Going It Alone
12 Dec 2019Today’s prompt: “Going it alone”
The rumbling sound of rocks falling into place between you and daylight is deafening. The mine shaft is completely blocked.
Your walkie-talkie crackles. You hear José calling your name over and over, panic rising in his voice.
“I’m okay, José,” you radio back. “Is everyone else out?”
“Mike and Duante got hurt, but they’re safe,” he says. “Everyone else is on this side. There’s like a mountain of rock here. Can you get to the auxiliary shaft?”
“I’ll give it a shot,” you say.
You sweep your helmet flashlight around the cave. You grab a drill and some blasting caps and detonators, just in case. You hear a sharp chirp behind you, and you grab the canary in its cage.
You’re a bit disoriented following the cave-in. Everything looks different. It’s like the whole shaft has been carved anew, with small outcroppings of rock to pick your way over. Nothing blocking your way just yet, though. You start walking.
At some points, the shaft seems totally familiar, like the tunnel you’ve been working in for the last seven months. At others, it looks like an alien landscape.
Static cuts through your reverie. “One of the ambulances just got here. They’re taking Duante to the hospital. I guess Mike wasn’t hurt that bad,” José says.
“Oh, cool,” you say.
“How you holding up in there?”
“I’m trying to get to auxiliary,” you say. “The whole shaft feels wrong.”
“What do you mean, wrong?”
“I don’t know. Nothing looks like it’s supposed to.”
“Huh.” José pauses. “You need to keep coming toward the surface. Let’s get you to some fresh air.”
The canary chimes in with a chirp as you radio back to José, “Ten-four.”
You’ve gone several minutes now without having to pick your way over any cave-in rubble, but the shaft doesn’t look any more familiar. It’s just one cave wall blurring into the next. It doesn’t make any sense. You’ve worked here long enough that you ought to recognize it.
You stumble a bit, but just catch yourself in time. The canary flutters and chirps angrily in its cage.
“How’s it coming?” José asks over the walkie-talkie.
Your thumb flicks dumbly at the switch. “Getting there,” you say. “It’s a long trip up.”
“You doing okay?”
“I think so,” you say.
“Well, hurry up here. We’re all worried about you.”
You’re back into more rubble. You clamber over a small hill of rock and hoist the cage over behind you. You squeeze through gaps in tunnels narrowed by fallen detritus.
You stop for a break, squat down near the ground and breathe deeply.
Static squeals from your walkie-talkie, then silences.
You try to radio back. “José? José?”
Another outburst of static erupts from the walkie-talkie, but you can’t make out voices.
You give up trying to contact José, stand up, and grab the canary cage. And that’s when you realize. The canary hasn’t said anything in a long while.
Don’t at me, bro – I know canaries haven’t been used in coal mines since like the 80’s. I thought the story was better this way.