The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [10]
He had no gun. They were forbidden underground.
Quantro sifted the precious few alternatives he had. He decided to go for the legs. If he could throw him off balance before he launched the hammer, then there was a chance. As he made to dive, the big man completed his final swing then hurled the deadly missile.
Quantro was already into the act of his lunge when the big man roared. His hands released the hammer and he swerved sideways, his knees bending, released from the strain of holding ground. His timing thrown, Quantro slammed awkwardly into the solid muscle of the man’s thigh. The maw of the tunnel swallowed up the hammer and it landed with a clatter somewhere in the darkness.
The bad landing jarred Quantro’s jawbone. His teeth rattled like piano keys in the back of his head. Huge hands grabbed the back of his sweat-soaked shirt and hauled him from the floor. A boot crashed into his ribs and he flopped against the tunnel wall. Dazed, chest aching, he was barely aware of the miner standing over him, still breathing shallowly.
“I don’t need no hammer to kill you, Blondie.”
I’m in bad trouble, was all Quantro could think.
Hands grabbed him again. He was effortlessly lifted to his feet. Even then, he could see he was being set up. There seemed nothing he could do about it. A fist crashed into his face, followed by another to the shoulder. His head snapped back, then slumped forward as he began to slide down the wall.
Exultant, the miner was throwing punches as swiftly as he was able. Blows pounded Quantro’s numb body as his mind closed up to send him on the path to oblivion. In his excitement, the big man mistimed a stroke. His fist crashed into the wall just as Quantro dropped like a stone. He howled, leapt back, nursing his clawed hand.
The other miners shouted and jeered, patting the big man’s back as he beamed, the congratulations easing the pain of his hand.
“What the hell’s going on here?” a voice demanded, cutting through their pleasure. They fell into an uneasy silence as Scheller emerged from the gloom, bristling with anger. “Why aren’t you bums working?” he growled, pushing into the circle of fidgeting miners. He took one look at Quantro’s crumpled body before his eyes came to rest on the big man’s bleeding knuckles. His face twisted into a mask of disgust, then he spat into the shadows. When he turned back, his gaze fastened on the miner’s expressionless face. “I’ve had more than enough from you. You’re fired. Now get the hell out of here.”
The big miner stood like an unscaled mountain, glowering down.
Scheller sneered, staring back without a trace of fear. “I wouldn’t if I were you. I wouldn’t even think about it.”
Suddenly the miner looked unsure of himself. A muscle jumped in his cheek, then he shrugged and stamped away, muttering. Scheller watched him go with something resembling satisfaction. He pointed at the nearest two men and gestured to Quantro. “You and you. Carry him out. When he comes around tell him he’s fired. No time for troublemakers down here. We got ore to shift.”
When the two men bearing Quantro’s limp body emerged into the sunlight, Pete had just tipped a load of ore and was pushing the empty truck back into the tunnel. When he saw Quantro he left the truck and hurried over.
“What happened?” he asked, surveying the wreckage of Quantro’s puffed and bloody face. The two miners told him the story as they looked for a piece of quiet ground where they could lay down their burden. Unconscious, Quantro lay unmoving but for the rising and falling of his chest, breath rasping between his teeth because his nose was clogged and bloody.
“You over there! Wiltshire!” an angry voice called. “Get back to your truck here. You’re holding up the line.”
Pete,