Chapter 8 - The Warning Beneath Copper Jack Mountain
The first biscuit stuck.
Dorothy expected it.
She had tested on a six-foot bent pipe.
The mine ventilation line ran hundreds of feet.
Some sections sloped.
Some flattened.
Some joined at metal collars.
One obstruction could ruin the entire idea.
She did not panic.
“Pull it back.”
The engineer looked at her.
“How?”
Dorothy held up the twine tied around the cloth-wrapped biscuit.
“Until we know the line.”
They retrieved it.
The cloth had snagged.
Dorothy changed the wrapping.
“No knots.”
“How do you wrap without knots?” Bellamy asked.
“Fold.”
She demonstrated.
Tight.
Smooth.
Cylinder-shaped instead of round.
Caleb would have called it cheating.
The thought hit her unexpectedly.
Caleb.
Alive underground.
Maybe hurt.
Maybe thirsty.
Maybe listening to people above argue over biscuits.
Dorothy forced herself to focus.
She slid the second packet into the test pipe.
It passed.
Henry pushed it with a thin rod.
“Good.”
At the actual line, they used a longer flexible rod.
The packet moved twenty feet.
Then thirty.
Then resistance.
The engineer stopped.
“Joint.”
Dorothy’s stomach dropped.
“Can it pass?”
“Maybe smaller.”
She unwrapped the ration.
Cut away the edges.
Rewrapped.
Again.
This time the rod traveled.
Forty feet.
Seventy.
One hundred.
Then nothing.
“How long is the line?” Dorothy asked.
“About two hundred sixty to first chamber, another branch after.”
“We need to know where they are.”
Tom leaned toward the pipe.
“BEN! WE’RE SENDING FOOD. TAP IF YOU CAN REACH THE VENT OUTLET.”
They waited.
One knock.
Dorothy nearly laughed with relief.
“Then continue.”
At 11:40, the first ration packet reached underground.
They knew because the rod suddenly lost resistance.
Then a faint cheer traveled through the pipe.
Tom sat down on a rock.
He covered his face.
Dorothy immediately prepared another.
And another.
Bellamy watched.
“How many?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You’ll need hours.”
“Yes.”
“We have rescue work.”
“So do I.”
The biscuits had been made days earlier.
That saved them.
Dorothy’s strange habit.
Her unnecessary experiment.
Her ridiculous Mud Pie flour.
Now the dense pocket biscuits could pass through a tube ordinary bread could not.
But food solved only half the problem.
Water was harder.
The pipe diameter allowed narrow containers, but Copper Jack had no purpose-made bottles that fit.
Dorothy sent Henry through town.
“Bring every small clean tin you find.”
He returned with spice tubes, sample containers, and two narrow medicine bottles.
Not enough.
Dorothy looked at the mine workshop.
Copper tubing.
“Can these hold water?”
The engineer shook his head.
“Open-ended.”
“Cap them.”
“With what?”
“Cork.”
Bellamy snapped his fingers.
“Wine bottles.”
Everyone looked at him.
Bellamy shrugged.
“I sell things.”
Corks were shaved down.
Short copper tubes were cleaned thoroughly.
One end corked.
Filled with water.
Other end corked.
Wrapped.
Tested.
The first leaked.
Second leaked less.
Third held.
Dorothy tasted the water after it traveled through the test section.
Metallic.
But drinkable.
“Send it.”
By early afternoon, tiny amounts of water were reaching the trapped miners.
Not enough.
But something.
Meanwhile, rescue crews attacked the collapsed main passage.
Progress was terrible.
Broken timber had wedged beneath boulders.
Every movement threatened another fall.
Vale paced.
Crowley argued with engineers.
Families gathered below.
Dorothy moved between kitchen and ventilation line.
At 3:00, she realized Bellamy was following her.
“What?”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m surrounded by food.”
“That wasn’t the observation.”
“I’ll eat.”
“When?”
“Later.”
Bellamy handed her a biscuit.
Dorothy stared.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
“Counted?”
“I stole it.”
“From my kitchen?”
“Mine technically.”
She took it.
“You’re learning.”
At 3:20, a message came through the pipe.
Not words.
Tapping.
Crowley had established a code.
One knock yes.
Two no.
Numbers tapped with pauses.
Condition checks.
Twenty-eight alive.
Three injured.
One seriously.
Water low.
Air acceptable.
Main chamber partially blocked.
Caleb’s status unknown individually.
Dorothy asked to send names.
Crowley refused initially.
“Too slow.”
Tom exploded.
“Those are people!”
Dorothy intervened.
“Five names at a time.”
Crowley sighed.
They began.
Owen?
One knock.
Samuel?
One.
Benjamin Rusk?
One.
Tom collapsed against the wall.
Caleb Wade?
Silence.
Dorothy stopped breathing.
They tried again.
“CALEB WADE?”
Nothing.
Tom looked at Dorothy.
She remained motionless.
Then came two knocks.
“No?” Henry whispered.
Crowley frowned.
“Could mean unable to reach him.”
Dorothy leaned toward the pipe.
“IS CALEB ALIVE? ONE YES, TWO NO.”
The mountain remained silent.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then—
One knock.
Dorothy’s knees nearly gave way.
Alive.
“IS HE INJURED?”
One knock.
“How badly?” Dorothy whispered.
No code for that.
She closed her eyes.
Alive was enough for now.
By sunset, every trapped miner had received at least three biscuits and several ounces of water.
Not enough for comfort.
Enough for time.
The entire town now understood what Dorothy had done.
The six hundred pounds of flour everyone mocked had included enough salvageable dry interior flour to let her experiment for weeks without wasting Bellamy’s normal supply.
Without those experiments, no dense biscuit existed.
Without the biscuits, no food fit.
Without food—
Nobody wanted to complete the thought.
But Dorothy knew something else.
The miners had received her breakfast bundles before entering.
Six biscuits each.
They already possessed nearly a day’s emergency calories.
The ventilation delivery added more.
They could last.
If the mountain allowed it.
At dusk, Crowley descended from the main rescue opening.
His face was gray.
Vale approached.
“How far?”
“Twenty-three feet.”
“How much remaining?”
Crowley looked toward the families.
Then lowered his voice.
“Maybe fifty.”
Vale swore.
“Rate?”
“Three feet an hour if nothing moves.”
Dorothy calculated.
Seventeen hours.
Maybe.
Crowley continued.
“But we found water behind the west face.”
Dorothy heard.
“What water?”
Crowley looked annoyed.
“The old prospect shaft.”
Tom’s warning.
“How much?”
“We don’t know.”
“What happens if it breaks through?”
Crowley did not answer.
Dorothy understood.
The trapped miners were not merely waiting.
They were sitting beside a hidden reservoir.
And somewhere below them, Caleb Wade was injured.
Dorothy looked at the pipe.
Then at the darkening sky.
May you like
The rescue had just become a race against something no biscuit could stop.
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