Page 128 of The 9th Man

Another face appeared, but withdrew before Luke could fire.

A whispered voice said, “Twelve feet down on the right.”

A moment later from the opposite side of the shaft an arm popped out. Clenched in the fist was a flashbang grenade.

Luke ran.

He reached the tunnel bend and heard the grenade bounce off the floor and clatter toward him. He dropped to his knees, covered his ears, and squeezed shut his eyes.

He felt awhompin his belly.

The tunnel exploded in blinding white light.

He uncovered his ears. Over the residual ringing he heard a muffled voice say “—has to come out somewhere. Find it and cut him off.”

He’d gotten his wish. He definitely had their attention.

He started down the tunnel, his headlight beam bouncing off the walls. The route curved left, then right, before straightening again. In his mind he brought up the mining camp’s layout and decided he was somewhere between the headframe and the ore building, heading toward the meadow’s northern slope.

The tunnel floor angled down.

The air cooled.

In the distance gunfire began again.

He picked up his pace.

Ceiling stanchions appeared along the walls, and stone gave way to rough-hewn planking. The floor now angled upward and came to a stop at a rock wall. Affixed to the face by pitons was a ladder. He placed his boot on the first rung and tested.

It held.

He turned off his headlamp and slowly ascended, one rung at a time.

He emerged in another horizontal shaft, this one wider and taller, at an intersection, judging by the rail tracks disappearing down four smaller side tunnels.

He stood still and listened.

More gunfire.

Still in the distance.

He chose one of the tunnels and started walking. After fifty yards he found himself standing before another rock wall, this one rising into a double-wide shaft. A pair of equally wide ladders bolted to the rock led into the darkness. A gust of cold air poured over his face. There was an opening up there, a big one. Maybe a construction entrance to the old processing plant.

He’d been going in the wrong direction.

He returned to the intersection, closed his eyes for a twenty-count, then opened them again. He spotted a faint speck of green and jogged toward the light. Soon the mine entrance came into view.

The sound of gunfire increased.

He picked up his pace.

Then froze.

A flashlight had clicked on. In its glow he saw a pair of legs standing just outside the entrance.

“Check it,” a voice said.

Legs shifted. A torso appeared beneath the lowermost slat followed by a head. The flashlight beam skimmed toward Luke. He backed up and pressed himself into the wall.

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