Roman Ice

by Dave Bartell

  “Enough. Now go,” said Karl hauling her up and linking them together with a climbing rope. She looked at the pool below and thought of jumping. Her momentum would drag him with her. Could she get the knife out? Not without hurting herself in the fall, but her confidence surged from having stood up to him. I can do it. I have to. It’s my only option.

  80

  Fort Augustus, Scotland

  Olivier drove a rented Range Rover along Route A82 after their short flight from London to Inverness. He had argued for a smaller car until giving in to Emelio’s argument they would have to drive off pavement. Alongside them Loch Ness stretched out toward the western horizon, looking more like a wide river than a lake.

  “Do you think Darwin’s okay?” asked Carmen.

  “If there was ever a kid who could get himself out if trouble, it’s Darwin,” said Emelio.

  A strong breeze smudged the surface of the loch and they journeyed in silence until reaching Fort Augustus about half an hour later. Olivier rolled across the swing bridge wary of the tourists snapping selfies and parked at the Loch Inn.

  It was still before 10:00 a.m. and the mist carried a chill that propelled them inside the Inn. A riot of rich smells teased their senses — wood smoke, grilled meats, roasted coffee, and flowery sweet maple syrup. “Sit anywhere. I’ll be with you shortly,” said a middle aged woman as she threaded between diners. They secured a table in one corner, and Emelio ordered a full Scottish breakfast when she came back.

  “It’s been years,” he said twenty minutes later as he stuffed a slice of tomato and black pudding in his mouth. The juices ran down his chin and Carmen dabbed her chin as if hoping that Emelio caught the hint. The restaurant emptied soon after they arrived as the diners headed for the Royal Scot, which departed at 9:45 on its daily Loch Ness cruise. Olivier took advantage of the slowdown to chat with the waitress when she circled around to refresh their coffees.

  “Have you worked here long?” asked Olivier.

  “Ha,” she laughed. “You have to get paid to consider it work. No, I’m afraid it’s worse. My husband and I own this place.”

  “Is Maguire still around?” he asked.

  “You’re looking at her,” she said. Olivier wrinkled his eyebrows, and she snorted. “I get that a lot. I’m Caitlin Maguire. You must want my father. He retired a few years ago and moved to Florida. My husband and I took over the place in a shrewd business deal. Wanted to get away from the hectic corporate life in Aberdeen. And here we are, working longer, for less money. Couldn’t be happier.”

  Maguire called her husband out of the kitchen. “What brings you back for Fort Augustus? Looking to buy an Inn?” he asked after introductions.

  “It depends on the price,” said Carmen. Olivier and Emelio turned toward her. “I’m kidding,” she said. “But you have to admit, this place is gorgeous.”

  “We’re looking for Angus Kinnaird. He would be in his late seventies now,” said Olivier.

  A shadow passed over Caitlin’s face as she sighed. “Lovely man, Angus. Sadly, he passed away last winter. Did you know him?”

  “We spent quite a few nights in the bar here.”

  “Aye, then you knew him. He was always lending a hand. We think it was to stay busy after his wife passed. He never recovered,” said Caitlin.

  “I’m sorry to hear. He was very helpful to us. Acted like a father to the young students up here for the summer dig. Do you know if his daughter is still around?” asked Olivier.

  “You just missed her. Coira Kinnaird captains the Royal Scot,” said Caitlin. “Always stops by to top up her thermos before setting off down the loch.”

  81

  The Lava Tube

  Stevie was covered in sweat by the time they reached the top of the waterfall. One filthy hand swept away the salty wetness that stung her eye and also stirred the sour odor that permeated her clothing. She walked across the ledge and knelt by the stream to scrub her hands before drinking. The water tasted of iron. Next, she splashed it on her face. It was cold, but her eyelids soon lost their glue-coated texture.

  She saw Karl watching her and an idea formed. She unbuttoned her top and pried the material from her sticky body exposing her tattoos. She washed her arms and splashed her armpits. She removed her right boot and put her foot in the stream. The chill was shocking.

  He stood up and stepped in her direction alternating between looking at her and the surrounding cavern. Keep coming. She untied her left boot and pulled her foot out. She wadded her sock around the knife and set it close by. She massaged the cold water through her toes and heard him approach. Her heart raced, and she glanced between him approaching and the sock. She extended her legs into the water and leaned back on her hands. The blade lay within centimeters of her fingers. She closed her eyes. Her heart quickened. Come closer.

  “What are you doing?” he growled and splashed across the stream to look out over the pool.

  “I’m filthy,” she said. “You could use a bath too.”

  “Get dressed. I have work to do.”

  She sighed. The man is a machine. She put her dirty clothes back on and tucked the knife in its ankle sheath.

  They woke to Pétur’s groans. Eyrún tried to locate the source of pain and Darwin helped her turn Pétur onto his back and prop up his legs. It seemed to reduce the pain.

  “What time was his last med?” asked Darwin.

  “About six hours ago,” she said.

  “We slept that long?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s time for more,” said Darwin.

  “All I have left is Percocet. He won’t be able to walk,” she said.

  “He can’t walk the way he is. We’ll support him,” said Darwin.

  A half hour later, Pétur was quiet as the drug did its magic. Ian and Darwin slung Pétur’s arms over their shoulders and helped him walk. We must look like a group of guys making our way home after a pub crawl, thought Darwin as they wove their way along the uneven floor. Pétur seemed in less pain when he was standing, and they worked up to a decent pace.

  A few minutes later a headlamp appeared in front. Zac had walked ahead and was now coming back. “I found it. The shaft with the waterfall is a couple kilometers,” he shouted.

  Sure enough, within the hour Darwin’s nostrils softened from a faint mist. It felt wonderful after weeks of desert-like dryness. A few minutes later, the tube was awash with white light as his head lamp reflected off a billion water droplets. He and Ian lowered Pétur against the wall and walked up to the open shaft.

  “Careful,” said Zac, pulling them back a step.

  “Where’s Karl?” asked Darwin, looking around the chamber.

  “Got to be up there.” Zac pointed to the ledge in the cave mouth where the waterfall originated. “They must have climbed up along rocks.” The rocks had slabbed off the side of the magma chamber. They could traverse most of it with simple bouldering skills, but the last few meters were dangerous.

  “What about traps?” asked Darwin.

  “I’ve looked around this area. Can’t tell over there, and with all the mist, we might not see anything,” said Zac.

  “We’re sitting ducks, then,” said Darwin.

  “If I was going to ambush an enemy, this is a great location,” said Zac.

  Stevie walked into the cave. It was not a lava tube. Water had cut a hole and augured it wider over the millennia. “Where are we going?” she stopped.

  “Up this tunnel.”

  “I see that. Where does it go?”

  “Out.”

  The cave narrowed into a passage that split off from the incoming stream. Stevie hesitated.

  “Go!” he said.

  “How far?” she asked waiting to find out how close he would get.

  “I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  She picked her way up the tunnel in a crouch walk. The slope got steeper, and she used her hands to pull along the walls. There was room for two people to pass each other, but the v-shaped
floor would make it awkward.

  The passage turned back on itself to the left and the grade eased off. About a hundred meters in, the cave leveled and widened like a turn-out lane on a mountain road. Sand covered the floor where water eddied before flowing out the downslope end.

  “Here,” said Karl. “Sit.”

  Man of a thousand words, she thought. She sat near the wall where he commanded. He put down water and food from his backpack and a blanket.

  “Stay here. We leave for the surface when I come back,” he said.

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked.

  Fuck! She shivered at the complete lack of caring in his tone like dispatching her would mean as little to him as taking out the trash. “What about the others?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about the others,” he said pulling a handful of zip ties from his backpack.

  “But Eyrún is my friend,” she protested as her eyes welled up. She felt for the knife, but he turned back toward her.

  “Eyrún sold you out. Her deal is with Stjörnu Energy and the Iceland government. She’ll get millions to exploit the lava tube.”

  “And what about you? What do you get?”

  He grabbed her foot and looped zip ties around each ankle and linked them together with another zip tie. He did the same with her wrists. She could move, but not much.

  “I get out of here. Are you comfortable?”

  Are you fucking kidding me? she almost replied, but as long as the knife was a secret, she played her advantage. “Just fine,” she said leaning against her pack.

  “I’ll be awhile. Get some sleep and save your light. We’ll need it,” he said and left.

  The sound from his boots receded, and the cave fell silent. She scanned the walls and saw a modest growth of lichens and a few insects. The dryness of the sand meant it was years since water flowed. She inched across to the opposite wall to pee. While squatting she noticed depressions in the sand on the up-slope side.

  She shuffled to where the sand ended. There were oval impressions in the sand, like footprints washed by an ocean wave. She could not be sure, but the size and spacing were about right. Someone had been here. Whether that was last month or last century she had no way of knowing. But if they got in here, then they also got out. That means I can get out too. She shuffled back to her spot to work out a plan.

  Eyrún gave Pétur another Percocet. She and Darwin had moved him a few meters farther back in the Iceland tube, to keep him from getting soaked by the moisture from the waterfall. Pétur had complained he could not feel his toes. As the drug took effect, she pressed a sharp rock into his ankle. He said nothing. Oh god. This is bad, she thought while sucking a breath between clenched teeth. What am I going to tell Assa?

  “We’ll get you out of here, Pétur, I promise. Ian, keep an eye on him,” she said, and walked toward the waterfall to talk with Darwin and Zac. She met them as they walked back from the open shaft. “Pétur’s in bad shape,” she said. “He can’t feel his right foot, and he can’t walk, even with two people between him.”

  “Oh, shit. Any idea what’s causing it?” asked Darwin.

  “It’s got to be his back. Something’s pressing in the wrong spot, and all the walking has made it worse. I’m afraid if he tries to walk any more, it’ll cause greater injury.”

  “Where’s Ian?” asked Zac.

  “With him now.”

  Zac moved around her. She put a hand to his chest to stop him. “Wait. Pétur has a trusting and forgiving soul, and they seem to get on well. Think about it: we need Ian to get Pétur out of here. I don’t like it much either, but we need to keep trusting him.”

  Zac raised and lowered his arms, started to say something, then walked back to the shaft opening. Darwin followed him after motioning Eyrún to wait.

  She watched the two of them argue but could not make out their words over the sound of the water. Zac gestured as Darwin stood calmly before him. After a couple minutes, Zac relaxed. Eyrún smiled. He has an amazing ability to let people argue themselves out.

  82

  Carn Eige, Scotland

  Olivier and Carmen puffed their way up the mountainside, following the GPS device readings. The previous evening, they had met Coira Kinnaird at the Loch Inn, where she had recounted having traversed, years ago, a steep downward path that ended at a waterfall and the massive dark tunnel. Her mother’s death had overshadowed her plans to go back.

  Coira no longer caved, but her son, Evan, had taken up the family passion. He knew the area and was sure he could find it. He was lanky and sure-footed as a mountain goat and now leading them up the peak. His black hair flowed out from under a beanie that seemed welded to his scalp.

  When the GPS device showed that they were on top of the spot, Evan and Olivier crawled over the rocks and probed any hopeful opening. Carmen turned her attention toward the distant mountains, scanning for a pattern that matched the photo she held. She saw it. “Up here,” she called, and then forced out a louder yell: “UP HERE!”

  A couple minutes later, Olivier reached her, bent over, hands on knees, and said, “Give me a minute.” Carmen and Evan stood shoulder to shoulder looking out at a series of peaks and then back at the photo.

  “That’s Carn Eige. If I had known the name, I could have gotten us here hours ago,” said Evan.

  Olivier looked up at a large outcropping of rocks and walked past them to explore. Evan and Carmen turned to the sound of scree tumbling down and the sight of Olivier disappearing around a boulder. They followed. “Found it,” said Olivier, popping out from behind the rocks.

  The cave was just as Coira and her father had described it, about fifteen meters deep. They could stand in the middle. The floor showed no signs of occupation but was strewn with ragged rockfall. Dampness held in the Highlands cold like a refrigerator. Evan walked to a pitch-black opening, about chest height, in the back.

  “Evan?” Carmen asked.

  “I’m not going far,” was his reply.

  Olivier ran his flashlight over the surfaces surrounding the opening. The snow white LED showed a world of lichens in bleached greens and grays.

  “What’s the symbol look like?” asked Carmen.

  “Like an eagle, but just look for scratches in the rock. Anything not natural.”

  They worked silence for a few minutes before Carmen said, “It’s getting late. What if we don’t find it?”

  “I dunno.”

  “When would Darwin get here?”

  “Depends on their speed.”

  “Are those men really violent? I mean they wouldn’t… oh god, Ollie we have no experience at this. We should call the police or something,”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “We can’t. What do we say? Our son is walking from Iceland in a lava tube filled with maniacs?”

  “What do we do if we have to confront them?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s first figure out that this is the cave. It’ll be all right,” he said not knowing if he even believed it. They touched foreheads as he caressed her shoulders.

  “Hey, guys! Oh sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Anyway, I found this interesting symbol near a split in the cave down there. It looks like a bird or something,” continued Evan.

  83

  The Lava Tube

  I need to take them all out at once, thought Karl as he stood on the ledge in the cave mouth. He studied the space and figured the best option was to trigger a manual explosion. The rocks in the ceiling would collapse and block the cave. Those who didn’t die outright would be left to starve in the Scotland tube below. By the time the bodies are found, I’ll be gone. It was time to disappear. But first he had to get out of here.

  He went through the steps in his head. They would traverse the slope as he and the woman had. He would trigger the explosion when they were strung out, most vulnerable to attack. He stood and felt along the top edge of the cave. Explosives set above would bri
ng down more of the ceiling and collapse the ledge. That will take out anyone climbing up.

  Ducking down inside the cave opening, he located two places where charges would seal the cave: one for the manual explosion and a second on a timer. This would give him time to go up the tunnel and avoid the catastrophe.

  He thought about what to do with the woman. Can I take her with me? He looked again at the photo of his wife. She radiated joy. No. My world died with her. The woman he tied up possessed none of the same happiness and light. After the first blast, he would let the woman run down toward her friends and then seal her in with the second detonation.

  Stevie dug a protein bar out of her pack. A couple minutes later, the sound of footsteps crunched from below. She wiggled herself into a sitting position as his headlamp swept around the corner.

  He cut the ties on her wrists and ankles. She watched him organize his pack and pocket something small.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  He did not answer.

  “What were you doing down there?” she said.

  His face was blank.

  Sensing trouble, she provoked him. “Who is the woman in the pictures?”