The Zero Game

town’s in trouble.”

“What’re you — ? I told you not to speak to anyone.”

Viv shrinks down, but not by much. “Don’t worry — I told her I’m the au pair… taking care of the kids.”

“In a blue business suit?” I ask, pointing to her outfit.

“I didn’t wear the jacket. Don’t worry — she believed it. Besides, I was hungry. She gave me an orange,” she explains, pulling it from her pocket. “One for you, too.”

She hands me a plastic Baggie with an already peeled orange inside.

“She peeled it for you?”

“Don’t ask. She insisted. I didn’t want to upset her. We’re the first guests they’ve had since… since the actual gold rush.”

“So she’s the one who gave you the brochures?”

She looks back down at a faded pamphlet entitled The Homestead Mine — Staking a Claim in Our Future. “I just thought I should read up on it. That’s okay, right…?”

There’s a faint noise by the stairwell door. Like a crash.

“What was…”

“Shh,” I say.

We both check the breezeway, following the sound up the walkway. The stairwell’s at the far end. No one’s there. There’s another crashing sound. That’s when we see the source of the noise. An ice machine dumping ice. Just ice, I tell myself. It doesn’t make me feel any calmer. “We should…”

“… get out of here,” Viv agrees.

We head for our respective doors. Four minutes of ironing later, I’m dressed to go. Viv’s already waiting outside, her head once again buried in one of the old tourist pamphlets.

“All set?” I ask.

“Harris, you really gotta look at this place — you’ve never seen anything like it.”

I don’t need to read the pamphlet to realize she’s right. We have no idea what we’re getting into, but as I run up the walkway — as Viv chases right behind me — there’s no slowing us down. Whatever Wendell’s digging for, we need to know what’s going on.

From the stairwell, Viv and I rush out into the Gold House’s main lobby. Even considering the time, it’s emptier than I expected. The front desk is vacant, the soda machines have black tape over the coin slots, and the USA Today vending machine has a handwritten sign in it that says, Buy newspapers at Tommy’s (across street). Looking out onto Main Street, we see the signs in every window. Out of Business, it says at the gas station; Lost Lease, it says at Fin’s Hardware. Naturally, my eyes go straight to the barber shop: Gone to Montana — God Bless.

Across the lobby, I spot a metal display rack filled with the tourist brochures Viv picked up. See How a Real Gold Bar Is Made! Visit the Leed Theater! Explore the Mining Museum! But from the faded, yellowed paper, we already know the museum’s closed, the theater’s shut down, and the gold bars haven’t been seen in years. It was the same way when I had to clean out the house after my dad passed. Sometimes you can’t bring yourself to throw stuff away.

When we were heading here, I thought I’d be in my element. I’m not even close. This isn’t a small town. It’s a dead one.

“Pretty sad, huh?” a female voice asks.

I spin around, and a young woman with short black hair enters the lobby from the back room and steps behind the front desk. She can’t be more than twenty-five, and while her complexion identifies her as Native American, even without it, her high cheekbones would be a clear giveaway.

“Hiya, Viv,” she calls out, wiping some sleep from her eyes.

I shoot Viv a look. You gave her your name?

Viv shrugs and steps forward. I shake my head, and she steps back. “I’ll go check on the kids,” she says, moving for the front door.

“They’re fine,” I say, refusing to let her out of my sight. She’s already said enough. The only reason we should be talking to anyone is because we need information, or help, or in this particular case, some last-minute directions.

“Can you tell us how to get to the Homestead mine?” I say as I head for the front desk.

“So they’re reopening it again?” she asks.

“I have no idea,” I counter, leaning an elbow on the front desk and fishing for info. “Everyone seems to have a different answer.”

“Well, that’s what I hear — though Dad says they still haven’t talked to the union.”

“Have they at least been throwing some business your way?” I ask, wondering if she’s seen anybody in the motel.

“You’d think they would… but they got it all in trailers up there. Kitchens… sleeping quarters… everything. I’m telling you, they get an F in making friends.”

“They’re probably just mad they couldn’t find a Holiday Inn,” I say.

She smiles at the jab. In any small town, everyone hates the chains.

Studying me carefully, she cocks her head to the side. “Have I seen you before?” she asks.

“I don’t think so…”

“You sure? Not at Kiwanis?”

“Pretty sure. I’m not really from the neighborhood.”

“Really? And here I thought all the locals wore slacks and button-downs.”

I pull back the slightest bit. She’s starting to warm up, but that’s not my goal. “Listen, about those directions…”

“Of course. Directions. All you gotta do is follow the road.”

“Which one?”

“We only got but one,” she says, tossing me another grin. “Left outta the driveway, then a sharp right up the hill.”

I smile instinctively.

With a quick hop, she boosts herself over the front counter, grabs my arm, and leads me to the door.

“See that building… looks like a giant metal teepee?” she asks, pointing up the mountain to the only structure on top. “That’s the headframe.”

She immediately reads the confused look on my face.

“It covers the mine shaft,” she adds. My look stays the same. “… also known in some circles as the big hole in the ground,” she explains with a laugh. “It protects it from bad weather. That’s where you’ll find the cage.”

“The cage?”

“The elevator,” she says. “I mean, assuming you wanna go down…”

Viv and I share a glance, but neither of us says a word. Up until this point, I didn’t even think that was an option.

“Just follow signs for The Homestead,” the woman adds. “Won’t take you five minutes. You got business up there?”

“Not until later. That’s why we figured we’d check out Mount Rushmore first,” I explain. “How do we get there?”

It’s a pathetic bluff, but if Janos is as close as I think, we at least need to attempt to hide the trail. As she gives us directions, I pretend to write them down.

When she’s done, I wave good-bye and head for our Suburban. Viv’s right next to me, shaking her head. “Is that on purpose or is it just natural?” she finally asks as we pull out of the parking lot.

“I don’t understand.”

“The charm thing: leaning into the counter… her swooning at the small-town flair…” She stops a moment. “Y’know, who we are now is who we always were and who we’ll always be. Is that how you’ve always been?” she asks.