The Zero Game

I raise the safety gate and give the outer door a shove. Like before, a hot wind seeps through the opening – but this time, the heat’s almost unbearable. My eyes burn as I squeeze them shut.

“W-What’s going on?” Viv asks behind me. From the sound of her voice, she’s still on the floor, crawling outside.

I push through the waterfall that drips from above the door and step out onto the dirt floor. Just like that, the vacuum of wind is gone, dissipating up the open shaft.

Blinking the dust from my eyes, I turn back to Viv, who still hasn’t stood up. She’s sitting on a plank of wood outside the cage and staring up at the ceiling.

Following her glance, I crane my neck up toward the highest part of the cave. The roof rises about thirty feet in the air and has an industrial light hanging from the center. “What’re you looking-?”

Oh.

“Is that doing what I think it’s doing?” Viv asks, still studying the ceiling.

Straight above us, a long black crevice cuts through the ceiling like a deep scar that’s about to split open. Indeed, the only things holding it together – and thereby keeping the ceiling from splitting open – are nine-foot-long strips of rusted steel that’re bolted to the roof like metal stitches across the crevice. From this distance, they look like the girders from an old Erector Set – lined with circular holes that the bolts are riveted into.

“I’m sure it’s just a precaution,” I say. “At this level… with all the pressure from above… they just don’t want a cave-in. For all we know, it’s just a simple crack.”

She nods at the explanation but doesn’t move from her plank-of-wood seat.

In front of me, the ceiling lowers and the walls narrow like a wormhole. It can’t be more than nine feet high, and just wide enough for a tiny car. Along the muddy floor, I follow the ancient metal train tracks. They’re more compact than standard tracks, but they’re in good enough shape to tell me how the miners are moving all that computer equipment through the mine.

When I was twelve, Nick Chiarmonte’s dad took our entire sixth-grade class to Clarion, Pennsylvania, to tour a working coal mine. We got to go a hundred feet below the surface, which back then felt like we were burrowing toward the very center of the earth. When we got to the bottom, Nick’s dad said a mine was a living organism no different from the human body – a main central artery with dozens of intersecting branches that move the blood to and from the heart. It’s no different here. The train tracks run straight ahead, then branch out like spokes on a wheel – a dozen tunnels in a dozen different directions.

I eye each one, searching to see if any of them are different. The mud on most of the tracks is caked and dried. But in the far left tunnel, it’s soaking wet, complete with a Sherlock Holmes boot print from the group that came down right before us. It’s not much of a lead, but right now it’s all we’ve got.

“You ready?” I call back to Viv.

She doesn’t budge.

“C’mon…” I call again.

She’s motionless.

“Viv, you coming or not?”

Shaking her head, she refuses to look up. “I’m sorry, Harris. I can’t…”

“Whattya mean, you can’t?”

“I can’t,” she insists, curling her knees toward her chin. “I just… I can’t…”

“You said you were okay.”

“No, I said I didn’t want to be upstairs all by myself.” It’s the first time she faces me. Beads of sweat dot her face – even more than before. It’s not just from the heat.

Viv looks up at the crack in the roof, then over at an emergency medical stretcher that’s leaning against the wall. Bolted above that is a metal utility box with a sign that says: In case of serious injury, open box and remove blanket. Right now, as the temperature rises past a hundred, a blanket’s the last thing we need – but Viv can’t take her eyes off it.

“You should go,” she blurts.

“No… if we split up-”

“Please, Harris. Just go…”

“Viv, I’m not the only one who thinks you can do it – your mom-”

“Please don’t bring her up… not now…”

“But if you-”

“Go,” she insists, fighting back tears. “Find what they’re doing.”

With everything we’ve been through in the past forty-eight hours, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Viv Parker completely paralyzed. I’m not sure if it’s the claustrophobia, her hyperventilating on the elevator, or just the simple, stark grasp of her own limitations, but as Viv buries her face in her knees, I’m reminded that the worst beatings we take are the ones we give ourselves.

“Viv, if it makes you feel better, no one else would’ve made it this far. Nobody.”

Her head stays buried in her knees.

It wasn’t until my senior year of college – when my dad died – that I realized I wasn’t invulnerable. Viv’s learning it at seventeen. Of all the things I’ve taken from her, this is the one I’ll always hate myself for.

I turn to leave, sloshing through the wet mud.

“Take this,” she calls out. In her hand, she holds up the oxygen detector.

“Actually, you should keep it here – just in case th-”