Two small-time journalists take on an international cartel who try a hostile takeover of a Canadian mining company.
Lucas, a veteran journalist, sees a big story brewing within a strike at a local mining company when explosions rip through the plant, but he gets bumped by Jamie, a junior reporter. To keep his finger in the pie, he agrees to mentor the new journalist while following a second story about a sex-worker found half beaten to death.
As the attacks escalate, the two must work together to determine if this is a global threat or the first volley in an international trade war. As the clues of both stories add up, they realize that there is a common link, and they race for the full picture before more attacks take place. One thing is for certain, the mining company, the city, and the country are mere pawns, in a game that could kill thousands unless they can expose the truth and avoid getting caught in the crossfire.
The high-pitched scream of a jungle animal drowned out low groans emanating from the hillside. The animal cry was cut short, as the unfortunate prey had its life ripped from its throat. Once again, the night hushed itself until the usual jungle sounds of insects and reptiles resumed their nocturnal symphony.
Had any of the creatures understood the source of the periodic groans and wet tearing sounds coming from deep under the soil, they would have fled, slinking away in fear. The tightly grouped ripples radiating from the downward slope of the man-made reservoir would have startled them. In the daylight, they might have witnessed tendrils of mud mixing with the surrounding clearer water, or the gurgle of bubbles that surfaced from the depths. Not that anything lived in the still waters.
A tailings pond was a common sight at major mining sites. Mining companies dumped waste material from mining into lakes, swamps or, as in this case, a man-made basin holding back billions of gallons of water and toxic by-products with a dam built of the same waste it contained.
Arsenic, copper, and other heavy metals created a toxic slurry of waste material. As the tailing material grew, so did the dams, looking like massive, tiered rice-fields cut into Vietnamese mountain sides. Depending on the size of the mine, the tailings pond could rise hundreds of feet above the terrain.
Mining companies, in general, tended to ignore waste, since it made no profit. And at the hillside where the animal had screamed, because it walled a pond that did little but contain waste, the company, Novo, gave very little attention to the structure. Only the annual rainy season proved a problem.
***
Francesca woke, her skin cool and damp where her new kitten, Gatinho, had slept against her as a warm replacement for its mother and littermates. She groped across the single mattress for her fluffy companion but found herself alone.
Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes and squinted in the gloom for the wee animal. The house was dark; and what little light bled through the draped blanket that acted as a curtain, did little to illuminate the room. She was alone, which meant that her tiny friend was loose in the house.
Sliding off the mattress, her feet touched the hard, packed-soil floor. By feel, she moved to the curtain separating her sleeping compartment from the common room. Another, similar room across the rough hut sheltered her Avó or grandma. Usually, she would hear the deep snores of her father, mixed occasionally by a deep, racking cough. Her papai blamed the chemicals used to separate iron ore from base material at the mine for the harsh bark that would leave him breathless and weak. He scoffed when Avó mentioned his love of cigarettes and the homemade caçhaca. But tonight, he would be at the mine, she remembered.
Francesca’s eyes swept the room, spotted Gatinho, and watched with dismay as the kitten leaped from the window into the darkness outside. She imagined the spotted onça-pintada, the jaguar, attacking her defenseless pet, and she bolted to the door, bare feet silent on the well-trodden dirt floor.
She took care to ease the door open, so the wood didn’t rub and make the familiar squeal. If Avó woke, she would tan Francesca’s backside for going out at night. Night was dangerous. Both her father and Avó had warned her since she could first remember; but now, at eight years old, she knew enough to be careful.
The night hid animals that still preyed on those foolish enough to wander out. Not even the floodlights of the village could protect the unwary. The lights could push the jungle night only so far back, and the shadows were close enough to hide any number of carnivores, all ready to pounce.
The kitten was nowhere in sight, and Francesca’s eyes filled with suppressed worry and fear. The cat was helpless, and it was her responsibility to fend for it until it grew old enough to take care of itself. Papa had been adamant about that. She had to find her pet before anything happened to him.
Across the road, she heard something fall between the two company homes. There was a plaintive feline cry of surprise, and Francesca sprinted forward.
She caught sight of the of the kitten’s pale rear quarters as it scurried up the hillside towards the railbed. The tracks ran parallel to the gravel road leading to the mine.
Moving through the deep shadows, Francesca chased after the small bundle of fur, almost crying with frustration. Didn’t Gatinho understand the dangers? She needed to reach him before the claws of da onça found him.
She swallowed a shriek of terror as a flock of birds thundered over her head. The flap of the wings nearly drowned out the terrified cries of the kitten.
Birds flying at night?
***
As if someone flipped a switch, all noise surrounding the tailings pond ceased. No croaking of frogs. No buzz of insects. It was as if nature held its collective breath.
Low clicking broke the stalemate, growing in volume and speed so that it sounded like a crazy author abusing a high-speed typewriter.
The clacking and snapping stopped abruptly.
The sudden silence was deafening.
With little warning, the entire face of the soil and rock-waste dam slid forward and downward, like a theatrical curtain being cut, releasing the equivalent of seven-thousand Olympic swimming-pools of toxic mud and water. Gravity pulled away tier after tier of water-laden soil, gaining speed and force as it fell.
Four massive, articulated dump-trucks—yukes—sat at the bottom of the grade, waiting for the next day’s labor to begin. When the crash of mud and water collided with the roadway they’d parked on, it lifted the two-hundred-ton Caterpillar heavy-haulers and tossed them aside like children’s toys. Two rolled over and were swallowed from sight. The other two actually floated for a while, like massive, cumbersome canoes, bobbing and spinning where the current willed them. They, in turn, slammed into and carried away a mobile lunchroom with a snap of electrical wires and brilliant arcs of light. Muted screams from inside the structure were cut short.
The watery mass spread outward at the same time as it plunged down the valley floor, picking up speed, burying or tearing loose anything in its path to add to its mass. Then, as the lower tiers of the dam pulled free, toxic sediment from the pond’s bottom crashed forward, first filling the valley to its far side, a quarter of a mile away, before following the valley contours to add its weight to the massive river of mud.
The waning moon gave little light and offered less sign of the juggernaut pushing southward at over a hundred-twenty kilometers an hour!
***
Francesca whimpered as she stumbled on an exposed tree root that caused her to fall and scrape her knee on a hidden rock, tearing the skin. But she heard the rumble that came from the direction of the mine, two miles away.
She could now hear her kitten mewing loudly somewhere ahead of and above her. The poor animal sounded terrified, and Francesca imagined it at the mercy of some nocturnal predator. So, she pushed aside her own safety as she pulled herself up the steep slope with the help of tree branches and trunks.
Now she could hear a growing roar coming from up the valley, raising fine hairs on her neck and arms. Her young mind tried to imagine what the noise might mean. It was tender mercy that the night was so dark that she could not see what was bearing down on her. It saved her a moment of terror.
***
Exhaustion, as much as the mud, made volunteer firefighter and miner Jaren Pinheiro stop to gain his breath. The sucking, wet muck pulled at his boots as he followed its flow upstream, searching for living victims. Since they got the call of the burst dam, he and his crew had located seven corpses: among them, a man and a woman still in their bed—and a massive bull. The rescuers had painstakingly pulled all victims from the mud, both the living and dead. Only then could a helicopter transport them to the base camp. The bull they had left where it was.
So exhausted were the living survivors they had found, that they moved almost as little as the dead. It broke Jaren’s heart, and he knew instinctively that today’s events would haunt his dreams for a long time to come. He had lived in the valley his whole life, but everything had changed in this flood. The valley and most of his village no longer existed.
He took a small sip from his canteen, reminding himself to conserve the little water that he had. Company representatives cautioned that chemicals and heavy metals in the tailings had made any groundwater in the area poisonous to drink. How far the contaminants would travel was for others to determine, but he knew that life in this area of the province would change forever.
Having been at the mine, and leaving soon after the tailing pond’s collapse, Jaren’s group found their way blocked by a wall of mud that stank of death. Their long, circular route back to the village was completed in silence as each man prayed that their own families had somehow escaped the rushing waters. Every time Jaren's rational thoughts tried to prepare him for the inevitable, his heart pushed the images of his little girl and her grandmother to the dark corners of his mind. They had to be alive.
He looked over the sea of mud, as a breeze traveling down the valley dried sweat from his face. He took off his helmet to allow the wind to cool his drenched head. With his eyes closed to enjoy the gentle relief, he tilted his head to a sound upriver.
A child’s cry?
Slamming his helmet back in place, he moved with purpose, stopping every dozen paces to listen for further sounds. Within minutes, there was no need to pause, as he could hear the steady cry. Almost at a full run, Jaren followed the railbed until he found the bundle of fur clinging desperately to a slender, leafless tree-trunk.
He laughed and shook his head at how something so small had saved itself from the deadly flood. Reaching the tree, he called to the scared little cat. “It’s okay, little one. I’ll get you down.” He slid a gloved hand up the trunk of the slender tree and pulled the branch towards him. The wood bent easily until he could reach the kitten and grasp it with his free hand. He slid the bundle onto his chest and his eyes widened as he felt sharp, tiny claws reach through his coveralls and take root in his skin. The terrified animal quivered in fear.
“Easy. You’re safe, little one.”
The cat hung from his chest; all four sets of claws dug in. He pulled out his canteen and carefully filled the cap with water. Balancing the canteen on a rail tie, he held the kitten with one hand while presenting the water-filled cap with the other. It took only one sniff of its contents for the cat to respond. Lapping enthusiastically at the fresh water, its nails relaxed with each flick of its tongue. After three caps of water, its sides bulged like a live water bag.
Without warning, the cat leaped from Jaren’s arms and scurried among the trees. Jaren shook his head, figuring he would have to rescue the animal a second time, but the animal stopped mere paces from him. The creature began rubbing its face and side against something sticking up from the mud, as if to satisfy a burning itch.
Jaren moved forward and reached for the cat. As he pulled the kitten to him, he saw what had attracted the animal and fell to his knees in horror.
Rising from the mud, a small hand protruded as if grasping for help that hadn’t come. He quickly scooped mud from the face.
And that was how Jaren found his daughter, Francesca.
***
It was later that people who hadn't moved away after the flood stood with bowed heads as the priest gave a final blessing for the dead, and another for the survivors. Everyone had lost someone. Now, it was only a matter of determining if there was enough to rebuild, or they’d have to start fresh somewhere else.
To Jaren, there was nothing left to put together. He had lost everything.
Again.
His wife, Bruna, had died four-and-a-half years ago because of the drunken ministrations of a traveling doctor. But Bruna had left him his beautiful girl, Francesca, who he would have died for. His wife had also gifted him with her gentle and giving mother, who had taken Jaren and Francesca into her care and had run their household for them.
Now, he had lost them both, as well.
He squeezed his eyes tight to hold off a deluge, but it was wasted effort. He was alone.
Now, what was left of his small community had joined to say a final and formal goodbye. He looked around the little church. A line of rescuers, fellow miners who volunteered as the town’s firefighters, stood at the back of the chapel like an honor guard. They and Jaren had searched day and night since the dam let go for both living and dead. All had lost members of their families. And sitting by themselves in the last pew were two men, representatives of the company, Novo Horizonte Internacional, looking scared and uncomfortable.
Rumors were already floating that the company had been aware of the poor condition of the pond, but felt it was too expensive to address. Everyone called the company just ‘Novo’, and Novo was becoming a pariah. Lawyers and prosecutors were lining up behind outraged politicians, screaming about loss of life, and loss to the environment—and economy.
Jaren felt anger rise, both at those who screamed for justice on behalf of the people and at this company that refused to accept responsibility. Those in the government may feel guilty, but not one of those sanctimonious bastards was here for those who were left behind. Where was o presidente today? He is silent on this day of all days, when we say goodbye to a mass grave filled with those we love. And the company sends only two representatives when they lost hundreds of employees?
He ground his teeth together to control his temper. Today was not for accusations.
Today was for goodbyes.
As the progression exited the old stone church into bright sunlight, Jaren squinted at a man he did not recognize. As he descended the steps, the man approached him. He was tall, with light-brown, almost blond, hair. Dark glasses hid his eyes. A sweat-stained shirt and a dark blue tie covered his wide chest, his suit jacket hanging from a finger at his shoulder.
“Senhor Pinheiro?” the man asked with a tilt of his head. His grasp of Portuguese seemed strained, so Jaren switched to the good English he’d learned from the American priest.
“I don’t know you.” As he spoke, Jaren allowed his eyes to search the crowd; but no one else seemed to be concerned with the stranger.
“No sir. This is my first trip to your country.” The man looked relieved to be speaking English, and extended his hand. “On behalf of my employer and myself, please accept our deepest condolences for your loss.”
Jaren shook the offered hand, trying to understand what it was the man wanted. He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.
“My employer, who will remain anonymous for now, represents a group of businessmen who are tired of the way companies like Novo and others work with no consideration for anything other than their financial bottom-line. They take, but give back little to those who have served them faithfully.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
The man looked at the crowd that stood hesitantly around the church, as if they did not know where to go or what was next, now they had committed their family members to the Lord. He handed Jaren a business card. “Now is not the time to dwell on it; but when you are ready, we will be there to help you make Novo pay for what has happened here.”