The Regulators - Stephen King [120]
The daughter (Louise?) said it looked spooky to her, and I said it did to me, too. She asked if I'd go in it on a dare and I said no way. She asked if I was afraid of ghosts and I said no, of cave-ins. It's amazing that any of the shaft was still up. They drove it straight into hornfels and crystal rhyolite — leftovers from the volcanic event that emptied the Great Basin — and that's pretty shaky stuff even when you're not shooting off ANFO charges all over the place. I told her I wouldn't go in there even on a double dare unless and until it was shored up with concrete and steel every five feet. Never knowing I'd be in there so deep I couldn't see the sun before the day was over!
I took them to the field office and got them hard-hats, then took them out and showed them all around — diggings, tailings, leachbeds, sorters, and heavy equipment. We had quit a field-trip for ourselves. Little Seth had pretty much quit talking then, but his eyes were as bright as the garnets we are always finding in the spoil-rock!.
All right, I've come to the 'little scare' that has caused me so many doubts and bad dreams (not to mention a bad case of conscience, no joke for a Mormon who takes the religion stuff pretty seriously). And it didn't seem so 'little' to any of us at the time, and doesn't to me now, if I'm to tell the truth. I have been over it and over it in my mind, and while I was in Peru (which is where I was, looking at bauxite deposits, when Audrey Wyler's letter of enquiry came in to the Deep Earth post box in Desperation), I dreamed of it a dozen or more times. Because of the heat, maybe. It was hot inside the Rattlesnake Mine. I have been in a lot of shaft-mines in my time, and usually they are chilly or downright cold. I have read that some of the deep gold mines in S. Africa are warm, but I have never been in any of those. And this wasn't warm but hot. Humid, too, like in a greenhouse.
But I'm getting ahead of myself, and I don't want to do that. What I want is to tell it straight through, end to end, and thank God nothing like it will ever happen again. In early-August, not two weeks after all this happened, the whole works collapsed. Maybe there was a little temblor deep down in the Devonian, or maybe the open air had a corrosive effect on the exposed support timbers. I'll never know for sure, but down it came, a million tons of shale and schist and limestone. When I think how close Mr Garin and his little boy came to being under all that when it went (not to mention Mr Allen Symes, Geologist Extraordinaire), I get the willies.
The older boy, Jack, wanted to see Mo, our biggest digger. She runs on treads and works the inner slopes, mostly digging out benches at fifty-foot intervals. There was a time in the early '70s when Mo was the biggest digger on Planet Earth, and most kids — the boys especially — are fascinated with her. Big boys too! Garin wanted to see her 'close up' as much as young Jack did, and I assumed Seth would feel the same way. I was wrong about that, though.
I showed them the ladder that goes up Mo's side to the operator's cab, which is almost 100 feet above the ground. Jack asked if they could go up and I said no, that was too dangerous, but they could take a stroll on the treads if they wanted. Doing that is quite an experience, each tread being as wide as a city street and each of the separate steel plates that make them up a yard across. Mr Garin put Seth down, and they climbed up the ladder to Mo's treads. I climbed up behind them, hoping like mad nobody would fall. If they did, I was the one who'd most likely be on the hook in case of a lawsuit. June Garin stood back aways so she could take pictures of us standing up there with our arms around each other, laughing. We were clowning and mugging for the camera and having the time of our lives until the little girl called, 'You come back, Seth! Right now! You shouldn't be way over there!'
I couldn't see him because up where I was on Mo's