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

added mildly. “In the wintertime, when you close your windows, it’ll be like nailing a lid on a coffin. Tap, tap, tap. Good night, Irene.”

A man in the front row crossed his legs, uncrossed them, folded his arms over his large belly. “How come that’s never happened out over the tunnels?” he asked. His neighbors nodded.

Someone said, “That’s right.”

“Because out there”—Mendelson knocked a knuckle on the left side of the drawing—“the coal doesn’t amount to much.” He spoke as if to children. “Over here”—he ran his hand over the place where they were sitting—“there’s just loads.

“Now,” he said. “Is that clear?” He smiled at their silence.

“The monitors we sent around’ll give you some warning, but I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts half of you never even turn ’em on.” He sighed heavily, turned to look at the man by his side, who had, from time to time, taken a step forward, opened his mouth as if to speak, and then settled back again as Mendelson carried on.

“I suppose what you do with those monitors is up to you. Whether you stay in Belle Haven or leave is also up to you, at the moment. But if the fire reaches the coal straight down below here—and I, for one, am sure it will—you’ll have to go. You will. On foot or in boxes, one way or the other.”

“We understand.” From where she was sitting in the front row, Angela could see that some of Mendelson’s fingernails were very long. “We understand that there could be trouble,” she said. “But the fire isn’t here yet. The monitors sound like a good idea. We’ll need to know if the fire ever makes it this far. But maybe it won’t. Or maybe it won’t get here for another dozen years. And yet here you are saying we’re going to die soon.” She lifted her shoulders. Opened her hands. “People get killed in cars every day, but we all drive them. People drown, we still swim. It’s the way of the world. So I’m still waiting to hear why you think we should leave when you ought to be out there putting the goddamned”—she caught her breath—“putting the fire out.”

“Well, I’m trying to tell you. I really am,” he replied, smiling at her. “It’s not easy, trying to explain some things to people who won’t listen to reason. And you’ll appreciate that I’ve been trying to ease my way into the nuts and bolts, ’cause if you all can’t even agree that there’s a problem, you’re sure not going to agree with the solution. But maybe I should just get on with it, let you all go home to bed.”

He looked around the auditorium as if he might want to remember the sight.

“As I said, Fainsville may soon be at risk—and there’s no way we can let the fire hit the big coal between here and there. A lot of other small towns may soon be at risk. Belle Haven,” he said, lifting his eyebrows high on his head, blowing out some air. “Belle Haven is beyond salvation. It simply isn’t going to survive this. And if we let the fire get past here, it will gather such strength that we’ll never be able to stop it.”

He let this sink in, heard the crescendo of whispers, and began to speak again. “But, I’ll say it again, that’s where I come in. My men and I. What we plan to do is dig a trench.” There was a sound from somewhere in the room, which he ignored. “A very long, very deep trench—four hundred fifty feet deep, five hundred feet across, a mile long. Now, that’s a trench.” He chuckled. “Maybe we’ll dig several trenches. Wherever they’re needed. Cut the fire off and let it burn itself out. That’s it. That’s what we’re going to do.”

“So go ahead!” Earl yelled from the back of the room. “Get on with it. Don’t you think we want to stop the fire before it gets here? Hell, that’s what you’ve been trying to do all along, and we’ve never once objected!”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Mendelson said, running his hands through his hair. “For the last time, listen. Listen!” He pointed at his ears, became red in the face, slapped the flat of his hand against the flip chart. “Belle Haven is done. Finished. Kaput. How many times do I have to say it?” He lowered his voice some. “It’ll take quite a while to dig this trench, it’s going to be that deep. So, one”—he held up a finger—“we’ve got to dig it a good distance from the fire so we’ll have time to get it finished before the fire travels that far. And two”—he held up another finger—“we’ve got to dig it where it will keep the fire from reaching the big coalfield south of town, now or ever. There’s only one way we can kill both birds with one stone.” He stopped to let this sink in.

“Do you mean that you’re going to dig the trench south of town and just let the fire come and get us?” asked a boy along the aisle who could not have been more than twelve or thirteen.

“I’m afraid I do.” Mendelson nodded. “And once that trench is dug, it’ll act just like a wall. The fire will hit that wall and maybe pile up, maybe burn out, maybe make a run straight back this way. I’m afraid I can’t tell you for sure.”

Rachel rose to her feet and took a step up the aisle toward the stage. “What have you got to be afraid of?” she said. “You’re a contractor, aren’t you? How much money have you made over the last twelve years? You say you’ve tried every way you can to put the fire out. Now, that’s nonsense, if anything is. You were the one who dug that first trench. You could have had the fire out before it spread too far, but you failed. There were dozens of miners who