Dark Forces

"Hey hon! That be all?" she said, ringing me up.

"Yeah, I'm thinking of exploring, you know, just going out for the day, sightseeing. Know any cool spots? I was thinking of heading out to old Pioche, if it's not too far."

"You might check out the old Delmar mine up by Disaster Peak, out on Greely Crossing. It should be pretty safe, I mean, from all the... Hey, you're Roger and Helen Canfield's grandson, aren't you? Ryann, right?" she asked suddenly.

"Yeah!" I said, beaming.

"You came in here a couple times when you were real little, with your grandma once, you probably don't remember."

"Well, that was a long time ago, you know." The thought that this woman had worked in the same little store, doing that same job, for all that time was slightly depressing. At least, that was what I thought then. She looked like she had once been beautiful, but the ravages of too many beers, too many cigarettes, and just general wear and tear had not been kind to her. But she had a warm kindness that about her that I still felt somewhat compelling. And she also had a warning.

"You want to be careful where you go. There have been some strange things going on around here lately." She said.

"You mean, like what?"

"Well, did you feel that earthquake last night?" She asked.

Now that she mentioned it, I had thought I had felt something, right before going to bed, but I had dismissed it.

"Yeah I think so, right around 9 last night wasn't it? Do we get a lot of quakes out here? I'm kind of used to it, living in California and all."

"Well, not in over 30 years. Shook the whole town. Nothing in the news about it though, which was weird. And there have been some strange people coming through here, not just the usual drifters either. And for some reason, a lot of the regulars, the people who live out on the ranches outside of town, they usually come in here, every couple days, for groceries, smokes, and whatnot. But a lot of them I haven't seen at all the last couple weeks. I don't know what's going on with that."

"What was up with all those government vehicles out here the other day?" I asked, on impulse.

"You know, I don't know and really I don't want to know. They were in here the other day, all these strange guys in uniform, and I asked what was going on, but they were pretty hush hush. Pretty rude about it too. Threatening, almost; like they clearly didn't even like me asking. So if you run into any military stuff or warning signs saying no trespassing, I wouldn't get too close. Don't be meddling into stuff that isn't your business."

6.

I left the store, got back in the Cherokee, and within half a minute had left the dusty hardscrabble of Paradise Valley behind, as I sped down the desert dirt road. On the radio, a distant station from Winnemucca, one of the few that I could pick up that was actually worth listening to (i.e. that was not either religious or country) was playing a song about snuffing a rooster. Then there were flies in the Vaseline, then the world was a vampire. I didn't feel like snuffing roosters or like being bled by vampires. I only enjoyed the feeling of speeding through the scenery rocking out to the stereo. Then when a boring song came on about the memories that remain, with its lame "la laalaa laaaa" chorus, I turned the radio off and listened only to the sound of the hot wind blowing by with the window rolled down.

The scenery out here has this unique character. It is bleak, but not in an unattractive way. Just wide open vistas that change subtly as you pass through it. Distant mountains and windswept plains. It has its own beauty that is special, I thought to myself as I drove along. I saw a row of transmission powerlines in the distance, steel towers marching across the landscape like giant metal scaffold monsters. The sky was clear and deep blue, unmarred by the filtering haze of the city or of distant range fires, and the air smelled of dry sagebrush.

The road wound steadily northeast, heading gradually into a hilly country of mesas and canyons, rock faces and crags. A large prominent summit in the distance drew closer. The road I was following was heading out in that direction and I was using the road atlas I had purchased at the same general store as a guide. The atlas said this was Disaster Peak, and I could see what looked like some spectacular old ruined buildings up on top of the bluff. There was also what appeared to be some kind of tall scaffolding, like a drill rig of some kind. Eventually I came to a spur road and turned off, heading now steeply uphill towards the top of the bluff about three miles distant.

As I followed the road the powerlines drew closer and the row of steel towers paralleled the road. It was then I noticed something odd. There were no wires. The towers were standing like silent sentinels, but there were no lines hanging from the insulators. Maybe the power company just built this line, I thought, but why, and where were the lines going? The road continued toward the top of the hill and then I saw the wooden mill and concrete ruins of what I assumed had been a large mining operation. This must be the Disaster Peak mine, I realized. The road dead ended at a large flat dirt lot next to a vast concrete wall. I could see some other buildings beyond, large vast wood structures in various stages of ruin and decay. Off to the right were a series of corrugated metal shacks that looked curiously newer and in better condition than the aged structures to the left and the concrete ruins in front of me.

Still, the thought of exploring this place intrigued me. I loved old places like this. It made for a cool post-apocalyptic setting that was fun to roam around in. I could imagine taking my old drinking buddies form Santa Rosa, or from college, up here to party; and then maybe we would run around playing paintball, or maybe just check it out and have a few beers. But then again, a cool historic site like this wouldn't really be fit to desecrate with paintball, or just trash, and it would be kind of lame to just leave it to a bunch of sleazy gangbanger types to tear up with graffiti, though, I thought to myself. Sometimes I was quite honestly ashamed at the antics of some of my old associates from back home.

So with that, I grabbed my camera, exited the car, and started wandering around. I set off for the concrete structure in front of me. Oddly, there was very little graffiti here. The city folk had not yet discovered this place, I thought to myself. And there were no "No Trespassing" signs around either. It is this detail that would especially haunt me in the years to come. If there was ever a place that needed such signs, this would be it.

But I did not realize that yet, as I walked around, taking photos, and imagining myself as a miner or a worker in this place. I was thinking of how, one day, everything had just shut down and everything was left to rot away forlorn in the desert air.

In some of the buildings the old machinery was still there, giant flywheels and bins, some of them full of bearings the size of golf balls. There was a long wood building, the roof half collapsed, that appeared to have been a bunkhouse or dormitory of some kind, with tiny rooms and a bathroom on each end, the plumbing now bare and exposed. The plaster inside was cracked and crumbling. The second story floor felt spongy and unstable, and the last thing I wanted to do was fall through the rotted floor, so I quickly clambered back out and down the stairs.

When I exited out the back of the bunkhouse, I caught side of the ore pit beyond the mine buildings and the view was breathtaking. This would definitely be worth checking out, I thought. It was a vast trench, hundreds of yards across, nearly half a mile long and by the looks of it, and nearly a thousand feet deep. There were terraces, or benches, dug into the sides of the pit, making it look like a gargantuan inverted cake, but the far end of the long rectangular pit was a near vertical wall. I was thinking of the cool rocks that you could find down there at the bottom and I was eager to explore for that reason. Pete Threebears had a few bright greenish blue rocks in his house that he said contained copper that came from old mines. That would be neat to show to Erin, as she always liked rocks. They probably have some down at the bottom, I thought, plus it would be kind of cool to check out. Atop a hill stood the vast towering drilling rig I had seen from the main road below. I assumed the miners must have used this to drill a vertical shaft into the mountain, alongside the open pit. But the machinery looked oddly out of place, almost too new to have been part of the original 19^th century mining operation. When I climbed up the hill to get a closer look at it, there was a chain link fence surrounding it. Oh well, probably not worth messing with, I thought.

As I approached the pit, I noticed that there were large pipes rising from the near vertical wall at the far end of the pit. These were painted bright green and yellow, in stark contrast to the rusted metal color and wind-blasted brown wood of everything else. There also appeared to be some kind of machinery down there as well, and the pipes disappeared into what I assumed was some kind of shaft entrance at the bottom.

I then noticed that at the bottom of the pit there were also a few vehicles, scattered like small toys at the bottom. They didn't look that old to me either. They looked like some kind of large earth moving machines and bulldozers. I could see other shapes down there, like tiny boxes, in the distance below me. Perhaps old buildings or sheds of some kind, I figured. Again, there were no signs of any kind saying "Keep Out." In the excitement of wanting to see what was down there, I had forgotten the warning from the store lady. This was supposedly public land, after all, so I couldn't really be doing anything wrong by being up here, right? And if someone was doing some kind of serious mining here, they would have signs at least, I would assume. Oh well, if anyone says anything, then I'll just leave and apologize, I thought. And with that, I grabbed my backpack with the water bottle and sandwich, and started hiking down the steeply switchbacking road that descended into the pit.

It was thankfully much cooler as I climbed down, even as the sun rose higher it didn't seem to warm the place. After a while, I reached the bottom of the pit. I stared upward at the way I had come down. It was a surreal sight. Terraced walls of sheer rock towered over me hundreds of feet high, at least four tiers. It was shady down here, in this unnatural vast amphitheater. However, there was an unnatural odor I couldn't quite place. Like an acrid rotten egg smell. Parked down here was a large tanker, two huge earth moving machines, a giant backhoe digging machine, and a mechanized cyclopean machine that looked like a crane hoist of some kind. Clearly these were among the machines that had been at work digging this vast pit, and they looked to be of far more recent vintage, and far more meticulously maintained, than the rustic ruins up top would seem to indicate. However I was somewhat dismayed, and more than a little spooked, to notice that directly behind the vast crane thing, were a row of Humvees, each painted a beige camo color, and next to them, a large cylindrical looking machine that was covered with a tarp. Clearly there had been recent activity down here, I thought. Was the mine open again?

Over to my left, facing uphill, there were two large shipping containers and at least two small corrugated aluminum roofed shacks as well. I could see a couple piles of rock near the western sides of the pit, and wondered if I might find some of those cool green rocks in the tailings. Flush against the cliff wall, there was a large metal doorway with a metal frame leading into the side of the mountain. That must be the mine entrance, I thought to myself.

So I wandered over toward the rock pile, near where the two shacks and two cargo containers stood. The large diameter pipes rose up here from the sides of the rock wall above me, disappearing into it. One of them, a bright red pipe nearly three feet in diameter, crossed right above my head to disappear into the rock wall opposite me. To my delight, I could see some telltale signs of green copper oxides on the surface of some of the rocks. There were quite a few interesting looking rocks on the pile, I noticed, once I started poking through it. Some of the rocks appeared to have a bright metallic sparkle to them, possibly some metallic ore of some kind that looked interesting too. I grabbed a couple rocks and stuffed them into my backpack. I quickly stashed the camera in the front bag. For some reason I didn't think it would be a good idea to be taking pictures.

Because, somehow I couldn't help feeling uneasy down here. The feeling seemed to get worse. It was like being watched, only it seemed to intensify, like I was being watched by something or someone decidedly dangerous. I remembered hearing about the meth cookers out in the desert. But even worse, if some mining company hired guns caught me down here, what would happen? I didn't see anyone around, or hear anyone in the sheds, but yet, it suddenly felt like in the movies where they say "I've got a bad feeling about this." My inner alarm bells started ringing when I had the realization: where were the people who owned those vehicles?

At any rate, I resolved to take my colored rocks and leave the area as quickly as possible. But then, suddenly, my heart froze in terror.

From inside of the mountain, a deep rumbling started, like a vast cyclopean diesel engine starting up. It wasn't so much earsplittingly loud, as it was earth shaking, like a subsonic rumble. The whole ground shook, and I could see dust and small rocks tumbling off the sides of the cut walls of the pit. Above me, I could hear a rushing sound, as if steam or gas was roaring through the pipes. Something deep within the mountain was coming to life.

Then I heard the sound of voices, and I panicked.

They were coming from inside of the steel doorway cut into the side of the rock face- from what I assumed was the mine tunnel. The door was ajar, and I could see a wooden framed passageway going into the mountain that was lit- but why had I failed to notice that the passageway had lights in it? And why didn't that seem odd? I was kicking myself for not paying attention to this. All I needed to do, right now- was get the heck out of there. Whatever happened, I did NOT want to be seen by these guys. So I sprinted for the cover of the vehicles across the pit. I could hear the running boots echoing from the inside of the passageway. I ducked behind one of the dozers and shimmied around behind it, keeping myself out of view. The ground started rising steeply right beyond the front of the dozer, and I scrambled up to a dirt ledge above that, grabbing the arm of one of the excavators to pull myself up, then ran around to the front of that to keep myself out of view of the entrance.

I waited here for several minutes, crouched behind the excavator out of view of the shacks and the entrance. The rumbling had stopped, but the noise of whistling hot gas escaping through the vast pipes continued. It appeared that the mine workers- if that's who they were- had not seen me and had entered one of the shacks. That was a lucky break, but a close call- and it was still a long climb out of the pit. I hunkered down, heart pounding. After a while, I thought I would chance it, but instead of leisurely wandering up the switch-backing service road, I began climbing straight out of the pit, up the steep slope.

My thoughts kept racing back to the warnings about the government secrets, the drilling, and the odd uneasy feeling, "of spirits at unrest." The last thing I had wanted to do was mess around with that kind of stuff, yet here I had inadvertently ended up doing that very thing! Now I needed to get out- and fast- so I doubled my pace up the hill.

It got me winded pretty quickly. I didn't smoke and was in good shape, but yet, climbing nearly a half a mile straight uphill, and doing it as quickly as humanly possible, was still pretty taxing on my lungs and legs. I was out of breath when I reached the top of the rim. I looked back down toward the bottom and saw no sign of pursuit but I was still taking no chances; what if someone had called the sheriff or something? This whole trip was turning into one big fubar, I thought to myself, now desperately wishing I HAD gone on to check out one of the ghost towns further down the road, instead of this place.

I circled around towards where my car was, keeping an eye out for law enforcement just in case. I didn't see anything. Even my own vehicle was out of sight beyond a low hill where the huge drilling apparatus was perched. But I DID notice one thing that I hadn't seen, as it was not in view when I had originally explored the ruined mill and old mine buildings at the top. Behind this low hill was what appeared to be a large electrical substation. The line of marching metal skeletal towers started just beyond the substation fence. Inside the fence was the usual array of metal buss work, two large transformers, breakers, and switching equipment. Two huge steel conduit tubes emerged from the ground inside the fence, and the metal buss bars that emerged from them were hooked to the switch gears. This must be what is powering the mine, I thought, although I noticed again that the outgoing transmission towers had still not been strung with wires. What was up with this? A sign on the fence read "Project Azzacov Geothermal Plant. Danger: High Voltage!" So was this what was going on? Were they building some kind of power plant inside the old mine tunnels? I was curious, but not curious enough to want to hang around any longer to find out. I ran around the edge of the hill, still winded from the climb, and eventually reached the old mine ruins I had explored earlier. And there, right where I had left it, was my Cherokee. I looked around, once again, and to my relief, saw nobody.

I hopped in my car and quickly headed down the hill and back to town. I sped back across the desert, at first checking my rear view mirrors frequently for any signs of pursuit. Nobody was back there, and there were no other cars on the road. I was still wired up from the near close call of getting caught snooping around, but eventually, the warmth of the air and the desert scenery calmed my nerves and I began to relax.

Which is probably why I failed to notice that, flying very low and off in the distance, a black helicopter, one which had been modified for stealth flight, was diligently tracking me.

7.

After I got home that afternoon, the rest of the day was uneventful. The clearing and prepping of the house continued in earnest. I ended up helping Mom haul out a bunch of thrift-store material. She had rented a trailer to haul away most of the stuff, and we were gradually loading it. I did the heavy lifting for the furniture, of course; the big stuff she conveniently set aside for when Erin would arrive the following evening. But meanwhile, there was plenty of little stuff. There were old dishes and silverware, ash trays and her collection of shot glasses, kitschy wood-framed pictures with prayers and bible verses inscribed on them, designer candle holders, some generic western cowboy paintings, old records by long-forgotten Christian and country-western artists that Mom thought someone might want. And there was a whole lot of junk that we both agreed even the thrift store wouldn't take.

She asked me where I had gone, of course, and I told her about the old mine, skipping over the details about nearly getting caught snooping around- stuff that I figured worrying Moms didn't really need to know.