Those Who Favor Fire by Lauren Wolk (no david read aloud TXT) 📗

want to know how lucky you are? Take a look at India.” He held his arms out as wide as they would go. “They got whole villages sinking into coal fires that make ours look like a weenie roast. They’ve got such bad fires in Jharia that if they were flooded and every air vent was packed with sand, they’d still stay hot for eighty-five, ninety years. Hot enough to reignite if they were exposed to air. And the coal beds are so hot they ignite other beds without even touching them.” Mendelson’s eyes were gleaming. He shook his head but it was not clear whether in admiration or more impartial wonder. “By comparison, you haven’t been bothered much at all.

“That’s because when this fire finally made its way down to the tunnels under the edge of town, the cupboard was almost bare. Most of the coal out there had already been mined. So what if the tunnels were on fire? Without a lot of coal, there wasn’t that much heat. The fire moved slowly. And if it was spreading out from the tunnels, it was headed toward the fields and around the hills where there’s still some coal left and close enough to get at.

“But things are different now,” said Mendelson. “And if you don’t believe me, ask Ross Caspar—if you can find him.” An old woman in the back of the auditorium got up, sat down again, began to rummage through her purse.

“He probably thought he was in the catbird seat. Plenty far from the nearest tunnel … farther than a lot of you, if you care to check the maps. Snug as a bug down in that hollow of his. So what happened? That’s the question. What happened.” He plucked a fat marker off the lecturn and tapped it against his chin.

“Here’s what happened,” he said, turning to a flip chart. At the top of the chart he made a squiggly line. “Here’s where the fire started, where it’s been burning all along, about two miles from here, give or take.” Toward the bottom of the chart he drew a long, sloppy rectangle. “And here’s the town proper.” Above the rectangle, more toward the left than the right, he drew something like a kidney. “Here’s Caspar’s Hollow.” In the open space on the chart, mostly at the top and down along the far left edge, he drew thick stripes. “And here are where most of the tunnels are, quite a ways from Ross’s place.” He turned back and looked at the audience. “But when we went into the hollow to look at the situation, we found the kinds of things we’re used to seeing way out in the fields: hot ground, soft ground, a bit of smoke coming up here and there. No flames, mind you. No fire visible from above. But an awful lot of heat. An awful lot of heat.” He paused, rolling the marker between his palms.

“What we did then,” he said, “was send up a plane, take some infrared pictures, and make a thermal map. Like we’ve done before over the tunnels. And what we found was just exactly what we expected to find: that the fire has branched out in a southeasterly direction—in this direction”—he stamped his foot—“even though there aren’t any tunnels leading into town and even though we thought there wasn’t enough coal left around the southernmost tunnels to let the thing spread this way. But it must have worked its way out to a helluva coal seam that sent it branching out into Caspar’s Hollow.

“Which means that Belle Haven proper is a sitting duck. Because there are no tunnels underfoot, we can’t tell you where the fire will eventually hit. We’ll take some pictures, by and by, but we’ll be seeing where the fire is, not where it’s going. It will no longer be a predictable, traceable fire. It will no longer be the fire that’s way over there on the edge of town, out in the fields, anywhere but right here. It will be like a jack-in-the-box, poppin’ up. Boo!” He threw his arms up in the air. “There’s quite a lot of coal down under this end of town, you know. Quite a good bit. And all it’s going to take, you see, is one little ribbon of coal bringing the fire across that last bit of distance between Caspar’s Hollow and here.” He breathed deeply.

“And then there’s another angle to this thing,” he continued. “If the fire’s headed this way, what’s to stop it from hitting Fainsville to the south? Just two miles south. Hop, skip, jump … kaboom! That fire decides to pick up speed, and Fainsville’s a goner, too. And don’t forget, folks, that between here and Fainsville there is a vast, virgin coal deposit. It’s been sitting down there, safe and cold, and no one’s ever worried much about it because it’s a good piece from the Belle Haven mines and there’s more clay than coal in between. But it’s an awfully big lot of coal. Enough to keep that fire going forever and ever, Amen.

“It’s too bad that coal wasn’t mined. And the coal straight down underfoot, too. Would’a been, I guess, if the company had gotten to it before they went belly up. Maybe not. Who cares.” He flapped a hand. “The point is, it’s too close for comfort. Now that the fire’s taken this new turn away from the tunnels, it’s like a rogue elephant. And you shoot rogue elephants.” He grinned. “Which is where I come in.”

Mendelson took another deep breath, and when he spoke again, it was more loudly than before. “Before very much more time passes—maybe a month, maybe a year—some of you are going to die. Your cellar walls will collapse. Your yards will cave in. Hydrogen gas, highly combustible stuff, and carbon monoxide, which will poison you to death, will come pouring up through the dirt like something right out of the Bible. Only you won’t see it,” he