Free Dig Too Deep by Amy Allgeyer Page A

you.”
    â€œSo? Am I supposed to fall down at your feet and declare my BFF-ness just ’cause you’re new?”
    â€œNo, but you could at least be polite. Or if that’s too hard, just try for something below raging hag.”
    â€œRight. ’Cause you’re from somewhere else and therefore deserve my best behavior.”
    She’s back to staring out the passenger window. We’re nearing the edge of town and I realize I have no idea where I’m going.
    â€œWhere do you live anyway?”
    â€œTurn left up there,” she says. “It’s a half mile past the concrete plant.”
    We ride in silence as the wet trees and dripping rocks roll by. The heater isn’t doing a thing to alleviate the chill in the car, though now I don’t think it’s actually weather related.
    â€œLook,” I say. “Everything I’ve read says mountaintop removal mining causes all kinds of health problems—lung problems, tumors, brain cancer, emphysema.” I pause for effect. “Gallbladder problems.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œ And? What do you mean, and? If that’s the case, we need to let people know.”
    â€œYou think it matters if people know?”
    â€œAre you on crack? If people know, they’ll stop drinking the water. And Peabody will stop mining. And they can fix this mess, so no one else gets sick.” I realize about halfway through my soliloquy that I sound like MFM. It makes me itch, like I have mosquito bites all over the inside of my skin.
    â€œPull over,” Ashleigh says.
    â€œHere?” We just passed the concrete plant and there’s not a driveway in sight.
    â€œHere,” she says. “Right now.”
    I slow the car down and pull off on the narrow gravel shoulder. She grabs her bags and uses her shoulder to bang open the door. The rain is coming down steady now, filling the ditches on each side of the road.
    â€œWhat is your freaking problem?”
    She ignores me and tries to get her bags balanced while not slipping in the mud.
    â€œYou’re going to get hypothermia,” I say, half hoping she does. It would serve her right.
    She leans down before closing the door. “Here’s the thing, Erin Brockovich. You don’t understand anything about this town. You come waltzin’ in here, trying to save us like we’re a third-world country or something.”
    â€œI’m just trying to help.”
    â€œWhy? You think we’re too stupid to notice the water’s orange? Too ignorant to know mines can be dangerous? Did it occur to you there might be a reason nobody says anything?”
    My eyes blink while I try to make sense of that. “What possible reason could there be not to do anything about poisoned water?”
    â€œIt’s complicated. We’re not just a cage full of lab rats. And FYI? You should be a lot more careful who you talk to about Peabody Mining.”
    â€œReally? Why is that?”
    â€œRobert Peabody’s my uncle, dumbass.” She slams the door and starts walking.
    Oh.
    Shit.

Eleven
    I make a clumsy U-turn in the middle of the road and head up the hill. There’s no way I could have known Ashleigh was related to Peabody, but I still feel really, really stupid. Halfway home, I pull off at an overlook where I know I can get a cell signal and dial Iris.
    â€œHey, it’s Liberty.” I feel like I need a friend right now, and Iris is an excellent sympathizer. Unfortunately, she’s not picking up.
    â€œCall me when you can.” I end the call and then click over to my text messages. One from Iris earlier—jazzing about some internship she applied for. Then I check my email though I’m not sure why. The only person who ever emails me is MFM. Sure enough, there’s a new message. This one with the subject line “Progress.” I delete it without reading. I don’t care how much closer she is to being declared guilty or