chapter thirty-seven, terrifying Tuesday:5thnovember2013 the bucket
The next part I find surprising, and everything thus-far has appeared quite mundane eh?
We move to the banister where it's hinged, Graham pulls a lever out of the wall, it pivots and becomes a handle. He cranks the handle with a series of clicks, it turns easily in his hand and as he winds it we hear the cranks and the teeth of the wheel moving together, rustily clicking, as the pulley system begins to winch the bucket towards us. He smiles as he does it, so how bad can it be? Really?
BH, half-pass to the left.
We hear banging from outside the door, they are persistently trying to get through, and I’m hoping the door is as tough as it looks. But in this story, few things are what they seem eh?
HC collected trot.
Closer and closer the bucket comes within reach. 'Bang!' We hear rapid gunfire and, shouting, these men begin to hate each other, greed will do that. We have no idea what’s really happened behind us in the tunnels, but it's putting strain on their relationships, with some members perhaps dead or injured their group dynamic will have altered, putting further strain on them. I take a welcome soft velvet swig of warm brown bourbon. Better. “There’s just this one way down?” I ask wiping my hand across my mouth, it's not pretty, I’d be the first to agree, and if her Majesty were here I’d get a clip around the ear from my Mum. But I’m not altogether myself when under stress, and who is? Wondering if I really have to get into that miners bucket. I bloody well hope not, but hoping isn't doing is it?
“There’s an old iron ladder riveted into the walls all the way down to the bottom,” Graham tells me, “wouldn’t trust it though, it’s decayed with damp.” That's settled then.
“And it'd take hours of climbing in the dark to get to the ground.” Barbara adds, it's then I decide the bucket sounds like fun. I offer my flask around, Mum taught us to share. Surprised everyone takes a sip maybe I'm not the only bucket-shy member of this group, difference is, why hide it? I shake my flask once returned, and what was once a happily mostly filed weighty container, is now unnervingly light.
Note to self, ignore some ill advice about sharing.
Bloody hell.
“I was thinking about our friends on the other side of the door,” I indicate with my head whilst still holding my torch on the bucket and my flask in the other hand. “If they decide to follow, they can?” I sort of ask. I check my phone, not for the first time, still no signal, bugger, I’d really like to speak to Mum.
A small explosion pops a dent in the door from the other side, “they're serious, but that door will take a lot of abuse before it gives us up.” Says Nigel, he swings the hinged section of the balustrade away and hooks it back on itself with a reassuringly loud ‘clink’.
I take Daniels hand and squeeze it hard, he smiles at me “come, sit with me, let’s go,” he pulls me close to him and together we step across the gap into the bucket. We stand as central as we can to balance the device, it hangs on two great bolted strong metal straps in a square 'U' shape from several heavy ship grade anchor weight chains. It swivels slightly and the feeling that it could tip us up never escapes me, because of course it’s used to swivelling, it’s probably how the mined gold or people are dumped out or loaded in, at one end. We embark quickly and quietly, distribute ourselves equidistant around the perimeter of the oval shape container and sit slowly on a flimsy looking shelf, welded and bolted to the perimeter, about forty centimetres from its bottom. It’s like a scarier version of those happy little spinning tea cups with rosy pink flowers painted along the side sitting in a cheery saucer that you ride in at the fair, and I really don’t like those. Mad horses yes, little teacups swirling to piped music, I don’t like. And don't get me started on carousels either, pitifully skewered painted horses forced to go round and round for eternity. Well, that's just cruel.
Happy for my hip flask, I take another welcome swig and return it to the top of my bag, just in case. Stan has the controller in his hand, presses the time-worn and cracked rubber covered button it looks almost perished, but still it works, nothing happens for a few seconds, then a distant 'Kerchunk'! And slowly and jerkily, we begin to descend.
“...and the moonbeams kiss the sea....” deep breaths, snap my band, and carry on, or at least try. Just as we're a few metres from the rim, we see a great puff of brown smoke and debris from above and hear a very loud crashing sound. Then heads appear around the edge of the rim above out heads, looking down on us and the barrels of guns appear one by one, six of them in total. All different.
“Six men left,” says Graham, “torches off people!” He orders, we of course snap to it, because that's the tone of the command. They fire blindly into the darkness below, then suddenly, everything changes. We are rocked by a small flash followed by two small explosions, our small miners bucket swings a little, side to side, I hold Daniels hand tight. Graham and Stan exchange pleased looks, Nigel nods his head smugly, it is his trap they have triggered, what? It has reduced the number of foe, but by how many? Maths isn't my strong point but less is definitely better than more in this case.
After the cloud above has cleared and the loose bits of rock and dust has finished falling on us, our transport stops swinging and my mind stills a little. My heart slows to a respectable tempo and I suddenly miss my drum kit.“...what are all these kissing’s worth, if thou kiss not me...” not even Shelley is helping, and usually it does.
Our torches flick back on, in the dark one by one because there's a strange eeriness down here. “Three men now,” says Stan, “three weapons, one is Carlos, I can smell his aftershave.” Me too, it's cheap and potent, probably a Christmas present from his Mother. It’d be cheaper to shower. True story.
I’m filled with a sudden sense of relief at still being alive as a final wave of bullets comes crashing down around us. Nope, my hope they'd run out of ammo goes unanswered by the universe, they’ve still got bullets, and I feel extreme heat suddenly on my thigh. I reach down and feel a damp spot, must have been dripped on from the roof I guess. Feel slightly queasy, but otherwise OK.
Through the thundering repetitive crashing of bullets around us, amplified by the space, the sound is deafening. “Ow!” I turn and Kurt’s been hurt, I swipe my phone and in the gentle glow from the screen I can see blood through his fingers as he grips his arm, “you OK?” I mouth.
He nods, being brave is something he does well. “Yes, I’m OK, been shot before.” Kurt admits with a small degree of pride, “the bleeding will stop soon, I just need to tie it off, with a tourniquet, can you help me?” Yes, but no too as you'll now learn.
I take my McQueen bandanna from my bag, it's the only suitable thing I have, what choice is there?.....I’m actually asking. Tie it tight over his wound, black with skull print, I love this scarf. “I want it back when you’ve done with it.” I tell him quite sternly, not caring at all for any pain the poor chap might be in, it's McQueen, that's all I'm saying. He laughs at my sense of style even in an emergency. Dry cleaned mind. I'm feeling a deep sense of loss. Bloody hell.
“I’ll make certain he buys you a new one.” laughs Liza, fawning over the poor man and he milks it for all its worth, good for him. That's not the point.....
“Ow! That hurts” he fakes pain. Return my scarf or you'll know what pain is buster!
Daniel jabs him swiftly in the ribs to shut up. We can hear raised voices from above, shouting, yelling, ordering. Clearly not happy, they can’t stop the descent of our bucket thankfully, we have the controller with us unplugged cleverly by Nigel, and the mechanisms for the pulley too high up in the ceiling shaft to be easily accessible to sabotage. We continue down, it's been three minutes, seventeen more to go. They cease fire finally.
Where's my flask?
Stan turns on his military grade flash light, and directs it above, they've found the rungs of the ladder, and are climbing down, now we know why the gunfire has stopped peppering the walls all around us, they can’t fire and climb.
Good.
“Violent desperate people do stupid things,” Graham says, taking Barbara’s hand. “It'll take them at least half an hour to climb down that way, and they'll need very strong arms and willpower to keep hanging there for that long.” And with that thought clear in our heads, we begin to sing songs from grease for the next fifteen minutes, passing around a flask of tea and KitKats, like we're in the 'fun bus' going on a school trip. Determined not to give a solitary bad thought to the guys trying to chase us down, nothing gets between us and a tea break. It's just how we roll people.
The 'bin' with us in, suddenly stops about four feet from the dirt ground at the bottom of the shaft. Stan steps out first and holds it steady and we all pile out. Nigel points his light up the ladder, the beam only pierces a certain way into the pitch black darkness above and we can’t see anyone coming down.
“OK people, follow us.” Graham takes Barbara’s hand and leads her away, after a short distance there's another grab-handle in a recess in the rock, he grabs the grimy yellow bar and pulls it down. There's a very loud 'Clunk' which echoes around a great hall of a cavern who's ceiling is so far above my head its incalculable to me. Henry's voice would love the acoustic here. We hear a motor whirr to life, and a light flickers on above another huge door, this time a double door, wide black and yellow diagonal striped tape sticks to its surface. It's torn and sections stuck seemingly at random, I miss it at first then as I move my torch closer, it reads 'HELL'. Not sure if anyone else has seen the pattern, I just switch off my light and stow it, saying nothing.
Daniel is behind me in the dim light, nuzzling my neck, oh no....not here.
There's a keypad unit at the side of the door recessed into the frame, Graham enters a code and it beeps as he keys it in a little tune, and each side of frame welcomes its door into the mechanism with a grinding noise of metal on metal, the heavy doors slide sideways.
C, halt, immobility rein back 5 paces.
As the doors fully disappear into the wall a light beyond automatically comes on in the room on the other side, and what we see there is so completely unexpected, it takes us all by surprise. We don’t speak for ages, all except Graham and Barbara who chat casually about dinner and downloads, we don't pay attention apart from the dinner part. We shuffle through the doorway and stand in a surprising space, massive, brilliantly lit, with clean white light, from every direction. Smells medically clean like a dentist’s office, and it's chilly too. The double doors glide slowly and meet behind us with a great reassuring ‘Clunk.’ Satisfied we’re safe, if only for now, we begin to relax a little.
Bloody hell, if I ever needed tea, it is now. How do I get some?
Graham swipes a unit on our side and a very loud ‘whirr’ and a little glowing green box with the word 'LOCKED' on it tells me the door is secure. “No one's getting through that door, and the ladder out there? Has a twelve foot gap two thirds of the way down, if they make it that far, it’s too far to jump and only the fittest people could climb back up.” If they get to the ground, they'll fine a few crates of mined gold that they can attempt to retrieve, that should keep them happy, it’s a few thousand pounds worth.
I've ceased caring at this point, my thumping head is in withdrawal. Tea? None of us are really listening, we're locked in place, stuck to the floor like a nightmare when you can’t move dispute your best efforts, probably because we need tea. The room is huge, like an underground aeroplane hangar, brightly lit with fluorescent tubing everywhere, the floors and walls are tiled pale grey, slope gently toward a drain in the centre of the room. Wonder what that's for?
A bank of computers with huge flat screens lie dormant along a section of workspace.
There must be a kitchen somewhere here?
Along the west wall there are three glass walled offices with white desks and chairs in them, all empty. Ladder racks from floor to almost ceiling twenty metres above our heads at the lowest point, stand filled with books and folders. A sliding ladder on wheels sits idly by waiting to be moved across the racks.
Or even just a kettle, I have teabags in my bag, I’ll make it work.
One huge screen possibly a hundred inch TV sized sits flat to the wall and Graham speaks, “computer on!” His voice command activates the screen to life and what we see is the same ship and eagle logo that appears on the screens at RANDom denim. And icons along the bottom waiting to be touched into a task.
There's no teacup shaped icon, damn, just a dream I was having.
Graham turns to the room smiles at his wife, and all of us still stand there disbelieving at this clean ultra-modern space. “This is the real treasure,” Barbara says to Daniel and Kurt. Tea? My hopes suddenly raise? “This is our research facility, and...Let’s eat, have some tea, and we'll talk over dinner.” Thank goodness for that.
After a little first aid is administered to the nick on my thigh and the wound on Kurt, we're slurping merrily at our second cuppa, we will soon eat a surreal family dinner. Certain I can make gunfire distressed denim a new trend I am satisfied I’m OK. Silence around the little meeting table prevails, weird since there's so much to ask. But this isn't my family, you can't shut up us Charles'. A meal all together, when was the last time that happened I wondered? They don’t seem to know what to say to each other and the awkward silence hangs like a layer of smoke over the room.
I check my phone, still no signal, how far underground are we? Determined not to give it more thought as a headache begins to bloom renewed inside my grey matter. I need more tea, badly, likely you guessed that by now eh?
Barbara leads us to the end office, come in she tells us, she takes a miniature remote from her jeans pocket, presses the 'key' button. And just as at RANDom, the wall falls away, glides neatly and swiftly slotting into each other like a giant puzzle. This must be the newer version I think, it glides more smoothly than Daniels one. A gaping huge hole in the wall lights up from within and an uninviting kitchen and dining room lies beyond.
It’s so fantastically white and sci-fi, I can’t help being impressed.
Inside the kitchen we all sit around the table a gloss white finish, long and narrow, would undoubtedly sit about twenty people, a medical looking room, wipe clean and sanitised. I am very uncomfortable here, and my headache is returning with a vengeance, I rub my temples I vain, the thoughts need to escape, and there’s nowhere for them to go. This homogenised environment is like torture to us creatives.
The cupboards are a wet look optic white, push open no handles, and the tiles flat, matte and white, we look at each other silently, like the people we've spent the last hours with are strangers. “Mum, tell me what this place is.” Asks Kurt tenting his fingers nervously in front of him on the table, looking worryingly at their older brother James. Daniel waits, hoping for some recognition of an answer, but of course he has none, he has just asked what we all want to know. Glancing at Kurt first, then Daniel and James she begins her story, with a small degree of pride.
“This old house is built over a gold mine with a dubious local history.” She looks around at us all, “its bad legend and hooey mythology, all fiction, a fabrication to keep people away from the gold.”
“We know that already.” Says Daniel, clearly frustrated and a little cross a being kept waiting for an explanation from his Mother. Perhaps they don't get on?
His father looks at him, unmistakably disappointed at the interruption, clearly he’s been alone far too long. “A passed down narrative of sheer fantasy,” adds Graham with a glare at Daniel, “to be kept alive to protect what laid down here.” Graham takes over telling the story now he’s on a roll. They overlap and finish each other’s sentences, it’s quite cute actually.
“We decided to use this to our advantage, the perfect place to keep a secret lab, is somewhere nobody will already dare to go.” Says Barbara taking a mouthful of water from a cup, “it's perfect.” Yes, I decide, this is the perfect secret lair for a bond villain, and can't stop myself wondering where the fluffy white cat is. Then I check myself, I don’t think the Pearce senior’s would like pets, they'd get fluff all over the divans, it’s then I decide I don’t care much for them in that case. Besides, where would you install the flap all the way down here?
Barbara is agitating the pan of pad-tai stir-fry, and swirling it around with a huge clear spoon, the smells are making me hungry. Bean sprouts, onions, water chestnuts, mushrooms, yellow peppers, a dash of soy and noodles steaming in another pan. Doesn't take much more than the smell of food to make me feel instantly better, suspect it won't last though eh? We have Perspex clear tumblers set out for us, tall cylinders containing water. Neoprene white round coasters sit on the table ready for the meal. The cutlery is clear nylon, long pointed handles, moulded and very strong. We all take a sip of the cool water, it tastes so fresh.
Pointing with a tumbler of water Barbara adds, “that’s what we're doing down here,” taking another sip of water then toasting the air with it, “water.” With that Barbara tosses the steaming hot noodles to the pan and stirs it all up to perfection. Yum.
“There’s a short supply of clean water out here, and after discovering the underground stream we decided to pipe it to the surface for drinking water and to irrigate the villages. We began simply in our own garden, after a complex filtering process to remove all the lead poisons and impurities, it can now be drunk, and that’s what you're drinking now.” We all look at the beakers in our hands instinctively, and put them down, just in case.
It's perfectly safe,” and Graham drains his cup to the bottom.” With a laugh.
“We're ready for the next phase in our development,” explains Barbara, “increasing the pipeline to one village as a trial, then the plan is to pipe it all over the region.” She has the monomaniacal expression of a Bond villain, someone so wrapped up in her own plans and Chanel no.5. Everything else is secondary, and futile because life interferes with plans, and so do people. Obviously sons aren't immune to that lifestyle choice either. Suddenly I vow not to groan at my Mums requests for our appearances, she loves us, which is very clear. These boys? Poor buggers.
In my mind I picture her sitting in a padded swing chair with wing armrests stroking a fluffy white cat, but something tells me she wouldn’t like cats, its then I decide I probably don’t like her.
“We'll be giving drinking water to people, livestock and animals, and irrigation water for crops, they’ve never had this before.” I am deciding whether I believe her or not, glance at Daniels rapt face I decide I will, for now, she did mention animals.
“Once the water is successfully in place,” she looks to me with an expression of someone trying to gain access to my thoughts, “the remote villages should prosper and we can help them develop into healthy places to live.” Graham pours himself more water from a giant glass pitcher standing central on the table. Barbara brings over hot bowls of noodles to everyone and we eat, so hungry, we barely say a word all meal. Slurping sauce from around our lips as we endeavour to eat slippery noodles with decorum and elegance. Try it, it's harder than it looks.
Barbara strikes me as the type of woman who judges a person by their table manners and etiquette. If I had a bread roll I’d cut it with my knife, and neatly fold my napkin, just to test my theory! Sounds mean? I would only consider such drastic tactics with care at selecting my victim, and be certain she deserved it.
“This is where you have been Dad? All this time?” Daniel looks at his Father, pain and confusion clear in his expression.
“Yes son, keeping all this danger from your doorstep, so you can get on with your life.” He looks around the table, “at your lives.” He looks happy with himself, “besides, I like it here.” My suspicions are that he just wanted to work alone and his children would just have gotten in his way, the idol, the gold, all adding a layered authentication to his story. But the truth, I suspect, is they both just wanted away from their lives, for a while. I’m suddenly cross with these people for leaving their sons without a word or a sign. It’s selfish, but this isn’t my family. I find myself needing to speak to my own Mum, she cares so much, and though her constant digs at my appearance are wearing, she isn’t wrong about my hair, it’s a mess, I check out my reflection in the side of my beaker, yep, she’s right.
Note to self, get my hair sorted, and actually do it this time.
“You’re thinking about your Mum?” Pete whispers to me, “I can tell.” I wink at her. “And yes, your hair is messy,” she smiles at me, “but I like it.” And spoons another delicious forkful of noodles in her mouth delicately, Barbara looks pleased, yes, Pete would be her perfect choice for a daughter in law.
Returning my head to the conversation, I find myself cross at all the loss of life for this.
“Danger,” I pause for a sip of water, not able to still my tongue any longer, “it came anyway. “ I say finishing a mouthful of noodles, I’m taking my time. “Like a hammer to a nail, banging the heads down, trying to bend us all to its will, I for one, fail to see how a pit of gold, a little golden idol and water is worth all these lives.” I take another fork full of sprouts, quite pleased with myself.
“Because it's worth millions of dollars, that’s why.” Barbara snaps. Clearly angry, but at herself, so I remain silent. She's sorry for leaving the boys in the dark about their Father I can read it in her eyes as she looks at me, it’s not telepathy, it's just instinct. But it's still not good enough, she should be sorrier.
Note to self, call Mum.
“Is the kettle on Barbara?”