Dig Too Deep Read Free

panting. Granny must not walk them much anymore. I pass the apple tree and turn up a tiny path that disappears into a rhododendron thicket. I’m pretty impressed with myself for even finding it. Five minutes later, I’m panting harder than the dogs, climbing steadily through the trees toward the gray sky above.
    One foot in front of the other , I tell myself. Volleyball hasn’t exactly conditioned me for climbing, and the trail is steep. By the time I hit the ridge, I’m totally out of breath. I stand with my hands on my knees as Silkie and Beethoven streak down the other side after some rabbit or vole.
    I squint after them, wondering if they’ll come back or if I should chase them down. And that’s when I see it. Or rather, don’t see it. Tanner’s Peak. The whole top of the freaking mountain … it’s just gone.

Two
    Instead of a rocky point poking through the trees, there’s just raw dirt, hundreds of feet lower than it should be. It’s covered with roads and equipment of every kind—big diggers, little diggers, bulldozers, an army of dump trucks, and a behemoth crane. It looks like they’re getting ready to build a mall or something, except for the huge square pond halfway down the slope. It’s filled with water—not natural water, but sludgy swirls of brown and electric green.
    I’m wondering what they did with the rest of the mountain when I realize the valley floor is only half as deep as it used to be, and filled with raw dirt, rocks, and tree roots. They must have carved off the top third and dumped it into the valley between Tanner’s Peak and the next hill over.
    I’m staring, openmouthed, thinking about all the things that are gone: the lookout where you could see all the way to Bakersville, the blackberry patch, the little cave Granny and I hid in once when a thunderstorm blew up, the best hole for crawdads in the whole county.
    The dogs come panting back, trailing a guy about my age who looks vaguely familiar and almost too cute to be real—blond hair, brown eyes, a few freckles across his nose. His dark eyes widen when he sees me. “Sorry. I thought … aren’t these Kat Briscoe’s dogs?”
    â€œThey are.” I stare, trying to figure out who he is.
    He stares back and suddenly grins. “Oh my God. Liberty?”
    I nod, finally recognizing the ten-year-old I used to know. “You’re Cole, right?”
    â€œYeah.” He looks me up and down, but not in a creepy way. “You’ve changed a lot since the last time I saw you.”
    â€œI’ll take that as a compliment, since the last time we saw each other, we were covered in mud war paint, playing Indian Attack.”
    Cole laughs and reaches down to scratch Goldie’s head. “Yeah, I hardly ever do that anymore.” He winks at me and my insides do some weird, squirmy thing. “Just the second Tuesday of each month.”
    He’s funny. I like that. “I’ll put it on my calendar.”
    We smile at each other, not sure what else to say. Finally, I point to the mountain. “What’s going on there?”
    Cole’s eyes flick to the mountain. “Peabody Mining’s new big thing—mountaintop removal.”
    â€œA coal company did that? On purpose?”
    â€œIt’s an easier way of getting the coal out.”
    â€œYeah, along with the trees and the dirt and everything else. Is it legal?”
    â€œOf course it is.” Cole’s still staring across the valley. “Federal government issued the permit for it.”
    â€œAnd nobody’s complained?”
    â€œComplained? Why would they? Mining jobs are good jobs. My daddy’s lucky to have one.”
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œThat right there is progress,” Cole says. “All those jobs are going to bring Ebbottsville back to life.”
    I think about the boarded-up shops and empty streets downtown.