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“Are you saying people start to hallucinate?”
“It's been known to happen.” He goes quiet for a moment, gaze on the floor like he's trying to come up with a better explanation. “Back at the diner, when we was talking to Paula? Her son Dennis used to be one of the guards here. Poor boy let his mind wander too far and he left his post searching for something that wadn't there.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “What happened to him?”
Gale gazes at me lengthily. “Remember those mines I was telling you about? The ones that flooded back when the town worked the silver trade?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Well, a few of those shafts still exist in these woods. Some of ‘em run deep, about a hundred feet or more. We've tried mapping them and filling them in, but we missed some, and Dennis… Well, he was walking around in the dark, you see. It's pitch black in them trees.”
My stomach drops, cold realization sweeping over me. “He fell.”
“Yeah.” My uncle drops his gaze, nodding. “Yeah. Went too deep to recover his body.”
Silence settles around us, sudden enough to make my ears ring. I release a slow breath and grab the keys off the table. “Okay, got it. Stay inside. Keep busy. Understood.”
Though exactly how I'm supposed to keep myself occupied is still a mystery.
Gale once again claps my shoulder. “You'll be alright, kid. Just follow the rules, and you'll be fine. Stay up as long as you can tonight and sleep in the morning. Your first shift starts tomorrow night.”
He leaves shortly after that, explaining that Hank will give me the full run-down in the morning. I follow him out long enough to grab my bag from the car and wave him off. Once the door shuts behind me, I notice for the first time how many locks are attached to it—four in total, plus one deadbolt. There’s two on each window as well.
Instead of making me feel safe, the sight only makes my skin prickle.
But you can bet that I locked every single fucking one.
Chapter
Three
Benji
“This job is simple. A damn monkey could do it.” Hank rubs his bloodshot eyes, looking for all the world like he's about to pass out.
To be fair, I'd be too if I just worked twenty-four hours straight.
“You sit in this chair, and you log everything that comes in or goes out.”
“Which is what, exactly?” I ask, studying the small guard shack. “Trucks?”
The place is barely big enough to house its meager furniture–a desk, one rusted chair, and one miniature filing cabinet. That's it.
Hank gives me a long, calculated look. “No one should be coming or going at all after nightfall. The gate stays locked.”
Then why the fuck am I here?
My lips quirk as I adjust the uncomfortable guard jacket I've been forced to wear. “And if someone does show up? Hypothetically speaking, what would I do?”
“Tell ‘em get the fuck out.”
“Short, sweet, and to the point. Got it.”
Hank doesn’t seem to care for my casual tone. “We don't have time to be pussy-footin’ around with trespassers.”
He throws me a very pointed look, and I bite back a grin. Whether it’s because of his exhaustion or the fact that I’m an outsider, I’m not sure, but Hank here clearly has an issue with me. From the moment I arrived, he's been making snide remarks.
I'm used to that shit, though. As the youngest child of two boys, jibes like that slide off me like water off a duck’s back.
