Disclaimer - I don't own any of the plotlines or characters from the books in the "Martin Vail Triliogy" written by William Diehl. The rest of it was created by me, and you should be able to tell which is which. Now, on with the story:
"Suppose..."
Prologue – The Hole
The dampness got into everything, under the skin, in the hair and even seemed to linger down the throat of the small boy, as he tripped and stumbled down the dark tunnel, dislodging stones as he went. As the walls closed in, the only ray of hope was the single bobbing light in the darkness, the dim bulb of an old torch, one that was nearly spent. The boy prayed it would stay lit, he didn't want to imagine the total, engulfing darkness that might follow the death of the light.
His father led the way, muscles bulging under the thin vest. The boy was afraid of his father. His father controlled the light, controlled his fate. Many times he had cried and begged, but his father had said no. "Be a man" he had said. "It is our duty to bring money into the family" But the boy could see no money in this hellish place. The walls were black and empty, their jagged edges cutting his soft palms.
His father had taken him to the mine by a combination of yelling and pulling. He had been only once before, but everything he saw on the way had reminded him of the horror that lay within. He had cried the whole way, the too-big helmet knocking into his skull, the boots digging into his heels and his fathers stick jabbing him in the ribs. When they arrived, the lift had been waiting. It clanged shut with an agonising squeal, they had descended into the dark, the torches coming on, but the sun going out.
Now the boy rushes to keep up through force of will, the only thing worse than what awaits him is the thought of being lost in the dark. Suddenly, the hulking figure stops, and the boy skids to a messy halt beside his father."Down there, boy. You know what to do, I told you before. Remember, you're not to come out 'til I say!" The boy edges closer, his legs shaking and his whole body drenched with sweat, though no warmth enters the bones of the mine. He sees the small sign, painted in white paint on a cheap plank of wood. His breath quickens, and he has no time to scream as he is pushed into the darkness. His momentum carries him forward, and he barely registers the torch in his hand. His sobs are heard over great distances through the stone, but they seem like the flow of water on a distant shore and go unnoticed among the Men of the mine - they have a duty to perform. Finally, they believe the flowing water has always been there, it is a part of the mine itself.
The boy's father didn't know it, but more than the light would die in the mine that day..
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"It's so dark..."
The stone walls caused his words to whistle past him once more, taunting him for his weakness. His muscles ached already, and he had long ceased crying. His father had won, he was beaten. Every day now he came to The Hole, and worked. It did not make it any easier. Though he shed no tears, his small frame shook with fear, and his voice was a thin tremor amongst the drips of water and the distant echoing blasts. He had hoped that talking would lessen the fear, make the time in the Hole easier to bear. He now realised what a fool he had been. The months of darkness were building up inside him, the thoughts of the danger he faced were overwhelming, and no matter how hard he tried, they would not leave him alone.
"Help..."
He was far beyond shouting distance of his father, and the whisper that emerged from his chapped and blackened lips carried no further than a few feet. However, for the first time in six months, it was heard.
"Hey, Sonny. What's the trouble?"
The boy started and whirled around, but he could see no one. The tunnel was empty. He walked around the corner, and peered into the darkness.
"Hello? Please help me..."
"Jesus! Alright, alright, I'll help you! Will you just quit whinin' for a second and let me think!" said the new voice. It was sharp and clear, and the boy found it strangely familiar, though it had no trace of the familiar Appalachian tones he was used to.
He ran a few more steps, feeling his way along the walls, but there was nothing to guide him, and he soon gave up.
"Sonny, you ain't gonna find me down there. Now will you get yourself back to that wall and shut up while I think of a plan!"
"What plan, Mister?"
"Mister! Shit, that's a laugh! Alright, I can be "mister" to you sonny. You just listen to what I say, and we will get us both out of this place quick as anythin'."
"You trapped too, mister?"
"You could say that." The voice chuckled. "The sooner you do as I say the quicker we can show those idiots up top whose boss."
"Okay, I'm goin'."
The boy stumbled back along the tunnel, and found his tools. The voice spoke again, this time alarmingly close.
"Right Sonny, I've got it. All I need you to do is to relax. Quit bein' scared, quit thinking altogether. That's it. Just kinda go to sleep..."
The boy stood still for a long time, trying to blank out his thoughts. The voice though harsh was strangely compelling and he found its presence comforting. His tense little body relaxed for the first time in months, all the cares slipped away, his muscles sagged.
All of a sudden, he jerked his head upright like a marionette. His eyes were alive with excitement as he slowly surveyed the tunnel, and his gaze lighted upon the pickaxe on the ground. Smiling secretly, the boy wrapped his small hands around the handle, and cradled it to his chest like a favourite teddy: a look of triumph on his face.
Meanwhile, a small voice too quiet to hear continued to call out in the void.
"Mister? Where am I? It's so dark..."