Redemption Mountain (34 page)

“Hank, c'mon, that's a little extreme. We made the DeWitts a fair offer for the farm.”

“
Fair
. Burden, let me tell you something. There ain't
nothin'
fair about what the coal companies done to the people of West Virginia.” Hank shook his head slowly.

Charlie leaned forward to argue his case. “Hank, even if you're against mountaintop removal because of the damage to the environment, you still have to admit it's going to put a lot of men to work. Isn't that good for McDowell County, Hank? Isn't that good for West Virginia?”

Hank stared back at Charlie through narrowed eyes. He rose out of his chair again, moved to the edge of the porch, and leaned against the supporting post. He gestured out toward the mountains. “Charlie, under all of this land, far as we can see from this porch, is the Pocahontas Coalfield, the richest seam of pure low-sulfur coal the world has ever known. Miners have been pulling it out of the ground in West Virginia for a hundred seventy years—to fuel the Industrial Revolution, fight two world wars, power the railroads and the steel mills of the Ohio Valley, and heat the homes and factories of the Northeast for most of this century.”

Charlie could see that the veteran teacher in Hank was preparing a lesson, and he sat back in his chair to listen.

“D'you know that it was coal from central Appalachia that powered the U.S. Navy in World War One? Navy had to have the smokeless coal so the German U-boats couldn't see the plumes of the ships through their periscopes. That's when the Red Bone mine first opened, 1917, to supply the coal for the Navy.”

Hank turned and spit tobacco juice over the side of the porch. “The railroads changed everything when they opened up the coalfield. Just as important, they brought in the thousands of workers needed by the coal-mining industry—all the
throwaway
people that the mines needed because it was so labor-intensive and dangerous. The railroad brought in the people who didn't have any other options, the poor Southern blacks and the Europeans right off the boat from Ellis Island—the Italians, Slavs, Irish, Hungarians. They came by the thousands. Soon as they got off the train, they were in debt to the company—a debt they'd never get out of.”

Hank shuffled back to his chair at the table and continued in a more somber voice. “In 1907, Charlie, there was an accident, up in Monongah, an explosion. Official count was three hundred sixty-two fatalities—worst mine disaster in U.S. history. But unofficial accounts at the time said the death toll was much higher, because of all the immigrants who couldn't speak English and had names too hard to write, so they'd send them down the hole without accounting for them.” Hank shook his head. “That's the way it was. In the first two decades of the century, more than twenty thousand U.S. coal miners were killed. It didn't matter, 'cause they were replaceable, and it was the only way to get the coal out of the ground. There was a study done that showed that the life expectancy of a West Virginia coal miner during World War One was shorter than that of an infantryman on the battlefields of Europe.

“Even before the railroads came, the mining companies and the speculators with their broad-form deeds—
the vilest legal instrument ever devised by man
—bought up all the land and the mineral rights. Farmers were forced off their land, and West Virginia became the property of the mining companies. Still today, most of the state is owned by out-of-state companies.” Hank looked up at Charlie to make sure he was listening. “Companies like Ackerly, and Continental Electric, and OntAmex.”

“But, Hank, a lot of people have made a very good living as miners—”

Hank slammed his hand down on the table, making the cribbage board jump. “Goddammit, Charlie! You ain't been listening to me at all.
A good living!
What's a good living, Charlie? A hundred years of pulling coal out of the ground to help this country fight two great wars and power the most prosperous economy the world has ever known, and what do we have to show for it? Look around you, Charlie. You see any great wealth, see any
old money
, around this town? What's our legacy from the coal industry?”

Hank stared out at darkness, the silhouettes of the mountains barely visible against the night sky. “What we got is the second-poorest state in the union and about the highest child-poverty rate. We got a population that's dropping like a rock, 'cause there's no jobs, no future for the young people, and we got too many old people to take care of—too old and too poor to go anywhere else. We got fifty thousand retired miners with the black lung, suffocating in their own fluids, getting ready to die before their time, and the rest of 'em losing their retirements and their health insurance 'cause all the old coal companies've been picked clean of any assets and now gone bankrupt.” Hank was getting louder. He leaned closer to Charlie over the table, and spit flew from his lips with every word.

“We got abandoned buildings and abandoned towns. And we got monuments—all over West Virginia we got monuments—to the men who gave up their lives to this heartless industry. And we got old coal mines and gob piles leaking acid waste, turning our streams orange, and polluting our water. We got abandoned mines caving in, swallowing people's homes, and we got companies still coming here to openly rape the land with their
mountaintop disasters,
to get what's left of the coal, 'cause
what the fuck
!” Hank slammed his palm down on the table again. “This is
West Virginia,
and that's the way it's always been down here, so it don't matter none!”

Hank paused for a few moments, then nodded his head in thought. “That's the worst of it, Charlie. Our legacy from the coal industry is that West Virginia's a joke to the rest of the country. Poor, ignorant hillbillies, too dumb to raise themselves out of poverty. So it don't matter what the big companies do down there, 'cause it's
just Appalachia
and them hillbillies don't care, so why should anyone? That's the worst of it, Charlie.”

Hank leaned onto the table. “Let me ask you something, Burden. If you wanted to blow the top half off Redemption Mountain and push it all over the side—ten square miles of overburden—destroying the streams and wildlife habitat and hundreds of years of forest growth, but instead of West Virginia, Redemption Mountain was in California, or Oregon, or Vermont, or in the Catskills, how successful do you think you'd be? Could mining companies get away with that anywhere else but West Virginia or Kentucky?”

Charlie could only smile weakly, conceding Hank's point.

“You bet they couldn't, and they wouldn't even try. But this is
Appalachia
, so who gives a shit.” Hank's voice grew weak and he turned away, as if he was now talking to himself. “People here are still poor and desperate, with no options. Like we just arrived from Ellis Island. So don't tell me how good coal mining is for the people or the state or McDowell County. Always been a deal with the devil, and the devil's been winning for a hundred years.”

They sat quietly in the dark. Finally Hank stirred and rose stiffly from his chair. “Time for an old man to get to bed.”

“Me, too,” Charlie said, getting up. “Good night, Hank.”

At his door, Hank stopped and looked back toward Charlie. “Burden, that's a good thing you're doing with the kids' library and the ball fields. Nobody's ever done something like that for this town before. Nobody's ever given this town anything.”

“Thanks, Hank. I appreciate you saying that.”

*   *   *

T
HE MOMENT HE
reached the power plant, Charlie knew something was wrong. The main gate had been wheeled open, and several vehicles, including a white police car, were lined up on the road over the drainage ditch.

Charlie turned through the gate and noticed another car to his right. It was a dark-blue Crown Victoria with a spotlight mounted on the driver's door. Two men in sunglasses were inside.

Security Officer Hicks was standing outside the small guardhouse. Hicks was never on duty this early. As he drove past the line of vehicles, Charlie saw that the insignia on a black Suburban was for the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. In the parking lot outside the administration building, Charlie noticed Terry Summers's white Corvette. As Charlie got out of his car, he saw the OntAmex helicopter out in the middle of the field.
This is it, then, the infamous Plan B that Yarbrough has been holding in reserve.

Just then the doors to the building burst open, and a collection of men streamed into the parking lot. Charlie recognized Yarbrough and Summers, but the rest were strangers. Two of the men wore vests with
DEA
in large white letters on the back; .45-caliber pistols were holstered at their sides.

A heavyset policeman with a toothpick in his mouth stood by his cruiser, as if awaiting further instructions. Four other men—two wearing business suits, and two in rugged-looking casual wear—climbed into a Land Cruiser. Vernon Yarbrough walked toward Charlie.

“Morning, Burden,” said Yarbrough with a quick nod.

“What's up?” asked Charlie, motioning toward the motorcade.

“Going up to see our pig farmer one last time. Want to come?” he asked without enthusiasm.

It was obvious that Charlie wasn't intended to be part of this operation. “No, thanks,” he answered. “Let me know how it turns out.”

Yarbrough eyed Charlie warily. “Thought it best to keep this option under wraps.”

Charlie watched the other men as they got into their vehicles. “Why all the firepower?” he asked.

Yarbrough glanced over at the entourage. “It appears that Farmer DeWitt's been growing some contraband that our law-enforcement friends may have a problem with. I'm going along 'cause I just might be able to help DeWitt get through this situation, but you never know what a man will do when he's up against the wall.” Yarbrough turned and strode quickly away toward the Navigator. Terry Summers was at the door of the big vehicle, watching Charlie. Yarbrough spoke into a walkie-talkie as he climbed inside.

The caravan pulled out onto the access road in close formation. Charlie watched as the vehicles disappeared into the woods, sending up a cloud of dust, then he walked quickly to the door of the administration building.

“Fuck!” said Charlie. He moved quickly through the main room, passing by the big center table that was used for reviewing blueprints. Several empty doughnut boxes and numerous paper coffee cups littered the table.

“Goddamn motherfuckers!” he said, as he reached out and swept a box off the table. Back in his office, he dropped into his chair and yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk to find the small McDowell County phone book.

Stop and think for a minute. This was serious business now. He'd be putting his career and his company's future on the line, and there would be huge repercussions if it was discovered that he'd interfered with their raid on the DeWitt farm.

Charlie slumped back in his chair.
Could he even stop what had already been put in motion?
He looked at his watch—6:25
A.M.
He thought about the DeWitts up on Redemption Mountain. Probably having breakfast, unaware that the power of the federal, state, and county government would be descending on them within the hour and their lives would never be the same.

Charlie thought of Sarah DeWitt and his promise to her.
I don't know if I can stop it, but I'll try,
he'd said to her. And he'd told Natty the same thing. Then, to his surprise, Cecil Thomas, his boyhood pal, flashed through his mind. Cecil, his best friend in the world for so long, whom he'd left behind when he was anointed
prince of the city
by Duncan McCord. Charlie shook his head. “Cecil, you prick,” he whispered.

He tore open the phone book …
Dewire, Dewolfe
 … no
DeWitt. Shit! Now what?
Charlie grabbed the phone and dialed information. No listing for
DeWitt.
Natty would have the number. He started to look up
Oakes. Damn, he couldn't call her at home. What if her husband answered? Plus, he couldn't leave a trail, and Yarbrough's investigators were certain to check phone records afterward, if Plan B went into the toilet.
Charlie looked at his watch.
She'd be out running now, anyway—on the mountainside if she'd started at her usual time.
Charlie grabbed his keys. He felt the outside of his jacket pocket to make sure his cellphone was there.

Hicks was on duty at the front gate. His presence meant that he had long been part of Yarbrough's team. Charlie climbed into the Lexus and drove slowly to the gatehouse and lowered his window. “Forgot my laptop. Gotta go back into town. See you later.” He pulled slowly out onto the access road, making a mental note to fire Hicks the first opportunity he got.

Coming out of the woods to South County Road, Charlie stopped in the middle of the road. He shaded his eyes and looked as far up toward Red Bone as he could, trying to spot Natty. If she'd started later than usual, she might still be on this leg of her run. Seeing nothing, Charlie turned right and floored it. He glanced at the clock on the dash, calculating when Yarbrough's caravan would reach the farm. He had to find Natty within the next ten to fifteen minutes.

The road that led up past Oakes Hollow seemed steeper than it had when he'd run down it. He sped past a narrow stone-covered road on the left marked by a hand-painted sign. It read
OAKES HOLLOW.
The weather-beaten sign looked more like a warning than a greeting. In another minute, he was at the spot where the old logging road cut into the forest. He turned off the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, and started off at a trot toward the mountain trail.