Abandon

FIFTY-FIVE

A

s Lawrence rapped his knuckles on the iron, Abigail’s headlamp shone on the surface of a door so overrun with rust, it resembled brown mold. It stood closed and locked by means of a thick crossbar held in place with a padlock the size of a small shield.

Quinn reached into his down jacket and pulled out the key.

“Full disclosure, Lawrence. How’d you find this place?”

“On my final day last fall, I climbed up the east side of the canyon to take a picture of the ghost town from above, and happened to stumble upon this mine. You have to understand—at the time, I was so absorbed in my search for Oatha and Billy’s claim hole that I didn’t think twice about this shaft. Besides, there are countless mines above Abandon. Figured it wasn’t anything special. But if you found that key in Bart’s suite, and it fits that lock . . . Shit, my heart must be going a hundred miles an hour.”

“I know, mine, too.” Quinn held up the key. “Shall I?”

“Absolutely.”

Quinn slipped the key into the hole.

“Is it working?”

“Don’t know yet. The mechanism feels pretty stiff, so I’m going slow. Don’t wanna break it off.” Quinn carefully turned the key. “I think it’s working.” He slid the padlock out of the crossbar and set it down. “Jeez, that’s heavy. Help me with this, Lawrence.” The two men lifted the crossbar out of the deep iron brackets and dropped it on the rock.

With the crossbar gone, the door was naked save for a small lever on the right side near the rock, which appeared to function as a doorknob.

Lawrence lifted the lever.

From inside came the rusted squeak of a bolt moving.

The door swung inward and clanged against the rock, a strong, cold draft sweeping in, the mountain sucking air deep into itself, as if trying to breathe.

“Unbelievable,” Lawrence whispered as Abigail felt June’s grasp tighten around her hand.

“Lawrence, when did you first come to Abandon?” Quinn asked.

“Nineteen seventy-nine.”

“You’ve got me beat. Do the honors.”

Lawrence crossed the threshold, Quinn following close behind. As she entered, Abigail moved her headlamp along the walls, saw a grouping of holes in a sweep of unblasted rock, the product of a day spent double-jacking more than a hundred years ago.

She heard Lawrence gasp, and she broke away from June and went to her father’s side. “What’s wrong?” His headlamp was trained on an alcove fifteen feet off to the right of the iron door, his dimming light illuminating a collection of tattered burlap sacks, ten in all. Lawrence unclipped his backpack, took a deep, trembling breath, then limped into the alcove and knelt on the rocky floor. He reached into one of the sacks. His head dropped.

“What?” Quinn said. “They empty?”

Lawrence chucked something through the darkness.

A brick of solid gold thudded on the rock at Abigail’s feet. Then another. And another. She reached down, picked one up. The bar looked small in her hand, but it felt disproportionately heavy for its size, the yellow metal gleaming under her lamp, its surface marred with chinks and divots, cold as a block of ice.

“You’re holding more than two hundred and eighty thousand dollars right there,” Quinn said.

Lawrence wept.

Abigail went to him in the alcove, asked, “What is it?”

He shook his head. “Waited a long time for this.”

Quinn had been rifling through the sacks. “I count sixty-one bricks,” he said.

Lawrence closed his eyes as he did the math. “Almost eighteen million. God, my whole body is tingling. Look at that.” His right hand shook in the beam of his headlamp.

Abigail glanced over her shoulder, saw June wandering off into another part of the mine.

“I’m gonna go check on her,” she said.

Abigail struggled to her feet, walked over to June, found her staggering through the dark, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Abigail asked. “You okay?”

When June looked back, her face had gone pallid and chalky, her eyes sunken, the small woman as bloodless as a cadaver.

She turned suddenly and vomited on the rock.