End of the Line

Before me stretched an open pit limestone mine that created its own valley a half-mile or more in the distance. There was another one across the road and I had passed one on the highway a mile or two earlier. This was no small operation. Probably provided limestone for the steel industry in the Pittsburgh area. Had been operating for a very long time. As large as it was, even though the entire surrounding forest area had burned and was growing back, the metal buildings on the site were all still sound. They clearly had provided protection for anyone during the time the fires were raging and were far from where the flames were intense.

But after I got out and took a look around, locking Charlie in the cab to his great displeasure, I saw evidence, especially around the doors, of repairs from gunshot, some of the rather large caliber. There had been a battle or two here, perhaps creating the attitude that those two guys had when they attacked me. I approached, with much trepidation, a huge building that fronted on a mine created cliff over 100 feet high with huge doors capable of taking in 18 wheelers like mine. Remembering how those guys had attacked me and what happened in Idaho, I pulled my 357 Magnum, released the safety and walked carefully to a side door with a gun drawn.

The door had a small window with bulletproof glass. I peered in and saw a huge space with trucks visible in the dim light. I knocked sharply with the butt of my gun on the metal door and called out, "Is anyone there? Anyone? I come in peace! Just want to talk…"

I withdrew from the window and door quickly and waited alongside. I didn't want to be shot through the door by someone not willing to listen to me. Nothing happened. I decided to try again. This time I knocked louder and shouted at the top of my lungs. Once again, retreating from in front of the door, waiting for all hell to break loose. It didn't.

Finally, I tried the door. It was locked. I skirted around the huge building and knocked a couple more times on other doors. Everything seemed to be locked up tight; and then, a door near something that freaked me out at the cliff wall magically opened when I turned the knob. I didn't have to break in. But what freaked me out drew my attention and I walked over to take a look at it first.

What I saw was a gravesite. It was rather new, but dusty, and ringed by a fence made of steel poles driven into the limestone about 3 feet high and then top strung by a continuous chain that encircled about 50 graves all with the same white crosses. Most prominent were the crosses with the last name, Speer, but there were other crosses with names like, Byrd, O'Connell, Messing, and Randall. They were neatly lettered with the full name, sometimes the word father, mother, son or daughter and their ages expressed in date of birth and death.

All of the deaths had occurred after the meltdown and clearly showed, most apparently, a company or family gravesite. The ages of the individuals range from 95 to 4 years of age. Most were buried shortly after everything went to hell.  But more recent, even within the past year. The lettering on those was very crude. Probably done by one of those guys shooting at me. The original letterer had died.

A grim reality came over me. I shuddered to think of it. Perhaps, I was too late. Perhaps, there was no one here to greet me and those two were the last of this extended family of limestone miners. I hoped that I could find someone to tell me different. But my hope soon died as well.

I entered the huge building and called out. My voice rang hollow throughout the building. If anyone was there, they surely would've heard me. My pistol was back in my holster again as I began to explore. There were four limestone hauling trucks. A tank truck that was marked, Diesel. Three Dodge diesel pickups, almost identical to the one that those guys were driving, and some late-model cars. Top-of-the-line and even exotic. All except a couple covered in that white limestone dust. But that wasn't the half of it.

The building was an entrance to a limestone mine that could handle trucks of that size and continued off beyond the dim light that came in from windows high up around the perimeter near the roof. There were several electric golf carts around. I found one with the key in it and was surprised when I turned it on and it worked. I turned on the lights and drove deep into the mine.

Inside, I found quarters had been built in to accommodate what had originally been mine offices but had been converted to living quarters. Everywhere there was evidence of things that people had brought there for their personal use: beds, dressers, clothing, pictures, personal computers and smart pads. There was a company kitchen that was well-stocked where the people had served their meals. There were bathrooms for both men and women that showed that they hadn't been maintained very well or cleaned recently. I thought that I knew why. This was clearly a shelter where people had gathered from the storm. But it rang hollow with emptiness. A latter-day Chernobyl. Who knows what dreams these people had? All dashed by death now.

It made me want to leave. Just the stink of the bathrooms made me want to throw up. But I had to explore further. I had to know more. I picked up a few of the laptops and smart pads that still had power and took them with me in one of the suitcases that wouldn't be used by anyone anymore anyway. Exploring further, I found storerooms that were still stocked with nonperishable food and even containers of water. Power was provided to the whole mine by huge windmills on the top of the building, supplemented by solar panels. It was a very professional operation, probably installed long before the meltdown occurred to save money.

Knowing that Charlie was going crazy, I returned to the truck. We hopped on the ATV and drove up and down the open pit to see what else we could find. There were more trucks and mining equipment. There were huge tanks for fuel and water. And there was a lot of equipment for crushing the limestone and preparing it for shipment to the steel mills to the north. I surmised that this was a very profitable operation for those involved. Much better than coal mining that was so prevalent in the area, but necessary for steelmaking.

Back at the truck with my ATV totally covered with fine white dust, I walked around the yard examining the tracks to see if I could find any others besides those of that Dodge pickup that I had been following. I did. Some car tracks and some 18 wheeler tracks. But they were all very old and washed out by rain. Since the pickups in the building were all nearly identical, it's a chance they all had the same tires from the same source, making it difficult determining if there was still another pickup out there on the road… Or even another 18 wheeler. I just didn't know.

I decided to stick around for a while and see if anyone would show up. There was a lot to explore in that compound and I decided that I would be thorough because this place was alive until recently. More alive than any other place I had seen, even back in Hot Springs. My attention was deserved and I meant to give it some.

I let Charlie and the goats out but there wasn't anything for the goats to eat or drink. I hopped on the ATV and took them up the road a ways where there were plenty of vines growing. And let them have their fill. They especially loved poison oak and had a nice tolerance to it. I'm glad that it didn't poison their milk. While I watched them eat with my shotgun across my lap, Charlie did a little exploring of his own, finding the rocky landscape to his liking. I kept an eye on the vultures and sometimes, eagles flying lazily overhead.

I spent the next week exploring the entire Morgantown area, following wherever the tracks were discernible. I always returned to the compound at night just in case someone returned. A lump in my throat always appeared as I returned in the evening with Charlie by my side in the tractor. Not knowing if someone had discovered my trailer with the goats in it and my notes and whether they would greet me with a handshake or gunfire.

Every evening after feeding the goats in the forest nearby and having my usual meal with Charlie, I would spend some time with those recharged phones and smart pads, reading tweets, instagrams, emails and the like, as well as viewing pictures and videos of happy times that the Speer extended family enjoyed with all their wealth and influence.

Sometimes I cried when I connected some of the scenes with the gravesites that I had seen. There was a birthday party when a great aunt of the family whose husband had died in 1960, turned 95. The oldest grave in the makeshift cemetery. One of the pictures at the party was a huge monument in a beautiful tree sheltered cemetery to her husband, one of the founders of Speer Industries.

I continued to wait until I grew tired when no one came, so I left that place with a strong memory of it in case I would return someday.