Ducie by Chris Freeman
Chapter 10. As good a day as any
The Ducie copper mining industry was essential to the running of the island, and this was a fact ingrained into everyone that worked for Ducie Extraction and even more so into those that didn’t. The miners were Ducie’s breadwinners, though not many people properly understood the logistics of how what they were doing actually translated into the luxury commodities that Ducie eventually enjoyed in return.
For a relatively small open pit mine, the working conditions were modern and safe; a far cry from some of the ramshackle, independent mines on the South American mainland. Fatality statistics in the United States suggest that modern day mining is only slightly more dangerous than driving a car, and looking at this mine, you would probably believe it. The recent Chilean earthquakes had slowed the regular flow of copper out of Chile to the East. With leading consumer China looking to build on their depleted inventory for use in appliances, automobiles and the like; demand and price were high at a time that supply was not readily available; an ideal opportunity for a small mine like the one in Ducie to thrive.
But enough about that…
Andrea banged the back of the haulage truck in an attempt to halt the reversing vehicle, which was creeping its way towards the edge of the collection reservoir. The water was bright blue, which belied its polluted state and made you think of semi-naked holiday makers snorkelling in the clear, blue sea water of a tropical cove somewhere. Less exotically, the blue tinge on this water was a residue of the copper itself. Basic, bonafide contamination. The truck kept coming.
- Woah… Hey!.....Enough!
Andrea banged harder. Another few metres and the back wheels of the truck would clear the edge of the dusty embankment, sending the vehicle along with its human contents plummeting into the giant, polluted bathtub below. The ultra-acidic water in and around the mine was always the subject of many a far-fetched tale about burn holes instantly corroded in work boots, coats, sticks and the infamous silver pen, which when dropped in the liquid was blue when retrieved. Lionel Martinez was about to become the latest object to be dunked in the glorified battery acid and added to this bizarre catalogue of accounts. Andrea pushed his thumb and middle finger beneath his tongue and let rip a deafening whistle, which he reserved for situations just like this. The truck stopped and the engine died. Lionel Martinez emerged from the cabin, oblivious to the temporary panic that had just subsided.
- Lunch time, yeah?
Still bubbling with a stomach full of redundant adrenaline, Andrea resisted the urge to make an issue of the near death experience that Lionel didn’t know he’d just had.
- Time to go partner. I’m famished!
The two friends exchanged back slaps and headlocks, as they made their way across the uneven terrain and over the wood bridge towards the wagon. An honest morning’s work, great friends for company and only a fraction of the hangover they’d woken up with. It didn’t seem like a day to die, but in hindsight, I suppose it was a good a day as any.