14: Digging
Since George and Michael were required to be back on work duty that night, George found him asleep in his bunk, snoring loudly despite the pervasive noise of the rain drumming on the corrugated metal ceiling. It didn't seem fair to wake him, so George climbed into his own bunk, lying down and feeling the fatigue in his muscles starting to fade.
He thought at first that all the thoughts whirling in his head would mean it was impossible to sleep, but physical tiredness from the day took over and he fell asleep quickly. Like Michael, he managed to sleep soundly until the siren went off to wake the shift.
"Wakey wakey," Michael said, sounding tired as he grabbed George's ankle to make sure he got up.
"Michael, we need to talk," George said urgently, getting out of bed and stretching, but staying close so he wouldn't be overheard. There was a general din of people either getting out of bed like them, or about to go to sleep, so there wasn't much risk of anyone being able to hear them. "I've got big news."
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Michael asked, scratching the back of his head.
"No, we've got to talk tonight," George replied, and they slowly started making their way to the door, joining the general tide of people.
"Alright. Just after the lunch break, come and get me, make up an excuse," Michael said. "I'll make it right with the others."
It was pitch dark outside, but for the powerful floodlights which lit the compound, day and night, and as well as the noise of machinery, the noise of the insects and animals in the jungle could be heard too. Now that George thought they might be only a few days away from actually getting to leave, he had started noticing little things that were a world away from his life back on campus. When you got away from the floodlights, the night sky and stars were much clearer, and the never-ending rumble of machinery was in contrast to the peace and quiet on campus at night.
The rain had stopped, and the general warmth meant the ground was rapidly turning into squishy soil rather than proper mud, so the walk to the mine shaft was much more pleasant. The rain had freshened the air and pulled the dust out of it, meaning George felt like he was breathing better. When he coughed, he was bringing up the fine red dust that was everywhere underground, and he was certain it wasn't healthy, but at least he hadn't developed the hacking cough that some of the older men had.
As they descended underground, swapping the darkness of the night for a different kind, George felt his usual churning fear. Now it really felt like they might be almost done, he was even more paranoid and afraid of having an accident or injuring himself, which would feel doubly bad given how close they were. As he lined up to receive his usual work assignment, the foreman paused.
"George, digging duty," he said, a tone of surprise in his voice.
"Really?" George asked. "Are you sure?"
He double checked his list and then nodded. "Yeah, man, says right here."
"Nah, must be a mistake," Michael said, from over George's shoulder. "He's only little."
"Hurry it up!" someone yelled from the back of the queue. "We haven't got all night!"
There were a few laughs, but George's stomach felt cold.
"Says here, black and white. If you've got a problem, you can go and wake someone up, but they're just as likely to kick your ass," the foreman said, shrugging.
Michael grabbed George's shoulder as they walked away and bent down to talk to him, although it was partly due to entering the low tunnels.
"Don't sweat it, you're tough from all your training. Just take things slow and easy and you'll get there."
The path they took was unfamiliar to George, and to make matters worse, he'd been assigned to a different team from Michael, which meant he'd be working with a group of older guys from a different part of the facility. They took one look at George and definitely seemed hostile.
"He's a shrimp, we'll have to do all the work," one of them said, shaking his head with contempt.
"Management again, always ruining it when we've got a good thing going," another man said, slapping his fist hard into his other gloved hand.
"Hey, lads, don't worry, I'll swap with him," a voice said from behind George, and one of the older boys from Michael's team stepped over. "I figure he probably wants to stay with his mate."
This suited everyone and, feeling cascades of relief, George retreated back to where Michael was standing.
"You owe me one," Michael whispered to him. "Or, more like ten. That's cost me pretty much all the money I have."
"Thanks," George said, sincerely, and Michael just slapped him on the shoulder.
"C'mon, let's go. You've got a lot of learning to do."
George's usual job was by no means a cup of tea, but the hardest it ever got, physically, was occasionally giving a cart a push to get it rolling, or moving a heavy lump of fallen rock. George quickly discovered that digging was far more punishing than anything he'd experienced before, including Basic Training.
In a modern mine, digging through solid rock is done by controlled explosives and hi-tech cutting tools, minimising both the physical effort and the risk of accidents. But explosives and tools cost money, while the workers were being paid about twelve cents an hour. The foremen just handed out pickaxes and shovels and expected them to get to work.
Digging through solid rock was back-breaking work and, although Michael did what he could to cover for George and show him what to do, they needed to meet their quota and nobody wanted to do more than their fair share. George's respect for Michael increased about a hundred times when he saw the big guy swinging his axe, shattering lumps of rock in one blow, where George's best efforts would just cause a loud clanging noise and vibrations running up the length of his arms. The noise was incredible, making George's ears ring, and you had to shout at the top of your voice to even be heard. Clouds of dust and pulverised rock hung in the air, making his chest feel tight and his lungs hurt, and the muscles in his back were screaming for relief.
"Half an hour done, man," Michael shouted at him, giving him another thump on the shoulder which only reminded George of the ache. "Good start."
"I can't do it, Michael," George shouted back at him. "It's too hard." He bit his lower lip to fight back tears.
Michael caught the eye of the team leader, who nodded to excuse him for a minute. He turned and knelt down in front of George.
"This is tough, but you're tougher," Michael said, as gently as he could while still shouting. "Remember?"
George nodded, and Michael gave him a grin.
"Just get an image in your mind of what you're gonna do when we get out of here. Focus on that," Michael advised, picking up his axe again. "Take each minute as it comes."
George felt energised, trying to focus on his long-overdue swimming session, but even lifting the pickaxe up high enough to swing took a huge effort and he had nothing left in the tank to swing it with any force. It bounced ineffectually off the rock face and George had to pause to rest.
"Try this," Michael said, pulling the pickaxe away from George and handing him a shovel. "Move the rock into the cart. It's a lot easier, but try not to slow down too much."
Usually each digger was responsible for shovelling their own rock into a cart, which gave them a pause from constant rock-breaking, but Michael allowed George to do all of his shovelling, while he tried to keep up with two quotas. This suited George a lot better, since although lifting the rock was heavy and put a lot of strain on his shoulders and lower back, he could at least do it, no matter how much his biceps complained.
After two hours, when the first water break arrived, it was all George could do to keep standing. His mouth was dry as a bone, and when it was his turn with the water, he drank all he could, ignoring the dusty taste and all of the grit that got into his mouth.
"Good man, keep it up," Michael said, resting with his hands on his hips. "One quarter is done."
"I don't know if I can keep going another six hours," George said, dreading it. "I'm already hurting all over."
"Best workout I know," Michael grinned. "Don't worry, though, we're slightly ahead of quota and it gets easier later. Just stay positive, tell yourself you can do it."
This was another basic psychological trick they'd learnt in training. A positive mind-set made difficult tasks easier, like counting down how many more press-ups you still had to do rather than counting from one upwards. George, like every Cherub, had been made to repeat karate drills and exercises until he puked, but that was in the open air of the training compound. The cramped, noisy, dirty environment he was in now was completely different, and he needed every trick in the training manual to help him.
Digging was also significantly more dangerous. Apart from the ever-present danger of the tunnel collapsing altogether, burying everyone under thousands of tons of rock, each blow from a pickaxe split the rock in an unpredictable way, and there was a constant danger of rocks unexpectedly falling and hitting arms or heads, or rolling onto feet and ankles and legs. Over the past six months, George had seen a variety of these kinds of injuries being evacuated from the mine shaft; crushed feet, arms gashed open and broken, unconscious workers with mangled helmets. Now he was facing the reality of that happening to him, any moment he had time for thoughts other than focusing on the shovel, he was flooded with images of the injuries he was certain to get. He was so tired, he wasn't even sure he'd have the energy to dodge if something did fall towards him. On the other hand, there was the added possibility that, if the injury was serious but minor enough not to do any lasting damage, it would get him out of having to do any more digging. It was a symptom of how hard he was finding it that he started fantasising about a rock breaking his arm, needing to be carried out of the tunnels and up to the surface, staying in the infirmary for a couple of weeks. The fact that broken arms frequently led to amputation or permanent disability was starting to seem like a price worth paying.
"Keep it up, we're getting there," Michael roared at him, bringing another huge blow from his pickaxe down onto the rock face, driving the point deep into a crack that was developing. "You're doing great."
George managed a weak smile, but he knew the physical toll was getting the better of him. Basic Training had been unbelievably harsh, something that, at the time, he'd been convinced he wouldn't be able to survive, but he'd come through it and, looking back, all of those brutal training sessions had been replaced with fond memories of spending time with Letty and overcoming the challenges. Right now, he couldn't see how this would ever turn into a fond memory, but he knew it would be over eventually and he just had to grind it out until that time came.
"Watch out," someone shouted as a lump of rock fell from the face and landed with a smash on the floor, breaking off several small chunks. "Looks like a good one, there."
Michael swivelled and brought his axe down on the huge chunk, hard, breaking it up into smaller, more manageable pieces for George. "There you go, sunshine," he shouted, giving George a thumbs-up. A cloud of dust had filled the air, and George's mouth was full of it, so he didn't reply as he rubbed his tongue as clean as he could on the inside of his shirt, tasting salty sweat, and got back to work.