Chapter 27: On My Way

3:45 p.m.

Somewhere outside Carbondale, PA

The hand currently keeping Flint from falling to his doom was surprisingly solid and strong. Flint didn't expect that from the old man. As Duncan gripped Flint's wrist, the younger man couldn't help but marvel at the older man's strength, which was otherwise belied by Duncan's frail appearance. Flint felt sheepish for having doubted Duncan when he shouted, "I've got you!" as the bridge gave way beneath Flint's feet.

After splitting off from his team, Flint had followed Duncan into the heart of the mine, losing track of up and down, right and left until all he could do was rely solely on the man setting pace up front. Duncan was as nimble as a mountain goat, and there was no denying his knowledge of the tunnels. Nor could Flint swat away the thought that the tunnels knew Duncan. He would later swear that upon passing through what looked to be an abandoned stretch, the dusty walls sighed and reached out for their long-lost friend. It was almost rather eerie the way the rocks seemed to part for the old miner. Duncan took no notice and kept up his frenetic pace. He was doing his best to keep them far away from the suffocating smoke and flames spreading through the mine tunnels. Flint found himself opening his mouth a few times to question their direction, but backed off. He knew that in the end, the best thing he could do was just shut up and keep up.

The men, after descending down a particularly treacherous path, came upon three tunnels branching out in different directions. Duncan stopped, pulling a soiled handkerchief from his back pocket. Wiping it across his brow with a muffled grunt, he stuck his right index finger into his mouth and drew it out with a loud pop. Holding his finger aloft, he closed his eyes in deep concentration. Flint wondered what supernatural forces he was summoning from the depths of the mines. The air was still, absolutely still. With a small nod, Duncan wiped his finger with the handkerchief before folding it into a perfect square and shoving it back into his pocket. Duncan glanced at Flint. "The fire is hungry. It sucks the oxygen out of the air. Whatever way it's grabbing, we want to go the opposite." Lips pressed together, Duncan considered a thought. "Close your eyes and you can feel it too."

Indulging the old man, Flint closed his eyes, shifting his weight on his feet, feeling vulnerable. He half expected the old man to peel off his face, exposing the leering grin of Zartan underneath. It was a stupid thought; Flint knew instinctively that it wasn't Zartan leading him. Duncan was too much his own man. Still, he'd seen enough in his time with the Joes to rule it out entirely. As a matter of self-preservation, Flint peaked out through a half-closed eye.

"You don't trust me." Duncan scowled.

Embarrassed that he'd been caught, Flint tried to stammer out an excuse.

Duncan waved away Flint's words. "Fine, fine, I know what it looks like. I'm old, not blind. I'm not going to explain what I've done. That's for me to make my peace and it's none of your concern." He stopped, shaking his head. "And what they did. That's for me to answer for as well. But I'll get you to your friend. No one knows this place better than me. It will take your help though and I need to know I have it."

Flint scratched at that spot on his forehead just shy of his hairline. One, two, three. He weighed his options. Standing before him was a man drowning in his own guilt. Whatever Duncan's past transgressions, Flint felt it wasn't his place to judge. Duncan seemed to be doing a good enough job of that. All that mattered to Flint was the old miner's ability to get him to Jaye, and then to get them all out, alive. If Duncan was willing to put his life on the line to make that happen, that's all Flint needed. Flint's decision was made. He let go of his own dubious moral code and accepted the answer to his prayer. "You have it."

Duncan nodded once. "I need you to feel the mine, to understand it."

"Old Betsy?" Flint's mouth raised in a lopsided smile.

"Aye. That was a name me and the boys gave her when we first started working down here. When we were young and small, the miners would use us to get to the places they couldn't. We'd fetch supplies, retrieve lost tools. Sometimes we'd scout out new tunnels and routes. We gave a name to all the sections. This one here, she was Betsy. She seemed to like that. As we grew, so did Betsy. Deeper, wider, most could never keep up. Some tried," a shrug of the shoulder, "some died. Betsy just doesn't like to be alone for too long." The memory was gone and Duncan brought himself back to the present. "What they call you son?"

"Flint."

"Is that the name your mama gave you?"

"No sir, it's Dashiell."

"Dashiell, hmmm. Think I like Flint better. You're military, Army?"

"Yes."

"I can respect that. Navy myself. Wanted to save the world, and thought I might as well see some of it while I was at it."

Flint tilted his head trying to assess the when of Duncan's service.

"Enlisted right after Pearl Harbor. Me and the gang, well, we were too young, but the recruiter didn't mind so much. Saw the world. Enough to know that I liked it best here. But enough of this pussyfooting around. If you're going to go any further, you need to know that 'Ol Betsy demands respect. She'll tease you, you'll get comfortable. Don't get tricked. Know your place at all times. First is knowing where not to go. Where the wind is blowing? That's not where we want to go. Won't be no air and those flames are just itching for something that isn't made out of rock. So go on and close your eyes, hold your arms out if you need to and tell me which way the wind blows."

Flint obeyed, closing his eyes. Without thought, his arms floated out from his side, his left arm fully exposed from wrist to shoulder seam. He tried to block it all out, the thoughts running through his head. Slowly letting it go—the mission, Miller, Cobra's plans, Lady Jaye—that last one was the hardest. If he was going to find her, then he needed to set her aside for the moment and ignore any feelings of guilt that action might cause. All his thoughts were tucked into the back of his mind for later. Right now, he opened his senses and felt it, the hint of a stirring on the hairs of his arms. It was there, a gentle breeze ever so slight, brushing against his neck, continuing on to the right. Opening his eyes, Flint raised his right arm to point toward the tunnel they were about to head down. "That way."

Duncan's eyes gleamed. "Then we go this way."

As they walked, Duncan explained the terrain. How Flint could use the slope of rock to tell if he was walking toward the surface or further into the earth. The old miner pointed out hidden streams and rock variations that might signal other caves and passageways. Flint did his best to take it all in. He was concentrating more on Duncan's lessons than on the placement of his own two feet. They came across a deep chasm with a rickety wooden bridge spanning the gap. Duncan grabbed the rope handrails on either side and steadily made his way across, gently placing each foot down as the bridge shuddered under the force of his steps. Flint followed, his head moving in a sweeping arc as his eyes took in the enormity of space. It wasn't man-made. It was a natural cavern buried deep underground. Sharp, imposing stalactites dripped from the ceiling high above. Way down below, their massive cousins, stalagmites, protruded out of black waters. Flint chuckled in his head; Lady Jaye would hate this right now. He sure hoped Duncan had a better route home.

Flint plowed ahead, placing one foot per wooden plank, keeping pace with Duncan. At least he kept pace until he stepped down and then through a rotten board, which snapped like a dry twig under his weight. Flint lunged for the side, grabbing for the rope handrail. His fingers wrapped around it and then he was grabbing musty air when that too snapped. Trying to angle his body forward as he fell, the bridge bounced and swayed with the activity. Gravity was about to win until he heard Duncan's cry and felt the old man grip his wrist, pulling him back from the deep. Flint stopped his struggle and dangled for a moment, suspended high about the cold, dank water. Duncan's face was a grimace of pain, the veins bulging out of his neck and arms. Using all his strength, Flint threw his left arm up and over the board banging against his forehead. Duncan tugged on Flint's right arm as Flint leveraged his weight, pulling himself up back onto the bridge.

Pausing, spread eagle on the planks, Flint waited for his body to catch up with the beating of his heart. He crawled the remaining few feet to the other side, almost caressing the ground when the last bit of him cleared the bridge. Duncan stood with hands on his hips, waiting for Flint to calm down. When enough time had passed, Duncan prodded Flint with a boot, "Come on. I told you to respect Betsy. Be on guard, always."

Flint sharply saluted back from his prone position. Duncan gave another swift jab with his foot before reaching down to help Flint up.

Walking down the tunnel, Duncan quickened the pace. He called back to Flint. "We're close, just around this bend."

Flint raced on ahead, practically knocking Duncan down in his jubilance. At last. Then he hit the proverbial stone wall. Only in this case it was literal, and made out of the hardest Carbondale stone known to mankind. Flint fell back in a daze.

Duncan clicked his displeasure. "Hmmm, looks like 'Ol Betsy's not ready to give up." He reached a helping hand down to Flint.

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating- work has been crazy busy this summer with way too much travel. Always thought it would be easier to write on the road, but most of the time I just want to close my eyes and try to sleep. No more trips until October- so finishing up. Thanks again so much to everyone who's read and especially you guys who have taken time to leave a review. I really appreciate it.