The Underdwelling (3 page)

Maki just stood there with a dazed and helpless look on his face. He closed up like a flower and didn’t have shit to say after that. His book of underground horror stories was just plain used up. When they got to the cage for the ride down, he had a cramped, uncomfortable look to him like he was constipated.

Finally, he said, “Listen, Boyd. I was just letting you know that this is dangerous. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”

“Sure you were,” Boyd said.

Then the door was closed and the cage jerked and plummeted down into the depths of the earth, the air smelling of minerals and standing water.

When they stepped out, Boyd could taste the dust on his tongue. It was like the dust from a chalkboard, but grittier and thicker. He could feel it settle over his face right away and it made him want to breathe through his nose and sneeze a lot. There was a smell, too, one that he couldn’t quite put his finger on…something like moldy rocks and crumbling masonry, a distinct and unsettling smell of antiquity.

“How do you like it here?” Maki said, looking down the carved tunnels where nothing moved but a pall of shadows.

“I like it just fine,” Boyd told him.

But, good God, what a lie that was.

It was even worse down here than it had been on the other levels. It was like being in a tomb a mile underground and Boyd literally felt the walls closing in on him. This was Level #8 and the majority of it was still being excavated. He could hear the distant sound of hammers and machinery, but it sounded like it was coming from miles away. His heart thudded in his chest and the breath rasped in his lungs.

And he was getting that feeling again.

Just like before, that crawling, shivery sense that he was in grave danger. He’d written it off earlier as maybe simple paranoia couched with a healthy dose of claustrophobia given that his old man had been crushed to death years back at the old Mary B.

But this was something different. A separate species of dread.

As he stood there by Maki, next to the shaft house, feeling the great depths they had descended to, he had the weirdest sensation of deja-vu like he had been through something like this before. Maybe not in real life, but perhaps in a dream. One of those cloying, crowded awful nightmares of suffocation that you wake gasping and sweating from at three in the morning. It was like that. As if he was slowly being asphyxiated by this place. It was a numb sort of horror, making him feel utterly helpless like a swimmer going down for the last time.

“You okay, cookie?” Maki said.

“Sure, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Thing was, the smartass edge was missing from Maki’s voice.

Boyd didn’t believe for a moment that that prick Maki was actually concerned about his well-being, but he could sense a certain veiled apprehension under his words. Like maybe Maki didn’t exactly care for it down here either. All Boyd knew for sure is that what he had been feeling was getting stronger. It was in his guts and crawling right up his spine.

C’mon already,
he told himself.
Get a fucking grip
.

“You pussying out, cookie?” Maki said.

“Not me,” Boyd told him. “You’re looking a little green, though.”

“Shit.”

A few men in raincoats and miner’s helmets came walking out of a passage. Two of them were just diggers, but the other guy was Jurgens, the mining engineer who pretty much ran the place. He was the guy who located the ore, instructed the men where to dig and where to tunnel.

“Hey, Maki,” he said. “This Boyd?”

“Yeah. I got him under my wing, Mr. Jurgens. I’m showing him the ropes and all. I’m taking good care of him.”

“Good. We can use the help. We’re cutting a series of drifts down here,” he said to Boyd as they walked off down the tunnel and the sound of machinery began to get louder. “There’s no good quality ore where we’re at now, so we need to tunnel to it. You ever done any drift work?”

“No.”

“But he’s a fast learner, Mr. Jurgens. You got my word on that. I’ll teach him everything I know and make a first class miner out of him. Yes, sir.”

“Good, good.”

Christ,
Boyd thought. Maki was kissing this guy’s ass big time. Wasn’t that just special? You had to love Maki.

They followed the tunnel for maybe fifteen minutes, turning off through a series of crosscuts, on and on. The whole way Maki kept trying to stroke Jurgens, doing everything but getting down on his knees for the guy.
How’s your wife, Mr. Jurgens? Heard you went down to Mexico…was that nice, Mr. Jurgens? Is your daughter still in law school, Mr. Jurgens?
It was fucking sickening. Finally they reached the stope, which was essentially a huge cavern cut by drilling and blasting. It was lit up by floodlights. It stank of sulfur and dankness. The ceiling was sloping and the walls set with jagged fault lines which Jurgens pointed out were from prehistoric volcanic eruptions.

“The rocks are different here,” Boyd said.

“Of course they’re different,” Maki said like he was some kind of idiot. “We’re deeper.”

“No, this is all limestone. Different from the shale above.”

“That’s right,” Jurgens said, looking at Boyd like maybe he was wondering what a guy with a head on his shoulders was doing with a booger-picking moron like Maki. “It
is
limestone and I don’t like limestone.”

“Me neither,” Maki said.

Jurgens ignored him. “And I don’t like it because where there’s limestone, there’s water. Or there once was. That means subsidence, limestone caves. I don’t like the idea of us blasting into one.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good,” Maki said.

“See, Boyd, the ore is here, we just have to get through this goddamn limestone first.” He led Boyd over to the wall and knocked on the striated rock there. “This is all limestone laid down during the Permian.”

“Sure,” Boyd said. “Sedimentary rock. Layers of mud and sediment.”

Jurgens nodded. “That’s right. Thing is, it just doesn’t belong here. I mean, from a geologic standpoint, this is the first Permian rock ever found in Michigan. So that’s something, but there’s no goddamn ore in it. See, this part of Michigan is all old, very old Precambrian rock. Anywhere from 500 million to three or four billion years old. And this Permian strata is fairly new, roughly 250 million years old. It just doesn’t belong here.”

“There’s no Permian rocks at all in Michigan?”

“None that I’ve ever heard of. No sediments or fossils. Erosion is partly to blame, but the real culprit was the Quaternary glaciation that raged right through the Pleistocene. The advance and retreat of the glaciers also stripped away eons of sediment. Just about anything after the Silurian is gone in Upper Michigan. So, obviously, this Permian strata does not belong.”

“Then why is it here?”

“Some type of singularity, I should imagine.”

“That’s gotta be it,” Maki said.

Boyd felt like slapping him. He had no idea what Jurgens was talking about and Boyd barely understood himself, but at least he was keeping his mouth shut. But Jurgens simply ignored Maki. Something, Boyd figured, that most people at the Hobart Mine learned to do very quickly. Jurgens went on, explaining that the Permian Period occurred at the tail end of the Paleozoic Era, right before the Mesozoic…which brought us all the dinosaurs and made guys like Steven Spielberg a lot of money. The Permian ended the Paleozoic with a mass extinction that wiped out like 90% of the life forms on the planet. It was a much more massive extinction than the one that wiped out the dinosaurs much later on. These Permian rocks were from that time period.

“We’ve got a guy here studying this strata, a paleobiologist from the U of M, guy named McNair. He theorized that, perhaps at the time of the extinction itself, volcanic action or seismic activity caused this seam of Permian strata to be submerged, engulfed by the much older Precambrian shelves. Thus, preserving it here for us when the rest of the Permian strata was scraped and washed away long ago.”

“So, it’s a pretty significant find?”

“Oh yes. But there’s no ore in it, Boyd, and they pay me to find ore.”

On that note, Jurgens led them away through the stope.

It angled off to the left and things started to get very, very loud. Up ahead, the crews were cutting drift, some three separate tunnels through solid rock to reach the ore-bearing strata. It was quite an operation. There were tram tracks leading from the drifts to other tunnels, the cars coming and going, filled with rock that would end up topside in the Pit. There were dozens of men moving around beneath the dead glare of arc lights and incandescents lining the walls. The smell of sulfur was eclipsed by diesel fumes and clouds of rock dust. Water dripped and ran in little streams. Engines hummed and rumbled. Air compressors hissed and generators whined. There were pipes and hoses and high voltage lines snaking all over the place. The thunder of jackhammers and pneumatic rock drills. Red mud splashing underfoot.

It was unbelievable.

Jurgens assigned them to a crew cutting drift far to the right. Maki and Boyd put on their gas masks and safety goggles, put in their ear plugs. It was a loud and dangerous place with the clouds of dust and chips of rock flying all over the place.

The drift was called a “dog drift” because it was just barely large enough to work in. The drillers would sink a pattern of holes and then the charge crew would pack them with dynamite and everybody would get the hell out of there. The blast would clear maybe ten feet of tunnel and right away the diggers would rush in when the dust settled and go at it with picks and shovels, clearing away rock and debris. The only way to do it was to form sort of a fireman’s chain and pass the rock back out of the drift to the waiting tram cars. Even so, the dust was so thick you could barely see in there. Boyd knew there were men in there with him, but all he could see were the lights of their helmets bobbing in the murk. The claustrophobia he felt was a real, physical thing. They went at it nearly three hours, cutting the drift deeper into the rock a good twenty feet.

When break time came, they retreated far back into the stope where things were a bit quieter. Boyd’s boots were thick with red mud and he was stained head to toe with ore pigment, covered in a good half-inch of pulverized rock dust. When he took off his helmet, it was in his hair. It was down his back and up his sleeves. He could taste it on his tongue. It was nasty stuff.

Maki and he sat around with a couple miners named Izzy and Johnson who didn’t say much. Boyd was glad when Breed came over. Maki wasn’t happy to see him, of course.

He poured Boyd a cup of coffee from his Thermos and Boyd washed the dust from his mouth. “Thanks,” he said.

“You still a virgin, kid?”

“So far.”

“What do you think of working drift?”

Boyd pulled off his cigarette, holding it with pink, greasy fingers. “Compared to what?”

“Yeah, that’s how I feel about it, too. Not so bad, though. It’s going fast. Jurgens said we should be hitting ore by tomorrow afternoon at this rate.”

“Jurgens don’t know his ass from a fucking stump hole,” Maki said.

“You hear that, Boyd?” Breed said. “Our boss don’t know shit. Too bad we couldn’t have Maki here running the show.”

“Oh, shut up,” Maki said.

“Jurgens ain’t so bad,” Breed said.

“No, he seems okay,” Boyd said.

Maki just grunted. “You two were chatting it up like a couple old ladies at a Christmas fucking tea.”

“He was telling me about the rocks.”

“Yeah, he likes to talk about rocks,” Breed said, stubbing out his cigarette. “You got to meet this paleo guy from the University. McNair. He really likes rocks. We dug out this fossil the other day…some kind of fish with teeth like roofing nails. McNair got so excited I thought he was going to cornhole the damn thing.”

“How long you been at this?” Boyd asked him.

Breed laughed. He was always laughing. “Fifteen years, give or take. I’m just biding my time until I can get out.”

“Sure,” Maki said. “Breed’s a fucking injun. He’s waiting to get some of that free Indian casino money so he can be as lazy and useless as the rest of the tribe.”

“Don’t be making fun of my red brothers,” Breed told him. “He’s right, though, Boyd. I’m waiting to get on the list. Free money. Then I’ll spend my days laughing at you white men and putting the dick to your wives while you’re pulling your shift in the hole.”

Boyd laughed.

Maki grumbled.

One of the other miners said, “You’re a piece of shit, Breed. You know that?”

“My old man told me that from day one, brother. But way I look at it, if you’re good at something, you go with it.”

Boyd just listened as they bullshitted around about the rocks and all the marine fossils they were finding that McNair said were laid down from an ancient seabed. Of course, Breed found ample opportunity to insult Maki and make jokes about his wife’s privates.

Then Corey showed. “All right, you lazy sonsobitches, back at it! Chop! Chop!”

Breed offered him a big smile with his dirty face. “Hey, Corey? I ever tell you how much I love you?”