A full, exhausting day later we pull into what remains of the La Sal Mine Complex office building parking lot. Highway one-ninety-one was partly crushed by the vessel and the rest of it busted up by the earthquake, forcing us to take the long, strenuous journey through the rocky terrain. Good thing we have a truck.

“Here we are,” I say, turning off the truck and the headlights. The west side of the parking lot is now a sinkhole. It’s dark, but I can tell it’s packed full of all kinds of vehicles. Besides those, there’s no other cars in the lot.

“Place feels abandoned,” I say, looking around.

“That’s because it probably is.”

“I count six buildings, well, five,” I say. “Those two over there look completely destroyed.”

“Where’s the mine?” says Xeno.

“Probably underground,” I say, flatly.

“Well, duh, I meant the entrance.”

“Probably buried,” I say. “But we don’t need to find the mine anyway. We need to find the building where they keep their explosive equipment.”

“Oh right,” says Xeno. “Let’s just hope it’s not in one of those two smooshed ones.”

I grab my flashlight and my backpack full of gear and head out.

Building One is full of empty offices. Nothing but deserted cubicles and conference rooms. The power is dead, so all the food in the fridge is lukewarm. Doesn’t stop me from pounding down a basket full of blueberries.

“It’s friggin 'creepy in here,” says Xeno.

“More creepy than the underground torture chambers they had us in for weeks?” I say, squatting down and opening a lower fridge drawer. “Oh, nice. Baby carrots.”

“It’s a different kind of creepy. Like a ghos—hey, what as that?”

I pause mid-crunch, and look behind me. “What was what?”

“You didn’t hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I don’t know. But someone else is in here.”

“You better not be messing with me right now, Xeno, or I swear I’ll tug your chain out of my arm myself.”

“Jack, I swear.”

I shut the fridge door and shine my light around. “Hello?” I say into the darkness. “Anyone there?”

Nothing.

“Let’s go check out building two,” I say.

“Good idea.”

—•—•—•—

Inside Building Two we find lots of tech stuff, drilling and excavation equipment, lots of user end surveillance systems, and an absurd number of GPS and GIS units. Lots of communication devices like walkie talkies and radios too. There is a whole row of computer monitors, each one labeled for a different purpose: environmental monitoring, air quality, water levels, integrated data analytics, etcetera.

Nearby shelves are stocked with emergency supplies and spare parts. I grab anything I feel is relevant for survival and stuff it into my hiking backpack.

“This place is full of useful stuff,” I say, “But I don’t see any explosive equipment.”

“My guess is that they keep that in a secure area away from everything else,” says Xeno.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” I say, heading back for the door, my pack now twice as heavy as before.

As I step back into the parking lot, movement near the entrance to Building One catches my eye.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Did you see that?” I say, shining my beam in said direction. It’s about fifty yards away from where we are.

“We’re definitely not alone,” says Xeno.

I step forward. “Hello!” I shout. “I’m completely harmless,” I say. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

“Completely harmless? That’s a stupid thing to say,” says Xeno.

“What? Why?”

“What if it’s a psycho highway killer squatting here?”

I shine my light back at building one and shout, “Just kidding, I have a gun. And a knife.”

“Oh, I’m sure whomever it is is shaking in their boots now,” says Xeno.

“Can’t you like, I don’t know, sense it?”

“I can only interpret your input sensory data feed, Jack, I’m not a Killer Clown detector.”

I swallow. “Let’s go to building three,” I say.

It's only a hop, skip and a jump to Building Three. There’s a cement pathway from building Two for about fifty yards straight there.

The front double doors are unlocked, like every other door on this complex. A sure tell sign that everyone left in a hurry.

Building Three appears to be a kind of home away from home for the miners. It would be pretty cozy if only the power was up and running. There’s a room full of Bunk beds. Some are still neatly made. The communal area, in the center of the rectangular building, is full of sofas, ping pong tables, and pool tables. A small kitchenette holds the scattered remnants of a deserted meal. Nearby, untouched bathrooms contrast sharply with the deserted surroundings.

“Well, looks like we found where we’re sleeping tonight,” I say inspecting the pantry. It’s full of breakfast cereals among other treats. “Nice.”

“We’re not sleeping tonight. Not while there’s a lurker running around here.”

I get a cold sensation down my back and I spin around, but nothing is there. I swallow, shine the light around. The couch, the table, the darkboard in the back. Nothing.

I stuff a chips ahoy cookie in my mouth and mumble, “I don’t think there are any explosives in here.”

“Agreed,” says Xeno. “Unless you’re looking for explosive diarrhea, then feel free to devour that stale tuna salad in the warm fridge.”

Building Four is a bit of a walk further north, but it’s worth the trek. It’s a massive warehouse full of all kinds of heavy duty vehicles, designed for all aspects of mining. Including, yes, excavators.

“Look, Jack,” says Xeno, gasping with glee. “There’s three of them. And they look so shiny new. Completely untouched by the quake. That’s gotta be a sign.”

I sigh. “Okay, fine, tell you what: If we can’t find any explosives, I’ll drive an excavator—just for you—back to the crash site, okay? It’ll be plan B.”

“Deal,” says Xeno.

“Or plan Z, or whatever.”

“Hey!”

I walk around, flashing my light at various vehicles trying to determine what they’re used for. Some of them are pretty oblivious, but others are obscure as to their purpose.

I walk by a row of dump trucks, another row of bulldozers. To the other side I pass by two trucks with drills welded to the back. And then …

“Hey, hey, look at this,” I say, shining my light on the side of a massive truck that appears to be packing a steel cargo container on its flatbed. The words Emulsion Explosives are painted in bright red along the side. “This has got to be it.”

“You think they keep it stored in the vehicle?”

“It’s coming back to me now. I remember, on the tour, the guy was saying—”

“It’s the safest place to keep explosives because these trucks are built to secure them, yeah, I just recalled it too.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I’m not constantly scanning your brain, Jack.”

I walk around to the back and inspect it with my flashlight. There are two steel doors that open up like french doors.

“It’s locked,” I say, pointing.

“I got this,” says Xeno. He starts to slither out than snaps back in. “Oh wait, I forgot,” he says in a mocking tone. “Aubergine.”

“Thank you,” I say, “But only need to say it if you’re about to kill someone.”

“What if, I don’t know, there’s a tape over my lips or something and someone has a gun to your head?”

I shrug, roll my eyes. “Then I guess in that case I’d make an exception. Now can you tear that lock off or no?”

Xeno strikes out without warning, yanking my forward. The bullet scratch on my shoulder stings as he gnaws on the metal. After a couple seconds, it drops to the floor. He snaps back in and says, “Ta-da!”

“You never cease to amaze,” I say, stepping up and unlocking the latches, of which there are many, probably for redundancy. “And that wasn’t sarcasm.”

“You know, you’ve totally ruined that nice word for me now, by the way.”

I pull the thick metal doors open with some effort, then climb inside. They creak on heavy hinges. I shine my light around.

“Boo-ya,” I say.

In front of me, stacked against the inner walls, are secured racks of magazines. Each magazine is meticulously arranged, their metal casings gleaming in my spot. They all bear the label indicating their contents: "Explosives - Handle with Care." Below that, the specifics vary per magazine. Most of them are labeled as Powergel. A bigger line of magazines are labeled as Emulex. But the big ones in the front are called Primaire, and they look the heaviest.

There’s a scratching sound on the warehouse floor behind me. I spin around so fast I nearly slip off the rear loading dock of the truck.

I shine my flashlight everywhere, but nobody is there.

“Jack, I’m scared,” says Xeno.

“Hello?” I shout. “You can come out now, whomever you are.”

“I’ve seen this movie,” says Xeno. “The intelligent alien always gets eaten first. Wait, I can sense it now, to the left.”

Just as he says it, there’s another scuffle to my left and I whip my light around to find …