It’s end of shift. You cram into the bottom level of the tiny cage lift with 30 of your closest friends. Just as the lift starts to go up, there’s a woosh and the car drops down into the service pit, up to the second level of the lift. All sides are solid rock. An explosion far above, then a long splattering noise as 3000 feet of steel rope drops onto the roof of the cage. The cage roof gives in under the weight of nearly 5 tons of steel wire and the bundle slips into the top level, slowly crushing the men there. First a trickle, then a waterfall of blood cascades down through the cage as the screaming, gurgling men above are crushed. You are crouched, knees up to your chest, shoulder to shoulder with the other men in the cage. No prospect of standing, stretching, or moving. The air is already heavy and wet with coal dust and the close breaths of the other survivors on your level. There is no trace of light, only a pure and compressed darkness. It will be hours before any rescue reaches the cage, if any is coming at all.