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“Yes. And stronger than any of them.”
The road ended, not at a mine entrance, but in a tiny village. Ten weather-beaten cabins clustered around a central square, which bordered a creek of gin-clear water. A newer-looking barn sat off to one side, surrounded by a vegetable garden and a lush pasture where several black-and-white cows grazed. Solar panels studded its sloped roof and topped the cabins as well. Chickens darted from the approaching cars and disappeared underneath a pickup truck and the rusting frame of a tractor.
A large-bellied man with bushy white hair and a thick mustache emerged from one cabin as they pulled up. He wore socks in his sandals and a pair of stained overalls over a faded blue-checked shirt. He looked a bit like an oversize duck as he waddled toward them on stocky legs.
“Terrifying security,” Dominique murmured.
“Did you all get lost?” the duck called, jovial, as the officers, Jackson, and Dominique piled out of their cars.
“I don’t know,” Jackson said with an affable smile. “We’re looking for a mine. Seen one around here?”
Officer Campbell answered in an official tone. “It’s farther back in the woods, sir. There’s a trail over there.” He pointed to where another, still smaller road was blocked by a crossbar and a sign warning of rock fall ahead.
Both Campbell and his partner, Officer Rao, looked at them expectantly. Apparently, escorting them here and watching for trouble was as far as their compulsion had gone. Jackson coughed to buy time, composed himself, and stepped forward. “We’re here with…the…Alberta Mines Inspection Commission,” he improvised, hoping he sounded even remotely plausible and painfully aware that he probably was the only human here with a clear head.
The cops took it from there, parroting Jackson’s words with grave authority.
“Inspection?” the duck man said, his hands disappearing behind the front panel of his overalls. “Oh, there’s no need for that. We all know it’s too dangerous to go in there, and not too many tourists lose their way down here.”
“We know what we’re doing,” Jackson assured in his most confident tone.
“They know what they’re doing,” Campbell repeated. The more senior of the two officers, he propped his hands on his hips as he said this, drawing attention to his holstered pistol.
“They’re experts,” confirmed Rao. He was the fresher, younger one, but was tall and wide and all around intimidating.
“This is crazy,” Dominique muttered from where he leaned against the rental’s hood.
Jackson spoke out of the side of his mouth. “No, this is your magic at work.”
The duck cast a doubtful look at Jackson and Dominique. While Jackson smiled and maintained an easy, open stance, Dominique stood with his arms crossed. He had tied his hair back and wore a new pair of aviator sunglasses against the day’s gray light. Absolutely nothing about him screamed “mine inspector.”
“Are you now,” said the man, the welcome draining from his expression. Behind him, several more men and women emerged from two other cottages and the barn. They appeared to be in their late middle years, early retirees perhaps, living off the grid, with a few younger men sprinkled in.
“What’s going on, Earl?” one of the latter, a tall, faded redhead, said. His fearsome scowl belied his almost delicate nasal voice.
“Mine inspectors,” the duck, Earl, replied. The men raked Jackson and Dominique with hard, assessing looks that made Jackson miss his sidearm. “It’s not any safer in there for you either, you know.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jackson said. He popped the SUV’s hatch and retrieved his backpack, which contained two folded body bags and his favorite Bowie knife. An assortment of climbing gear was clipped to the outside. He also grabbed three full-spectrum torches. With their hefty weight, these could double as clubs. He added one to the backpack and pushed another at Dominique. “Officers? Nick? Shall we?”
While Campbell and Rao headed for the access road, Dominique separated from the car with obvious reluctance, his expression unreadable, the skepticism ebbing. The sense of having walked into an alternate reality clearly wasn’t lost on him.
“All right, all right, just a minute,” Earl said. “Seems we can’t convince you to keep your necks safe, so we might as well show you around. Terry?”
“Sure thing. Least we can do,” Redhead agreed. “Tim, do you mind? Carl? Paul? Wanna go for a walk?”
Three others moved closer.
“No need,” Jackson blurted. “Nick, tell them we’ll be okay on our own.”
Dominique gave him a peculiar look, but then did as told, repeating Jackson’s words—with an edge of doubt and no hint of compulsion.
Jackson smothered a groan.
“From Quebec, eh?” Earl said, hearing Dominique’s accent. His grin revealed stained teeth.
“Saint Barthélemy.”
“Oh,pardon-moi.”
