Chapter 7

The lift stopped at the tenth floor and the stale smell of a prolonged death dangled like a noose in the air. Home sweet shitty home.

Damien nodded to Christopher, who ran the ramp, and with a careful gaze surveyed the cavern. Good, no humans were in the mine. He didn't have to face his queen, always an unspeakable relief.

"She hasn't returned and good even-in to yah, Damien." Christopher said.

"Good evening to you, too, Christopher." He returned when the ramp clanked into place.

If humans weren't around they made a point of using each other's names, not their numbers. The queens, who ruled them over the years, wouldn't like it. Might even make them stop. Like many aspects of their lives below the skin of the earth, this small scrap of humanity remained a secret.

Stepping off the ramp, Damien studied his co-worker. Christopher looked bad these days. A fall had broke his spine, leaving him bent like an upside down U. His knuckles dragged on the ground and he'd lost an eye, leaving the empty socket to gape with a large black hole.

Damien worried about how much more the man's body could take before he would be placed in the cell. Concerned, he'd assigned Christopher to work the lift. At least conversation with the other workers would keep him mentally engaged.

"Seen Jack?" Damien asked.

"Who?"

"Jack, second in charge, big, quiet, half-blood guy." He narrowed his eyes. Christopher should know this.

Christopher stuck out his bottom lip, his eyes losing their focus. "Think I know him. Did he go up-top to scout?"

"Maybe." Not good. "Do you know what season it is, Christopher?" Damien brushed the mine soot off his good clothing while watching his friend from his peripheral vision. All their minds were shredded, a fact they existed with. But this kind of slip could be an indication that Christopher needed to be watched.

The other man sighed. "Must be Fall."

"Good. Remember your mother's name?" Damien kept his face passive. These memory games were one of the ways they kept from forgetting everything.

"Edith."

With a nod of approval, Damien moved to go. "Have a good night."

"Hey wait, it's my turn. What's your brother's name?"

Damien shrugged. "Which one?"

Christopher's face twisted in confusion.

"I've two brothers. They're here in the mine with us, Everett and Clayton."

"Clayton's your kin?"

Damien couldn't fault Christopher. He tried. And all the men had trouble remembering he had two brothers. "Yes, and Everett. I'm going to visit Everett. He rests in the cell."

"Oh, you must've done somethin' really good for queen to let-cha go there."

Or something very bad. A chill settled over Damien. He'd done neither, yet he could still act as he wished. Interesting.

"Yes, I've been keeping myself busy," Damien nodded to the tunnel. "Tell the others. And especially Jack, if he's wondering where I went." A low pang of regret jabbed through him at the thought of his friend and needing to erase his mind after the queen's last visit. Twice in under 24 hours. The guilt surged in him like a wave. He had to keep his men safe, even if it meant hurting them.

Damien studied Christopher. "You should go take a rest in there soon, you know, to help remember."

Christopher shrugged. "I know, I know. It's just..." he waved up the main shaft. "I gotta watch for the others to get-er home."

"Make time." Damien let his voice drop low into a command and shivers raced up his spine.

The other man's face sagged, and then brightened like he remembered a pleasant thought. "Think I'll be going to the cell come day break. If it's okay with you boss?"

"Sure, you do that...it'll keep you going."

With labored steps, Damien crossed the meeting hall. Cold squeezed him and his self-loathing coiled around his nerves like an angry rattlesnake.

He hated using the piece of him that as leader could control the other men. Still, he found himself needing to push the others even in little ways. If he didn't watch Christopher and make sure he recharged at the cell he'd become another man down. Damien choked at the thought. He couldn't afford to lose more friends.

He walked to the supply cupboards while trying to rotate his shoulders to relieve the ever-present knots. His muscles ached like he'd been hefting boulders all day, not chasing after a pretty redhead. He took off his turtleneck and jeans, and folding them, placed the objects on the shelf marked Fifty-Two. Pulling out his thread-barren work clothing, he sat to put them on.

The cloth clung cold and damp against his day-warmed skin. Between his cool clothing, and the temperature of the mine, his body would soon lower to near frozen. He hoped his old skin would retain some of its heat. He always thought his brother liked it when, sitting next to him, he could feel the warmth. One of the few comforts he could offer the man.

The walk from the meeting hall to the cell covered over a mile. No lighting existed past the landing and meeting hall. Didn't matter. All the workers could see in the dark and knew the mine's tunnels, at least those on the tenth level.

Still, he moved with care while making the trek. Broken legs or twisted feet no longer repaired themselves. Should he trip, he would be stuck with whatever he did to himself.

Out of habit, he recited the important facts of his life. His name, his mother's name, father's name, when he was born, his brothers names. There were two ways of ending up in the cell. He could break his body beyond functioning, or forget too much about who he'd been. The mental lapses proved easier and much more lethal.

If he let his reminding regimen slip, and without visiting the cell, all his memories of being human would begin to fade, normally in under a day.

The cell's low cut iron door made Damien hunch to go inside. That was the trouble with being tall in a mine. Things were never cut high enough for him. Kind of amazing that, after all these years, he hadn't smacked his head on a low-hanging rock.

The dark bricks of the room where empty of functioning workers. Kind of surprising. While the queens held off on formally allowing them into the cell, they all came to the room whenever work assignments permitted.

A special presence filled the space. Sure they saw old friends but there was more. After leaving, workers could remember the subtleties that made them men and not thoughtless creatures. A feeling that for the miners became life itself.

When Damien entered the room, some of the permanent cell members stirred. He knew how much a visit meant to those who stayed here. He sighed, and the weight around him melted, his pain eased. Moving to the tenth row, he counted the shapes on the floor until he reached fifteen. He'd carefully picked out this corner when he'd laid his eldest brother to rest. A good spot as guests could lean against the smooth wall.

He knelt and placed his palm onto the burnt shape.

"Hey, Everett, it's me."

The mass quivered. Or at least Damien told himself it did. Everett, the man, was gone. No arms or legs and with a body torched to the point where he couldn't talk or move. Damien believed his brother could still hear him, even though his ears were burnt off.

He sat next to Everett and flexed his shoulders to relax the last of the strain. The cell used to be an underground barn for the mine's donkeys when they pulled the ore carts. Damien could still smell hay and a trace of alpine barley. The small tinkling of water onto rocks made a musical sound when it fell into pools that used to be troughs for the animals. The cell remained a peaceful place. A space where many of his longtime friends lay in cold mounds stretched across the floor.

His hand rested on his brother, what might be his back.

"I met a girl." He said it in a whisper, but his voice bounced off the brick walls and floor.

The shape under his hand twitched. So did several of the other forms in the room. Damien smiled. He thought that would get their attention.

"She's beautiful, thick red hair that's curly. She's got really pale white skin like a porcelain doll and bright green eyes. She's kind of on the skinny side, still it suits her."

Again, a tremor under his hand.

"Her name's Yari and she's different from other women. I met her when I burglarized a home. She saw me in my true form, and I could walk away from her." He shook his head. "Then today, I saw her and I talked with her. Well, sort of talked to her. I think, she thinks, I'm going to kill her. Still, felt so amazing. I was able act like a human in front of a human and it was all of my own choosing."

The shape under his palm went noticeably still.

Damien pressed himself against the wall. He studied the room's rugged ceiling. "The rules don't apply around her. I don't have to do things. Commands from the queen don't need to happen. I can break free, and it's happened several times in a row." He looked at his brother. "Do you think a girl like her could like a guy like me?"

The shape of his brother did not move. Damien frowned.

"I made the men all forget. Figured if the queen found out about the fracture, they'd be safe. It's what you would have done right?" Damien's voice became tight within his throat. "I remember it all like it just happened. The feel of her skin when I touched her, how she smells like the rain, her voice, it's clear in my mind. I haven't forgotten any of it. For once. When I'm near her it feels ... Well, like I'm alive again."

The shape remained motionless under his palm.

"And when I'm close to her, I'm not consumed with the queen's loathing. The pain of being connected to her is gone. The feeling fades away. It is wonderful, not being surrounded by that woman's hate. It's the same as breathing fresh air." He gave a small laugh. "Or just being able to breathe."

Nothing, and then his brother moved. For him it was a large movement, one that couldn't be missed. Damien patted his back. "Thanks Everett, I knew you'd understand."

Damien sat in silence for a long time reconnecting with his brother while being surrounded by the smells of old beasts, hay, and the patter of dripping water. "I'll find a way to tell Clayton, he'll – well, he won't understand at all."

He hung his head. Clayton could present an unpredictable complication. While Damien and Jack could figure out ways to skirt around the queen's direct orders, his middle brother followed her authority with sickening accuracy.

If Clayton were ever given the orders to kill, the thought froze in Damien's mind. He swallowed.

"I got to see her again." He paused, and another thought crushed the air inside him. "But the queen..."

Lifting his hand, he studied the fine flacks of dark ash that clung to his palm. His voice dropped. "There's always the queen."

# # #

The door to the cell creaked open catching Damien off guard. Sitting up straighter, he shook himself trying to clear his head. What happened?

He'd been sitting with Everett. His hand still rested on his brother. He glanced around cautiously. No, he couldn't have. His kind didn't sleep. Never. Not since 1905 did he think he'd slept. From the doorway of the cell, a fellow worker shuffled his feet and gave a polite cough. Damien touched his brother with both hands.

"Did you feel that?"

A movement. And a strong one for Everett.

"Yah right, that's what I thought." He leaned over and kissed the blackened mass. "I'll return when I can."

He got up and met his co-worker at the door. "Good morning, Olin. It's morning, right?"

The other man grunted and, running his hands through his shaggy brown hair, began his shuffle walk through the tunnel. Damien stopped him with a grip to his shoulder. He was still the leader of this pack, such as they were.

"Say it."

The other man shook off his hold. His once boyish face twisted in anger. "Good morn-en Damien."

Damien nodded. He would not lose Olin today. "while we walk, tell me what the others were about last night."

Olin's speech seemed slow, labored. He paused and stumbled. His voice trailed off when he tried to recall the other miner's names. Damien prodded him with questions to help the other man think. A skill he'd learned from Everett when he'd been their leader.

Fumbling with simple facts was a bad sign. Through the darkness of the mine, Damien surveyed the other man. Olin retained his good physical shape. Still able to walk upright and carried himself well. He could easily assimilate into the above society, should he be called too.

They walked up the sloped tunnel that snaked to the main gathering hall.

"Tell me whose running the ramp?" A test. One he prayed Olin could pass. The other man stopped his labored shuffle and glared at him. His face shadowed with disgust.

"Don't know."

"How'd he use to look?"

"Can't rec'con no more."

"Think."

Olin groaned. "Blond hair and brown eyes. Use to be taller than me and we's buds."

"Good. Now, what's his name?"

"Don't rec'con."

"Think on what you just told me."

"He's me best friend." Olin hit the wall with his good fist. "Damn you, Damien, me best friend, and I can't rec'con his goddamn name."

"It's okay, it's a stumble, keep..."

"No, it's not. I'm losing it. We's all are. Why can't yah see this? I's should go an pick a spot in the cell, while's I still can." He glared at Damien. "While there's still space." He lurched to the tunnel.

"Stop." Chill spiked inside Damien with the sound of his commanding voice.

Olin skidded to a halt, his back to Damien, and his muscles taut in total preparation to strike out again.

"Come this way," Damien commanded.

Taking a side passage, he took Olin through the dark tunnel. He veered off at a sharp right then followed along the cross cut. A mortal would become confused in the labyrinth of tunnels. They were no longer mortals. The tight walls opened up into another large room.

This spacious cavern contained the gold vein being drilled out when Damien forcibly joined the mine crew. He reminded himself of that fact every time he came here. The shaft extended up over a hundred feet and, in some spots, down another thirty. A space so vast that a lantern's light could not hit more than one wall at a time.

He stopped and listened in the dark to make sure he couldn't hear scraping noises or any heavy animal breaths. This far from the central shaft there were other things that he needed to be wary of.

A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of what else lurked in the darkness.

Taking another side tunnel, he climbed up the rock face. With both legs on either wall, he moved up the chimney shaped passage until he scrambled onto a small rock platform. At the top he paused, and checked the cavern to confirm that they were indeed alone, before he reached over, and gave Olin a hand up.

Within the darkness, Damien found an old lamp. Its oil stank with age and mildew. He sighed, noting yet another thing in the mine that rotted away. From a pocket on the pants leg, he pulled out a match and struck it on the wall. With the flame to the wick, he twisted the thread to give the room light.

Upon the chiseled wall, names of men appeared from within the shadows. Some of the signatures were scribed in large flowing letters, others with small neat writing, and still more were accompanied by a traced handprint or stick-figure doodle. There were a hundred and thirty names in all.

The Mammoth Goldmine contained many secrets. Over the decades, these mysteries, and their answers, evaporated like the gold that once fed the mine its wealth. One hidden fact were the miners themselves. They were told not to have names, only numbers, and never allowed to be men.

Their succession of queens found it easier to mistreat them if their slaves remained monsters in the light, versus people in the dark. This small landing held proof otherwise. It should have been destroyed, like their human lives, but it survived as a small shred of their history. Damien no longer remembered half the names scribbled here. A shame he could never fully face.

Olin leaned against the opposite wall and crossed his arms against his wide chest, his face set like a schoolchild being scolded by his teacher. Damien studied the signatures. All those names. He didn't remember when he wrote his, but there, in tight handwriting, it lay after Clayton's and Everett's.

"Do you see the person you're looking for?"

Olin's head didn't move. "Fuck off."

"Fine, do you know the difference between you, me, and a hundred and twelve of the others?"

"Got lucky or met the gas can, and we's just prolong-in it."

"That and we've connections. People here we're still close to. For me, it's my brothers. For you, it's your best friend. Take a look at this space and see who, if you go to the cell, would be left to fall after you."

With a sigh, Olin glanced over his shoulder. "You're a flaming asshole, Damien."

"So I've been told for the last hundred years."

"Might want to do some-thin about it."

"I'll get right on it. Now, what's his name?"

The other man smirked, not quite a smile, but close. He nodded to a signature. "Christopher Downs."

Olin scampered to his knees and, grabbing hold of the ledge for support, disappeared along the vertical tunnel. Damien paused, studying the names that flickered in the scarlet light.

Few remained in the mine now. If he lost another man, like what had happened to Everett. His shoulder muscles tightened. No, he shuttered. Not again. He would save them. With a last cold look at his history, he extinguished the lamp and followed Olin.

# # #

Damien listened for approaching danger as he and Olin moved within the deadly tunnels. A bone chilling growl, the sound of razor claws across rock, or the smell of rotting beast could indicate they were not alone in their world without light. While the mines provided shelter, they came with risks.

Olin's shoulders stayed bunched with irritation. Concerned over the mental slip, Damien wanted to keep up with the quizzing while they walked, but knew his friend had had enough. Instead, he pondered his own situation. What happened in the cell? Felt like sleep. The idea was foreign. But he seemed different, more refreshed?

His thoughts flipped to the image of Yari. An easy thing to do, like his mind yearned to return to her picture. The memory of their first meeting still floated in his head, even after two days. Unheard of. Also, he didn't have the squeeze of his queen's orders or less so then he normally would.

He frowned. He knew how to survive as a zombie. After all, he'd been able to keep going long after his bones should've fallen to dust. Being able to act human, having the freedom to do and say as he pleased was an unattainable dream.

Since touching her, he'd changed. Yet he was still connected to his queen. When she visited again he would need to do the near impossible and lie. If he didn't, his queen would have another worker finish the job of killing Yari. His breath hitched. And his queen never took failure well. Simply put, it wasn't a mistake from which he would survive.

Damien thought of Everett and wiped his ash darkened hand on his pant leg. No, she couldn't learn his secret. Yari might be their first, and only, chance.

On cue, the hair on his arm rose, and he clenched his jaw as a tingling sensation spiked within his body. A sharp pain grabbed his gut, and he held onto the wall for support. His queen neared the mine.

Being her chosen leader, he could feel her presence and the contempt she kept for them. Jerking his head to Olin, he motioned up the tunnel. They sprinted along the passage covering the remaining mile in under a minute.

Around the meeting room, the rest of the workers arrived to greet her walking upright or hunched over dragging their limbs. Damien took his spot at the front and scanned the group for his older brother Clayton, or the tall lean form of Jack.

The rust covered wheels on the lift squealed in protest as it descended lower into the shaft. Where could those two be? He needed to talk to a zombie with a half-working brain, fully understanding that was kind of an oxymoron.

Right before the lift reached the tenth floor, he saw the dark haired head of his brother duck into line. Damien tried to catch his brother's attention, but Clayton made a show of disinterest by turning his back.

Oh, right. His older brother was pissed at him, and Damien didn't remember why. It must have been because... his mind trailed off. He didn't know when they last talked. Clayton held something against him, and he clearly had made a point of forgetting why.

The lift came to a screeching stop right as Jack edged his broad shoulders in next to Damien.

"Where've you been? I can't remember the last time I saw you, which seems-- off." Jack's jaw was set at an angle in thought. Damien cringed. His friend's height made him the only person in the mine tall enough to look him in the eye. And at that moment, Jack's gaze shimmered without humor.

Damien gestured to the tunnel. "I've been in the cell, you forgot."

"Yah, I'm not buying it. I've got this nagging feeling your hiding something." His voice lowered into a growl. "Or there's a reason I'm not remembering my last few days."

Damien winced. He should have figured Jack would make this hard. A clanging noise announced the lowering of the gate and their queen's descent into the meeting hall. The men turned stony silent.

She came alone. Not good. Pure fear seized Damien, for his crew, and himself. The woman tended to be crueler without the other man to temper her actions.

With her long boney hand, she flicked her straight black and grey hair, like its wildness angered her. She wore a faded pair of blue jeans and a ripped sweater. Filled with hate, her gaze scanned the group.

The brutality within the woman resonated deep in his bones like an out of tune chime. Damien took a concealed breath, not because he needed it, but to steady himself for her approach.

Marching up to face him, the top of her head didn't even reach his chin.

"You've returned." Her voice held a callused edge. "Did you find your target?"

Damien looked straight ahead, clenching his fist behind his back where she would not see. His body buzzed, aching to comply until the need hurt him to his marrow. He nodded his head.

"And the witness is dead, the body disposed of?"

The buzzing intensified to a higher volume and white-hot agony pulsed in his temples. Stars flooded his vision. He wanted to scream out, fall over, and give in to the command that overwhelmed his senses. Leave the mine, it told him. Find the witness. Then wrap his thick hands around her soft throat. He could feel under his fingertips, the way her body would thrash in his grasp when her life drained away. The desire to please his queen was as familiar as wrapping himself in a worn coat, only one laced with thorns.

But a bigger part of him disagreed and fought back. And after several lifetimes, he'd learned how to hide the anguish and defy the messages that sizzled inside him. He focused on an outlining rock formation.

"What's wrong with you Fifty-Two? I said..."

He nodded his head. A small action that felt like hauling a thousand pounds of rubble on his shoulders.

"You're sure, the person is dead?"

Again he nodded. This time it proved easier, but not much. Mentally he pulled each of his fingers away from Yari's envisioned throat. He would resist his queen.

"Good." His queen addressed the rest of the group and the intense pain waned. Damien tried to un-bunch his strained muscles. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack's shocked expression.

Figures, Jack didn't miss much, and he was already on guard. He caught his second in command's gaze, and Jack hunched his shoulder in the classic what the hell motion. Damien shook his head, but only by an inch. He motioned to the gas can. The other man blinked and straightened into his expected un-dead stance.

"You need to scout more targets." His queen continued in her low threatening voice while she strolled along the line of workers. "Be prepared to widen the search. Remember, we're looking for personal papers, valuables, and jewelry. I want targets picked within the week. And move outside the district. We can't have locations close enough that they could be traced here."

Typical burglary work. Easy. Damien studied the stone-angry profile of Clayton, then glanced to Jack's wary stare, and finally to the rusted gas can lurking by the lift. He walked a thin edge for sure. One misstep and he might not be the only man to join Everett in the cell.

He rubbed his fingers together and registered the change to their old rugged texture. If any of them had a chance, he needed to risk his queen's wrath, and that meant putting their fate in one strange woman.