Dark gray clouds were floating mindlessly out of the shaft, a dark calmness that was far from suiting to the chaotic seen. Miners covered from head to toe in soot staggered out with a great deal of trouble, medics rushing in to tend to them. The day had been hot, but the heat from the mine only added to it, scalding the air, making it harder to breathe. There had been twenty miners in the shaft at the time of the explosion, some had made it out, but there was still no telling how many.
One young miner by the name of Warner was near the blast when it had happened, and he was one of the last to come stumbling out. His mind was hazy, and had little to no recollection of the event. He knew it was a regular day in the mine. At least until it had happened. Each day Warner would get up, sign into the shaft, then proceed to head down to work. In the mine shaft darkness was inevitable, but it was eased with the dim light of torches which were posted nearly every five feet. It was always a risk down there, but in his town, there were few options when it came to making money. Worst of all, the mines were far out of their prime. Having mined every day for nearly two years, there had only been enough gold found to smelt half of a block. One of the only things that kept him going was his longtime friend Grant. Grant also was a miner, and the two had often dreamed of going to faraway lands to find great riches and abundances of gold. They both knew it couldno t happen, they both knew that the vast world around them was far too dangerous to venture, but these small dreams kept them going each day.
A medical assistant rushed up to Warner as he became visible through the smoke, providing him with water and checking for wounds. While Warner didno t quite know it after all of the commotion, he had been in a close vicinity to the explosion, and had sustained a fair amount of damage. The blast had knocked him to the ground, scraping his elbows and shins, leaving deep wounds. Before being given bandages, he was led out of the smoke, barely strong enough to stand on his own. His mind was still in a state of unconsciousness, but his body was controlled like a puppet by the driving instinct to find Grant. Analyzing each person quietly while being taken care of by the medic, he was barely able to make out the faces in the quarter inch of soot that was forming a dark mask. Some miners were turned around and he could not see them, but from what he could see, he had reason to fear the worst. Then, turning his head, he saw the mines manager, Mr. Crost. Dressed immaculately in fine silk, and with a brimmed hat worn proudly above his head, more for show than for anything else. He looked around, wearing a face of disgust, not sorrow. Most of the town Warner lived in was composed of small wooden houses that were far from luxurious, but Mr. Crost however, lived in a well-built mansion of stone with many windows and fireplaces. Many people in the town often wondered where he got the money to build such a beautiful home considering the production of the mine. Whether or not he deserved it was another question. He was not a friendly man by any means, but he did keep to himself. Never starting anything he didno t need to. What perplexed the people was that every other month, Mr. Crost would leave for two full weeks. No explanation was given, but it was not worried about, as he had done it as long he had moved there.
Now he stood, shoulders tight, sighing heavily with every breath, standing impatiently. When Warner looked into his eyes he saw something he couldno t quite explain, for Mr. Crost seemed to have his mind elsewhere, looking as if it had wafted away silently like the heavy smoke blanketing the air. Then, like it was routine, he shouted, startling even himself, o Quiet down and get in a line! It is time for a head count!o As he talked his mustache moved in synchrony with his mouth, and when he finished, he fixed his collar, and straightened his posture, seeming pleased with his own authority.
Dragging himself to a line formed by the other miners left, Warner stood as tally and proudly as he could, having nothing to be proud of, but still, he did not want to seem weak. Mouthing words quietly to himself, pointing his finger at each miner, Mr. Crost counted them off. When his finger was pointed at Warner, Warner noticed that their eyes did not meet. There was a lost connection between them. Mr. Crost was looking off behind him. Then, as he finished off the head count, like he was being awoken with a splash of freezing cold water, he jumped awake and quickly did the count again. This time his words could slightly be made out, o One, two, three...o The voice trailed off quietly once more, but was audible again when Warner heard him say o Nineteeno ¦Nineteen men.o Bewildered, Warner looked about for who it might be, but before he could finish looking, he heard Mr. Crosto s bone chilling voice, o Where is Grant?o