A distant echo of something heavy scraping across the floor roused Gayle Sanders from a bleary-eyed stupor. She blinked several times before lifting her head from its resting spot—the twisted remains of an upturned filing cabinet. “Christopher?” She whispered the word into the gutted chamber of rock that only moments ago had been her sanctum of research, her lucky #13. What the hell happened?

She focused her keen night vision in search of remote sources of light. Slowly the far wall of the cave came into view thanks to a steady, low source of blue light and a flickering yellow. She quickly realized the yellow light must be fire—an immediate threat under the circumstances.

Testing her extremities, she found everything in working order. Her lab coat was gone, her hair pasted to her forehead and her camisole rimmed with sweat. The last observation caused her to wonder two things: How long had she been out, and just how hot had the explosion been?

She took a deep breath. The air tasted metallic, pasty. The texture and taste of it made the fuzz on her arms stand on end, but she couldn’t detect an excess of any known toxins. She also knew that half of the worst killers were undetectable, even to her keen senses. Crawling forward, her hand slipped on a warm fragment of filing cabinet, sending a grating echo throughout the cavern. Wow, it must have been hot…

A dull thud preceded a long dragging sound from somewhere deep in the belly of the underground research facility. “Christopher?” She spoke the word a little louder. “Are you okay?” She suddenly realized her partner must have been at the source of the explosion. She’d been returning from the powder room, and by powder room she meant a bedpan in the corner. But Christopher…

She scuttled on all fours toward the fire. Something metal tumbled to the floor, crashing loudly in the echoing cave. “Hold on, Christopher.” The noise moved away as the yellow light intensified steadily. What could have caused all this? His chemical bath for cleaning coal?

Focusing on the flickering light in the distance, she missed the body until her hand slipped in a warm, viscous puddle. Startled, she rubbed the liquid between two fingers and held it to her nose, tasting the iron on her lips. Blood. Finally, she saw him. “Christopher.”

She slid across the floor, scooping her hands underneath his back to lift his head. “Dear God!” she barked in fright and froze. Above his tattered and scorched collar there was nothing—his head gone. Stomach lurching, she scrambled backwards, slipped in the pool of blood and smacked her head on a cold, metal canister. The blow caused a temporary light show to spider across her field of vision.

How could have… but what… She caught herself breathing too rapidly and endeavored to gain control. The fire. She reached behind her and grabbed the fire extinguisher on which she’d clocked her head. Scrambling around the remains of Christopher’s work station she found a small pile of debris flickering with flame and quickly doused it. As the echo of the extinguisher faded, she swore she heard a hissing laughter coming from the shadows.

Oh dear God. Adam and Eve. Gayle bit her lip and clutched her knees to her chest. If even one of them survived… But how could they have regained consciousness? Slowly she unfurled her legs and shuffled toward Christopher’s decapitated body. And what else have they regained? Sentience? She hadn’t finished mapping their abilities. Had they caused the explosion or merely benefitted from it?

Engaging her rational mind, she knew there wasn’t enough blood. Not nearly enough for a grown man. Despite the heat of the explosion still radiating from the stone walls of the cave, she shivered. They were looking for water, and she now represented the most plentiful source.

Again she heard something dragging across the floor.

The sour taste thick on his tongue spoke to his subconscious mind, which in turn chiseled the message methodically into his consciousness. After damp. Thus, Serge Marcon’s mind knew what had just happened deep within the belly of mine #4 seconds before his body awoke to the sensation of being buried alive. Eyelids twitching under a pile of debris, the chisel of his thoughts continued to etch messages onto the surface of his mind: Another minute and you’ll be dead; move you arms, your legs; get up!

With a serge of electricity his body began to pulse and throb. He gasped for breath, managing a short gulp of acidic air that burned his lungs with too much carbon dioxide. In sporadic seizures he tore at the shattered rock and crumbling bituminous coal enveloping him, until he jerked his head and arms free.

Gulping awkwardly for breathable air, he yanked his body from the heap and flopped a short way to the debris-scattered floor of the mine. A cool breeze lapped against his face. He drew a long, raspy breath—burdened with coal dust but breathable. Finally his consciousness rebooted. Dino. With gritty effort he opened his eyelids. “Dino!” He coughed and spit his brother’s name into the pitch black storm of dust and gases broiling around him.

He fumbled with his carbide head lamp, but it was dead just like the string of electric lights that had been buzzing gently right up until the earth above them collapsed. They’d been working the longwall when the earth shook. Serge had been closest the maingate while Dino had been working his pick several feet further down the face.

Serge gritted his teeth and forced the noxious air deep into his lungs before he clambered cautiously to his feet. “Dino!” The air near the ceiling was sweltering, several degrees warmer than at the floor. And the temperature appeared to be rising fast. Serge begged his left leg forward, but it hitched as he stumbled onto the pile of rubble that had collapsed through the roof supports.

For the first time he felt a sharp pain emanate from his core, radiating into every extremity. “Dino, I’m sorry.” He thumped his fist weakly against a clump of shale. So hot. His fist and neck spasmed as he began gulping again. Get out! Instinct clawed at his thoughts.

He tumbled to the floor and snorted in an effort to clear his airway of coal dust. Swallowing the slurry, he tasted something new in the trickle of darkened mucous, rotten eggs—hydrogen sulfide. Dammit.

He scrambled several feet on hands and knees, his left leg still grabbing awkwardly. The timer in his head told him to get out. He had to get to the damp sheet separating the longwall from the maingate. Muscles screaming for oxygen, hands thrust blindly before him, he lurched down the shaft with his eyes closed against the stifling blackness.

Misjudging the distance to the manway, he careened off a jagged rock wall and stumbled over steel rails used for coal carts. Before he could hit the ground the smothering air of mine #4 burst into flame.

Pitching him head over heals and rolling his battered body along the rails, the firestorm licked every breath of moisture from his skin while tossing him against a stone pillar. Lying there on his back, he watched the blue flames dance and roll on the ceiling, waiting for an orange tongue to shoot down and consume him.

Demons and ghosts appeared in the mesmerizing liquid-blue fire—memories, regrets. Dino. Phebe, I love you. And in that singular moment Serge wondered if these same haunting flames had been the last thing his father’s eyes had beheld before he died.

A cool breeze whipped across his face. Lunging instinctively toward it, Serge burst through the heavy dampsheet as orange flames lapped greedily at its base. Bathed in the fresher air of the maingate, Serge’s lungs pumped out the toxic wash of gases with several desperate breaths.

The fire would consume the curtain in less than a minute. Gathering his feet, he followed the rails in search of the familiar steel cage, and prayed to God it would still engage. Limping away from the dim glow of the flames, darkness enveloped him.

After groping in the dark and shaking the stubbornness from his muscles, he yanked the lever for the steam whistle once. Leaving it open, the ear-piercing steam vented over 400 feet above him before echoing down the vertical shaft. With increasing coordination he flung the door to the cage open and threw himself against the back wall.

Taking another deep breath, he realized that oxygen was now both his best friend and worst enemy. He strained his eyes. Staring back down the maingate of mine #4, he imagined a hungry beast of flames bursting through the dampsheet and galloping directly toward him on all fours.

With a sudden jolt the cage surged upward at maximum steam. I’m sorry, Dino. You were just being you. Serge grabbed the crash bar behind him with both hands and lifted his gaze straight up the shaft. A tiny speck of light began to grow in size as the hum of the machinery below him evaporated. He closed his eyes and listened for the first hint of the machinery from above. If the flames were going to catch him before he reached the surface, he didn’t want to see them coming.

The cable creaked as the cage struck the side of the shaft, grating against the rock. He opened his eyes, realizing another explosion had shaken the earth, causing the cage to jump. Falling rock struck the top of the wire mesh and showered him with dust and gravel. But the cage maintained its rapid accent. Ducking to shelter his eyes, he realized the mine floor, now over 300 feet below, glowed with a flickering light.

The electric motor above him strained, the steam driven machinery failing ironically from lack of coal and flame. He regretted leaving the whistle lever down, but before he finished the thought, whoever manned the wench house shut the whistle off.

The swaying cage clipped the other side of the shaft, grabbing again at the rough rock walls like cheese through a grater. The fragments forced him to shield his eyes. Then below, he saw it. The beast of flame curled against the cage room and blossomed up the shaft. Growling and lunging upward, it chewed the air gaining strength.

The daylight above him expanded and grew brighter as the cage creaked against the single cable tethering it to the outside world. Serge gripped the door, pulled it open in anticipation of the surface. The air surrounding him rushed downward as the growling flame flew upward to swallow him. With the hair on his arms curling from the heat, he closed his eyes and burst outward from the cage.

Smashing into a heap of gravel and cinder, he barreled head over heals, using his hands to buffer a collision with a coal car at the last minute. Skittering sideways he came to rest on his back. Shading his eyes from the sudden brightness of both the sun and the roaring flames shooting from the shaft of mine #4, he watched the cage strike the ceiling of the wench house and snap its cable.

On hands and feet he dove as the cage came to rest were he’d just been. Finally suffocation gripped the fire beast by the tail, the flames disappearing down the shaft. Blinking in the searing light, Serge watched a diesel cat drag a steel cap over the fire singed mouth of mine #4.

“Men are down there!” But no one heard him.

Caked in bloody coal dust, Serge rose to his feet and staggered forward. “My brother’s down there!” Ignoring him, the driver of the Caterpillar unhooked the chain and chugged off the way he’d come. “Dammit!”

The earth shook beneath him. Serge steadied himself on one knee while plumes of smoke belched out of mine #1. The alarm at the brick kiln blared, men criss-crossing the field in a chaotic scramble.

“Serge!” The door to the wench house flew open as he turned toward the familiar voice.

“Phebe.” Seeing his wife, all Serge’s stoic exterior stripped away. Sorrow and passion filled his eyes. Still in her house dress and apron, the full-bodied yet curvy Italian woman he’d married seven years ago took the steps down to him three at a time. “How did you—”

She smothered him with her warm embrace and pulled him into her. He draped his arms over her shoulders and slumped, his tired weight resting on her sturdy frame. It was the routine of their embrace. “I was at the company store when the whistle blew.” She squeezed him. “I just knew it was you.”

“Phebe.” Serge pulled gently back until he looked her in the eyes. “Dino is still down there, with three others.” Fire shattered the windows in the brick kiln behind Phebe, sending both of them to the ground. Flame bloomed out the opening and belched a toxic smoke into the air. Through it all Serge held his wife close, her bottom lip trembling, a twitch in her left eye. It was her tell. Remorse. She’s sorry because she loves him. But does she love us both?

She watched his eyes, husband and wife communicating without a sound. He knew his own face spoke the same feelings as hers. She clutched him tight, lying side by side in the cinder, her face smudged with coal from his clothing. She pulled herself closer and rested her face lightly on his chest. “I’m sorry. We should have spoken sooner.”

The words dug into the crater of his heart, confirming his worst fears. He struggled to drag himself out from under her, to get to his feet, his steely exterior returning.

She clung to him as he rose. “But I ran here for you. When the whistle blew, I came for you.”

He sighed. “I know—”

“What’s going on over here?”

Serge whipped around, rage suddenly smoldering in his eyes. “Lorenzo Vezzoni, you rat bastard. I’ll flay you where you stand if you don’t open that mine.”

“Back off, Marcon. I should have capped it earlier, but your crazy wife started lifting the cage. Lucky for you, I suppose.”

“Dammit Vezzoni!” Serge pushed his finger into the boss’s chest. “There are four men still down there.”

Vezzoni brushed him off. “Look around. The whole damn place is on fire. If we open #4 we’ll be feeding both #1 and #2. I’ve got other miners to look to. If you don’t have any helpful information—”

“Helpful inform—” Serge choked on his rage. “You dirty, lying son of a bitch.”

Phebe tried to intervene, “Serge.”

Serge moved to keep her behind him. “The explosion came from off the map, from the other side of the tailgate.” He stood on tip toes to get into his boss’s face. “So you tell me, Vezzoni. Why the hell is my brother trapped in that mine due to an explosion from a no-go zone?”

For the first time Vezzoni looked more worried than upset. “Look, I’m glad you made it out. You’re a hell of a miner.” Serge started to interrupt, but Vezzoni continued, “And we’ll do everything we can to get your brother out, but we’ve got to get these fires under control.”

While Vezzoni spoke Serge noticed a puff of smoke coming from the remains of a nearby supply shed—a shed that stood directly over the source of the explosion. He turned quickly to Phebe, clutching her by the shoulders. “I know. It’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have locked up my emotions. I should have told you more often—shown you.”

“Serge.” Phebe put her fingers lightly to his face, her eyes confused, grieving already. “What—”

Serge swallowed hard and choked on his words, mere whispers. “I love you.” A distant spark surged to life deep in the hazel brown of his irises as he whipped a vicious elbow into Vezzoni’s chest. With a quick yank he tore the boss’s helmet off and dashed for the smoking shed.

While strapping on the new helmet, Serge covered the short distance at a sprint. Leaping over exploded remnants of sheet metal, his eyes grew large. A yawning mine shaft had been hidden within the shed, a hand-painted sign clinging to the edge of the hole—#13. Unlucky 13. He noticed a cable, a toppled wench.

From over his shoulder he heard dueling voices. First Vezzoni, “You can’t go down there!” then his wife crying desperately, “It was you! It was always you!” With a final, long stride he leapt over the edge and caught the cable with his thick, rawhide glove, disappearing into the mouth.

“Hey, Marcon.”

“Sì?” Both Serge and Dino swiveled on their stools.

“Not you. Him.” The upset stranger jerked his head toward the younger Marcon—Dino. Serge shrugged and took another gulp from his beer. He placed the sweating mug back on the circle of condensation it had formed on the bar.

Dino sparked to life, a champion smile on his face. “Amico, what can I do you for?” He walloped the man playfully on the shoulder, sending a poof of coal dust into the air. But instead of loosening up, the man crouched wearily, ready for a fight.

“Dino Marcon, you danced with my girl.” He snarled.

“Congratulazioni!” Dino flashed his pearly whites without missing a beat. “How did you two kids meet?”

With furrowed brow the burley miner straightened up, unsure of how to proceed. “Last night—”

“Just last night? Amico, surely you kid.” Dino lifted his mug. “Have a stool and share the story with us all.” He chugged several ounces of the barely malt. Wiping his mouth, he slapped the empty stool beside him.

Serge smiled as he watched the confused anger work its way from the miner’s brain to his fists. It always went this way with Dino. As a young man, Serge had fought his little brother’s fights for him, saved his neck a dozen times after their father had died and their mum taken ill. But the twerp had grown into a man.

The miner pounded the bar. Expectantly, Serge had lifted his mug to keep it from sloshing. “You oily son of a bitch. Get up and fight.”

“Ah! I must have misunderstood you, amico. So it’s not a celebration you’re looking for.” Dino spun around to face the man and hand his beer to his brother. “Could you look after this…” With a quick jab to the throat he took the miner’s breath before grabbing the unfortunate man by the ears and bouncing his forehead off the bar.

“Dino,” the barkeep warned the younger Marcon with a snarl.

“Never you mind, Luigi. My new friend here just wanted to announce his unfurled passions for his future bride.”

“Hear, hear!” Serge handed his brothers' beer back to him with a grin. The dazed miner blinked furiously, trying to shake the cobwebs.

Holding the miner in a headlock, Dino leaned in close to his ear. “Amico, tell me again. What was your fiancée’s name?”

“Fiancée? I, you—” Serge slapped him lightly on the cheek and shook his head. “Uh, Magdalena.”

“Everyone,” Dino straightened up. “Oh, and your name?”

Confused, the miner looked at Serge, who only nodded his head in affirmation. “Um, Este.”

Serge looked around the dingy, horseshoe-shaped bar. Every man in the place watched Dino, half of them with a knowing smirk. They all understood the play unfolding, and they knew what came next. How could you not love Dino?

“Everyone! Our friend, Este, proudly announces his intentions to wed the beautiful,” he leaned close to Este’s ear, “and graceful I might add,” then to the whole bar, “Magdalena.” Este snarled again. “And as the new best mate, the next round’s on me!”

“Hear, hear!” A cheer went up from every man in the bar.

Dino released Este’s head, and the miner straightened up, still looking at Serge. Serge shrugged. “Congratulazioni.”

With the taught cable smoking through his gloved hands as he sank into the swirling gases of the shaft, Serge knew this time his younger brother needed his help. Whatever had passed between Dino and Phebe, it was as much his own fault. Dino was only being Dino. And when Phebe needed passion and spark, well, maybe it wasn’t too late.

What have we done? Woozy and on the verge of panic, the twenty-one-year-old research scientist shrank into a tiny ball in the corner of #13—the exact location from where the catastrophe originated.

She had essentially belonged to the company her entire adult life, and much of her childhood. Not that she had cared. Her parents had been kindly old miners who’d done their best to raise the stray baby girl they’d found dumped in a cave—a freak with yellow eyes and a love for the dark. And when they’d died, her keen faculties for natural sciences and her fondness for life underground had been nurtured by Texas Pride Energy.

She ran her hands briskly up and down her arms, trying to settle the bristling fuzz. Her skin felt cool to the touch and looked much paler than normal. Her jaw dropped as she made the connection, her stomach lurching from the memory.

Early on she’d administered a small amount of quicksilver to Adam and Eve as potential remedy. Immediately the subjects’ hair had bristled as their rate of abiotic decomposition increased, turning their skin cool and pale. Testing afterwards revealed severely elevated levels of the heavy metal. Under confrontation Vezzoni admitted to an earlier failed experiment involving a neurotoxin cocktail. He’d even handed over the remaining vials of the toxin.

She had let it slide. But now, trapped 400 feet below ground in a ruined cave filled with ruined air and two monsters partly of her own creation... clearly she was just a stupid kid following orders.

Nothing released gaseous quicksilver from coal like fire. But the element had no scent or taste, so what was Gayle tasting now? She knew the answer before she’d finished asking it. What she didn’t know was the effect the vaporized portion remaining of the original toxin would have on her own nervous system, or how far it might spread.

A slithering hiss reverberated from the walls of the cave, followed by the same dragging sound. The echo made it impossible to tell how far away the sounds were. She hugged herself and squeezed. Dammit, it’s not too late. You’re the only one who can undo this.

Her mind flashed. Christopher was a stickler for procedure. He would have recorded his experiment and placed the logbook in the fire safe by her desk before starting. The same logbook contained notes on everything, including all her recent mapping on the neurotoxin’s effects. She had felt close to understanding it, until… she dismissed the thought. The subjects clearly had enhanced physical abilities, but surely the changes stopped there. Yesterday’s incident had been tangential. But today?

Shaking off her fear, she slowly stood. I’ve got to find those notes. She gritted her teeth, straining the toxic air into her lungs. Or whatever happened to them is going to happen to me next.

She focused on the dim, blue glow. Narrowing her eyes to slits, shapes and forms within the shattered lab gradually grew in contrast from the shadows and the further walls. It was an ability she’d been born with, the blessing and curse of her strange, yellow eyes. The familiar blue light came from her crystal pendant, which she always kept in the top drawer of her desk when working. Find the pendant, find the notes.

With utmost caution she tip-toed around scattered debris while keeping her eyes glued to the source of the glow. With every step, she prayed to the God she’d ignored her entire life that nothing would move in her peripheral vision.

She crept past the prosthetics section, unable to resist glimpsing at the lifeless limbs they’d been working on—another high-minded project to replace the limbs frequently lost in mining accidents. For the first time she wondered if maybe they should have been working on reducing accidents instead.

A shadow danced to her right. She flinched. Blinking, she lost the dim, blue glow and fell back into total darkness. A rock skittered across the floor, someone or something kicking it. She bit her lip hard and willed herself to focus on the blue light.

Suddenly a loud crunch emanated from the far end of the cave as a slab of rock fell and shattered on the lab floor. With three long strides she leapt over piles of debris and slid into the recess of her overturned desk. Peeking over the top, she saw a red carbide light darting around the edges of the opening. The sight filled her simultaneously with dread and relief. Notes. Find the notes. If rescuers had found her, the notes could mean the difference between personal salvation or doom for them all.

Serge crash-landed on a small platform scattered with rock and tumbled to a stop. Smoking hot, his gloves had worn half-through during the descent. He flung them off and focused his helmet’s carbide beam.

He’d found the primary exhaust for #13, doubling as an emergency exit. Or in this case, emergency entrance. He breathed deep. The air tasted acrid, thick with smoke and carbon dioxide, nontoxic in the short-term.

If the explosion that caved in the #4 tailgate originated from here, reason held he might find his way from here to the trapped miners. In theory. But Serge knew as well as anyone that shafts rocked by explosion became the devil’s playground. Freshly exposed rock faces and constantly shifting ventilation meant new out-gassing. Topping it off with open flames and cramped spaces created a hell not fit for the damned. And his brother was trapped in it.

Quickly scanning the small space, his beam caught the glint of a metallic surface heavily smudged with coal. Bingo. With the heal of his fist he slammed the storage locker built into the rock and popped it open. He snatched one of the four pick axes hanging neatly in a row. With his shoulders hunched, a snarl on his lips, he shuffled steadily through the debris and into a low tunnel heading toward #4.

After less than twenty yards he hit his first obstacle—a cave in. Dammit. But the shaft had been venting smoke from somewhere. However small the opening, air was getting through. Slowly he ran the back of his hand over the surface of the rock slide until he felt the faint brush of moving air.

He held his face close and took a sniff. A thick, metallic taste caused his hair to stand on end. It wasn’t the standard nitrogen/oxygen mix one grew accustomed to on the surface, nor any combination he’d known in the mines. But it had oxygen enough to breath. “Dino!” His voice fell flat, muffled by the smoke and dust. “If you can hear me, stand back!”

He tapped the surface of the rock several times with his pick, listening for a weakness. Nothing guaranteed he could dig his way through before he passed out. At the same time, he could bring the rest of the shaft down with a single blow. Times like these, every miner grew friendly with God. Lord, get us out of this one and I’ll sing the loudest at church every Sunday of my life.

Directing his pick at the spot he’d chosen, he reared back and let it fall. Like pushing on the magic brick to a hidden passage, a manhole-sized circle in the rock gave way and collapsed with the single stroke. Good God, it looks like I’ll be joining the choir.

He set down the ax and leaned forward to inspect the opening, his carbide light struggling to pierce the plume of dust. After busting away rock with his hands, he lifted his legs and lowered himself through. What he discovered on the other side caused him to forget about the ax.

This definitely wasn’t #4. It wasn’t even a mine. Slowly sweeping his head back and forth, the dim beam revealed a gaping expanse of natural cave. Drawn first to the ceiling, he marveled at the height of it, until a scuttling sound startled him. “Ciao? Someone in here?”

For the first time, he realized that #13 must have had a purpose. Whatever that purpose, someone might have survived it. “Are you hurt? Show me where you are.” More rustling, this time closer. A shadow darted through curling smoke and a strange red dust, reflecting the glare of his carbide. Whoever he was, he was mobile.

“Look, I need to find the #4.” He scanned the rubble closer to him, shocked to discover a jumble of fancy equipment.

“It’s not safe.” The soft sound of a female voice, coming from much deeper in the cave, startled him.

He shook off his surprise, “If you’re not injured you can help—”

A beastly snarl, only feet away, punctuated his sentence a split second before a ghastly pale form slashed across him, stripping his helmet and hurtling him to the floor.

His head bounced off of his own helmet, crushing the carbide light. The claw marks on the left side of his face burned worse than fire, his eye socket a smoldering coal buried in his skull. But his fighting instincts overcame the pain.

The darkness above him swelled, giving away the presence of his attacker. Ripping his helmet out from under him, he swung it savagely into the suffocating darkness. With a satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage, Serge knew he’d connected with his assailant’s face. An angry gargling confirmed it.

Lightning quick, he shifted his weight to his shoulders. Burying both feet into his attacker’s gut he sent him hurdling backwards, crashing into a heap of rubble.

“Be careful!”

The same female voice snapped Serge out of survival mode, but he remained silent.

“Dear God! Are you okay?”

The attacker rustled loudly, still not down for the count.

“Hello?” The woman continued.

Ignoring her, Serge picked up a rock and jumped to his feet. Pinpointing the monster’s ragged breathing, he hurtled it—his best bean ball.

With a yowl the attacker clambered over a heap of scraping metal and disappeared.

“The logbook, yes!”

The dissonance between the soft female voice and his harsh surroundings dazed Serge, creating an otherworldly experience. He squinted, reducing his eyes to slits, but it was no use. He was lost—adrift in a strange cave with a monster and a babbling woman. All of them floating in the darkness of a space so terrifyingly large that Serge lost all sense of earthly anchor. Without narrow walls to confine him, limit his options, he didn’t know what to do. Finally, he spoke the first words that came to mind. “Who are you?”

“Found it. Oh God, I found it. Stay there. I’m coming to you.”

“Found what?” Serge struggled to breath after so much exertion, and the blow to his head hadn’t helped. “Who are you?”

“Huh? Oh. Gayle Sanders. I’m a scientist.”

“But how are you, I didn’t know there were any—”

“Women can breath underground too, you know.”

Serge realized her voice drew nearer quickly, and without the audible stress typically associated with utter darkness. “But how are you—” With frightening suddenness two yellow eyes whisked open right in front of him. “Huh.” He jumped.

“Oh, sorry. It takes a little to get used to.”

“But your eyes—”

“They’re yellow, I know.”

“But how come—”

“Look, they don’t really glow. It’s this.” She held the faintest blue light up to her face, the pale flesh of her nose barely illuminated in its dim glare. “But shut up and listen. It’s not safe here, for multiple reasons.”

“You’re telling me.” Serge winced as he put his hand to his face. His left eye worked, but the color of her eyes changed from yellow to almost grey when he closed his right.

“Sorry about that.” With startling intimacy she put her hand up to his face, her cool finger tips relieving the burn of the cuts. “It looks pretty painful.”

“Uh,” he stammered.

“Is the hair on your arms standing?”

“Um,” he ran his hands over his arms. “Yes.”

“Mine too. Here, follow me. There should be some masks.”

“But I can’t—”

“Hold my hand.” She reached back, already on the move, and laced her fingers through his. The coolness of her touch was uncanny. Not clammy in the least, but calming. It steadied him to feel the closeness of her petite frame, the soft grip of her smooth skin. The subtle smell of soap and rose water mingling with smoke and dust, the taste of blood in his mouth, all worked together to anchor him.

Moving quickly through the dark behind his mystery guide, his uncertainty from moments ago dissolved. With a sudden synapse he remembered his original intent for diving back into hell’s womb. “My brother. There are four miners trapped in #4. I need to get to them.”

“You won’t get there without breathing.” She paused, “And there’s something else. That thing that attacked you.” She took another strained breath. “I think there are two of them. And if we don’t do something to fix all this, there might be lots more.”

"Sorry, what was your name?" Gayle released his hand and bent over to rummage in an opened locker.

"Uh, Serge." He bumped into her slender backside. "What was that thing?"

The contact irritated her, but not as she would have expected. Oddly it activated a yearning in her. She checked to ensure that the logbook was still secure and tucked into her waistband at the small of her back.

“He,” she sucked a gritty breath through her teeth, the air growing increasingly spongy, “supposedly used to be a miner, just like you.”

“A miner?”

“Well, not like you.” Flustered, she felt faint and fumbled for the locker door to keep from tipping over. Lightning quick yet gentle, Serge’s arm scooped her up before she collapsed to the floor.

“Are you alright?” He caught her up like cotton in a spring breeze, held her close.

Through his torn shirt, the heat from his chest soaked into the cool skin of her bare shoulder, intoxicating her.

“We should get you out of here. There’s a lift—”

“No!”

“Perdono?”

“I mean, I’m okay. These masks will help. Something’s in the air.” She huffed a labored breath and handed a long-snorkeled mask to Serge, showing him how to put it on before securing her own.

“You mean that pulpy taste?” He braced her with his massive hands around her waist, his fingers nearly touching.

Her chest brushed against his as she secured the strap to the back of his head, standing on tiptoes to do so. Both their shirts had completely soaked through. “Yes. It’s dangerous. A neurotoxin I think.”

“And the monster?”

She spun herself in his grip, facing away from him, but still secured by his warm hands. “Exactly.”

“Caro Dio.”

“Can you help me with this?” She guided his rough hands from her waist up to the mask’s strap on the back of her head. He held it in place as she snugged the seals around her mouth and nose. As she finished he ran his fingers through her hair and down her arms.

He spun her to face him. “Anyone who breathes it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“But—”

“I don’t think it works that quickly. You haven’t breathed enough.”

“But my brother.”

“We have to get them out.”

“Just point me in the right direction. You’ve been down here too long.”

“No.” She removed his hands and held them away from her. “You need my help. You can’t see without me.” Moving his lips, he swore silently, a frustration and hunger on his face that she couldn’t interpret. Of course he’d forgotten she could see him clearly, if tinged in blue light.

Suddenly he stopped, looking embarrassed. “What do you propose, oh guiding light?”

“No reason to be snippy.” She smirked, “I got just the thing.” As she turned to lead the way, placing his hands back around her waist, a shuffling sound echoed from nearby. Before she could focus on it, the locker tipped and then burst from the wall. Clipping them both, it sundered their grip on each other and spun them to the ground.

Quickly Serge’s groping hand found her. “Caro Dio. And that was?”

“Impossible. A fracture in the rock,” she shook her head remembering the similar incident from the day before, “I don’t know.”

He pulled her to her feet. “You said there are two of them?”

“You’ve met Adam. It’s Eve I’m worried about.”

“Eve?”

She glanced back to see him crossing himself. The gesture reminded her of Christopher, a staunch Catholic. “I suppose it was a bit crass,” her voice muffled by her mask. Focusing again on the path in front of her, she doubled their pace. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you.”

Moments later, after weaving toward a chamber leading off the middle of the lab, they arrived at the dead projects room.

“Where are we? I can’t see anything.”

“I’ve worked down here for five years with three different partners.”

“Five years, but how old—”

“During that time we’ve shelved lots of projects. But some of them worked.” She removed his hand from her waist, slid her fingers through his. “Listen for the subjects.”

“Subjects?”

She bit her lip. “Adam and Eve. Hopefully the machine we need still works.” Brushing past years of forgotten labors with her keen sight, she located it quickly. The Wedge. “Found it, but I’m going to need your help to get it out.”

“What is it?”

She pulled him down a narrow path until they reached the machine. “A rotary-impact sled. Pull this chord,” she placed his hand on a pull cord, “and this baby will cut a path through anything.”

“Then why was it shelved?”

“Well, uh. The paths don’t tend to be all that stable.”

“Beautiful.” Serge put his weight into it, and the two of them heaved the machine a few inches. “Nothing down here is stable. Why start now?” They strained again, shifting the sled another inch, until suddenly Gayle slipped. With nothing but his hearing to guide him, Serge stabbed at the blackness. Brushing her mask off by accident, he finally caught her wrist.

“I don’t know,” she said in between gasping breaths. “You seem fairly stable.”

“Sorry, let me help you.” Serge ran his fingers upward in the dark until they found the snorkel of her mask, dangling on a leather strap and hanging between her breasts. A jumble of feelings collided in his chest, expanding with every heaving breath. The events of the day had charged him with a passion for life, and this mysterious, yellow-eyed woman rattled him—churned his thoughts into an oxygen-deprived soup.

“It’s fine.” She brushed his hands with her own as she grasped the mask, her breathing ragged. “This thing’s—” her speech stopped abruptly as she turned to wretch against the cave wall.

“You’re sick.” He moved to stabilize her. “We should—”

“Quiet.” She reached back quickly, clutching his hand in her own. A long moment passed between them. Then a rhythmic hissing sound, a bear hibernating or the expansion of a bellows. Breathing. “Do you hear—”

The stillness shattered with the shrill scream of slaughter, a guttural shriek dripping with blood-lust and rage. The sound caused his muscles to involuntarily seize and pitch backwards as five hot nails collided with his shoulder, clutching him like a vice.

Twisting in the monster’s grip he dipped and spun, a second set of claws sweeping past the tip of his nose and disappearing again into the black. “Duck!” He smothered Gayle into his chest while using the monster’s momentum to fling it crashing into the wall over the top of them.

“It’s Eve,” Gayle squeaked, sounding weaker every minute. “She’s thirsty.”

He gripped her by the shoulders and retreated to the opposite side of the Wedge. “But we don’t have anything—”

“Blood. It’s 83% water.” She gasped, her mask still not in place. “I had a partner…”

“Caro Dio.”

She nodded, her head cradled against his chest while several feet away nails scratching stone preceded a chilling, breathy laughter.

“Gayle.” Serge removed his mask. He lifted her face until her nose was touching his, until they shared the same tangy breath, heavy with carbon dioxide and mercury. His oxygen-deprived muscles ached, and were moments away from quaking uncontrollably. “I can’t see it, and I can’t fight what I can’t see.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re sick. You have to get out of here.”

“But,” she resisted softly, “your bother.”

“I’m not leaving without him. I’ll cause a diversion—”

“The Wedge. Start it.” She took his hand in her own and placed it on the pull-cord. “The choke’s here. It’s hard to control. I’ll drive.”

The throaty laughter grew closer.

“Put on your mask.” She placed both hands on his chest.

Her hands were so cool to the touch. “You too.” He braced his foot against the base of the machine and yanked the cord with every bit of strength he had left. Nothing. Then the laughter snarled into a growl, only feet away.

“Serge, hurry.”

He took two deep breaths, his legs shaking beneath him.

With terrifying volume Eve screeched, the threat echoing off the inside of his skull. Funneling sheer terror, Serge wrenched the chord from its mooring, chugging the engine to life. Instantly the Wedge danced beneath them as its vibrating pad bounced off a dozen objects crowding it.

Predatorily, Eve leapt. The Wedge swung wildly, throwing them all off balance. Serge grunted, funneling the last of his strength to keep the infernal thing from bucking over on top of them, while Gayle nimbly went to work. With the flick of a switch a carbide light burst from the front of the dash. Dropping another lever caused the machine to swing sideways, blinding the beast with its powerful beam. In an instant Eve ducked the light and disappeared.

“She’ll be back. It’s us or her now!” Gayle shouted over the noise of the engine.

“Just point me in the right direction.” It was all Serge could do to hold on, sweat vibrating from the tip of his nose.

Gayle flicked the lever in the other direction, and the Wedge danced accordingly. Slamming her fist down on a black button, the large drill protruding from the front like an upturned raven’s beak sparked to life. Seconds later the whole contraption collided with the cave wall, belching gases from its sides as sparks rained down on the backs of their necks.

For the second time that day she prayed to an invisible god whom she didn’t know. Crouching on the platform behind Serge, she prayed the inert gases pumping from the machine’s base would flush enough of the oxygen and methane from the surrounding atmosphere to prevent the machine from creating a firestorm. As rocks pinged off the Wedge’s metallic surface, pelting down from the newly created ceiling, she added another prayer to the growing list.

Her eyes jumped in their sockets. Her ears filled with ringing as the metal teeth lining the raven’s beak chewed the rock and coal, spitting gravel out beneath them and pulverizing it into road base. She spent a furtive glance behind them, searching for a pair of twitching monsters thirsty for blood.

Finally the Wedge burst from the newly formed tunnel and spun wildly in the open space of mine #4, its carbide light a whirling dervish amongst the swirling black dust. Her mind snapped back to the dangers in front of them. Gayle reached for the shut off, but with a neck-snapping jolt the Wedge lurched, tossing her into a pile of rock. Sparks burst from the vibrating sled of the machine as it collided with the rails running along the tailgate road.

With a whoof, the sound of the Wedge was consumed by the ignition of the air surrounding them. Her hair frizzled, her eyes popping with bright white spirals. Her skin tightened on her frame, pounding her with jolts of pain. She tried to stand, but a heavy blanket followed by a solid mass enveloped her. Crashing to the floor of the mine, her ribs cracked as she rolled, the weight now fully on top of her. The suffocating fabric ushered her mind further down a darkening funnel, the last of her consciousness about to wink out for good.

Then, like rushing serf at the beach the blanket receded. Stale air washed over her. Finally a coughing fit racked her with fresh pain. In between fits she focused on a familiar face hovering over her. “Serge?”

“That’s a first. A beautiful young thing wakes up asking for my brother.”

“Dino!”

Serge’s welcome voice filled her ears, but it didn’t match the lips in front of her.

“Brother, you found us.”

Brother? Of course. On their knees, the two men embraced above her, forming a sheltering tent.

“Serge?”

“Gayle. Are you alright?”

“Your lady friend here was about to poke her head into a hot pocket. Singed a bit, but I think she’ll be alright.” Dino grinned, coal dust crinkling around the edges of his eyes.

“Dino.” Serge gripped his brother’s shoulder. “The rest?”

“Ay.” He nodded. “We’re all here. They’re weak. Hell, I’m—”

The air around them split with Eve’s blood-curdling cry as Gayle watched both brothers ripped away from her by the pale, pulpy flesh of the monster she had helped create. The beast whisked over her, and with a sickening thud their bodies collided with the pillar wall. Rebounding from the shadows, Eve’s ghostly figure flailed backwards directly toward her. Gayle rocked onto her shoulder as Eve’s body crashed down beside her.

In bone-chilling slow motion Gayle turned her head and met the monster, eye to exhausted eye. In that instant the two shared a mutual understanding. Clinging to human life by a thread, both were fighting a losing battle. Eve’s upper lip slowly curled, revealing her sharp, yellow teeth. With a low, guttural growl the pallid monster leapt to all fours and darted into the darkness of #4.

The ground shook beneath Gayle, fragments of rock dropping from the mine’s ceiling.

“What the hell—” Dino started, but Serge cut him off.

“We’ve got to go.” Serge gripped Gayle by the wrists, heaving her to her feet.

Her vision swam and popped. “You lead them out. I’ll bring up the—”

“No.”

She protested, “But—”

“They need your eyes. There’s no time.” Serge nodded to a clump of black, spectral beings while still supporting her weight. The shaft shook again as larger portions of ceiling gave way. “Go.”

The men's empty stares forced her to relent. “This way.” She did her best to ignore the harsh yellow light put off by the Wedge and focus on the dim blue glow of her pendant. With a final glance behind her she saw Serge helping his wounded younger brother up from the spot where Eve had left him crumpled and bleeding. His words echoed in her mind. I’m not leaving without my brother.

She threw her mask off and puked without slowing down. In an even darker moment of clarity, she realized she hadn’t planned on leaving at all. As she guided the injured miners deftly through the maze of debris that used to be her home, the memory of Eve’s desperate expression choked her more thoroughly than the toxic air. The same transformation had begun in her, and the process would run its course unless she could stop it.

Sensing the miners falling behind, she slowed her pace so they reached the gap leading to the exhaust shaft together. Helping the three staggering men crawl through the hole, she realized they were exhibiting the same symptoms as her: hair bristled, skin cool to the touch. Helpless desperation seized her. They were all worse than dead. If Adam and Eve were any indication, trapping them and herself in the mine would be a kindness.

But the will to live overrode the haunting thoughts. Maybe… Her self-absorption shattered as more rock crumbled and fell around her, a large piece striking her foot. “Serge!” She hopped on one leg, peering into the chasm.

“Go! Just go!”

Faintly she made him out, the two brothers limping awkwardly toward her, bumping into debris and scrambling over rock. “I can help—”

“Run the lift! Two at a time, go!” He grunted the words.

Arguing would kill them both. She felt the familiar press of the logbook against the small of her back as she reached up and took the hand of a miner who helped her through the gap. Even if she was doomed, the log must survive. Maybe her notes could save others.

Quickly they reached the vertical shaft, and to her surprise it echoed with the sounds of rescue, a search light dancing off the rough hewn walls.

“Hello!” a voice rang out from several yards above them.

The miners croaked with scratchy, exultant voices.

“Good God, we’re glad to see you. How many are there?”

Gayle took charge. “Six! But the—”

The lowering cage lurched suddenly to the side, grating against the rock wall as a tremor rippled through the ground. An explosion rumbled from somewhere behind them, deep within #4.

“After damp! Come on boys, climb aboard. All of you!” The cage had lowered enough for the miners to reach it and help shove each other inside.

“But there’s two more!” Gayle panicked.

“We can’t wait! Fire’s comin’!” Their rescuer knelt and held out his hand.

“Just go, you dense woman.” Serge’s voice echoed in the small tunnel leading from the lab. A plume of black smoke swirled from the opening, belching from the dragon’s mouth. If the fire inside awoke, it would consume them all.

“Do as he says.” The rescuer spoke.

Turning, she recognized his fright when he saw her yellow eyes. She closed them tight and took his hand. Crushed against the back of the cage, she kept her eyes closed, surrendering herself to a fate beyond her control. Already over limit, the cage groaned with the weight.

“Go. I’m on.” 

“Serge?” She opened her eyes, searching the human crush for his face when a fresh wind rushed past them from above. Next came the fire. The cage bounced along the side of the shaft as they rose at full tilt, faster than any cage she’d been in before. If they hadn’t been packed like sardines the result would have been much worse.

At the top they collided with the arm of a crane. Swinging sideways and crashing to the ground, the cage finally came to rest in a slag heap. Gratefully, her side of the cage faced up. But the door faced down, so rescuers quickly rolled them over until the miners’ coal-encrusted clothing suffocated her.

Dazed and blinded by daylight, she accepted the hands pulling her out. Finally on her own two feet, she focused first on two sorrow-filled eyes belonging to a woman—voluptuous, Italian, tears streaking her face. The woman addressed thin air with a single-word question. “Serge?”

Gayle scanned the blackened faces around her, but he wasn’t there. She swallowed hard, her throat like sandpaper, her mind blank and listing on an ocean of doubt and fear. Suddenly she patted the space at the small of her back—her logbook gone as well.