below. Even the air — forget that recycled stuff downstairs; as I head up the dirt road in front of us, the sweet smell of plum bushes fills my nose.
“And on the tenth day, God created candy,” Viv sings, sniffing the air for herself. She stares around to take it all in, but I grab her by the wrist.
“Don’t stop now,” I say, tugging her up the dirt road. “Not until we’re out of here.”
Two hundred yards to our left, above the trees, the triangular outline of the main Homestead building slices toward the sky. It takes me a second to get my bearings, but from what I can tell, we’re on the opposite side of the parking lot from where we first started.
A loud siren bursts through the air. I follow it to a bullhorn up on the metal teepee building. There goes the alarm.
“Don’t run,” Viv says, slowing us down even more.
She’s right about that. On the steps of one of the construction trailers, a stocky man with overalls and a buzz cut glances our way. I slow to a casual walk and nod my mining helmet at him. He nods right back. We may not have the overalls, but with the helmets and orange vests, we’ve at least got part of the costume.
A half-dozen men run toward the main mining entrance. Following the road past the trailers, we head in the opposite direction, letting it lead us back to the parking lot. A quick scan around tells me everything’s just as we left it. Tons of cruddy old pickup trucks, two classic Harleys, and — Wait… something’s new…
One shiny Ford Explorer.
“Hold on a sec,” I say to Viv, who’s already climbing into our Suburban.
“What’re you doing?”
Without answering, I peek through the side window. There’s a map with a Hertz logo on the passenger seat.
“Harris, let’s go! The alarm…!”
“In a minute,” I call back. “I just want to check one thing…”
55
“Hoist…” the female operator answered.
“You were supposed to bring the cage straight here!” Janos shouted into the receiver.
“I–I did.”
“You sure about that? It didn’t make any other stops?”
“No… not one,” she replied. “There was no one in it — why would I make it stop anywhere?”
“If there was no one in it, why was it even
“Th-That’s what he asked me to do. He said it was important.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“He said I should bring both cages to the top…”
Janos clamped his eyes shut as the woman said the words. How could he possibly miss it? “There’re
“Sure, one for each shaft. You have to have two — for safety. He said he had stuff to move from one to the other…”
Janos gripped the receiver even tighter. “Who’s he?”
“Mike… he said his name was Mike,” the woman explained. “From Wendell.”
Locking his jaw, Janos turned slightly, peering over his shoulder at the tunnel that led outside. His cagey eyes barely blinked.
“Sorry,” the operator pleaded. “I figured if he was from Wendell, I should-”
With a loud slam, Janos rammed the receiver back in its cradle and took off for the basement stairs. A shrill alarm screamed through the room, echoing up and down the open shaft. In a flash, Janos was gone.
Rushing up the stairs two at a time, Janos burst outside the red brick building and tore back toward the gravel parking lot. On the concrete path in front of him, the man in the
“Can I help you with something?” the man asked, motioning with his clipboard.
Janos ignored him.
The man stepped closer, trying to cut him off. “Sir, I asked you a question. Did you hear what I-?”
Janos whipped the clipboard from the man’s hands and jammed it as hard as he could against his windpipe. As Spring Break doubled over, clutching his throat, Janos stayed focused on the parking lot, where the black Suburban was just pulling out of its spot.
“Shelley…!” a fellow miner shouted, rushing to Spring Break’s aid.
Locked on the gleaming black truck, Janos raced for the lot — but just as he got there, the Suburban peeled out, kicking a spray of gravel through the air. Undeterred, Janos went straight to his own Explorer. Harris and Viv barely had a ten-second head start. On a two-lane road. It’d be over in no time. But as he reached the Explorer, he almost bumped his head getting inside. Something was wrong. Stepping back, he took another look at the side of the truck. Then the tires. They were all flat.
“Damn!” Janos screamed, punching the side mirror and shattering it with his fist.
Behind him, there was a loud crunch in the gravel.
“That’s him,” someone said.
Spinning around, Janos turned just in time to see four pissed-off miners who now had him cornered between the two cars. Behind them, the man with the
Moving in toward Janos, the miners grinned darkly.
Janos grinned right back.
56
With my eyes on the rearview mirror, I veer to the right, pull off the highway, and follow the signs for the Rapid City airport. There’s a maroon Toyota in front of us that’s moving unusually slow, but I’m still watching our rear. It’s barely been two hours since we blew out of the mine parking lot, but until we’re on that plane and the wheels are off the ground, Janos still has a shot — a shot he’s aiming straight at our heads. Slamming my fist against the steering wheel, I honk at the maroon car. “C’mon,
When it doesn’t budge, I weave onto the shoulder of the road, punch the gas, and leave the Toyota behind us. Next to me, Viv doesn’t even look up. Since the moment we left, she’s been reading every single word in the
“And…?”
“Nothing,” she says, flipping the notebook shut and checking her side mirror for herself. “Two hundred pages of nothing but dates and ten-digit numbers. Every once in a while, they threw in someone’s initials —
Viv holds the book up to show me; I look away from the road to check the schedule for myself.
“What’s the earliest date in there?” I ask.
Resting it back on her lap, Viv flips to the first page. “Almost six months ago. April fourth, 7:36 A.M. — item number 1015321410,” she reads from the schedule. “You’re right about one thing — they’ve definitely been working on this for a bit. I guess they figured getting the authorization in the bill was just a formality.”
“Yeah, well… thanks to me and Matthew, it almost was.”
“But it wasn’t.”
