A/N: Hello everyone, I hope that this is worth the wait. I have chopped this chapter in half to end it on a higher note. Let me know what you think in a review and provide any suggestions you see fit! Thanks and happy reading!
Half a day passes with the same monotonous darkness, totaling two days of silence and fear. We wait as long as we possibly can to eat small meals. All of us want to make the rations last as long as we can, especially since there are two extra mouths to feed; though that problem is worth the sacrifice. Two more men who have been saved from depths of hell, this is a reason to be thankful, I remind myself as my stomach aches for food and water.
Hunger is not a new thing to any of us, so we persevere. Two days is nothing like weeks, months, and years of starvation. Nor is two days like the feeling that a child must have during the Games, when the promise of their next meal never comes. I won't let myself belittle what others have felt.
When we need to relieve ourselves we walk deep into the tunnel. Every time we must cover the putrid smelling bodily waste with dirt and debris. I'm so dehydrated that I barely need to do so anyway. The one time that I ventured out, I made it quick because the fear in my chest from being alone was too great to bear. It seemed silly, but at the same time it wasn't. Nothing is silly anymore.
We pass the time resting and when we aren't resting we talk. None of us talk about how we may not make it out of this alive.
Instead, we fill the increasing voids with imagery of the district: the meadow at dusk, the stars over the mountains, the mockingjays in the trees, the children laughing, and our families. We don't make any more reassurances or promises we can't keep. If the Capitol wanted us saved there would have been help by now. The lift's top would have been pried open long ago and all the available resources exhausted; no, we're in this alone now.
When no one speaks, we sit quietly breathing in coal dust and listening for life. We hear nothing. The absence of aid workers is not as chilling as the quiet presence of dead miners. There are levels of sprawling tunnels below and above us, yet no one makes their presence known. All I can assume is that nearly every tunnel has collapsed. Periodically, Artie will lean out the lift gate and yell for someone, anyone. There is never a response.
I feel myself fading in and out of half-asleep worlds with terrifying dreams. Sometimes I open my eyes and still see the visions blinding me in the darkness. Opening your eyes here does nothing to cease the images. I try to focus on remembering the outline of my father's face. For some reason, I can barely remember the last conversation I had with him. I tell myself over and over again that he knows I love him, because I can't remember if I said it when I saw him last. I hope that I've said it enough.
I am in a period of wakefulness when I hear Harper stir for the first time. The occasion warrants the headlamps being turned on. We slip a bit of water past his lips when he finally opens his eyes. His dried lips greedily seep up the liquid. He seems very confused about his surroundings and the events that happened before the collapse. Artie tries to orient him "times three", something that older miners are trained to do in the case of brain injuries. Do they know the person, place, and time? My father had told me once about it once. It helps you determine how functional the person is.
"Who am I?" Artie asks, as he looks sternly down into Harper's glazed eyes. Harper doesn't say anything for a beat. His open mouth forms around invisible silent sounds. It reminds me of the gaping mouth of a fish, bobbling open and shut.
"Artie," He finally says. Our unofficial leader nods. He grabs Harper's hand and squeezes it.
"Where are we?" He asks. Harper looks up at the ceiling with a furrowed brow. Immediately I realize that he is confused about how he got here, the look is very plainly written all over his face.
"We're in the mine. Why is it so dark?" Harper asks solemnly. Artie ignores the question and asks another.
"What day is it Harper?" Harper squints his eyes and furrows his brow further.
"I'm not sure. I don't remember…" he says softly after a minute has passed. Artie releases Harper's hand and pats his arm softly instead.
"It's alright kid. There was a collapse. A lot of people are hurt and you may have hit your head. We've been here a few days."
I stare into Gale's eyes. It's strange being able to see him. We haven't had the headlamps on all day. The darkness has been consuming us and the vision of his face is peculiar. With Harper awake, we have another mouth to feed. Maybe it will be easier to guide him out of this tunnel though, now that he is awake. Though I haven't seen him move much, a brian injury could have caused some damage to his nerves. I wonder if Gale is thinking about how the hell we will get Harper out of here on our own, I sure as hell am.
Artie directs us to observe Harper as he prepares smaller bites of food for the injured miner to consume. Harper doesn't seem hungry, which concerns me. A man who has been asleep for nearly two days should be hungry. For the several hours before we go to sleep I answer the questions that Harper asks into the darkness. I try to draw pretty pictures for him in his mind. I remind him that his wife is expecting a baby any day now and that she loves him. I tell him the things that none of us have said to each other. These are the things that we didn't allow ourselves to say today. Things like: they are coming for us, everything will be fine, and when you wake up someone will be here to take you home.
Harper deserves the reassurances to guide him through his confused state.
Artie clears his throat as we finish up a small meal at the beginning of the third day, "I think we all know it is time to find our way out of this alone." He lets his solid gaze float between us for a moment.
No one responds, so he continues, "I know more than anyone that abandoning the bodies of your crewmates is not something you want to do. We have to though; we'll never make it if we stay here with them." Leaving my men here makes my chest ache with fresh agony.
Earlier Thom's companion, Royal, suggested that we should venture out if we don't hear from any other survivors by the end of the day. His suggestion was met with dissension. With Gale's injured leg, Mortin's arm, and all of Harper's potential problems the prospect of moving them is daunting. Now that we've had several hours to mull it over, there are no verbal objections. We have no other choice. We are our each other's only hope.
We gather the remaining supplies and make our way toward the lift. The men discuss the best plan of action for escaping this silent grave. Climbing seems to be the only logical option, but three of our men can't manage that on their own. We have one rope, our pickaxes, and the pails of remaining food. Anchoring the rope could be dangerous, because the weight of a body may sever the rope on the metal casing of the gate.
We settle on the idea of making a pulley system of sorts using the pails. Somehow Gale is able to make an intricate sliding pattern with the empty pails we fetch for him. His system allows the rope to slip slowly through, rather than rubbing it harshly. Thom volunteers as the guinea pig for our first trial. Artie and Royal hold one end of the rope as Thom ties the other end around his waist and around his thighs. Royal and Artie loop their end of the rope around a rock to give themselves better leverage.
Meanwhile, I help Thom secure the rope as best I can. Gale watches us silently. We only have one headlamp going right now, the one I'm wearing. I needed it to watch my fingers work the knot around Thom's waist. When I'm done I pat his back once between his shoulders then he goes to stand by the entrance to the shaft. He turns toward us, gripping the rope in his hands. He slowly lets himself fall backwards to begin his descent. Royal and Artie gradually let out the slack of the rope, lowering Thom into the dark cavern below.
"Artie, why would we want to lower ourselves further, rather than climb up?" I ask quietly as Thom disappears.
"None of us are in good shape to climb. The shaft has steal frames holding it together. It may be smashed, but the basic frame is there. If they open the top of the lift, they'll see us waiting for them at the bottom of the frame," he explains through the soft grunts he makes from baring Thom's weight.
Next we lower Gale, then Harper. I follow suit, closing my eyes tightly as I am sent into the darkness below. When I reach the bottom Gale unties me and tugs on the rope. It is pulled up for Mortin to use next. I look around us. From what I can see above, the shaft has a lot of damage. The metal floor is also covered in gravel and larger rocks. Some of the metal beams of he frame above us look like they may buckle with the weight of the walls pressing into them. It makes me cringe just thinking about the forces of tons pressing down toward us.
"Do you think the walls we collapse in here too?" I ask Gale. He and Thom look up at the surroundings.
"We'll be fine," Gale says. He pats my shoulder softly. It doesn't feel like a truthful reassurance. Harper is lying with his eyes closed and his head resting on a boulder. The rest of us stand in in the bottom of the shaft and watch Mortin's feet lowering toward us.
"Fuck," we hear him hiss. Mortin's good arm has lost grip on the rope and he wobbles back against the wall of the shaft, slamming his shoulder and broken arm into the jagged wall. A cry of pain reverberates through the massive cavern above us.
"You okay Mort?" Gale yells up. A muffled moan returns as Mortin is lowered closer to us.
"You're alive, that's better than nothing," Gale replies. Several more minutes pass. Finally, Mortin's feet touch the rough gravel of the lift's floor. Thom helps him remove the rope and tugs on it to let Artie know that it can be pulled up.
Mortin cradles his bad arm. I can see that tears have been streaming down his face. I walk closer and gingerly press my hands against the bulbous purple flesh. Mortin winces slightly at the examination.
"I should have known this would happen, given my luck," Mortin grinds out bitterly. I'm not the luckiest person either, but I'm not going to put blames on things.
"Nothing ever goes the way I think it will," Mortin kicks a clump of dirt as he laughs harshly.
Gale rolls his eyes, "You think you are safer than any of the rest of us when it comes to a collapse? No one's invisible." Mortin glares at Gale. He turns away, looking at the surroundings instead of beginning an argument with Gale. I'm glad he doesn't take the bait. He's showing all sorts of gumption these past few days.
"If it had gone the way I'd planned you sure wouldn't be here," Mortin whispers to himself as he begins gingerly walking toward the other side of the cavern. I'm about to ignore him and turn back to Royal above us, but something about that statement catches a buzz in my head. The way he planned?
"What do you mean Mortin? What are you talking about?" My voice comes out in a bloated hiss. It explodes from within me, like a harsh whisper. Mortin swivels toward me, looking directly into my confused eyes. For all his bitter cruelty toward me, Mortin's face collapses in a pain so unlike his snide sneers that it jolts my heart. Gone is the placid, but strained expression he has been carrying since the collapse, in its place is a face riddled with sadness and regret.
"I knew that they were planning to destroy the rebellious miners," Mortin sucks in a shuttering breath as he presses his dirt and coal covered palms against his head.
"I thought it wouldn't happen this way, I didn't think that everyone else would be harmed," his voice is crackling, jagged like his expression, "Just those who were part of it. Just those few."
I hear Gale's furious exhale beside me, but my ears are clogged. He knew the Capitol was watching us and he didn't do anything about it. He knew they wanted us dead, and he was content with that?
Suddenly I am furious and I lunge forward and grip his tattered mine shirt in my fists. I slam his shoulders against the rough dirt wall of the cavern, just to the left of one of the large steal beams. His head lulls back as his strange colored eyes meet mine. He winces as I press myself up against him.
"Tell me everything or so help me I will smash your head into this wall until you can't remember your own name," I slam his head back for good measure as I bark my request. Mortin's eyes are glassy and tired. His mouth hangs open slightly as he looks into my face, but there are no words. No explanations of what he is implying.
"How could you think the Capitol would protect you or anyone else that got in their way?" I scream in his face when he doesn't say anything.
"How could you?!" I'm ripped away from Mortin by strong arms. I think they are trying to prevent me from killing him, but instead they shove me aside. I focus my vision on the person. It's Gale, he hauls his right fist back and punches Mortin roughly in the face several times. Mortin falls to the ground against the wall. Then Thom stops it by pulling Gale off our crewmate, by saving the traitor who has killed our friends.
Mortin pulls himself up into a sitting position. Then he tries to sop of the blood that is sprouting from his nose. He presses his dirty sleeve into it, but it just keeps spouting thick crimson. At some point Royal must have joined us. I hear him rustling as he unties himself from the rope behind me. He demands an explanation that I can't give. I have no response, just a blank stare.
We all watch Mortin in silence with the new knowledge of what may have occurred here. The explosion was most likely meant to destroy all of us, but something went wrong. We are still alive and I know they didn't intend for that to happen. Is anyone looking for us? Does anyone know that we are still down here? I'm already losing the grip I have on my anxiety. What if they never try to find survivors?
My breathing is ragged. I try to contain it, but Gale must notice. I feel his palm hit my forearm in the darkness, searching out my hand. He finds my balled fist in my lap and unwinds the fingers to lace his own hand with mine. There is a light squeeze from his fingers before he begins smoothing his thumb across the back of my hand. His fingers feel sticky with what must be Mortin's blood.
It takes several minutes for my breathing to calm. I can't bring myself to voice my concerns, yet somehow I know that every man here is thinking the things that I am.
Mortin glares at the floor in front of him for several minutes until Artie finally joins us. When the traitor begins to speak we all watch him soundlessly, our hearts full of bitterness.
"My mother told me years ago that my father was a peacekeeper. It took me a while to realize that it was Cray. I was angry with her for months," Mortin's eyes are glassier now than ever before, the strange color of them now readily apparent.
"I used to plan ways to kill Cray, or get him in trouble for having women sell themselves," Mortin laughs harshly. We all know that getting a peacekeeper in trouble would never go well.
"I never had the leverage to get him out of here," Mortin looks up.
He looks directly at me, "- Until one day I realized that I did have something the Capitol wanted…a list, of rebels and their sympathizers." He sold us out to seek his own revenge. I turn my back on him and press my fist against my chest. I can't look at this man. I will not look at him.
"In exchange for Cray's death I provided the Capitol with the names. I was told that I would be awarded," he closes his eyes and presses his head against the wall.
"I never meant for anyone else to get hurt, just those few people," Mortin whispers.
Everyone is silent afterwards. Several of us walk away to separate ends of the lift's shaft. We need to be alone, to reflect, to try and heal enough to get out of this alive.
After hours of sitting in our new location that is no different from the last, we begin to argue. It hurts my head and my heart.
Royal is angry that we haven't tried to find a new way out. After a few shouting matches between him and Gale a consensus is reached. It is Thom volunteers to begin climbing the wall to try and reach the top of the lift. He is trying to determine the best way to climb. He turns to Gale for an opinion, but quickly he is cut short when a great shattering noise resounds through the cavern above us.
It sounds like the top of the lift is being shredded. I stare up into the darkness there is something at the edge of my vision. A bright golden flash that flickers on and off, it builds something in my aching body. It takes me a moment to realize that it's the feeling of hope. Hope, the feeling that we will be rescued and it is such a glorious feeling that I collapse against Gale's side. He grips my shoulders tightly as the buzzing sound continues. The flashes must be sparks from whatever is cutting the metal. As the sound continues a vision of beauty begins to meet our eyes, light.
Magnificent beautiful faint white light begins to spread through the hole. Both Gale and I begin shaking in tandem, our bodies reaching a silent harmony of elation, exhaustion, and wonder. He is gripping my shoulder so intensely that his fingers are digging into my tender flesh in a painful manner. I whisper his name and he comes back to himself. He must realize that he is gripping me too tightly, because his fingers loosen their pressure.
As the last piece of the opening is cut a hardhat's blaring light shines down into the shaft. I shield my sensitive eyes with my hand. We are so far down; it's hard to tell whether the man can see us. He must though, because he begins shouting behind him for more help. From within the shaft it is hard to hear what he is saying, but his urgency is palpable.
After several minutes there are multiple heads looking down into the shaft, they fumble with something that I can't quite make out. There is a clank as something hits against the metal of the lift's top. Then, the sounds of something slithering through the darkness. It drops before us, dangling in the air. A thick rope knotted through the middle of a wooden board. It looks like one of the swings that the children have strung up in the old trees at the edge of the meadow. Artie grips the thick rope in his palm to stop it swinging. We all stare at it in silence, then Artie hands the rope to me.
The wooden board clanks against my thighs as he says, "Ladies first."
I feel my limbs shaking as Gale and Artie steady the board so that I can climb on. I step over it and sit on the flat surface with the rope straddled between my legs. Gale pats my back softly as Artie shouts up at our rescuers. I survey the men around me as I slowly begin to shakily rise above them. As I pass their heads Gale tries to give me a reassuring smile, but his expression is still frightened.
I grip the rope tightly in my stiff hands, my knuckles turning white. The rope swings constantly as I am pulled upward. Sometimes I come close to hitting one of the shaft walls, but mostly I sway in circles in the middle of the shaft. As I pass the destroyed tunnels I try not to look. Each one is like a punch in the gut. At level 3 I see a person's palm pressed through the metal grate. I close my eyes tightly and press my face against the rope. The voices above me are becoming more clear the higher I rise. When I am so close that they can reach their hands down and touch my hardhat and shoulders I begin to shake vigorously.
Many hands pull at me as the rope raises my face through the metal opening. As my shoulders are birthed through the belly of the mangled metal beast I am met with an onslaught of sounds. Hundreds of voices shouting into the night rise like the swell of a great song. The bright white lights used during knight shifts blare at me, blinding me temporarily.
My chest hurts and I heave forward as I am pulled completely from the hole. Like a fish out of water, I am gasping in gulps of the clear aboveground air. It fills my aching lungs and makes my chest heave. Immediately I am pulled toward a medical tent that is set up nearby. The crowd surges forward against the blockade of ropes and peacekeepers. My mind is clogged with all of the stimulation of my surroundings. Voices, lights, hands, smoke, coal dust and tears. Am I crying? I press a shaking hand against my cheeks and feel moisture.
"Where are you hurt?" Someone asks me urgently.
I blink into the blue eyes of the merchant doctor, Morrison. His brow is furrowed as someone else begins pulling at my bloodied and tattered clothing. I choke on my own sobs for a moment, before I get control.
"My back, it aches badly and just some cuts and bruises," I gasp out the words as they begin pulling off the dirtied clothing and closing a white curtain on the tent to shield me from the crowd.
A woman comes forward and I recognize her as the Forman's secretary. I reach my hand to her, for some reason, wanting the contact of a familiar body. She grips my palm tightly, her eyes glistening as she searches my face. She will ask me my name, though she knows who I am. I can tell my the look of recognition that slides across her worried features. She'll follow procedure after I confirm who I am. She'll go to the chalkboard and cross my name off with a blue line.
"Your name miner?" She asks, her voice shaking slightly. I feel the tears sliding down my face again. I squeeze her hand as hard as I can.
"Sidney Ione Elmwood, Level 6, Hank Logan's crew," my voice shakes.
"How many have survived?" I ask her. She looks up at the doctor and his assistants, who are examining my wounds and beginning to cleanse my coal covered body. She bites her lip and looks back at me.
"You're the first one," she breathes. I close my eyes against her words. That can't be. No, just no please. My mind tries to wrap around this new knowledge.
"How many others are down there?" Dr. Morrison asks me gently, but urgently.
"Six more men," I grit out, "Four from Hank Logan's crew, two from level 7". I open my eyes and see the sad expressions around me.
I quickly relay who the survivors are and confirm that the rest of my crew has perished. The doctor asks me about the injuries he will be treating. A second assistant rushes around to prepare materials for the men. I can hear people crying in the crowd as another person is pulled through the lift's jagged opening. They all must be so relieved to see the first survivors after what I estimate has been possibly three going on four days.
The secretary pats my leg, and then she squeezes my hand back before she rushes from the tent. I hear the crowd hush as she runs out and her clear crisp voice rising above the silence.
"7 survivors!" She shouts. A cheer resonates through the crowd, followed by silence and I imagine she must approach the blackboard at this moment to cross my name off.
"The first survivor is Sidney Ione Elmwood, Level 6, minimal injuries," I hear her announce. There are gasps and yells of happiness, and then she lists the remaining survivors as I imagine she crosses their names off the list. More emotional yells echo through the area.
I smile in relief when I hear Gale's name shatter the air, "Gale Atticus Hawthorne, Level 6, moderate injuries." His mother's voice rises to a heavenly level as she rejoices.
The doctor has me turn onto my stomach so he can examine my back. I close my eyes and press my forehead into the cold surface of the table. One assistant is running a cold cloth across my dirty skin, cleaning my injuries. There is a shuffle behind the curtain and I look up to see Gale and Mortin coming around the side. They are ushered toward waiting tables. Gale groans as they press his broken limbs, while they examine his injuries. The makeshift splint we tried to make for him looks ridiculous to me now.
I wish I knew the secretary's name, I can't remember what it is. I hear the silence of the crowd once more and the secretary's voice quavers, "There are 5 confirmed dead at the moment." The crowd grows eerily hushed. She lists my men and I picture the red circles she draws around their names. Normally, the person crossing and circling would not announce the names, but this woman is determined to do so. As she says each one, she pauses to let the family soak the name in. I hear people beginning to cry and I lose it once more. I let my body shake with the loud tears. The doctor's golden haired assistant presses her cold palm into my shoulder and tries to sooth my onslaught of emotion.
Through my tears I look across at Gale. I see that he is crying visibly too. His silver eyes are bright, but very sad. Artie comes around the tent and takes in our shaken appearances. He releases a deep breath. He nods at our tears and closes his eyes.
"Don't forget them," he says; his voice soft as he turns toward his designated table.
The solemn moment is broken when voices burst through the other side of our shelter. It's the Hawthorne children, crying happy tears of cathartic joy. Their beautiful faces seem to purify all of the terrible visions that my mind refuses to lose.
I watch as Posy throws herself against Gale's legs, first. He releases a slight shout of pain as she presses into his injured leg. Rory and Vick both hug their brother tightly from opposing sides, forcing him to grab each in a shaking arm. Gale is crying profusely now. I haven't seen this side of him since we were children. This pure elation is unlike anything I have witnessed.
Hazelle approaches slowly, her face blotchy with tears. I haven't seen her cry in years. She's too strong for that, but here she is in full force. She presses both of her hands to Gale's cheeks and kisses his face repeatedly, murmuring assurances to him. It takes me a moment to realize I am crying again. The sob that wrenches through me alerts Hazelle to my presence as well. She trips over Posy as she approaches my tabletop. She presses her hands into my shoulders, pulling me to her chest so that she can kiss my face.
"Beautiful girl, oh darling I knew you were strong enough to get them out," she says into my mangled hair. I grip her shoulders as I sob against her soft, warm body. Over her shoulder I see my father finally stumble through the white barrier. His eyes settle on me in an instant. When he reaches me, Hazelle slips away and my father's sturdy body fills the space that she vacates.
"I never lost hope, I knew you would come back," my father runs his shaking palms over me as he whispers to me. I am almost delirious with happiness form seeing his face. It seems like I arrived at this moment in a blur of action. The scenes clog my brain as I fight to keep my eyes on my father's smiling face.
"I love you," I choke out. It's the only thing I have to say.
A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Sorry that this update came a week later than I predicted. There were some unexpected life occurrences! Thanks again and let me know if you have any suggestions.
