candle over here?” I ask, hoping to take her mind off the ride.

Between the two of us, she’s still got the only light — but right now, it’s staying aimed down at the metal floor. For Viv, until we’re actually out of here, this box isn’t just a moving leaky coffin. It’s a mountain. A mountain to be conquered.

The only good news is, as we rocket up toward the surface, we don’t have far to go. The oxygen numbers continue to rise: 20.5… 20.7... Fresh air and freedom are only a minute away.