Chapter 117

“Miss Astor!” came a voice from our right. We turned to see Shotz running up to us.

I was happy to see he looked a little less dusty than he’d seemed the last time we met, and the vague look of helplessness in his eyes had gone.

Zane, however, seemed less than welcoming as Shotz joined us.

“I hear you’ve formed some sort of labor union,” Zane said coldly.

Shotz frowned. “Nothing so formal, but yes, we’ve got a coalition going that will address some of the problems around here and bring them to whoever is in charge.”

“I’m in charge,” Zane said, and there was a bit of growl in his voice.

“If I may,” I said, feeling like I might be setting myself up for a major blow. “Human labor unions are about having a voice to speak for the many, which is something werewolves aren’t really used to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zane demanded.

I shrugged. “In a werewolf labor force, the obvious spokesman is the ranking alpha. It’s different for humans because there’s nobody ‘obviously’ in charge. Shotz here is just saying they’re trying to figure out who their spokesperson should be.”

Shotz nodded while Zane continued to look uncertain.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping,” I said, “but I think the demands of the union would be things basic to survival, like not being sent down unsafe shafts, getting legitimate health care for emergencies, and protection against respiratory disease, such as personal respiratory units.”

Zane sent me a little smile. “You’ve been doing research again.”

“She’s right,” Shotz said. “We’re happy to work, but we don’t like feeling like, well—”

“Canaries?” Zane offered.

Shotz nodded, and for a moment I knew were all thinking about the ancient practice of taking the little birds down the shaft and using their deaths as a sign something was wrong.

“Alpha Zane,” Shotz said. “We want to work. We want to do what we need to do to support our families. But we’ve watched too many of us die when they didn’t have to, when we were just sacrificed in the name of efficiency.”

He cleared his throat, and I wondered if I were listening to an early sign of black lung. “You talk about converting this mine to geothermal, and some of us are excited about that, but will you need all of us for those sorts of plants? I don’t know any more about geothermal than I do about pixie dust.”

“Training for the next plants will be our primary goal right from the beginning,” Zane said. “I’m not going to bring in some foreign contractors. We’re going to teach you and your colleagues what you need to know to make our future.

“The basic idea is simple, and I’d appreciate it if you spread the word.”

Shotz nodded.

“Look, we’ve done some surveying, and most of the old mine shafts are filled with hot water. We’re talking very hot water, over 360 degrees. All we have to do is harness that water to spin some carbines, and we’ve got electricity.

“Sure, the building of these new plants will be costly, but I have—the pack has the money to sink into this. I swear to you, anyone working in the mine now who wants to be part of the new geothermal labor force will receive training about be offered a job.”

Shotz looked at Zane in something close to awe. “I’d like to volunteer for that.”

“Done.”

“Alpha Zane,” Travis said as he came up, and soon he, Zane, and Shotz were talking about casualties and logistics. I was interested and stood there listening, but when they decided to go to the clinic again, I bowed out, my two bodyguards in tow. I’d seen enough there, and I seriously doubted things had changed.

In truth, I was worried about Jordan. I didn’t think he was in physical danger, considering we’d sent a guard with him, but I knew all too well the emotional danger this place posed. Best case scenario was that he was still playing with other kids. Worst case didn’t bear thinking about.

The compound wasn’t big or complicated, but of course I managed to get lost. I didn’t mind. Though they might represent decades of suffering, the terraced lines up the sides of the pit were impressive, and I felt akin to those who’d had a moment to look up at them in the sunlight.

I realized there was a cave to my right, just a recess in the rock offering a bit of shade, and though I had no reason to, I walked into it.

Inside, I gasped. On the walls of the cave were photographs, picture after picture of a person: a woman here, a man, a child, and then another child, and a man, and another man, and then two women hugging, and then another woman, and then a child, and then a woman with a child, and then a man, and then a man with a child. On and on and on.

There were easily hundreds of photos, and I knew instantly what they were. Some of the photos were yellowed with age and showed people in fashions from decades ago. Some were in black-and-white. Some might have been taken yesterday.

It was a shrine, plain and simple, a place to ask others to look for a loved one and a place to say, “I knew this person, and now they’re gone.”

I stood there and felt like nothing but a spectator, a witness to a grief beyond imagining. These people had worked in this mine, and now they were gone. All that was left was a smile, a frown, a why-are-you-taking-my-picture expression left in a dimly lit cave.

I cried, standing there and feeling wholly unable to respond to the tragedy or to be of any help. I supposed a werewolf would have felt rage, but I was only sorry. I could only grieve.

And then it occurred to me I could do something more. I got my phone out and took photos. No one’s face would be clear enough to make out. Online, it would just look like what it was: a shrine of photos.

I looked through what I had taken and picked a good one. The light hit the edges of the photos, but no any individual face could be made out.

These people died when they were only trying to do their jobs, I texted alone with the photo. #AbriganMine #HumanRights #Grief

And in my heart, I thought, Remember this forever, Sarah. Remember these people and what they did.

With a start, I realized Jordan was standing beside me, and he was crying.