Chapter 38
Blaze couldn’t think straight. It felt like he had been running from the truth all this time. Had he been blind to it? It had been there all along.
His father was an outlaw, and he died because he stole gold from Dean Wilder, the leader of the Hollow Creek Riders.
It didn’t make any sense. For so long, Blaze had been defending his father. He was convinced the man had done no wrong.
And his mother? She would have known. Or had Thomas Buckeye been lying to her as well?
Blaze ran a hand down his face. It felt like he was living a lie.
In the middle of it all was Rachel. Innocent Rachel.
And he had left her in the care of Robert Kane, another outlaw who had been close to Wilder in the past.
It was starting to add up. All the inconsistencies began to make sense. How could Blaze have been so stupid?
The ground shuddered.
“What in . . .” Blaze said, stumbling.
Another tremor rolled through, stronger this time. Dust sifted down from the rafters, powdering his shoulders. The lamplight flickered once more.
“Not now,” he breathed. “Not here.”
A beam groaned above him. Wood snapped like a breaking bone. The lamp swung on its hook, shadows leaping across the rough stone walls.
Somewhere deeper in the tunnels, a man screamed. It must have been another Rider.
“Cave’s goin’!” another voice shouted. “Run, damn it, run!”
Boots thundered past an adjoining shaft, shapes barely visible through the haze. Blaze saw one Rider sprinting with a sack over his shoulder before the man vanished behind a cloud of dust.
He crouched and grabbed the lantern, coughing. The gold dust from the air stuck to his skin, clinging like glittering poison.
“Wilder,” Blaze muttered again, though the man was long gone. “You fool.”
A crash tore through the tunnels. One of the supports gave way completely, splitting apart in a thunderous crack. Rocks poured from the ceiling like a waterfall. Blaze threw himself behind a fallen cart, shielding his head as the passage collapsed where he had just stood.
The lantern shattered. The light died. Darkness swallowed everything.
“Blaze!”
The voice was faint, but he recognized it instantly.
“Blaze! Can you hear me?”
“Marisol?” he shouted back, choking on dust. “I’m here!” The echo bounced off the tunnel walls, warped and distant.
“I’m comin’!” her voice cried again, somewhere far above the main shaft.
“No!” he yelled. “Stay out! The whole thing’s—”
The rest vanished beneath another explosion of sound.
A rafter split. The tunnel floor heaved under him.
He fell to one knee, groping for balance as a tide of gravel and rock poured down.
His fingers brushed Wilder’s revolver on the ground.
The steel was still warm from the shot, but he left it there.
He pushed to his feet, blinking through the dust. The faint gray glow from the entrance was all he could see ahead. Every instinct screamed for him to run.
But his mind wouldn’t settle. Wilder’s words burned behind his eyes.
His father was a thief. A cheat. A man with blood on his hands.
He shook his head, trying to shove it away. The mine kept answering with thunder.
“Liar,” Blaze said aloud. “You were a liar.”
But the wanted poster . . . the name . . . it had been there, plain as day.
Jack Carrow . . . wanted for robbery and murder. The letters burned in his memory like brands.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Pa?” Blaze whispered, his voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me what you’ve done?”
He staggered forward, coughing into his sleeve. Splintered boards jutted out from the rubble. He used them to steady himself as he limped through the collapsing shaft.
Behind him, a section of the ceiling gave way. Light exploded briefly as a spark struck something. Maybe it was a lamp. Maybe dynamite. The air roared with sudden flame.
The heat hit his back. He ran.
“Blaze!” The echo came again, clearer this time, like she was closer to the entrance.
“Marisol!” he shouted. “I’m here . . . don’t come in!”
He reached a bend in the tunnel. The floor had buckled from the shockwaves. The rails that once carried ore carts were twisted like wire. He jumped over a fallen beam, nearly losing his footing.
“I’m here!” he called again.
Her answer came faint but fierce, her voice steady even through the din. “Then move your feet, you fool!”
He almost laughed, but another crack cut him off. The entire right wall split open, a jagged wound in the rock.
He pressed his shoulder to the opposite side, forcing himself through a narrowing passage that shook with every tremor of the earth.
“Hold together,” he muttered. “Hold together.”
The words came out between gasps. His lungs burned. The dust was so thick he could taste iron.
He stumbled on something soft. It was a body. One of the Riders, crushed beneath a slab of stone. The man’s arm twitched once before going still. Blaze stepped over him and kept moving.
He could see the faint glow of daylight now—a smear of gray-blue cutting through the swirling gloom ahead.
“Almost there,” he told himself.
A low groan rippled through the tunnel. It was like the mountain itself was warning him. The support beams ahead were cracking in sequence. One after another, they snapped like rifle fire.
He broke into a run.
“Blaze!” Her voice again. It was clearer. Closer.
“I see you!” he shouted.
“Keep comin’!” she replied.
He lunged forward, coughing violently. Dust stung his eyes. His hand brushed the revolver at his hip out of habit. He didn’t even remember firing the last shots.
The floor pitched again, sending him sprawling. His shoulder slammed hard against the rock. Pain flared white-hot down his arm.
He groaned, pushing himself up and blinking through the haze. One last beam stood between him and the mouth of the tunnel. It was splintered down the middle, creaking like a dying tree.
“Hold,” Blaze whispered. “Just a little longer.”
He ducked and sprinted for the exit. The beam gave way just as he passed beneath it.
Rock and dirt poured down in a deafening roar. He dove forward with his arms over his head and hit the ground rolling.
For a second, everything went silent.
He coughed and rolled onto his side. The tunnel behind him had vanished, buried under a mountain of stone. The faint daylight had become a full, blinding glare.
“Blaze!” Marisol’s voice was right outside now, hoarse and raw.
“Here,” he rasped. “I’m here.”
She appeared through the dust. Her silhouette was framed against the gray dawn. Her rifle was slung over her back, and her hair was wild and tangled. Her face was streaked with soot, but her eyes were alive.
“You look like hell,” she said when she finally saw his face.
“Feels worse,” he said.
She crouched beside him, brushing dust from his face with trembling fingers. “You’re bleeding.”
“Not bad,” Blaze muttered. “Just the mountain tryin’ to say goodbye.”
He tried to sit up, and she steadied him. “You shouldn’t have gone in alone,” she said sharply.
“Didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Not this time.” He looked back toward the buried shaft. “It’s done. Wilder’s gone.”
Her face tightened. “Then it’s over.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not yet. Rachel’s still out there.”
Marisol stared at him, worry mixing with disbelief. “After all that, you still think of her first.”
“She’s my sister,” he replied.
Marisol smiled faintly despite herself. “Then we go find her.”
Another rumble rolled through the earth beneath them, dull and distant. Blaze turned back toward the mine entrance. The dust rising from the collapsed tunnel shimmered in the early light. It was almost beautiful.
“So much gold,” he murmured. “All buried.”
“Good,” Marisol said coldly. “Let it rot with them.”
He didn’t answer. His mind was still far away, back in that lamplit chamber, with Wilder’s sneer and that damned poster.
She touched his arm gently. “Blaze, look at me.”
He met her eyes.
“Whatever he said,” she told him, “don’t you let it live in you.”
His throat tightened. “You didn’t hear him.”
“I don’t need to,” she replied. “I know you.”
He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t. The air still tasted of dust and smoke, and every word he might’ve said felt heavy. He just nodded instead.
Marisol stood, glancing toward the cliffs where faint gunfire still echoed. “We’re not out of danger yet.”
Blaze pushed himself upright, swaying a little. His coat was torn, his face streaked with blood and grime, but his eyes were ready for more.
“Let’s move,” he said.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
“Reckon I can.”
She gave him a look somewhere between exasperation and relief. “You’re so stubborn, Buckeye.”
“Wouldn’t be me otherwise,” Blaze replied with a forced grin.
She smiled, brief but genuine. Then she turned toward the ridge, her rifle ready. “Chato’s still out there somewhere,” she said. “Holding the line.”
“Then we’ll reach him,” Blaze replied. “One way or another.”
They started forward together, the morning light cutting through the last of the dust. Behind them, the mine groaned one final time. It was a long, low sigh as the mountain settled over its dead.
Blaze stopped once, looking back over his shoulder.
“Pa,” he murmured. “I don’t know what’s true anymore, but I’ll make it right.”
The wind carried the words into the valley below, lost in the echo of falling stone. Then he turned and followed Marisol into the light.