Digger 1.0 (11 page)

Ellis saw Chuck pointing toward the bridge,
not realizing that Ellis had already spied the visitors. He held up
his hand for Chuck and Shooter to stop. “Shooter, you take the M1A
into the pillbox and get ready. If you see my hands go up over my
head,
for any reason
, that will be the signal to take out
whoever is in charge. The man on the horse, most likely. If I’ve
already taken that guy out, go down the list in order of rank,
depending on if you can tell anything from that far.”

Shooter nodded his head, took the rifle from
Chuck, and headed toward the pillbox. Shooter was a crack shot. He
would shoot if he needed to, and he wouldn’t miss.

Ellis pointed at Chuck. “You head back and
get everyone in battle positions. If they try to force their way
in, y’all do your best to make them earn it.”

Chuck nodded. He handed Ellis his belt and
holster, with his favorite pistol, loaded and ready to go. Ellis
took the rig and quickly put it on. He checked the pistol, then put
it back into the holster.

Chuck tarried for a moment. “You sure you
don’t want me to come with you, Ellis?”

Ellis was already shaking his head. “No. You
know the drill. If they take me out, you’re next in charge. Make
‘em pay, brother.”

“Will
do.
”

~~~

Ellis dropped his spelunking tools by the
pillbox.
If I live long enough to go cave exploring,
this’
ll
have been a good day
, he thought.

He walked slowly down to the bridge. He
wanted to take his time getting there. Every moment he could delay
would be more time the family would have to prepare. Truth be told,
they didn’t have much of a shot against any enemy who was willing
to die to take the Valley, but the family would definitely make the
incursion cost a lot.

The pasture flattened out near the bottom, a
hundred feet before the entrance to the bridge, and the draw ran
down along the side of the bridge where water from the
valley—whatever hadn’t been soaked up by the pasture or caught by
the swales—would drain into the Solekeep. From there, Ellis could
see that the bridge was occupied by a group of twenty men. Precious
metal pirates from the look of them.

The PMPs were different from the biker gangs
or the other rag-tag militarized thugs who would terrorize anyone
attempting to cross or salvage in the Basin. The PMP men always
looked smarter, and acted with more intelligence than some of the
more barbarous gangs. And the PMPs—most of them anyway—never spent
a lot of time shaving or shaping their beards at all. But not all
of the PMP’s were the same. Some were highly aggressive and
murderous, while others operated more secretly, and according to
some other, more archaic form of chivalry. Ellis took a deep
breath. Who knew what kind of gang this was?

Closer now, when he looked up at the man in
front—the man with the white flag—he knew instantly that this was
not the man in charge.
A trick?
The man on the horse was
constantly looking down at another man a few rows back in the
group. He’d look at the man and the man would give an instruction,
or make a gesture with his hand.
Afraid we have snipers, eh?
Well, we do.

The man on the horse pointed his finger at
Ellis. “Not smart to come down here all alone, farmer.”

“The alternative would have been
unpleasant,” Ellis replied.

“Get your hands up so we can see them.”

Ellis shook his head. “If I put my hands up,
you’ll be dead in less than a second, and I’ll be talking with
whoever is really in charge.”

The horseman laughed, but his laugh lacked
authenticity. Ellis saw sweat bead on the man’s forehead. “You
bluff,” the man said.

Ellis shook his head again. “You think?”

“Put ‘em up.”

“No one has to die here, but if I put my
hands up… well… someone has to die here, and that first someone
will be you.”

The man grinned stiffly, then looked down
and to his right where the real boss stood. There was an exchange,
and Ellis saw the horseman tense up. He hesitated before he turned
back to Ellis.

“Get your hands up, farmer, and then we can
talk.”

Ellis stared at the man. “There’s no need
for anyone to die, friend.”

“Get ‘em up.”

Ellis shook his head. He didn’t want to see
anyone killed.
Why do things have to be this way?

The horseman wiped his nose. “
Just do it. I
’m dead either
way.”

Ellis knew Shooter would take the shot, and
that he wouldn’t miss. There was a reason they called him
Shooter
. He
didn’t know what the horseman meant by, “I’m dead either way,” but
he made no move to raise his hands. He waited, hoping something…
someone… would intervene to save this man’s life, and probably his
own. When the tension was almost unbearable, someone did
intervene.

“Ok. Hold up!”

It was the real boss man. He stepped to the
front of the group and stared at Ellis. “Not jokin’ are ya?”

Ellis looked down at his boots, then back up
at the man. “I am not, sir.”

Boss Man jerked a thumb at the man on the
horse. “That fella is a rapist and a murderer. Caught in the act.
Death penalty’s already been declared on him.”

“Not my problem,” Ellis said.

Boss Man pulled a pistol from his belt and
pointed it at Ellis. “
Murderin
’ rapist is everyone’s problem. Get your
hands up.”

Ellis shook his head. “
I won
’t do it. Besides, if I do, my man
will shoot you next. And fast, too.”

Boss Man squinted, looking up the hill and
across the pasture. He couldn’t see the pillbox, but he knew
someone was there. There was intelligence behind his eyes. “Your
shooter must be good, you willin’ to risk your life and all.”

“Good enough to get him… and you,” Ellis
said. “And maybe a few more.”

Again there was a long tense moment as men
thought about what they might do. What they might accomplish. What
they might gain. And whether it was all worth it.

“I
don
’t need any enemies, and I don’t need to be dead,” Boss
Man said. Without any threatening or fanfare, he turned and shot
the man on the horse, who tumbled off it and to the ground.

“Get off my horse,” he said, too late.

Ellis could feel his pulse pounding in his
neck. His heart felt like it might jump out of his chest. His hand
went to his pistol, but he didn’t pull it. Involuntarily, he took a
deep breath. The man on the ground twitched, and then was
still.

Ellis looked at the Boss Man.

The Boss Man looked at Ellis.

“A man with scruples about killin’.
Interesting.”

Ellis watched as the Boss Man mounted the
horse the condemned man had been riding. He pointed to a few men
and wordlessly commanded them to pick up the dead man’s body.

“And what can I do for you people?” Ellis
asked.

“Nothing,” the Boss Man answered. “I just
wanted to know what kind of people you are. And now I know.”

Ellis shrugged his shoulders. “But what kind
of people are you?”

“Now you know.”

When the dead man had been hauled away back
over the bridge, the Boss Man turned to leave. Over his shoulder,
he nodded at Ellis. “My name is Baron. Everything from the Solekeep
up north past Casperville and up to Stanton-Lowville Prison, and
east to the Scraps is now our territory as far as the precious
metal business goes. You in that business?”

Ellis stared at Baron. “
No, we
’re not.”

“Good,
”
Baron
said.
“If you need us, leave word in Casperville and I’ll
try to make an appearance. What’s your name, son?”

“It’s Ellis. Ellis Kint. And there’s no one
in Casperville to leave word with. It’s a ghost town.”

“That makes it the best place to leave word,
then. You’re smart. You figure it out. Oh… and one more thing,
Ellis Kint. This bridge will get you all killed if you don’t do
something about it. It’s hard to see from the road, but not for
someone who’
s lookin
’.”
With that, Baron and his team headed north back across the bridge,
and disappeared through the brush and sage and desert grass that
only partly occluded the way to Fontana’s Bridge.

Ellis shrugged. What could he say to
that?

The tunnel in the back of the cave was dark.
Not just any dark. It was that deep, penetrating darkness that
reminded Ellis of death… or the grave… or the day of blindness and
bodies hitting the pavement in downtown Dallas. Ellis peered down
into that darkness and tried to make out how deep the cave actually
was. He’d pushed the mammoth stone from the mouth of the hole far
enough so he could make entry, and with the light coming through
that small gap, he’d found himself in a small, carved out room
about ten feet deep and ten feet wide. Near the rear of the cave
and toward the north end, he could see the black vacancy of the
tunnel entrance that headed down. Now, looking down into that
tunnel, he was wondering if he even wanted to know where the
passage led.

Of course I want to know. But still…

Ellis sat back on his bottom and began to
assemble a spreckle torch. He grabbed one of the long sticks he’d
brought with him and made an upward notch about six inches from the
top of the stick. He began to wrap the short section of rope
tightly around the stick, starting with a knotted end slipped into
the notch, and then overlapping each circuit until he had a good
three layers of rope covering the full six inches. He tied off the
rope and then began to slather the torch liberally with spreckle,
using the heat of his hands to melt the grease, and then letting it
soak into the rope. He continued to add spreckle until one of the
tins was halfway used up. This torch should last for a good long
time, hours if necessary, he thought. And if he doused it with dirt
and not water, the torch could be reused several times before it
would need to be re-wrapped.

When he was finished with the first torch,
he made a second one. This one would only be half as long, and
wrapped with half as much rope. He needed to know how deep this
hole was before he could even consider going down into it.

He lit the smaller torch with his zippo,
then laid flat on the ground and held the torch down into the hole.
The tunnel entrance went straight down and the hole was about three
feet in diameter. He saw now that there was a rebar ladder starting
from the top of the hole and extending down into the tunnel. The
light produced by the torch only allowed him to see down about ten
feet, but he could see enough to reach out and test whether the
rebar ladder was sturdy or not. It looked as though the entire
entrance to the hole had been cemented, and the ladder, though
rusty, appeared quite strong. The cement skirt extended down about
six to eight feet, and then the hole was just bored right through
clay and rock as far as Ellis could see. He now realized that most
if not all of the rocks out there in the area they called Utah had
probably come out of this hole.

He dropped the torch.
Might as well see
how deep this puppy goes
. He watched as the torch first dropped
flat, and then tumbled end over end into the abyss, flames licking
upward as if they were reaching for help. The light just kept
falling and falling.
Lord have mercy! How deep is this
thing?
The air whipped at the flame, and Ellis was afraid that
the fall might extinguish the torch, but it did not. The long
seconds seemed like minutes as the torch plummeted downward. He
tried to count, but for some reason he stopped. Then the torch hit
the bottom. Way down there. The flame looked like a glowing dot in
the distance.
Has to be a hundred feet or more
, Ellis
thought.
Maybe one
fifty
. Way down below the level of the river, but it landed
dry and still burned. No water had filled the hole.

He reached over and grabbed the longer torch
and lit it. The fire spread through the rope, first burning blue,
and then orange and finally yellow before it spread completely and
lit up the room.

“Oh well,” Ellis said. “No time like the
present.”

The rope wasn’t going to do him any good, so
he tossed it to the ground. He grabbed the rebar ladder and pulled
hard again, just to be sure. Then he hoisted his body out over the
opening. His foot found purchase on the first step, and he finally
put his whole weight onto the ladder. Bouncing just a bit. Still
testing. All seemed right.

“Here we
go.
”

And he went down and into the dark…

~~~

The long descent was going to be a workout,
and he knew the climb back up would probably be even worse. But
what else could he do? He’d convinced himself he needed to have
something to show for all the time he’d spent getting prepared for
this little adventure. The showdown on the bridge had him thinking
that something needed to change soon. If it were possible, their
already tenuous position at the farm was now even sketchier and
more exposed than before. His blood pressure had barely leveled out
from that exchange. Once he’d realized the PMPs were gone and not
coming back immediately, he’d settled the family back into their
work and watches, and he’d headed up to Utah to examine the cave,
and now the tunnel.

He didn’t know what he could do actually to
improve the family’s situation, but not knowing where all his
weaknesses were only made making decisions harder, and more
important. Who knew where this tunnel might lead, and what dangers
might lurk down in the dark of it?

About twelve feet down, he paused from
looking down and took a rest on the ladder. As he did, he waited
for his eyes to adjust to what had been utter blackness. With his
vicinity illuminated now by the burning light of the torch, he
noticed there was another tunnel running horizontally from behind
the ladder and heading back to the south. He held out the torch
into this second tunnel and tried to peer into the inky darkness
beyond. This second tunnel was nearly six feet around, and he knew
he could stand up in it, so he stepped off the ladder onto the
floor of the horizontal shaft.