The cart was only creeping forward now, but the cable was spooling up fast with slack overhead. The second he let go of this brake, the cart would head back down. He couldn’t hold this position much longer before his legs gave out. He thought about calling out to the kids for help, but there was no time, and the chances they would hear him were slim. Not only that, but if things went wrong, he didn’t want them anywhere near this dynamite.
Transitioning the load of the brake to his shoulders, he freed his right arm and was able to walk the box of dynamite up the side of the cart and onto the rail. Now all he had to do was figure out how to exit the cart with the box and land on his feet. Ben went over the process in his mind a couple of times and decided to make his move on the count of three.
“One…two…” He was interrupted by the sound of cracking wood; the noise reminded him of a tree being felled. The cable above his head had tangled in one of the support timbers and had started to fray. Ben could hear the tension as the cable began to hum.
Pop. The pulley directly over the cart exploded, and the cable shot forward into a tangled mess. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and Ben felt the cart start to roll back down into the mine.
He let go of the lever and rolled out, landing back-first on the hard rock. He winced as sharp bits of gravel dug into his skin, but he managed to bring the crate down safely on his chest. His little maneuver worked, but it came at a price. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and it took a few seconds to recover. Small flashes of light, induced by the strain, danced around his peripheral vision. While regaining his composure, he managed to catch a brief glimpse of the mine cart before it rolled out of sight.
It was gone in an instant, but he could certainly hear it. The roar of the runaway cart intensified as it gained speed, reminding Ben of an old wooden rollercoaster he’d been on as a kid, but maybe one that was about to come off the tracks. He sat still for a minute and waited for the inevitable crash. But as the lights began to flicker, the sound grew faint and eventually disappeared. Was the mine really that deep? He shuddered to think that he or the kids could have ended up down there if the cable had snapped sooner.
He had to look at the box of dynamite for a second to believe he’d actually pulled it off. But there was no time to celebrate or rest. There was a gunfight raging outside, and he’d been gone too long already. Scrambling to his feet, he grabbed the crate and made his way back out to the trucks. He headed straight for the pickup that had been parked out by the front gate. It was the same one they’d been forced into when they were first captured and blindfolded. He was glad now that he’d had Martin bring the old rusty Ford inside the compound and park it near the others. His original intent was to have Martin use the truck to drive to Cloverdale. That was until he got a closer look at the rusted-out piece of junk. Ben quickly decided the truck wasn’t up for the journey; however, it was perfect for this very short one-way trip.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The distant gunshots rekindled Ben’s sense of urgency. Not that he needed a reminder, but they gave him a boost of much-needed adrenaline. He was close to putting his plan into action. And in his opinion, the hard part was over.
Ben slid the box of dynamite onto the passenger seat inside the old Ford and slammed the door shut. Next, he ran over to the Blazer and retrieved the half-smoked cigar he’d stuffed into the ashtray and a short length of paracord from the console. He wouldn’t have saved the cigar, but at the time, he didn’t want to risk offending Jack and told him he was saving the rest for later. He had no intention of ever smoking it and forgot it was even in there, thankfully; otherwise, he would have thrown it out long ago.
Ben turned to head back to the pickup and saw Brad and Emma hiding under the overhanging deck with Carlos and Rita.
“It’s all going to be over soon. I promise.” He made sure to make eye contact with his kids. They were scared, and rightfully so. The gunshots weren’t letting up. In fact, it sounded like the fight was escalating. Ben hoped they had enough ammunition to hold off the moonshiners for just a little longer.
Ben did his best to run back to the truck while trying to get the cigar lit. He pulled on it a little too hard, though, and the dried-out, two-day-old tobacco caught fire instantly and nearly choked him. He spat hard in an attempt to clear the taste from his mouth before selecting a suitable stick from the ground and jumping behind the wheel of the pickup. He pumped the pedal as the engine struggled to turn over. Finally, it came to life, the fan belt screeching as he revved the engine. Content that it would stay running, Ben left it to idle while he turned his attention to the dynamite.
Shifting the smoldering cigar to the far corner of his mouth, Ben squinted through the smoke as he cut a short piece of fuse and prepped one of the eight-ounce sticks of dynamite. He set the fused explosive next to him on the seat, and instead of putting the knife away, he jammed the six-inch blade into the dashboard, directly above the steering wheel, as far
