A Fiction: Part XIX

VII

The deck of Angel’s Head lurches to my left, and I slide face-first toward the thin wood edge wall. I tuck just in time to avoid my head taking the full blow, but I hit the wall hard, and am winded. At first it’s just hand tools and debris that follow my slide, but the slope of the deck steepens, and the larger equipment starts to slide in my direction.

Despite the danger, I am transfixed by the scene before me: The men that had been trying to get into the control room have now broken the glass and are piling into the room. As the ship tilts, men fall from the high deck to the icy water below. There is another group that has descended upon the snowmobiles and arctic supplies. The clear favored prizes are the vehicles of course, but there is heavy fighting for the boots, jackets, ropes and tools. One man is able to start the one closest to me, but he is pulled from the machine, dragged to deck and beaten as another takes his chance upon the beast. This cycle continues with men fighting to get position in the seat, but being torn down before the throttle can be engaged. Now the men have lost all hope as the snowmobile edges down the sloping deck towards me. They jump aside and begin their own slide toward the icy doom below. I wake from my observational haze and throw myself to the side as the speeding behemoth barrels past me. With a deafening crash, the wall and railing I have been lying on break away, and I fall into the stark white silence of ice and snow.

For a moment, as I fall, there is no sound. My mind races with thoughts of my life and impending death. My expectation of icy water is proven false when my descent is broken by piled snow. My left shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, and I am sure it is broken. In the moment I take to recover, I look up to see the snowmobile, which has landed on its back end, towering above and teetering to fall upon me. I roll to my side, and fall into a large crack in the ice and find myself sliding feet first into darkness. My back and legs are torn as they rip across the jagged ice. But as soon as it started, the slide ends and I am again falling through bright white space and land hard on solid ground. I look up at the sheer ice cliff above, and for a moment take in its pure beauty. The sun glistens off its uneven walls and I am reminded of the cathedral where my grandfather’s funeral service was held - stoic and elegant, with an air of unearthly peace.

Looking up, I notice a puff of ice and snow blown out from the top of the cliff. Then I see jagged shards of ice separating from the wall followed by a large, dark mass. Unable to support its weight, the glacier is passing off the snowmobile once more in my direction and I watch as it falls in a shower of shimmering ice. Again, I get my wits and scramble to my knees. I throw myself across the ice and claw my way as far from the cliff base as I can before the impact.

The snowmobile crashes into the ice floor with an explosive reverb, shattering the ice in all directions, and throwing a spire of water 50 feet into the air above me. A crack appears all around me and I find myself alone on a wobbling plate of ice as it breaks free from the larger floor. I grab the plate’s edge in a desperate attempt to float through the maelstrom, but it tilts up into the air and over, and I find myself below the ice, in freezing water – blackness below and clawing at the light above. My fingers search for an opening, but to no avail. I slam my fist against the ice but only push myself further down into the icy depths. Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic, …

A Fiction: Part XVIII

VI

In my dream, I am standing at the top of a large ice hill overlooking a field of snow. The snow is falling heavily, and I cannot make out the horizon. Above is cold steel grey cloud – no hint of sun, just even, grey light. I hear a small buzzing sound and search the sky. There’s nothing there, but I am sure I hear a small plane. I raise my arms to signal it – They are going to see me. I’m saved!! I squint my eyes and see a small black spot in the clouds. Yes!! It’s headed this way!! The spot grows larger and blacker but I still cannot make the shape of the craft. It nearly fills my vision now and I feel I am floating, my body sliding up towards my head. The buzz is getting louder and louder until it is a mind-shattering roar…

I wake to the roar of the ships engines in full throttle. My head presses uncomfortably into the headboard of my bed as I slide up with the acceleration. I roll towards the small port hole and wince as my sheet tears from a patch of hardened blood on my chest. I run my hand down, incredulous – have I been in a fight? Why am I bleeding? I look out at the water racing past my small, round window. Wherever we’re going, we’re sure in a hurry to get there. I hear heavy footfalls as someone runs past my door. Listening closely, I hear muffled shouting on deck. I roll out of bed and quickly dress, carrying my shirt with me to pull on as I make my way outside.

The cold air stabs my lungs and steals my breath as I step out onto deck and survey the chaos all around. Men are running and shouting in all directions. Some have made a line up the staircase to the control room. Above, a small group is pounding and banging on the outside of the control room presumably to gain access. To my right across the deck, Hendricks is up on a small platform, handing out orange life vests to all who will take one. He spots me and frantically waves me over. I push my way through the crew surrounding him, temporarily warmed by the close contact, and climb up to stand beside him.

“What’s going on? Are we sinking?” I ask. Hendricks is sweating with the work and takes a moment to catch his breath. I look over the rail behind him as something catches my eye. What is that? Are those whales? No, they’re oddly shaped, irregular. I am thrown back from the rail as ice showers over. The towering wall of the iceberg slides past having brushed the side of the ship. Hendricks kneels down and offers me a hand.

“The ship is out of control. Someone has locked himself in the control room and pushed us full out. This area is full of icebergs! Surely we’ll crash!!” Hendricks falls to the floor, his cool demeanor suddenly broken. His breathing is harsh and erratic. He is slipping into shock. I put my arm around him and help him to a seat on the edge of the deck. Overhead, a life boat swings across the deck and out over the open sea. It lowers quickly and crashes dangerously into the side of the boat, breaking away a section of the rail and side wall. Three crew men reach over to hold the boat in place, while two others climb in. I stand and rush over towards them, but too late – all five are inside and the boat is being lowered towards the racing sea below. I look behind to the lift controls and wave my arms to get the attention of the man running the panel - make him stop – but too late. I hear screaming as the hoist jerks wildly and the cables holding the boat snap up into the air. I fall flat on the deck as one flicks down across an unsuspecting crewman racing across. It hits directly between his shoulder and neck, embedding itself 6 inches down through his chest. He is knocked to his knees and falls forward, dead before his face touches wood.

I pull myself carefully to my knees and am about to stand when, with a scream of splintering wood and twisting metal the ship comes to a lurching stop. I am thrown forward – sliding across the wet, ice covered deck – with the rest of the debris strewn about. There is yelling from above as the crew’s fears are realized: we have crashed.

A Fiction: Part XVII

V

“Captain?!” I shout through the locked door. “Captain, open up. It’s me, Cole.” Silence… “Are you sure he’s in there?” I say to Nelson who is standing nervously behind me. I try the handle again, this time with a bit more force. Placing my hand on the door, I estimate its strength. I can surely get through it. Nelson, sensing my intention, grips my shoulder and pulls me back.

“You can’t just break down his door, Mr. Cole. C’mon, let’s go see Mr. Roderick. He’ll tell you what you need to know…” I hesitate but ultimately back away from the door when I sense Nelsons fear. I need answers, I think to myself as I follow Nelson into the sun.

The wind whirls past me wetly as we step out on deck and move towards the ladder to the control room. There’s a flurry of activity around the research teams equipment. Four large crates have been place semi symmetrically down the center of the platform. Men armed with pry bars and hammers work feverishly to pull them open to some success. The second crate from me has a gap slowly opening on one side. I pause in anticipation as the crate is opened. Two men climb inside and start knocking at the walls from the inside. The top is lowered to the deck and the sides are pulled away to reveal a shining blue snowmobile strapped to a sturdy looking wooden pallet.

“What the fuck?” I turn to Nelson who is himself looking up the ladder towards the control room. Roderick and Hendricks are climbing down, apparently to inspect the cargo. Roderick looks to me, then to Nelson and they exchange a concerned look as Roderick reaches the deck and turns to me.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Cole. A bit soon to be up and about I should think.”

“I have a questions I need answered. Where is the captain?” Roderick waves Hendricks away and puts his arm on my shoulder to direct me towards the rail. Nelson follows close so as not to miss a word.

“The captain is under the care of Dr. Sawyer. He has become ill and is in need of extended rest. He must not be disturbed. Surely you understand.” He smiles and pats my back. “Quite an adventure you had down there, eh? Shame about Stuart of course, but the balls you had to swim out… I envy your courage. Not sure I could have done the same.” I am not about to be swayed by flattery.

“You left me. The ship fucking disappeared. I had no choice.”

“Please, Mr. Cole. You must understand – Hawthorne believed we were in immediate danger.” Roderick grips my arm. “We had the entire crew’s safety in mind. You are but one man. One man’s sacrifice could have saved twenty lives. As it turns out, after some extensive tests, the danger proved to be overstated and we returned. To find you floating up to the surface above the Ether… remarkable, really. Well, all’s well that ends well, and all that.” Again, Roderick smiles.

“A man died! Don’t you care?”

“Men die all the time. At sea and everywhere else. Stuart understood the danger when he signed up for this voyage. As did you I believe. Now if there’s nothing else, Mr. Cole, I’m tiring of this conversation. If you are able to work, please be on deck in the morning looking sharp. Otherwise, stay out of the way until you have recovered fully. The rest of the crew is at your service. And I’ll ask you not to make such a clatter around the captain’s door again. Dr. Sawyer rang me to complain. He suggested I restrain you. I will do no such thing, but be clear, Mr. Cole, I will if this behavior continues.”

My face is hot with rage as Roderick turns and walks towards the men on deck. All four crates are open now. Three snowmobiles and a crate of assorted arctic gear. I am too pissed to give it much thought as Nelson walks me back to my room. He says nothing as I step in and close the door behind me. I open a small box near my bed and pull out a fresh single edge razor blade. I slice four clean lines into my chest, the pain releasing my rage. My head goes light as my blood streams down to my belly and I breathe, slowly.

A Fiction: Part XVI

III

“What do you remember?” the hollow voice inquires.

“They were iridescent and bulbous, buoyant and warm. They carried me.”

“Jellyfish?”

“Yes… yes, they may have been.”

“Do you remember what happened to Hawthorne?”

“He never came back. I guess he got lost.”

“And Stuart… where is Stuart?”

“I set him free. Where am I? What is this place?”

“Angel’s Head, of course.”

“Where did you go? Why did you leave us?”

“It was not safe.”

“Safe? Were you attacked? Safe from what?

“Please, Mr. Cole. You’re upsetting yourself. Do try to relax.”

“RELAX? Are you fucking kidding me? I could’ve died out there! And fucking Stuart…” My head begins to throb and the room spins slowly.

“I’m going to be sick…” My stomach twists as everything once again goes black.

IV

“Good morning, Mr. Cole. How you feeling on this fine day?” Nelson is waiting for me at the top of the stairway, his right hand outstretched. I take his hand and he pulls me into an embrace. “Everyone was so worried about you. It’s good to see you up and around,” he says into my ear.

“I feel pretty good. Still a bit green around the gills so-to-speak, but as long as I keep moving, it’s OK.” We walk to the rail and look out to the rolling sea, the sun at our backs. The early morning sky is pale blue, with flecks of cloud scattered along the horizon. “How far have we gone since I was picked up?”

“You ask me, not far at all. We’ve been circling. It’s a big circle, mind you. But it’s hard not to notice the sun rise and set on the same side of the ship.” Nester laughs his hearty laugh. “They left something down there that they still want.”

“Maybe they hope to recover the Ether. I’d like to know what happened.”

“Could be, could be. There sure was a lot of excitement when you were down there. There was cheering in the control room early on. They came pouring out of the room saying you found something or other. But things got pretty somber after Mr. Hawthorne showed up.”

I nearly fall as the blood drains from my face. “HAWTHORNE IS ALIVE? HE’S HERE ON THE SHIP?”

Nelson puts an arm under mine to support me, and helps me to a bench. We sit. “Didn’t they tell you? He was found on the deck the morning after you went down. The dive team was scheduled to go down and try to hook a cable to your sub. But when Hawthorne woke up, he started screaming that we had to leave, that we were all in danger and all that nonsense. Captain made the call to go.”

My head slips into my hands as the deck spins across my eyes. I jump to the rail and vomit over the side. “I have to see him,” I say, a long line of spittle hanging from my lip. “Where is he?”

“Why, he’s gone Mr. Cole. Chopper came for him right after you were rescued. No need to worry. The captain’ll tell you the whole story. Told me to tell you he wants to see you later in the week.”

“Bring me to him now.”

A Fiction: Part XV

II

It has been 9 days since I sent Stuart off. Since then, I have occupied my time with a rigid routine that consists of hourly radio and SONAR checks, power level reviews, and regimented small meals and water consumption. This morning (there is no light this far below, but I have made a conscious effort to maintain a standard night/day schedule) I was able to restart the propeller drives, but a full force attempt in every direction yielded no positive result. I believe we have hooked ourselves onto an object embedded in the sea floor. Either this or the object Stuart brought aboard has weighed us down. I will attempt to open the cargo door and release the object, but again, I do not expect a positive result.

3 days ago I noticed a tremor in my right eye. I was not immediately concerned, as it was a standard common muscled twitch. But it has gradually worsened and I believe it may be indicative of a more serious condition. I find myself digging my forefinger into the muscle as it spasms in an effort to soothe the little beast, but it continues it’s flexing beneath the probing digit. I have considered a bit of self surgery to release the tension in the muscle and have found a blade sharp enough for the performance, but my routine does not allow for the time it would require so it will have to wait.

The enhanced view screen shimmers with hazy blue ghosts as objects pass by my window to the sea. Some are easily discernable as familiar sea creatures but others I do not recognize. My eye muscle spasms as I stare into the black abyss and observe the gaseous bodies drift past. In them I see shapes and visions – of times past and those yet to be. I see my mother’s eyes as they look into mine, so caring and concerned. She wonders when I will be home and safe. She has been dead for nearly a decade, but there she is before me – beckoning. And there are stars and swirling universes of worlds and peoples. They visit me and tell me of my insignificance. They lilt me to sleep and provide me with images of soft places and comforting patterns. I stand and move to the next station of my routine – the radio.

“This is submersible Ether in distress, is there anyone there?” This is my standard message to the outside world, and I send it hourly on all available channels. On each the response is static – always static. I move to the SONAR screen and watch four full rotations. The light green line sweeps the black globe and finds nothing. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Nothing. I stand to move to the power panels. As I do, my eye is caught by a small dot in the upper right quadrant of the SONAR display. I quickly fall back into the chair and wait for the next rotation. There… THERE IT IS! A dot!!! It’s moving across the circle – not perfectly in my direction but getting closer. How can I signal them? What can I do? I race to the radio and switch on the first channel.

“This is submersible Ether in distress. Please respond.” I count to ten and switch to the next channel. Again. “This is submersible Ether in distress. Please, is there anybody there?” …Ten. Next. “This is the submersible Ether from Angel’s Head. Angel’s Head are you there?”

“PLEASE. IS THERE ANYONE THERE???” I look at the SONAR screen and see the dot moving yet closer. It is within two miles southeast and moving slowly north. In 10 minutes it will be at its closest point – less than one mile. LESS THAN ONE MILE!!! I race to the back and pull out the S.C.U.B.A. gear. I spread it all out and around for easy access and begin tearing off my clothes. As quickly, I start pulling on gear. I badly twist my small toe as I yank up the legging – I think it’s broken. Keep going. Both legs on now. I stand and pull the shoulders up and jam my arms through and into the gloves. I pick up the tank and heave it up onto my back nearly falling as I drill the tank dials into the base of my skull. The stars clear and I pull the cap over my head. I reach down and grab the mask, pull oxygen feed into my mouth and slip on the flippers. Without a look back I pop open the hatch and drop into the water.

I didn’t take into account the temperature – I’m freezing. Well, no time to change my mind. I start to swim to the surface. I wonder how long it’s been – more than ten minutes? What will I do when I reach the surface? Swim to the vessel? I have no flares or signaling devices. My heart is pounding in my chest. I pump with all I’ve got but the water around me is still pitch black. Something brushes my leg and I reach out – it’s the cable for the solar power unit. A life line! I run the cable through my fingers as I continue my journey upward. Every hundred feet, there is a junction of two cables and I begin to estimate my progress. I can’t make it in time! Panic is setting in. I drop the cable to pump my arms and force my way up. I begin to see light around me… is it my imagination? The light takes form and the angelic patterns from the view screen surround me and lift me higher and higher. I fear I may be losing consciousness as the visions pull me upward, their faces calming and soothing. Then suddenly all is dark and quiet. I am not moving. I float still and hang in the depth. My eyes close and my breathing slows as I hear the bell of my air supply ringing.

A Fiction: Part XIV

Chapter 3

Waiting for the sun

I

Stuart died.

When I think of people dying, I always imagine a quiet moment; their faces grow still, their eyes glaze a bit and they look upwards as though seeing the face of God. Peaceful, always peaceful. Maybe I’ve seen too many vid-dramas.

Stuart decided early on that he was going to hold on to the last. He fought death literally with all he had. First, there was the moaning. It started as a pained breath, but over the course of 16 hours it became a near-constant hum. The moaning lasted for nearly 12 hours more until Stuart drifted away into restless sleep. I had been comforting him with a torn bit of my shirt and cool water on his forehead and chest. When he drifted off to sleep, I thankfully did as well. A little over 4 hours later, Stuarts eyes shot open – wild and clear – and the howling and screaming started. His body shook in constant tension as he took deep hysterical breaths and let them go in a swirling siren of agony. He lay there on the cold steel diamond plate floor, my every attempt at comfort swatted away with rigid strength. It was clear I could offer no help, so I moved away and searched the first aid kit for something to close my ears. I cut a few small triangles from a larger gauze pad and rolled them into my ear canals, softening the horror of Stuart’s spasms. I spent the next hour activating emergency equipment and attempting to re-engage the drives. I was under the main console tracing the wiring and looking for damage when I realized… the sub was silent.

I have to admit, I considered my food situation. The sub is stocked with enough dry rations for three individuals at average consumption for one week. I estimate I can ration this for myself for up to five weeks. By then, I expect either Angel’s Head will find me or I will convince myself to suit up and swim to the surface – Stuart will not be edible after a few days – maybe a week. I decided to let him go.

Before I lowered him into the water, I wrapped Stuart in the blanket from the first aid kit and tied it tight with some thin rope I found in the back hold. The concept of God is passé in this day and age, but I feel compelled to say a few words.

“A pleasant voyage, Stuart. Your suffering is at an end, my friend.” With this, I pushed Stuart out into the sea and closed the hatch behind him.

A Fiction: Part VIII

V

The interior of the sub is bathed intermittently with deep red and pitch black. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings and pull myself up off the floor. The sub floor is slanted towards the back and I struggle to get to the front screen – black as well. Either the screen is damaged or the outside lighting is off. Fuck. I shake my head and take a minute to fully assess the situation. I hear the whirring of fans blowing fresh air from the oxygen converters – that’s good. We at least have emergency power… we... STUART! His body rolled beneath the console on impact and is still there. I sit on the floor next to him, wrap my arms around his torso and drag him out into the main aisle. He was knocked cold – not good. I stand and shut off the emergency systems. The main power comes back up and all the equipment comes to life. Then I pull open the first aid cabinet on the wall. What do I need? A blanket, some bandages for his head, a cold pack…

“Solemn chain flower cold?” I turn and see Stuart sitting up, his hands on his knees. He looks at me curiously. “Flower cold?”

“Stuart, lay down. I don’t know what kind of injuries you have.” Stuart stares hard at me, rolls to one side and lies down. He is shivering. I cover him with the blanket and start to check him for injuries. I gasp as I check his head. The back of his skull is soft and bloody. There is fluid oozing from his ears and his eyes dart back and forth. Oh, Stuart, my friend. It’s not looking good. I need to get help. I stand and move to the instrument panels.

“Fear column lines patsy…” Stuart offers behind me without rising.

“Thanks for the advice, Stu, but I need to try the radio first.” Stuart grunts in what I think is approval. The radio lights up and I hear familiar static. “Angel’s Head, this is Ether. We have an emergency. Please respond…” Static. “Angel’s Head, this is Ether. Please respond. We have an emergency.” Nothing.

I walk over to the SONAR display and watch a full rotation, then another. “Stuart, what am I doing wrong here? I don’t see anything.” Stuart pulls himself up and crawls over to the display before I notice. “Jesus, Stuart. Lie back down! You’re in no shape to…” Stuart puts his hand to my mouth and leans into the display.

“Cage my pollen stone…” he says quietly. He closes his eyes and moves back to the floor.

He may not have said the right words, but Stuart was clear as day: Angel’s Head is gone. We are alone.