Badwater

43

We stood at the lip of the winze.

Hap untied Walter. “Down you go, wait at the bottom. Keep in mind, one hostage’ll do.”

Walter said, “You’ll have two.”

When Walter was down, Hap untied me and we descended together. Hap first, then me, acutely aware of the marksman on the ladder below me. I recalled my first winze descent and the fear of rotting wood, a fear that now seemed quaint. I heard the thud of boots on the ground and then I, too, hit bottom.

We ran the re-tying drill, with true square knots. The tingling started up again in my hands. And then Hap set his facepiece and brought up his hood and connected the regulator hose, and I was no longer tingling, I was numb.

I moved numbly in the direction Hap pointed, following Walter, following a narrow tunnel which took a right turn and fed into the widest tunnel yet. The final tunnel, I figured, because this was clearly the main haulage level. Drop chutes stuck out from the walls at regular intervals, the rail tracks here were unbroken, and three rusting ore carts were parked downtunnel. Daylight beckoned at the end but my heart no longer lifted at that sight. When we exited, it was going to be Hap’s way.

The subgun nuzzled my ribs and I picked up my pace.

I oriented myself. I’d become a cave creature with underground senses and I judged this tunnel to be beneath the level-two tunnel with the gods-eye view. So I judged which drop chute ahead was cause for worry — the chute midway. Hap confirmed my judgement when he stopped us there, stood us against the far wall, and tapped a wired keypad that was mounted on the chute gate. The keypad lit up, glowing red.

I pressed into the rock, putting another inch between me and the exposed shaft.

A crude metal hopper was fitted inside the shaft, bolted to the walls, braced with two-by-fours, standing off the ground on metal legs. A black ribbed hose was attached at the bottom. Hap grabbed the hose and began to play it out. “You want to move now.”

That we did.

I glanced back once, to see fat coils springing free.

By the time we reached the ore carts I was thinking, just finish it. Set up your demonstration, if that’s what this is. Stream it live with your laptop cameras. Strike your bargain with Soliano or CTC or whoever in hell will pay your price and if Walter and I survive this to bear witness, then I’ll feel surprise.

Hap stopped us, disconnecting his regulator hose and pushing up his facepiece. That surprised me. That engendered a spasm of hope, that the health physicist was now willing to share our air.

“Walter,” Hap said, “I need your counsel.”

That floored me.

Walter’s eyebrows lifted.

Hap pointed to the last ore cart.

Walter moved to have a look.

I took note of the hose clamp bolted to the cart’s rim. I took note of the black ribbed hose that Hap had snaked from the hopper in the shaft to where we now stood. I took note of the red cord wrapped around the cart’s brake handle. I figured I understood. This was the demonstration that required Walter’s counsel. Fill the cart and threaten to send it into the world. The cart was rusted bloody red. I tried to recall the shielding properties of iron. The cart was chest high, maybe three feet wide and a good four long. I tried to work out the volume, how many cubic feet of resin beads it would hold. Walter swore. I stopped doing the math. Walter turned to Hap, face set. “You know my counsel.”

I came up beside Walter and looked in the cart. My heart fell. Surprises within surprises, sucking me down. I thought I might fall in.

Hap joined us. “You’ve been asking. Here’s the man himself.”

Milt Ballinger was stretched on the floor of the cart, bound and gagged with duct tape. Ankles crossed, wrists in prayer, mouth sealed, eyes squeezed shut against my headlamp. I’d seen this handiwork before. “Roy did this?”

“I did this, while Roy held a gun on me. But that’s all in the past. Roy’s not here. Milt’s here.” Hap leaned in the cart and ripped the tape off Milt’s mouth. “Damn, I know that hurts, Milt. Buttercup did the same to me.”

Milt whimpered.

I said, “Stop it, Hap.”

“Soon as we run a little test.” Hap held his hand so that our lights shined his signet ring with its desert scene, so that Milt could fully see it. “Milt, you figures out what the ring means, you gets to wake up tomorrow.”

Milt croaked, “Roy’s ring, right?”

“Somebody give him a hint.”

Walter said, “This is sadism, Hap. We don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Milt’s eyes found mine but I had no hints, I’d fail Hap’s test, we were all going to forfeit to this freak out of hell. Milt blinked back tears. I dredged up all I had, for Walter’s enlightenment as well as Milt’s. Neither had been there at the lawn table this morning when Pria identified the drawing on the ring. “It’s a race. Badwater to Whitney. Maybe a play on words.” They nearly choked me. “Bad. Water.”

Milt sucked in air. “It’s the leak? At the dump?” He turned from me to Hap, who waited soberly. “And Roy got mad…” He cleared his throat. “Okay then, so Roy ran the race and…”

“Not Roy,” Hap cut in. “Sheila Cook ran the race. Her ring.”

I gaped. Not Roy’s ring, not Hap’s ring. Roy’s sister’s ring.

“She got it for participating but she DNF’d.” Hap glanced at me. “Sorry Cassie, I know how you hate those cryptic initials. Did…not…finish. Collapsed in a heap, to be precise. First clue she’d won the cancer lottery. About a year later she DNF’d for real. Didn’t get a ring for that.”

Walter said, “Dear God.”

“God doesn’t give a fig, Walter. So give Milt the clue. The one about helping. Somebody? Test isn’t optional.”

I said, faint, “You can’t get good help.”

Hap beamed at Milt. “That’s you. Youse is the star of the show.”

Milt was crying now.

“Y’all know why?”

Nobody spoke.

“Sheesh.” Hap sighed. “Weren’t you listening down at the borax mine? Nobody listens. Milt’s the star because of Sheila.”

Milt shook his head.

“No? Let me jog your memory. We were discussing revenge?”

Walter snapped, “Why now?”

Hap pointed at me. “You remember, Buttercup. How revenge is like a runaway chain reaction?”

I remembered. “But Roy’s dead.”

“Well I know that. I saw him get shot.”

“Then why avenge his sister?”

“I’m not.”

“You said it’s because of Sheila.”

“It is.”

In all its horror, the truth dawned on me.

“Not Roy’s sister.” Hap reached down and hooked Milt under the armpit and hoisted him to his feet, a brutal one-handed yank. “Mine.”