Well tunnel dug: Part 4

Three weeks later, the only light between the pillars in the mine was the skull glow from pot bellied stoves they'd wrestled down the service elevators. The glow illuminated Carl's cot he'd brought down with him, once he realized how difficult it was to keep all the stoves alive.

Tendrils of tomatoes wriggled in the twilight like tentacles. It smelled like manure. Carl had time to think. It was bad.

This is the future? These pipes pushing coal smoke into slag pits so no one would see? Hydroponics plants we're staving off from the cold? How did I draw the short stick, thought Carl.

Carl heard shifting at the main tunnel entrance. Sound bounced and fractured. His AK-47 clattered as he picked it up. Only Semi-auto, but that was American law, right, he thought.

‘Carl! Turn the goddamn lights on!’ yelled Darryl.

‘Heh, it's you!’

‘Where's the breaker again?’ said Darryl.

‘Can't believe its daylight already.’

‘Turn the lights on, man, it's my turn.’

‘I mean I can stay, if you want. I don't mind.’

‘Jesus Christ, you're crazier than I am. Don't make this thing collapse on your way out.’

Suddenly rows of florescent lights flickered to life over Carl's wrinkled brow and clenching jaw.

‘Yeah, time to go.’

>>Well tunnel dug: Part 5