Chapter 3, Magic Electricity Making Machine Push, pull, push, pull. I clenched the steel handle of the winch and felt my arms shaking as I slowly lowered myself into the depths of the coal mine. I was hundreds of feet underground in a 160-year-old mine shaft barely wider than my shoulders. The darkness was suffocating with the musty smell of centuries-old rock and dust filling my nostrils, making it difficult to breathe. I could feel it pressing against me like an invisible weight. The further I descended, the more the darkness grew thicker and oppressive. I could feel a primal terror rising up inside me; I wanted nothing more than to scramble back up to safety. I was following a lead from a story my dad told me about my great grandfather. The story goes that great grandpa Joseph had been born and raised in the bunker, but at 18, he left for college to pursue his dream of becoming an electrical engineer. When he returned years later, he was a wealthy man with multiple patents under his belt, thanks to his job at Geothermic Dynamics. But despite his success, Joseph was consumed by a project that promised infinite electricity for the bunker. This caused a strain between him and his son, grandpa George, because George felt that his father was squandering his inheritance on a foolish pursuit for what George sarcastically called, the magic electricity making machine. When grandpa George turned 22, he unscrupulously gained control of the family property, and then filed to have his father committed to a mental institution. The judge granted his request, but before they could take Joseph away, he vanished without a trace. Dad always insisted that great grandpa was still alive and hiding somewhere. Anyway, dad says great grandpa Joseph finished his project with the help of his father, great great grandpa Robert, and hid the magic electricity making machine somewhere in the mine. The only clue dad gave me was that I would have to go visit great great grandpa Robert, but great great grandpa Robert died long before I was born in a methane fire. The fire was so bad, there wasn’t even a body to recover. I know, confusing, right? Let me simplify who’s who. I’m Johnny, my dad is Steven, his dad is George, George’s dad is Joseph, and Joseph’s dad is Robert. If you ever see me use the wrong amount of greats when referring to someone, it’s because I get just as confused as any other kid trying to remember where everyone belongs on the family tree, and I have a very big family tree. So anyway, how was I supposed to visit someone that died 35 years before I was born? Now, I’m sure anyone reading this has already figured out the clue, but I’m an idiot, it took me three days to figure it out once I started thinking on it, which led to me lowering myself on a flimsy cable with a hand-crank 900 feet down to the most dangerous place in the mine. Okay, so you’re probably saying, “that does not explain why you’re climbing down a 900-foot hole in the ground looking for a magic electricity making machine.” Well, when the nuke hit, it destroyed the solar panels on top of the mountain, and that’s why the lights went out for a few minutes. When the lights came back on, I thought the emergency generator had kicked in, but I was wrong. The backup batteries were what was keeping the lights on, but that only lasted for 24-hours. When the lights went out again, I went to check the generator, only to find out it had never been on. It was broken. I don’t know why, but no matter what I tried, I couldn’t get it started. Well, I went back to dad’s office to think - I’ve been sleeping there, it’s the only dry place in the whole bunker. The sprinklers did finally turn off, but only because the water tank is empty now. The bunker is a mess, and I still have no electricity. Then I remembered the story about the magic electricity making machine, and I really could use some electricity right about now. I’m cold, wet, hungry, and it’s dark. So, yes, I’m desperate enough to do something really stupid. I studied the map for three days trying to figure out where Grandpa Joseph hid his magic electricity making machine. Then, while I was eating a soggy half-frozen cheese pizza from the freezer, it came to me. Dad said I had to visit grandpa Robert because he knows where the magic electricity making machine is, but grandpa Robert’s ashes are scattered on the ground where the fire was. Thank you, Dad, for that rather gruesome clue. And now, I’m on my way to visit the ashes of my dead great great grandfather at the bottom of a dark coal mine. Sometimes, I do not like being a Robinson, we are the weirdest family there has ever been. Push, pull, push, pull. It is so dark. Push, pull, push, pull. I continue to crank myself down using the hand-wench. I have a flashlight, but if I turn it on, I’ll see just how dumb what I’m doing is. There’s a cage I’m supposed to be inside while I’m being lowered down, but that requires electricity, and I don’t have any, so I’m dangling from a thin cable over a 900 foot hole. There are larger shafts with scoops that coal was raised to the surface, but that requires electricity, and even if I had electricity, there is no way I’m getting into a coal scoop. Push, pull, push, pull. There’s probably something at the bottom that is going to eat me when I get there. It’s standing in the dark right now looking up with its mouth open and waiting for dinner on a string. The air seemed to get thinner and I started panting. I lifted the breathing mask to my face and took several breaths. I had an oxygen tank on my back, and two more dangling from my waist harness. I also had my pockets stuffed with soggy pizza, soda, a spare flashlight, batteries, and a methane detector. I was mostly worried about the air, and the cable snapping, and a monster eating me, and… okay, I’m worried about everything. The ventilation system is usually always on, even if we never come down here. Methane pockets are very likely in a coal mine, so it was always kept ventilated, but with the ventilation system off, methane build-up was a big concern. Dad said we would collapse the unused portions of the mine if we could, but that would cause sink holes on the surface; there isn’t any easy solution to undoing a mine that has already been dug. My muscles were aching from the exertion of lowering myself an inch at a time. By my calculations, it was going to take three hours to make it to the bottom. I decided to take a break and shake my arms out, and against my better judgment, I flipped on the headlamp attached to my helmet. My eyes widened as my lamp illuminated a thousand glints of sparkling gold embedded in the coal. This happened occasionally, but was way too costly to extract any real amount of gold from the coal. Anything more substantial than a few sparkles in a coal mine were unlikely; it would require an excavation down at least another 1000 feet to find any veins of gold. I gulped down a swig of soda, and nibbled on a slice of pizza while I gave my arms a break. My watch was the only thing keeping me on track, though there was no way to know how deep I had come in the darkness. There were side-passageways that could be used as an exit, but I wouldn't risk it; the cable that I clung to provided my only security, and it was old. I didn't want to push its limits getting on and off it. I clicked off the headlamp, not wanting to waste any of the precious battery life, and took a deep breath from my oxygen tank. I grabbed the handle of the winch and continued the slow, monotonous process of lowering myself into the darkness. My arms ached with fatigue every time I stopped for a break. Minutes seemed like hours as I descended further and further into oblivion. The wench stopped and in a moment of panic I thought it was broken. I flicked on my headlamp to find that I was sitting on the ground. My legs were so numb from sitting in the harness, I hadn't even realized it. I felt a dreaded charlie horse tighten in my calf and gasped. Rolling onto my side, my fingers found the hard lump of muscle as my body rocked from side to side and I grunted through gritted teeth. I heard my wrestling coach in my head saying, “Walk it off!” If he only knew how dumb that saying was. The pain in my calf gradually lessened until I could stand without wincing. I gasped for breath, and hastily fastened the oxygen mask around my mouth and nose. The air here was thinner than what I was used to. The air gage showed 15 minutes left of air for walking around on this tank. I had a total of 1-hour left in the other two tanks. I stepped towards the tunnel entrance, squinting at a small sign tied to a rope that stretched across the opening; Danger, Tunnel Closed. Taking a deep breath and pushing aside thoughts of danger, I ducked under the rope and limped along. My calf still ached from the Charlie-horse, but it didn’t stop me from continuing forward. I followed the tunnel, and immediately noticed the obvious signs of a rescue attempt were everywhere - support timbers braced against the ceiling and piles of rubble stacked against the walls. I walked to a side-tunnel on the right and shone my torch inside, but everything looked normal. I continued walking and encountered another side tunnel to the left. As soon as I shone my light in there, it became apparent why people had been working so frantically - this was where the fire had been. The walls were still charred black and hastily erected support beams were scattered throughout. About 20 feet into the side tunnel I stopped at a plank nailed to one of the support timbers; Here lies Robert Robinson, 1939-1972. I pulled my oxygen mask off, and with a trembling hand, gave the plaque a little wave. “Hi, I’m Johnny Robinson. I’m your great great grandson. The thing we’ve been getting ready for finally happened. The bunker is terribly damaged and I’m holding it together with all I have. Grandpa, I’m alone and really need some help. Do you know where your son’s magic electricity making machine is?” My eyes darted to the left and right. I think I was actually expecting Grandpa Robert’s ghost to pop up out of the ground and say: “Hey there Johnny Boy, yep, I got the magic electricity making machine right over here. Let’s get you sorted out.” Well… can you blame me, really? I know I’m losing my grip on reality. I’m hearing voice’s in my head all the time, and I climbed down a 900 foot hole to visit my dead great-great grandfather because of a stupid story my dad told me when I was twelve. I shook my head. I was done with this, it had been a stupid idea to come here. As I turned to leave, a pebble-sized rock fell and hit my helmet. I spun back around, “Hey! Did you throw a rock at me?” I squinted at the grave marker and glared at the faint letters. Pebbles and small rocks trickled onto my neck from the low ceiling of the old coal mine. I cautiously placed a hand on top of my helmet. “Okay, okay, stop throwing rocks, you’re going to bring the whole roof down on me.” I waited for a few moments to see if any more stones fell. It became silent again, and a profound thought came to me. “We stopped mining coal in 1932, what were you doing down here in 1972?” I tipped my head to the side. “What was it Grandpa? Where were you going?” I glanced up, watching the ceiling for more falling rocks. It was more likely the ceiling wasn’t stable and could come down any time than it was my dead grandfather throwing rocks at me, but best not to chance it. I walked around the grave marker and followed deeper into the tunnel. The tunnel went further than I thought it would. The mine was laid out in a grid pattern with the main tunnels being about a mile north-south, and then the side tunnels 200 feet east-west. It ensured we pulled the coal out efficiently, but this tunnel was different, it made several turns, then a sharp descent, and a very long curved stretch. I checked the map, but this section wasn’t on the map. And the strangest part was that there were no signs of mining. They had dug a tunnel only. I traced my finger on the map to get an idea where I was, and if I was right, I’d just walked all the way around the mountain and was now more than 1000 feet under the southern section of the bunker. The tunnel widened to a big room with the ceiling three times the normal height, and way more support beams than anywhere else in the mine. They had wanted this room extra supported. There were several short side tunnels, more like storage rooms, with hundreds of sections of pipe. A small drilling tower lay disassembled against the wall, along with the engine that had powered it. And in the center of the room were two water pipes extending from the floor to the ceiling. “Okay, I get it. There’s no magic electricity making machine.” Grandpa Joseph built a magic water making machine instead; a deep geothermal well. This was good, it didn’t give me electricity, but it did solve my water problems. The emergency water storage tanks were empty because of the sprinklers running for so long, and the three shallow-well shafts were locked-down to prevent radiation and other containments from getting in. Those wells might never be able to be used again. Finding a deep well was a big deal. I walked over to the pipes; the round wheel valve on both of them were closed. This must be where Grandpa Robert had been going. The well was finished but needed turned on, and since Grandpa Robert would have known the mine better than his son, had come down here to turn on the water lines, while his son, Joseph, was topside to monitor the well pumps. Grandpa Joseph was probably so devastated with grief at the death of his father, he never came down here and turned the well on. Grandpa George had been close to Grandpa Robert, so he would have blamed his father, Joseph, for the death of Grandpa Robert, so had tried to get even by having him committed and stealing the property from him. Yeah, that was definitely something Grandpa George would do. Grandpa George probably closed off the well in the bunker out of spite, and that’s why I’ve never seen a fourth well. I slowly opened the valve and heard a low rumbling sound echoing from within. It gradually grew louder as the pipes vibrated and groaned, then eventually calmed to a dull hum. I knew that meant water was freely flowing to the bunker now, but I still had to make my way back up there—a task I was dreading. The climb to the top of the 900-foot deep shaft would be long and grueling. As I walked past Grandpa Robert's grave marker, I ran my hand across the wood, and for just a moment, I swear I felt fingers brush across the top of my hand. I gave the grave marker a grin and whispered, "Thanks, Grandpa." The climb was more grueling than I had imagined it would be. I almost gave up several times, but a voice kept whispering, “Keep climbing, boy, you’re almost there.” It took 12 hours of sheer determination to reach the top. I slept for a full day before I started my search for the well. The bunker has four levels, but I only needed to search the southern end of the bunker. It was on the fourth level I heard a sound I’d never heard there before. I pressed my ear to the wall and listened to the sound of running water. I carefully dismantled the false wall Grandpa George had built to hide the well, and there it was, a steel door on the other side of the hole I’d made in the wall. As I pushed open the heavy metal door, the air inside was humid and stale with the smell of oil, and I could taste iron on my tongue. My eyes were drawn to the two water pipes jutting out of the concrete floor, leading to a pumping station where they were divided into six separate pipes. Above each pipe hung a warning sign that read "High Pressure Steam". And there, in the center of it all, sat six bright yellow turbines. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie - Grandpa Joseph's own miniature geothermal power plant. I remembered visiting the Hoover Dam with my dad and seeing similar turbines there. But this...this was on a whole other level. These generators could power the bunker for years, maybe even forever. I had found Grandpa Joseph’s magic electricity making machine, six of them, and made decades before anyone else. We could have made a fortune selling these inventions, but Grandpa George's stubbornness had prevented that from happening. I walked around the turbines, marveling at their intricate design, they reminded me of steampunk machines from anime movies. Each piece seemed to fit together perfectly, a testament to my late grandfather's skill and knowledge. As I traced my hand along the smooth metal surface, I noticed a simple instruction written in bold letters above a valve on the steam tank: "Turn on here." With a deep breath, I followed the instructions and slowly turned the valve. The sound of steam rushing through the pipes filled my ears as I watched the fans on the turbine come to life. A minute later, the lights flickered on. I laughed like a mad scientist and shook my fists at the ceiling. “It is alive! I have created electricity!”