Algorithm - Book 1 - The Medallion

Chapter 8

Linda folded her arms."Ooo, it's cold in here."

"Here, take this." Adam offered up his windbreaker which Linda gratefully accepted, wrapping it over her shoulders. He instinctively placed his arm around her waist and for a fleeting moment their eyes met, acknowledging their mutual anxiety and perhaps, more. They proceeded onward through the ragged circles of light, careful to step over the remnants of rails embedded in the floor. They felt the subtle tug of gravity with each step as the tunnel sloped downward. The rails once carried the coal cars or 'buggies' as they used to call them years ago. Rotting timbers running up either side of the wall threatened to crumble beneath their sagging crossbeams. Jagged outlines of blue-black rock reached out to them as they passed beneath hanging incandescents. The air they breathed carried a heavy dampness—a ghostly link to the miners who once worked the coal, perhaps to the miners who died here and were never recovered. There were several openings to either side of the tunnel, possibly marking entrances to side passageways. As they passed one such narrow excavation, something that might have once been a coal chute, they heard voices, distant and muffled, sounds that mixed with those of gurgling water. Intermittent splashes suggested vermin and other creatures of the dark scattering before them as they plodded onward, deeper into the mine. After a few minutes they could no longer make out the entrance, and instead, concentrated on what lay ahead.

Linda tugged Adam's elbow. "Do you hear that?"

They listened, trying to filter out the watery background sounds in the dank, half-lit tunnel. It was music, slow dance music—an old Sinatra, or perhaps a Nat King Cole croon, waxing and waning. The slow song, the tempo and undulating volume, mixed in with the dull echoes of trickling water and their own steps. As they neared the source, a subtle clicking brought up an image of a hand-wound record player to Adam. He recalled his father fussing with an conical megaphone contraption, probably an old Victrola, with a picture of an attentive dog pasted on the side. They picked up their pace, carefully placing each step to avoid announcing their arrival. It was almost as if the melancholy sounds emanating from the distance were calling out to them, drawing them nearer like sirens to rocky shoals. They reached what at first looked like a dead-end, a rock fall or cave-in. The broken rails continued on under a pile of coal and debris—a volcanic isle on a dark, shimmering ocean puddle. A second look made it clear that the tunnel turned to the left, and as they followed the curve, they found fresh timbers. A hundred yards or so ahead a sharp band of light from a side entrance stretched across the path. The crooning was louder.

Mona Lisa by Nat King Cole.

While staring ahead, Adam failed to notice a discarded bottle near his feet. His toe kicked it ahead, producing a loud and disquieting pinging as it tumbled across the floor. The noise may have been barely noticeable in the outside world, but here, in Nature's echo chamber, it was a clarion call. A moment later all the lights went out and the pair froze in their tracks. The music stopped. Seconds crawled by as they wondered what would happen next. Then Adam ventured a call out. "Hedda, is that you?"

No response. Adam tried again. "It's us, Adam and Linda. We came down here to look for you."

A spotlight flashed on at the far end of the tunnel. A moment later, a familiar voice echoed through the tunnel. "Well, I guess ya found me. Hold on, I'll bring up the lights."

The overhead lights returned and Hedda emerged from the side shaft to greet them. "I thought I told ya to wait for me."

Linda said, "We started to get worried."

Hedda shook her head. "Well, I guess I'd be bringing ya here anyhow. Come with me, I got something to show ya."

They followed Hedda around the corner and into the shaft from where the music had been coming. The mine shaft led to a room with white-washed wooden walls and planked flooring. They felt warmth emanating from the room, cutting through the damp chill. There was a desk covered with notes and books, some chairs, cabinets, even a couple of easy chairs. In one corner Adam spotted a beaten up old desktop computer, and the grim lines of his mouth upturned into a smile, when in the opposite corner, he saw a bona fide Victrola.