"Yeah, still down there. We have no power, so it will be a while before we can get him out."

"Do you know the extent of his injuries?"

"No, ma'am."

"Do you know when he will be on the surface?"

"Ummm. Not exactly, no, ma'am. But we're hoping pretty quick. Maybe an hour before we get him out, maybe less." He looked at the radio, hoping it would give him good news.

"Hang on, Stacks, give us a minute."

Stacks sighed as he heard the dispatcher cover the receiver on her end, and ask a m.u.f.fled question. He looked at his watch. It was only nine in the morning. It seemed that this shift had already been on for twelve hours.

"Stacks, sorry, I'm back. We already have one ambulance out. Can you give us another call when you get closer to bringing him up? We don't want one just sitting there because if something else comes up, we won't be able to handle it."

"Okay. Let me log the call, and you do the same. There's always a safety review after one of these things." Stacks hung up the phone. Sometimes, doing this job, he still felt like he was up-time and everything was normal. It was a comfortable feeling. But he knew it was false. At times like this he realized how deeply in trouble they all were, and how very precarious things could be. He grabbed the radio.

"How 'boutcha, Fred and Fred. Are you gonna flow some electrons pretty quick, or am I gonna have to do it for you?" As soon as he took his finger off of the transmit b.u.t.ton, he heard a large bang from the direction of the generator, followed by another, and then quickly followed by two more. The generator caught, stumbled, stumbled again, and started. He heard it stumble again, and imagined the guys scrambling to control it, working the throttle, nursing it until it flattened out into a steady roar. Finally, something was going right. The radio came to life as he sat down, suddenly very tired.

"There's your G.o.dd.a.m.n electrons. Give us a minute for this thing to stabilize, and we can start putting loads on it. What do you want first?"

"Give me the lift first, then service power, then the fan, and air compressors last. Let me know when you hit the transfer switches, so I know what's coming"

Deitrich and his men had to slow to a walk, sometimes feeling their way inby. The smoke and dust were so thick that visibility wasn't much more than five or six feet. He kept chattering confidently to the men behind him, and they obeyed his orders. Deitrich was a leader, and he knew what he could expect of these kids. And he was asking them for a lot. So far, they had . . .

"Deitrich! Here is someone. Over here! I have found someone." There was a knot of men forming around a shape on the floor of one of the damaged crosscuts. It was one of Ernst's men; Deitrich recognized him, but couldn't remember his name. He wasn't breathing, but he had one of the "rescuers" in his mouth. And he was burned. Deitrich touched him and knew the man was dead. He clenched his jaw, and stood.

"There's nothing we can do for him now. Leave him."

Zing spoke up. "Boss, they tell us in cla.s.s that we need to let them know topside ASAP when someone is-well, injured. Shouldn't we call for reinforcements from upstairs? They need to know what is happening, don't they?"

Deitrich turned on the young miner. "I'm in command here. I'll do the thinking." As Deitrich turned, he remembered the dead man's name. And his woman. And their son's names. He felt sick to his stomach.

He hated indecision. Hated it in him and in others. He looked forward into the smoke, and back toward the safety of the center of the mine and the lift. Then back to the smoke and the dark. Indecision was over.

"If we go out now, there will be no chance for anyone up there to survive. By going in now and searching, there may be a chance we can rescue someone. We're going all the way to the working face, and look for survivors." He looked at the group. "Any questions?" The cap lights shook back and forth and it was quiet.

Deitrich spoke in the lowest voice he could. But the power was unmistakable. "To me, men. To me.

Let's go."

"We're closing power to the lift breakers now. I don't want to lose the gen-set, so go easy. Run the cage down slow."

"Thanks. Okay, CC. It's on you, buddy. Send the cage down and see how many get on it, then start hoisting. We need to get these guys out of there and figure out what's going on"

"Stacks, the cage is going down. It will be 'bout three minutes before it gets to the bottom. When they pick up the phone and tell me, I'll haul them up."

"Thanks, CC. Fred, as soon as you can, and the gen-set is stable, give me service power so they can have some light down there."

"Ten-four, Stacks. You'll have it in a couple of minutes."

Stacks picked up the landline again, this time to call his boss, Larry Masaniello. It was Larry's day off, but he would be upset if someone was hauled away in an ambulance and he wasn't notified.

Deitrich was more and more worried that they wouldn't find any survivors. The closer they got to the working face, the worse the damage. Now they picked their way over debris piles, pieces of timbers, and finally . . . bodies. Whatever happened, some of the guys started to get away. Some of them had their shoes and miners belts blown off, and hard hats were scattered about. There was no doubt that there had been a methane ignition of some sort, and it had been powerful. They finally reached crosscut twenty-two, where w.i.l.l.y had said the roof fall had occurred. A large rock had fallen. He was afraid that all they were going to find was bodies.

"Check by the face, you three guys. See if there was anyone up there. Shout out for survivors, but don't forget to listen. If we don't find anyone alive, we'll head back." As he said that, some of the explosion proof lighting fixtures winked on. "Looks like we're getting power back. That's good. Hopefully, we'll get some ventilation going and clear this dust. . . ."

Deitrich paused.

He saw the layout of the mine in his head. The fan shafts where the air was pulled in and pushed out and all of the carefully-built stopping that had been blown out from the explosion. The fact that the fan was off had kept it from mixing any further, and probably limited the explosion. But if they started the fan now, all that mixing would happen again, on a much larger scale. There were still small fires burning and smoldering all around them.

The dread hit him like a ton of bricks. He swallowed and looked around.All these kids . He was going to try to get them out. It was the least he could do.

"Let's go! Everyone! Let's go! Out of the mine! Now! Fast as you can!" He took two steps backward and stumbled over some debris. "Let's go! Run, G.o.ddammit, run!" He caught his balance and ran inby, shooing the ones he had told to go to the face in front of him. "Move it! Let's go!" The group began to stumble away from the epicenter and began to run faster as their panic grew. Deitrich recognized it and let the panic have its head. It could only help.

They tripped, fell, cut themselves, got up again and kept running as fast as they could. All the while the panic gripped them, and they ran faster. They picked their way through the debris, trying to go as fast as possible, sometimes stumbling, sometimes falling flat. As one cap light fell, another would help it up and rejoin the other cap lights, bouncing and weaving down the pa.s.sage. They were grunting and breathing hard, some making noises like children running from a nightmare, as if they were being chased by some terrible monster. There was no speaking, no conversation, only animal noises.

As they ran, the darkness once again closed silently and inevitably behind them.

"Okay, Stacks. Fan breakers are closed. Go ahead and start it"

"Good job, you guys. Here goes. I got a green light, the fan is starting up. How's the generator?"

"We're stable. Go ahead and put the compressors on and we'll be back in business."

"Compressor start . . . and I show a green light for them, too."

"You owe us a beer. You know that, don't you?"

Stacks looked at his radio, sat down and smiled. "Roger that. Beer is on me." He smiled again and called the fire department dispatcher.

The cold light of the January sun had barely begun to light the old Pence house. Marylyn Pence, a widow, had been renting rooms in her home. It was a way she could make ends meet. She was at the stove, boiling water, preparing to make breakfast. She felt the blast first through her feet. From there it traveled through the house, where gla.s.sware rattled, and then echoed off of the hills surrounding the valley. She froze as the echoes died away. She'd become a widow when she heard that sound, many years ago.

A baby cried upstairs. Marylyn sat at the kitchen table, pale and shaking. Her boarder-or rather, her boarder's wife-went to quiet the baby. She heard the footsteps upstairs. Soon the baby was quiet. A moment later, mother and child came downstairs. She was beautiful, Marylyn decided. As radiant as the sun that peeked through the window. Marylyn always liked the kitchen and the way the sunlight bathed it at breakfast. She gathered herself. Before she could speak, the German girl greeted her.

"Good morning Mrs. Pence. It will be a lovely, sunny day today. A little bit cold,ja ?"

"Yes, a bit cold"

"What was that noise that woke the baby? It sounded like a cannon shot!"

Marylyn took a deep breath. "Maria, is your husband in the mine today?"

Peter felt the rumble beneath the ground. They were all out of the truck, standing in the field. They had used the phone at the house to call the police and request the rest of the equipment to pull the truck out of the frozen mess. The sparking had continued, but the transformer had burned itself out.

The rumble grew and the wellhead erupted in a new flame, the hot yellow flame of natural gas. It was hot enough that they raised their hands to protect their faces. The muted colors of the frost-covered creek bottom, where the low winter sun wouldn't reach for hours, were turned into the harsh light of day. The flame shot above the trees, stayed for a moment, and then receded to a height of ten feet or so, and stayed there. The ground shook even more. The cab of the truck was scorched and the heavy vehicle swayed when the ground shook.

Peter looked at his companions. "What in the h.e.l.l was that?"

Shackelton was knocked out of his chair by the force of the blast. Several windows shattered, letting in the cold air that slapped him in the face. He heard breaking gla.s.s and things shifting and falling in the shed. He jumped up, momentarily forgetting his knees, then winced. "What in the G.o.d d.a.m.n Sam Hill was that?"

The booming noise diminished to an eerie quiet. Then, within seconds, all three of his outside lines lit up.

He looked at the phones, started to answer one of them, and stopped. He turned away and triggered the master alarm then looked at the phones, and paused again. What the h.e.l.l could he tell anyone? He didn't know any more than anyone else.

He grabbed his radio. "I want information. What the h.e.l.l was that? April? Do you have any communication? April? Answer me, G.o.ddammit . . ."

The Reverend Doctor Al Green was in the shower when he felt the earth shift and rumble. He had soap all over his face and stood in place, knowing what it was, already seeing the events that would probably transpire over the next few days flash in his mind. He turned, slowly and deliberately, and rinsed off. He took his time. He prayed a little. This was going to be the last solitude that he would have for some time.

He prayed for strength, prayed that it wouldn't be what he was certain that it was.

His wife stuck her head into the bathroom. "You hear that?"

Al paused before he answered. "Yes"

"Was that . . . ?"

He sensed that she didn't want to say it any more than he did. As if by not saying it out loud, she would somehow make it not true.

"Yes."

"Shall I start making calls?" She was asking if she should call out the troops of church ladies, who would be the support for the next several day's events. His church, no matter what the religion of the miners, had always been the center for families awaiting news. It would be no different this time. A mining accident wasn't just another industrial accident. In a town where almost everyone was related to someone else, it becomes a far-reaching family tragedy.

"Yes. Please. And give me just a minute, would you?"

He heard her close the door, softly, and move away. The calls would probably begin on their own. He warmed the shower water a bit and stood with his face in the stream, letting the warm water wash his tears away.

The exact location of the point of ignition was never determined. It was probably near the first explosion, but the damage was too severe to tell. When the air and methane mixture was correct, it ignited explosively and began to propagate a shock wave before it, seeking release. This wave picked up the coal dust that was distributed by the first explosion, and it too became fuel. The flame front followed the shock wave.

The wave front caught Deitrich and his crew, still far from any refuge, in the main pa.s.sage. They barely realized the beast had overtaken them before they were all dead. The flames followed, but they were of no consequence to those men.

Metzinger and w.i.l.l.y were more fortunate. The heavy workbenches protected them somewhat from the ma.s.sive damage that the others suffered.

As the explosion progressed, its energy began to dissipate. By the time it got to the lift, the majority of the destructive forces had gone. The flame front had stopped well before the lift. Now came the smoke, lots of smoke, from the multiple fires the flame front had started. Those fires consumed fuel and oxygen, leaving carbon monoxide. So as the echoes of the shock wave were reverberating off the hills, the smoke began to flow through the mine, stealing air from wherever it went. The air in the mine was unbreathable in a matter of moments.

The battered pickup truck raced down the blacktop road on the way out of town. The sun was peeking over the ridgeline now, and Larry Masaniello was trying to get to the mine-his mine-as quickly as possible. He could see a plume of black smoke rising behind the ridge. His coal mine. He was the manager.

His heart was pumping much harder than it had in a long time and he felt physically sick. He was afraid that he would throw up if he didn't keep focus. He had always considered himself a coal miner first, and the mine manager second. The idea of a major mine accident on his watch had kept him awake nights ever since he had taken over for Quentin Underwood. His hands were shaking.

He had to be careful. People were on the road, a lot of them, hurrying to get to the mine. He saw miners and their families. Miners carrying gear and women carrying children shuffled out of his way. He kept honking his horn.

He heard the ambulances coming from town behind him, and the fire department. He could tell the sirens apart by sound alone. He kept the window up, even though he wanted to open it wide to let in the cold air. He couldn't look at anyone in the eye and he felt the stares of those who got out of his way. He swallowed hard once again, and took a deep breath.

Finally, the mine was in view. The tall transfer tower for the coal was the first thing he spotted, before the other buildings came in sight. The mine sat at the very bottom of the valley, and the blacktop road was above it, about a third of the way up the ridge.

Originally, the coal had been removed from the mine on conveyors on the other side of the ridge, and came back to this side for processing. Those conveyors had been sliced off by the Ring of Fire, and the coal now came up a different shaft on this side of the ridge. That was where most of the smoke was escaping. The main shaft, which held the elevator, was smoky, but the smoke was not as thick. He felt a little relieved. If that was gone, then the men, and the mine, might be lost entirely. For now, there was hope that some men had escaped the blast.

When the mine was first constructed, it was surrounded by a large cyclone fence topped with barbed wire, but not now. That resource had long since been redirected.

He wished the fence were still here, as there was a knot of people around the mine control shed already.

Things would get out of control real soon if somebody didn't take charge. He could see hand-waving and arguing going on as he approached. He swallowed hard again.

He dropped the pickup truck down into second gear and let the engine slow him down. With the busted up exhaust system, the V-8 made an ominous rumbling sound as he rolled up to the small, but rapidly growing, knot of people. It had the effect he desired, as they all turned and looked at him.

He hopped out of the cab and began to give orders. He looked for the biggest men there. "You four men, I need some crowd control now. Keep everyone back from this shed. If they're cold, have them go into the locker rooms or the old guard trailer. You two, keep everyone away from the lift. I don't want anybody trying to do something stupid. n.o.body goes into the lift until rescue is here. You women, get inside before you freeze to death. Go to the locker rooms or the trailer." He didn't stop to see if his orders were followed, but strode to the control shed.

Shackelton met him at the door. "I'm d.a.m.n glad you're here, Boss."

As he closed the door behind him, Larry felt himself shrink, as the bravado of his entrance wore off. He rested his back against the closed door. Shackelton, along with a much older retired miner whose name he couldn't quite remember looked a little surprised.

Larry took a breath. "What do we know, for sure?"

"For sure? Not too d.a.m.n much. The mine phones quit working right after that big a.s.s boom."

"Who's on the phones today?

"April Lafferty. I heard from the guys before, and there was a roof fall of some sort. Deitrich somehow heard about it and he was headed for the workface when we powered everything up. Then there was just that big boom."

"Have you heard from anybody since the explosion?"

"No, sir" Stacks looked at the ground.

"Could anyone have survived? I mean, the G.o.dd.a.m.n furniture moved in my house, and I'm over two miles from here."

"Anything's possible, Boss"

Larry needed good news. He hung on to the hope that some men had survived the blast. It gave him a focus. He straightened and noticed the other man. Skinny to the point of bony, bald, with a wisp of gray hair on the sides. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from a union meeting somewhere. He wore a work coat of brown canvas, boots, and work pants. "How did you get here so fast?" Larry asked.