“We should head back for the hole before all this noise attracts a buzzkill.”
I have to shout above the contraption’s roaring and whirling drill. All the commotion’s giving me a headache, and my old fear keeps peeking up at the sky for any sign of a buzzkill. We don’t have a chance of hearing one those killing machines approaching for all the racket Sparker’s drill is making as it throws thick plumes of dirt into the air.
Shiv scowls. “I haven’t pushed that machine this far to turn around now. I’m not going anywhere unless that drill runs out of power.”
“We don’t even know what we’re looking for,” I answer.
Crotch shrugs. “That doesn’t mean we’re not going to find something incredible.”
The contraption shudders, and Sweet Tea kicks at its bulk before turning to us. “We better find something soon because we’re running low on fuel.”
I shift on my feet and try to ignore the noise and my fear. I’m not sure what I expected to find once we reached that tower of iron scaffolding rising so far out in the waste, but I didn’t expect to feel so disappointed. There’s nothing about that tower so special as to make me think pushing the contraption was worth the effort or danger. The tower doesn’t sparkle and glow like the story-telling crones claim. No monsters or machines guard a single door. The tower doesn’t even hold a room capable of holding the mystery of a curtained window. There’s only empty scaffolding.
Sweet Tea, I suspect, expected such a disappointing find, and perhaps she didn’t share her expectation with us lest we failed to find the motivation to push that machine so far out into the waste. She wasted no time revving up her machine once we arrived at the tower. With a push of a lever and a pull of a cord, the drill folded itself upright before cutting into the ground with a skull-piercing whine of teeth.
We’ve waited for nearly an hour as that drill’s been cutting at the earth, and all we have to show for our patience are faces full of grime and ears ringing with commotion. The device digs at an angle, so that the engine follows its drill deeper into the ground with each rotation of its teeth. I think that contraption might cut into the dead heart of the world if only we had enough time and fuel to reach that end.
“How did Sparker know he needed a drill?” I shout at Sweet Tea.
“He had an idea.”
Shiv shakes his head. “You mean he built this machine based on a hunch?”
Sweet Tea nods. “It was an educated guess. Anyone still surviving on this rock has gone underground, and Sparker didn’t believe the fatcats would be any different. He thought the fatcats would go even deeper beneath the surface. They didn’t need a village of homes, didn’t need gardens, nor would they ever have to rise from their hole to find drinkable water. If they were truly spirits in the machine like Sparker thought, then they would need none of those essentials. A vault would be the only thing the fatcats needed, a place down deep where they could hide the machines in which they dreamed.”
I shake my head. “But why bury themselves below this iron tower? Why bury themselves below any kind of landmark?”
Sweet Tea shrugs. “I don’t know. I only know we have no hope at all to find them if those fatcats randomly buried themselves in the waste. But I know how to read my father, and he’s keeping a secret from me, a reason he didn’t share that makes him believe the fatcats buried themselves below the tower.”
Shiv chuckles. “Perhaps Sparker’s listened to too many crone stories just like the rest of us.”
My mind hurts as the drill bites into something harder than dirt. The contraption shudders, and Sweet Tea races to adjust levers and dials. The device hisses and steams, and I smell something burning within Sparker’s invention. Yet that drills keeps grinding away, while its knocking racket shakes our knees.
The drill finally turns quiet. Sweet Tea pulls another lever, and the drill rises out from the ground, leaving a hole wide enough for even Crotch’s shoulders.
Crotch grins and points at the darkness revealed by the contraption.
“I knew we would find something wonderful. There are stars buried beneath the tower.”
I take a breath to shout at the lug-head to be quiet, but the twinkling pinpoints of blue, gold and white light force me to bite my tongue. I have no idea what those glowing lights we see in that hole might be, and the way the others stare at the curiosities tells me no one else has any kind of guess better than the one Crotch ventured. We’ve dared much, and we’ve pushed that contraption long and hard. So perhaps my mind should forgive my heart for wanting to believe that those winking dots of light are truly stars.