With a tight grip on the railing and his gear flipped over his shoulder, the Rookie takes a few cautious steps forward. It’s only been a few weeks, yet he’s already found a rhythm to his days. Surprised even by the subtle pleasures he finds in this extreme place. Beneath his footing, he feels the pattern of the metal grates that is his pathway forward. Bareings now sorted, he carries on confidently.
Hand gliding along the smooth, dusty surface of the railing, he feels two divinations in its surface. First a divot inward, then a ruff spot, possibly a scuff on its surface. Immediately he begins counting his steps. One. Two. Three. Four.
In the darkness, he hears their approach and squats instinctively. The sound of little winged creatures flapping towards him. Hand still tightly gripping the railing, he hangs his head low, eyes snapped shut as the sound of beating limbs passes overhead. They move in large groups in search of food—these creatures he’s never seen before. He listens to them, their numbers spilling into the space around him in what sounds like the thousands. When the air settles, he stands and continues where he left off.
“Five, six, seven, eight.” Hearing his voice eases him back into his morning routine. Stopping here on his eighth step, he kicks his foot out and taps the wall that he knows now rises before him. Releasing the railing, he retrieves the carabiner attached to his harness. With an ease of practiced form, he swings it downward hooking his tether to the line in one swift motion.
“Let the fun begin.” The Rookie announces and sends two loud taps reverberating through the tunnel. The steal cable attached along the wall vibrates. He’s sending a message to those up ahead—he’s preparing to move on the line. A quick safety strap check, and he’s now hiking parallel to the wall. Taking a path that leads up and deep into the ever-present darkness.
Further along his path, the air begins to chill, and he thinks back to the rock his Lead gave him on his first day. The space here is colder than anywhere else, giving the first tell of a nearby depth beyond comprehension.
“Seems dumb, I know.” His Lead had said. “But we’ve got bets going at this point. No one has been able to hit anything yet.” He had reached for his hand along the line, passing him a rough rock. “Let’s hear what you’ve got, Rook.” His tether scrapes against the line as he steps away. “And do us all a favor and throw it away from the wall.”
There never was a sound, not from his rock or from the two others that tried soon after him. Even now, as he walks along this stretch alone on an early shift, the silence is overwhelming. And yet, it’s one of his favorite things about this place. Smiling, the Rookie takes a deep, chilled breath in and continues on his path.
Deeper into the mine, a radio crackles up ahead. “Aye.” Calling out, he taps the line twice. “Request to move on the line!” Breath heavy in his chest from his ascent, he takes a moment's pause, waiting for the all clear. He slides his hand to the nearest wall marker and glides the tips of his fingers over its tiny dots: Jobsite 517, Sector C. He’s close to his assigned post.
The tuning of a radio continues; it crackles, hisses, and chirps as someone searches for a station up ahead. But still, there’s no response.
“Bound for J-518, Sector C.” There’s a whispering in the dark. A voice gruff and mumbling, too faint to comprehend, drifts in the open air. Head cocked to the side, eyes snapped shut, he strains to hear their response.
“Moving on the line! Can you hear me?” The Rookie pauses with baited breath. The last thing he wants is to catch an old timer off guard. You never know how a mind will react to a sudden startling in the darkness of a mine.
“Hell…” A voice quivers then breaks, and a chill runs up his spine. A deep pounding begins in his chest, and its deafening. The Rookie suddenly aware of the complete darkness that surrounds him.
A sharp quiver in the line reverberates back to him; for a moment he stiffens, thinking someone is moving down the line. Slowly he reaches for the hammer looped through his belt. Without a sound, he pulls it loose.
No one approaches, and then the radio crackles beifly, settling on the Seven Sons news station. The foremam’s voice echoes loudly off the walls; quotas and words of encouragement fill the air. A deep sigh escapes him, and instinctively he taps the line once before wincing at his bold announcement. But it's done, so he moves forward.
With each step, he draws closer to the sound of the radio. The clarity becoming smoother the closer he gets. Their foreman’s signing off, and Clay, the safety officer, takes his place at the mic. “Okay, just a few quick notes.” The tick tick tick of Clay tapping his papers bounces off the tunnel walls.
The line quivers, but he keeps moving forward. “On the line.” he shouts, keeping his voice steady. In the next instant, an ear-splitting scream fills the air, and the line rattles violently.
He's running before he even can process what’s happening. His tether clanging behind as he races towards the screams. With every step, the sounds grow louder. The person is screaming, gasping through boughts of gurgling breaths.
Clay's voice echoes out from the radio: “Let’s keep our heads down when they fly overhead.” The casualty of his tone is an eerie contrast to the gurgling screams he now approaches.
With each stride, he grasps and pulls on the line. Propelling himself faster up the path. The screams are cut short, and the Rookie slows instantly. Caustiously, he moves his hand to grasp the line again but recoils, his hand coming away slick and wet. Little, faint breaths are audible ahead. Creeping forward, the Rookie’s hand hovers below the line, groping the empty air. When he collides with a strip of fabric, he knows he’s found it; someone’s tether hangs limp.
Following the tether down he crouches. A strong metallic tang assaults his senses. First he feels the smooth surface of a hard hat. Then, the rough texture of a harness strapped to a body. In the darkness, his hand finds another’s, and its cold and sticky. They’re clutching their side, and when he feels the torn and hanging pieces, he’s suddenly aware his knees are soaked.
“Take it..” Their voice is strained, they barely get the words out. With a painful grunt, they move, and the Rookie feels a cold metal tube pressing into his arm.
“Hold on. I’ll signal help; I’ll get help.” He’s panicking, trying to remember the safety training he had only weeks ago. He pulls the towel that hangs from his gear pack and presses it over the man’s wound. “Hold tight.” The Rookie shudders, not knowing what to do next.
“Use it,” they whisper, and again he feels the cool surface of the object the man holds out for him, reluctantly he takes. The Rookie recognises the feel of it instantly—an object so strictly forbidden on the jobsite he feels as if hes broken a rule by accepting it.
A flashlight. He’s about to ask why? Why would he risk jeperdizing a whole zone? This light would kill any harvestable clusters in the area. But his attention is snapped upwards before he has a chance to form the words.
A few paces away, he hears the crunching of rock under pressure. Something moves, and its heavy. He feels the shallow breaths of the man beneath his palms. Hears the steady words of Clay's announcements. But there’s another sound: a deep huffing sound, and it moves closer.
One breath. Crunch.
Two breaths. Click.
Three breaths. Scritch.
When he hears a loud, piercing screech, he falls backward, startled. His head slams into the wall's sharp surface. Dazed, he scrambles hurriedly away from whatever approaches.
The line suddenly quivers, and the Rookie feels something heavy fall across his leg. He stiffens in pain but does not move. Reaching out, he pats the ground around him, searching for his hammer. The body rocks against him, and with each thrust a sound of ripping flesh follows. When he feels something clamp down over his boot, he slams his hand over his mouth in pain. Biting down against his palm, his eyes are wide, swallowing the inky blackness around him.
The creature releases his foot. Slowly he moves his hand behind him, pushes himself up, and scoots backwards, then pauses. Again he moves his hand further back, but his fingers tap something hard, and it clanks against the ground. He freezes and the creature huffs.
The Rookie gropes the ground hurriedly as his foot is nudged again. The tips of his fingers wrap around the sleek handle. His stomach drops; it isn’t his hammer. Yet he holds it out before him. The butt of the flashlight pressed against his chest.
Head spinning, he waits. The tip of his boot is bumped to the side by something huge. A massive huff blows against his exposed ankle, and panic overrides him. He flicks the light on.
The creature screeches in pain. He gasps, his eyes scearing at the flood of sudden light. He only glimpses a moment in time, a blurry scene of blinding white with muttled shapes mixed in. The miner's body lay exposed at his feet. The creature's head is thrown back as it cries out, mouth agape. A massive clawed hand swings out towards him. In a blink, he's hit and thrown backwards.
He tries to grip the ground, but he's sliding and goes head first over the edge. He falls heavy and fast, but suddenly the tether catches and jerks him back. He swings out, then slams hard into the side of the wall. The light of the flashlight whips around wildly before his grip fails, and it slips from his grasp. He watches as the light falls deeper and deeper down into the dark hole. He’s seeing for the first time glimpses of its massiveness.
The creature scrambles away. It’s cries fading with it. The Rookie's eyes sting, and his head spins. He feels himself drifting as he watches the falling light grow dim and disappear. The creatures gone, the breaths of the miner having long passed. The Rookie slips out of consciousness to the parting words of the safety officer: “Keep tethered and stay safe out there!”
When he wakes, his mind fuzzy, and he feels a deep throbbing pain in his arm. His eyes register the dim lighting throughout the room. He’s laying in a hospital bed, a warm blanket is draped over his body. A tray of equipment and a monitor screen are set off to the side of his bed. He looks up when a nurse notices him and walks into the room.
From the tray, she grabs a syringe and begins to draw up a clear liquid. He feels weak, his limbs heavy, and he watches the nurse slip the needle into the fluid line. When he looks up at her, she quickly averts her eyes and pushes the medication into the line. The heaviness seeps out over his body, his eyelids droop, and his mind goes dark again.
The Rookie known as William Lee lays in the Seven Sons Mining Co. hospital. The nurse stands over him, scanning the monitors that track his vitals. A doctor enters the room rolling a machine. He closes the door as the nurse walks over. The doctor flicks the switch and the machine hums on. The events of this day will soon be gone from memory. A mine whipped clean, and a mind shocked straight.
