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heart
hammered excitedly in his chest. This was it! Unless there were other mine
shaft entrances scattered throughout the area, this had to be what he was
looking for. There was a problem, though. When they shut down the old mine
almost ninety years ago, the authorities had sealed the shaft entrance with a
thick slab of concrete. It was enormous, big enough to close off the entire
entryway, and had been secured in place with heavy iron bolts, rendering it impassable.
    But as was the
case with the exterior of the office building and the fence encircling the
compound, the passage of time and nearly a century of Pennsylvania weather had
taken its toll on the patch job. A network of cracks criss-crossed the concrete
slab, some of them close to half an inch thick, Tim guessed. The iron bolts had
suffered from the passage of time, as well. They had been heavily corroded by
rust, and Tim knew there was no way they would ever turn as they once had.
    He had come
prepared, though, knowing that if he was lucky enough to find the old mine, he
would likely not be able just to walk right into a shaft. He unzipped his
backpack excitedly, pulling out the tools he would need. They had weighed down
the pack, making the hike here much more tiring than he had expected it to be,
but now he congratulated himself on his foresight.
    He placed the
tools side by side on the ground, lining them up neatly: A hammer with a heavy
iron head. A wedge Matt used to split wood in the back yard. A long screwdriver
with a thick metal shaft. He had thought long and hard about what to bring on
this hike, and it appeared his planning had been perfect.
    He picked up the
wedge, inserting the thin, sharp end into the small gap between the concrete
slab and the thick wooden beam, lining it up with where he figured the rusting
iron bolt should be. Then he grabbed the hammer and prepared to smash the
wedge. His plan was to slice through the bolt.
    Tim knew he would
probably destroy the wedge in the process, and the feeling of guilt that had
been eating away at him since deceiving his mom this morning intensified. First
he had lied and now he was about to destroy someone else’s property.
    He shook his head,
embarrassed at being such a baby. The wedge was just a hunk of forged iron. It
would probably be months before it was even missed, and when it was, Tim could own
up to losing it and pay Matt out of his paper route earnings for a new one. No
big deal. Tim vowed not to lose his nerve over something so stupid.
    He took a deep
breath and prepared to swing the hammer. It felt unbalanced in his hand, the
iron head much heavier than he had expected. He braced the wedge against the
concrete and then reared back and swung the hammer hard. And missed the wedge.
The hammer’s iron head whistled past his hand and smashed into the wooden beam
with a squishy THUMP.
    Oh, man. That was
close. Tim tried to imagine hiking two hours back to his house from the middle
of nowhere with a broken hand and grimaced. Be more careful, dummy.
    He steadied
himself and swung again—this time with a little less backswing, to hopefully
provide a little more control—and connected solidly with the wedge. A metallic
TINK sang out and the wedge vibrated and Tim wondered if he had done any damage
to the bolt. He swung again and connected again, then swung a third time and
was rewarded. The wedge sank out of sight, disappearing between the concrete
slab and the wooden beam.
    He knew he had
snapped the bolt and smiled. He felt like Indiana Jones or something. His plan
was working!
    Tim picked up the
screw driver and slid the end into the gap between the slab and the beam. What
had started out as a sliver, just barely enough room to slide the thin end of
the wedge into, was now at least an inch thick, forced apart by the base of the
wedge.
    The screw driver
was massive, at least two feet long, with a thick steel head. It was no
ordinary screw driver; it was more like a pry bar, so big Matt used it as