Written in the Scars(92)

The water is now up to my waist. A sea of cold, black water that’s thick like soup from the debris and mud and muck, rippling in a nonstop motion from the commotion above.

I barely hear the sound anymore. It was loud, so loud, at first. But that was untold minutes ago. Hours, maybe. Now it’s just a new normal as we wait to see if the shaft hits bottom.

My heart strikes against my ribs, my lungs battering them too as I struggle to stay calm. To stay alive.

Ducking chunks of rock from the ceiling as all four walls of the room judder and quake from the assault of the boring machine, I’m pulled into one direction: survival.

“Ty!”

I read Cord’s lips more than I hear his voice as he yanks on my arm, pulling me off my feet. One hand lands on his chest in an attempt to catch myself, my chest submerging in the muddy water. A boulder the size of a small car smashes into the water right where I was standing.

A chill rips through me, more from the fear of what could’ve happened than from the ice-cold water.

Jiggs grabs my other arm and helps me to my feet. His teeth clamor together, his cheek cut but the blood clotted together by black gunk.

I’m exhausted. The fatigue I feel is reflected on my friend’s faces.

“Just a little longer,” I shout, looking as optimistic as possible. They nod, reading my lips, but my words do nothing to help their spirits.

Cord’s headlamp flickers towards the sound of another boulder smashing into the water. As it scans the cavern, it pauses on the north wall and the steady flow of water pouring down the walls.

“Stay calm!” I try to shout over the shrill screams of the boring machine.

“Fuckkkkkkkk!” Jiggs shouts, eyes wide, as we dodge falling rocks from both above and on either side of us.

“Shit!” Cord screams, his face contorting in a mix of agony and fear as a rock strikes his left shoulder. He sags at the impact, his knees buckling, threatening to drop him into the water pooling around us.

Jiggs and I grab an arm and pull him up, Cord wincing in pain, as we huddle together in a corner and try to stay alive.

“Stay calm,” I repeat, my face inches from theirs.

“They have to be close!” Jiggs shouts, looking over my shoulder at the spot where the ceiling is bowing and flexing. “Surely to God they’re close!”

“Ah!” we shout in unison as the noise becomes too loud to take and the boring machine drops through the ceiling.

We shout in celebration, tears flowing down our jet black faces, as we hug one another in an attempt to celebrate as well as keep each other from collapsing into the water.

The machine is silenced as it begins its ascent back to the top.

“You boys okay down there?” a voice shouts from above.

“Yeah!” I shout back. “Cord got a little banged up, but we’re here!”

“How’s the water situation?”

I shine my headlamp around the room. The water is now rushing into the room full-speed. “Coming in quick!”

“We’ll have the box to you in just a few minutes. We’re gonna have to work fast! You’ll get in and pull the rope and we’ll haul it up. Got it?”

“Yes!”

I look at my friends’ faces. A combination of relief and fear is etched through every line.

Looking at Cord, I give him a final shot to reneg on the agreement we made earlier, that Jiggs is the priority. He nods.

“Jiggs,” I say, looking him in the face. “You’re going up first.”



ELIN

I never knew one piece of paper could weigh so much.

Holding it in my hand, palm open, I look across the way at Lindsay. Her eyes are wide as she looks at Jiggs’ note in her hand. Turning her back to me, she walks to the front of the room and slips out the door.

I brush my fingers over my name, scrawled in Ty’s penmanship and stained with water and dirt. It reminds me of the inside of his truck—everything had its place, but none of it could escape the mine dirt. Just like this letter.

With my heart strumming at an ear-splitting level, I carefully unfold the paper.

The edges are torn and stained and a big drop of something has hit the middle, making the words there hard to read. I start at the top.

“Dear Elin,

If you’re reading this, I’m guessing I didn’t make it out.”

“No,” I whisper, blinking back tears. Jaw set in defiance, I redo the folds of the paper and enclose the letter in my hand. “You will make it out,” I say out loud. “I won’t read this if that’s what it means.”

Anger flashes through me, a zip of energy that I embrace.

“Get your ass back here,” I demand, not even caring if someone hears me and thinks I’m crazy. “Stop this ‘guessing you didn’t make it out’ bullshit and come home.”