Abandon

FIFTY-EIGHT

G

loria and Rosalyn sat against the rock wall, holding each other and listening to the burgeoning chaos near the iron door, where twenty armed men had gathered after hearing gunshots in the passage. But that had been some time ago. The men were growing antsy.

Someone said, “Time we rain hell on some red niggers.”

“Preacher said to wait until—”

“And what if that fire escape’s already lost his hair? Considered that? Sounded like quite a powder-burnin contest out there.”

“Mason, get up here and bring the key with ye! We done waitin!”

Gloria watched the unassuming smith push his way through the cluster of miners, heading to the iron door.

“What’d you say?”

She couldn’t see Stetler, who was surrounded by the mob of taller men, but his voice rose above the bedlam, far deeper and louder than his size seemed to accord.

“Said we need the key to this door. I do believe that’s the only way to open it from inside.”

“You see a keyhole there, Will?”

“What are you talkin about?”

“Preacher asked for the key, and I give it to him. What’s it matter anyway? This door only opens from the outside.”

“The fuck you do that for?”

“He asked for it!”

“Jesus. He gets himself kilt, how we gonna get out?”

Stetler ran his fingernails over the rippled surface of his bald head, which glistened with rivulets of sweat.

A miner said, “We better find some bang juice and powder. Blow that hunk a iron off its hinges.”

One of the Godsend’s dynos said, “Y’all not see this door when we come in? It’s a inch thick. Amount a powder it’d take to blow it open, be a long chance this whole damn mine didn’t come down on us.”

Gloria turned to Rosalyn, whispered, “I can’t listen to them anymore. Will you stroke my hair if I put my head in your lap? Like you was doin before?”

“Of course, honey. Come here.”