In the darkest parts of man’s subconscious lies the understanding that existence is two phased. What most don’t recognize is the space between being and not. Between the spaces of life exists a world where the veil has been skewed to the point of dissolution. Every time that something goes bump in the night, every movement in the corners of your peripheral vision, this is where the separation has weakened enough to allow passage.
My greatest fear was always the inability to breathe. Whether it be drowning, being buried alive, or general claustrophobia, the simple thought would send shivers down my spine. When I made the life choices I did, I never imagined they’d take me to the places I dread when the lights go off.
As a chemical engineer, part of my job is understanding and relegating the risks of certain agents. Whether it’s a bio weapon or a gas leak, one of the individuals with the same resume as me would be dispatched to handle the situation safely and effectively. That day was supposed to be a simple process and clear operation in a small mining town. The Kennecott Mines were a relic of the gold rush that ended in a copper baron bleeding the land of its beauty and resources. The nearby community, following the abandonment of the mines, have now come to realize the benefits of the National Park Service converting an eyesore into a monument to man’s greed. That considered, kids will be kids.
When my phone rang with the assignment, all I was told was that we had a weird gas leak in a small Alaskan town. Unfortunately, we don’t often have a lot of information because it’s not important until we hit the ground. My plane tickets took me to McCarthy and the local police were extremely hospitable. They helped me get checked into my lodging and gave me the run down of the area. I attempted to ask some questions about the situation but all I got was a boilerplate response about ongoing investigations and that I’d have to talk to the incident commander.
The next morning, I arrived at the base of the mountain and met with the police blockade. Sergeant Jackson stepped out of the crowd and introduced himself as the on-site commander and my liaison. All he was able to give me was that two kids had gone into the mine and were missing. When his officers attempted to respond, they suffered headaches and retreated to establish a cordon per department policy. They were reporting Methane poisoning symptoms but stated that it felt different. We went over the area layout and potential hazards before he approved me to go to work.
As I donned my SCBA, I had to quell my panic. No matter how many times I test my airflow, the fear of equipment failure sits at the back of my mind. The panic attack was put on the back burner as I ascended the mountain. Throughout my time as an engineer, I’ve met many challenges. My first year, I received word of a potential Anthrax. When I arrived, the woman that reported it was scared beyond belief. She recalled the fear from the Amerithrax attacks in 2001 and thought that Al Qaeda had decided to take out small town Illinois. The powder was nothing more than paper dust from manufacturing but the fear in her voice may never go away. I was never trained to counsel, but in this woman I saw my mother and my grandmother. Everyone has fear and unfortunately sometimes we are forced to face them in the real world. Though I may never know how her psyche fared in the following days, I took solace in the fact that I was able to help her by bringing the threat down to a digestible level.
As I approached the mine entrance, my handheld probe screamed to life. The warning that came from this baton on my belt was overshadowed by the beauty of the area. Across the wooden beam that denoted this mine as the property of the company that poisoned the land, was a collection of carvings. These markings, even to an untrained eye like mine, depicted the dangers of the earth’s wound and the ramifications of losing the respect for the natural order. Despite everything telling me not to, I recorded the probes readings and stepped into the abyss.
The darkness has long been a point of fear for man. In the days of Neanderthal, the darkness housed predators and unknown dangers. Man developed a sense of safety around fire and sources of light. The ring of warmth from the flame provided a sense of control over one’s environment. The suffocating darkness of the mine robbed me of any control I felt that I had. As I progressed amongst the remnants of the miners and the apparent lost souls that squatted here during their times of discovery, the earth seemed to embrace me as a part of her eternal being. My existence became less and less consequential the further I walked. As the space grew smaller, so did I.
I came to a point where I was no longer able to stand. I pulled out my probe and attempted to take a reading, in the hopes that I would not have to proceed. Unfortunately, the source of whatever I was looking for seemed to be beyond this choke point. On my hands and knees, I continued. Every-time my head or back scraped against the rock of the cavern, I was reminded of the situation that I found myself in. Never in the lectures I attended or the assignments I’ve been on had I ever been in such a predicament.
At the end of a corridor that seemed to stretch for miles, the room opened back up. I cleaned the dust off my mask and was met with a corridor of lanterns. Not lights, not glow sticks, but lit kerosene lanterns. Fire has not been used in mining for years, simply because of the risk of gas. Where a canary would simply expire in a methane rich environment, the fire would either extinguish or ignite. Many a soul had been lost to a flash fire or an explosion that ended in a collapse. The presence of these lanterns stopped me in my tracks. The mine had filled the gaps left by man’s indiscretion. Against my better judgement, I removed my mask and took a cautionary breath. When my throat didn’t close from gas exposure, I let myself relax.
At the end of the expanse, the lanterns seemed to die off as the abyss reclaimed the light. I continued down the passage and the walls seemed to close in with the light. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by rock on all sides. I turned to my right and continued shimmying despite my growing inner protests. My air tank obstructed my way so I removed it and tossed it by the way side. This gave me room to breathe and pause. The last bits of sanity that lived within me told me to turn around. It told me to run away from here, those missing boys be damned. Despite everything I knew, I continued.
Eventually the opening was my exact size. My arms were pinned in position and every inhale pressed my ribs against the rock. Thankfully my head was looking to the right so the loss of mobility wasn’t as apparent. I would inhale and move forward. Inhale and step. I did this until I couldn’t fill my lungs anymore. As my breathing grew shallow, I heard something down the way. A small voice. Pleading for me to continue. So I did. Every step my breathing got shallower. Before I knew it I was sipping the air like a man lost in the desert that found a drop of morning dew. I took the deepest drink that I could and took one final step. The wall squeezed out the last bits of air that I possessed and I froze.
When someone drowns, there’s a reported feeling of euphoria. The moment that the ocean claims you as a part of the food train, you lose all worldly worries and sink into eternity. Life is full of stress and things to focus on, the moments without anything release dopamine into the brain to ease the pains of death. I didn’t get to experience that feeling. I remember every moment that I sat there wishing I could gasp for air. I felt my mouth dry out and my lungs burn. If I’d had the ability, I would’ve screamed into the abyss where I’d spend my last moments. When the fire in my chest got to be too much, I passed out.
I was never a religious man. As a child, the stained glass depictions of the crucifixion gave me nightmares. I would dream that I was carrying the cross and being whipped. I would dream that I was on the hill watching it happen. I would dream that I was Longinus with my spear, sealing my fate. Maybe the fear was of hell. Maybe the fear was death. Despite my objections, my mother made sure that every week I was there in the third row listening to the preacher talk brimstone and fire. In college, I read of the circles of hell and the punishments that awaited the sinners. Never did Dante mention being swallowed by the earth.
When I awoke, the cavern had opened. I stood up, caught my breath, and assessed the room. My eyes had adjusted and I could almost see. In the distance I saw a silhouette that seemed to wave me down. I stumbled to the figure and it stayed just out of reach. Every-time I would reach out, it would take a step back. Eventually I yelled in frustration and began to question the entity. “Why! Why me! What did I do?” I sobbed. I broke down to my knees and sobbed until my shoulders were sore from the motion. The silhouette came to my side and placed its hand on my shoulder. In that moment I understood. I looked into the silhouette and pleaded. “I’m sorry. I thought I was helping them. That’s all I ever wanted to do.” I met the beings eyes and it said in a voice from the inside of my head, “I know. It’s going to be okay. There was nothing you could do.”
I was startled awake at my desk. I looked around in a panic and couldn’t believe what I saw. Before I could figure out what happened my phone rang. On the other end was my boss with an assignment in Alaska. I slammed the phone without a word. Without collecting any of my things, I left the building into the cold of the day. Down the street was a chapel with a neon cross, warming me inside. I stepped through the door and was welcomed by a man in a collar and he said in a familiar voice, “Welcome home my child.”
Credit: Tucker Deming
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