Chapter Nineteen
Both of our settlements have a section of land that’s off-limits to the other side. We get extra, having bargained for the mountain that straddles the north end of both of our areas. Everything outside those sections is neutral territory.
The mining operation is obviously on their side.
We even have a very good idea where to find it.
For one thing, we’d known where Mark’s initial claim was.
For another, we have—as I said—spied from a distance, having been up the mountain with binoculars.
Also, in passing their land, we’ve heard noise that indicates we’re right about the general vicinity of the operation.
What we’re about to do now, though, is trespass. We do not want to be caught breaking that trust, because we can’t afford to open ourselves up to retaliation.
I don’t think the camp’s guards would storm Haven’s Rock. They don’t need to. They just need to open some gentle inquiries about this little town that seems to have popped up on territorial land. Yes, technically, we’re in violation of more laws than I care to count.
Worse, though, we aren’t just walking around their backyard. We’re pressing our noses to their window.
So we are careful. We’d considered leaving Storm behind.
She’s not exactly good at sneaking. But what’s going to be more suspicious if we’re caught?
A couple and their dog? Or a couple who are always with their dog …
but apparently left her behind today. We’ve decided that if we are spotted, we’ll blame it on Storm.
She bolted after something. I don’t know what happened. She’s never like that. I’m so sorry. From now on, we’ll leash her when we’re near your territory.
Yes, I’ll feel guilty about blaming her, but everyone needs to do their part to keep our town safe.
We’ve plotted out our spy plan with a precision that would make Petra proud.
Or, more likely, make her roll her eyes at our clumsy attempts at espionage.
We’re taking the route with the shortest walk between neutral ground and the operation.
It’s on the opposite side from the camp, which minimizes the chances of being heard.
We know that Mark’s original operation was in a streambed.
We’re going to come in from the other angle.
That also happens to be downwind of where we expect the miners to be.
Not that they’ll smell us—they don’t have dogs.
But any sound of our approach is less likely to carry upwind and any sound of their camp is more likely to reach us before we need to get too close.
Before we even leave the trail, we can hear them.
The murmur of voices. A clang. A laugh. A thud.
The sounds of people at work. When we map the trajectory, it seems to be upstream from Mark’s old spot.
That would make sense. Whatever they’ve found, they would have exhausted the vein by now and had to go searching for more.
We start making our way toward them, moving carefully through the trees.
We judge them to be about three hundred feet from the trail, which is perfect.
It’s just the right distance that, if we’re spotted, our story about chasing after Storm will make sense.
It’s not as if we’ve gone a mile deep into their territory.
Soon we realize we’re actually hearing two sets of voices. One seems to be upstream, and the other is off to the west. We pause and take out our map.
To the west of the original mining site is a canyon. We’ve been there, before the miners arrived. Is that where the second group is?
We spend a few minutes considering. Then we veer northeast to get closer to the stream. Once the voices come clear, I go on ahead while Dalton waits with Storm. I get another ten feet, and then I can see distant shapes. I slip behind a bush and pull out my binoculars.
When I peek, I train the binoculars on the source of the noise. It’s a small group of men. Two guards are standing back, talking, and it’s their voices I hear. They aren’t saying anything useful—they’re comparing stories of concerts they’ve attended.
Four men work the stream. They seem to be doing the same thing Mark was—an updated version of panning for gold. They’re in hip waders and two are literally panning with screens while one watches and the fourth checks a screen set out in the water.
The men work silently. I peer at each. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but they’re exactly what I’d expect from guys doing manual labor. Just average men, the youngest in his early twenties, the oldest in his early forties. Two white, one Black, one brown.
I do check footwear. Both guards wear the same boots, and there are four pairs of boots lined up on the bank for the workers, all identical steel-toed work wear.
I’m too far to get good pictures, but I snap a few anyway. Then I hunker behind the bush and listen, but nothing changes. Just the guards shooting the shit while the men work in silence.
I take a closer look, trying to assess moods. The guards are relaxed. They’re armed, but the guns are holstered and they’re so chill that I’d hate for a bear to come charging out of the woods.
The miners don’t particularly seem to be enjoying themselves, but they’re working hard, without needing the guards looming over them. It’s manual labor, and I wouldn’t expect too much joviality. It doesn’t seem like backbreaking work, though. Just boring.
I return to Dalton, and we wordlessly head to where we can hear the other team. Again, I approach while he stays with Storm. I’m not getting so close that we need his stealth, and as the one with more “real world” experience, I’ll have a better idea what I’m seeing.
That was the theory, anyway, but having only ever seen Mark’s claim, I’m hardly an expert.
At this second site, there are fifty percent more guards and workers.
The guards are less relaxed, but they seem mostly bored, two leaning and watching, while the third is writing stuff down …
or doing word puzzles, for all I know. Even looking through the binoculars only shows me that he’s intent on writing.
Here, the miners work on the side of the cliff.
A few hack with pickaxes and shovels, while others do finer work with smaller tools, digging away at the dirt.
Again, I take pictures. Again, I assess moods.
The miners here are in higher spirits, with some joking around.
I suspect that has a lot to do with group dynamics—how well the men know each other, what kind of personalities are at play.
When I’m done, I retreat. Dalton and I head out as quietly as we can, and we don’t speak until we’re on our own territory. Even then, I keep my voice low as I explain what I saw.
“So they’re definitely mining,” he says.
“Yes.”
“Gold in the stream with the original claim. Either gold or something else in the cliffside.”
“Yes.”
He scratches his beard. “They’re doing what they say they’re doing, which means everything should be fine, but it still bothers you.”
“I’m not sure ‘bothers’ is the right word.
They are mining, and that’s good. I don’t care what they’re taking out of the cliff.
I mean, the work could be environmentally damaging, and I care about that, but selfishly, I only care if it exposes Haven’s Rock.
What doesn’t seem right is how slick the operation is when it’s so small-scale.
I counted fifteen miners. A third of them are working the stream, mostly with screens.
That’s penny-ante stuff.” I shrug. “It seems as if it might be financially worthwhile for one guy, which makes it a very secure and well-run operation for…”
“Minimal gain.”
“Right. And it’s very low-tech. Screens and picks and…” I shrug again. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”
“No, it doesn’t seem as if they’ve hit a mother lode. So, like we speculated earlier, the value might not be in the ground.”
I nod. “It’s in the investors, who expect a slick operation with visible results. Which is what they’d be getting. There might be fraud happening here, and that could explain the spies.”
“Yep. It’s not that the gold vein is so rich people will skulk around the forest—and maybe kill each other—to get a better look. It’s that investors have started to realize they’re being bilked. They send some people up to get a look while posing as hikers if they’re caught.”
“Except they weren’t caught. Gretchen came to us.”
“Fuck. You’re right.”
“It could still work, if she thought they’d been spotted and needed to establish their story. I still don’t see someone sending three spies to prove fraud … and then killing two of them. Either we’re missing something, or we’ve got this all wrong.”
“All I know is someone is definitely out here. They stalked Lilith last night. Did you get a look at the boots?”
“Yep. They were all standard issue, and we’ve seen the prints for them.”
“So whoever was at her cabin wasn’t one of the miners or guards.”
“And doesn’t seem to have been Gretchen either.”
Someone discovered Lilith’s cabin. They circled it for hours, and it doesn’t take that long to realize you can’t get inside easily. They knew she was in there, and they were spooking her … until her guard wolf came home.
Why spook Lilith? I must consider the possibility she’s lying about why she’s here, and all this has been about finding her. I don’t think so, but I need to keep that theory on the page.
If it was a guy from the mining camp, it would make sense. Well, it would make sense in a disheartening way—a camp full of men, one discovers a woman living alone in the forest and decides to give her a scare, maybe to convince her that she needs a man in her life.
Could it have been a miner? We can’t dismiss that based on the boot prints.
But what about the tracking implants? If one of the miners—not knowing he’s chipped—found Lilith’s cabin, wouldn’t Rogers know it?
That depends on how closely they’re being monitored.