MELT: A Psychological Thriller

by Shane M Brown

  ‘What if she’s right?’ asked Megan.

  Carl looked at the ice. ‘If they want the ice left alone, they’ll have to let us out.’

  ‘Fuck yeah,’ said Alex. ‘Let’s smash their precious ice sculpture to pieces.’

  #

  Carl flinched.

  He couldn't swallow the water.

  'That's the third time,' said Glen. 'You have to drink it, Carl.'

  'I know,' replied Carl wearily. 'But it's like razor blades slicing my gums.'

  Glen tried to think of some way to help. 'Is it only when the water touches the broken teeth?'

  Carl shook his head. 'It hurts to breathe. I can breathe through my nose, but not drink through it.’

  The men gently pushed their latest load of ice up against the bomb.

  'It was stupid of me to use my teeth,' said Carl.

  'It wasn’t stupid,' replied Glen. 'It's got us all working. And we're not walking endless laps now wondering if we'll freeze or starve to death first.'

  Carl nodded.

  'Which teeth hurt the most?'

  'The bottom.'

  Glen remembered the gut-wrenching sound of Carl's teeth shattering around Victoria's garden shears.

  'Can I see?' Glen asked.

  Carl fish-hooked back the side of his mouth with his finger.

  His breath could peel the paint off a house.

  'I can't see,' said Glen. 'Turn toward the light. Tilt back more.'

  Carl’s UPS cap fell off, but the light fell on his teeth.

  Christ, his teeth are a car wreck.

  Four of Carl's teeth had tried to stop a bullet. The top two were flaky stumps. In his lower jaw an old silver filling partially held one tooth together. The other had fractured down the middle.

  'One of your bottom teeth is split down the middle. The nerve must be exposed.'

  Carl picked up his cap. 'The tooth with the filling?'

  'No,' said Glen. 'The filling's still holding. It’s the other one.'

  Glen had an idea. He searched his robe’s pocket. Where is it? Right down in the corner? Got it!

  'This might help.'

  Carl accepted the tiny parcel. He sniffed it. 'Chewing gum?'

  ‘Sorry, I've already chewed it, but maybe you can make a temporary filling for your tooth.'

  'You don't mind?' asked Carl.

  'Hell, no,' said Glen. ‘Try it.’

  Carl unwrapped the gum like he held the last piece on Earth.

  Wincing, he pressed the gum over the tooth.

  ‘Now drink,’ prompted Glen.

  Glen waited for Carl to flinch.

  Carl took a careful sip. Then another. Then a long drink.

  'It worked,' said Carl, nodding with relief. He handed Glen the bottle. 'You're a genius, Glen.'

  'Just don't swallow the gum,' Glen warned.

  Carl removed and re-wrapped the gum carefully. 'Trust me. I won't.'

  Glen took a drink of the freezing water.

  The cold even hurt his teeth. He could only imagine Carl's agony. Probably like gargling razor blades.

  Glen refilled the bottle with ice chips. He wedged the bottle under his robe where body warmth would melt the ice.

  I'd kill for a can of Coke.

  At age fifteen he'd decided plain water was only fit for animals and savages. He even avoided swallowing shower water.

  Carl suddenly asked, 'Maybe we were abducted at random. Just names from the phonebook. How unlucky would that make us?'

  Glen shook his head. 'It wasn't random.'

  'Why?’

  Glen held up a finger for each point he made. 'We're all white. We all speak English. None of us need special medicine. We're not disabled. We're all unmarried. We're all from different states. We evenly represent men and women, and all the age groups except the very young and very old. I suspect we represent the largest socio-economic groups as well. Alex at the bottom, Chrissie at the top. We are basically a sample. A carefully selected sample.’

  ‘A sample of society?’

  Glen shook his head. ‘No Blacks and no Hispanics. That means we’re a sub-sample. A sample of part of society. I don’t know which part though. Or why.’

  Carl sat back. ‘How do you know this stuff?’

  'Probabilities are a bad habit of mine,' revealed Glen.

  Carl looked thoughtful. 'What does it mean?'

  ‘Don’t know yet,’ said Glen. ‘But I think Megan is right. I think our answers are buried in the ice.'

  Chapter Twelve

  'A sundial?' guessed Megan.

  Victoria stepped closer. 'Bronze, I think.'

  Megan had just excavated the object.

  'It's ancient,' said Chrissie, touching the weathered, pitted surface.

  Megan lightly tapped the metal with her icepick. 'This top bit tells the time, right?'

  Carl helped wipe off the clinging ice. 'Its shadow points to the time.'

  'These symbols look Arabic,’ said Victoria. ‘Like the Dead Sea Scrolls.’

  ‘I’ll hold it while you take the picture,’ offered Carl, but Megan just stared at the sundial.

  She carried the sundial over to the calendar. 'First we find a Mayan calendar. Now we find a sundial. They’re both time-related.’

  Glen understood. ‘A theme?’

  Victoria said, 'A radioactive lock from Chernobyl has nothing to do with time.’

  'Yes it does,' countered Alex. 'Radiation is all about time. Only time makes radiation safe. And you can date objects by measuring the half-life decay of their radioactive materials.'

  Glen didn't know if Alex was right, but he liked the way it sounded.

  Megan did too. Glen saw her looking at the other objects. The wheels in her head were plainly turning.

  'You're reading too much into it,' said Chrissie.

  Megan rose to the challenge. 'What about the bone needle in the scrotum bag? Why was that incredible?'

  'It’s so old,' said Victoria.

  'Time again,’ said Megan.

  'How can finding a theme help us escape?' asked Chrissie.

  'I think it’s a puzzle,' Megan declared. ‘A puzzle we're supposed to unlock. Let's arrange the objects in the order we find them. Not the lock or the bomb obviously, but everything else.'

  'That's just wasted effort,' huffed Chrissie. 'There's no meaning in any of this.'

  Megan shrugged, showing she didn’t much care what Chrissie thought and she certainly didn’t need Chrissie’s permission.

  Glen smiled and rubbed his hands together. Now we’re getting somewhere.

  #

  'Got it!'

  Chrissie jerked something from the ice. Ice crystals showered the group.

  It’s a little brown parcel tied up with string, thought Glen. It could have arrived in the mail.

  'May I see that?' asked Victoria, accepting the little package.

  'This is flax,' she said.

  'The string or wrapping?’ asked Carl.

  'Both.'

  'Flax is like linseed, right?' Megan asked.

  Victoria nodded. 'Flaxen fabric was used very early in history to store food.'

  'Oh, God, please let it be food,' said Chrissie. She snatched back the parcel and tugged at the strings. The frozen knots didn't budge. Alex lent Chrissie his knife. After two quick cuts, Chrissie unwrapped the flaxen fabric.

  'I knew it!' she cried.

  'Fish,' said Alex. 'Little fish.'

  Glen counted seven fat little fish.

  'Sardines?' asked Megan.

  Chrissie smelled them. 'Smoked.'

  'Sardines or anchovies,' said Carl.

  Glen had seen wafer-thin anchovies on pizzas. These fish looked longer than his index finger and fatter than his thumb.

  'Let's eat them now,' said Chrissie. 'I'm starving.'

  'Maybe we should ration them,' said Megan.

  'You can ration yours,' said Chrissie. 'I'm eating mine now.'

  'Frozen?' asked Victoria.

  Chrissie's e
yes never left the fish. 'They'll thaw in my mouth.'

  'They’re frozen together,’ said Alex, kneeling down. ‘I'll divide them.'

  'No, I want to do it,' said Chrissie. 'I found them.'

  'How about this,' reasoned Alex. 'I'll divide them, and you can pick the first fish.'

  Clever, thought Glen. Alex doesn’t trust Chrissie either.

  Chrissie studied Alex as though calculating the odds of him cheating her.

  'I'm hungry too,' said Alex softly. 'Let's just do this. There are seven fish and six of us. We each get one fish and I'll cut the last fish into six pieces.'

  Chrissie handed him back the fish. Alex set straight to work. He carefully used the knife tip to pry the fish apart. He'd only divided half the fish when Chrissie snatched hers. After everyone had their fish, Alex sliced the last fish into six pieces.

  Glen glanced at Chrissie. She got the fattest fish. And I bet she won't be picking the head or the tail from the last fish either.

  Glen had underestimated Alex. He hid the last fish under a fold of flax.

  'I've rearranged the pieces,' he said. 'Everyone pick a number and that's the bit you get.'

  'No, wait,' declared Chrissie. 'I get to pick first.'

  'You picked the first fish,' said Carl. 'Now it's random.'

  'That's right,' said Megan. 'Stop being greedy, Chrissie. You already have the largest fish.'

  Chrissie looked like she wanted to spit at somebody but couldn't decide who.

  'I'm not fussy,' said Carl. 'I'll take number one.'

  'Four,' barked Chrissie.

  'Two,' said Megan, shrugging.

  Glen took three and Victoria took six.

  'Okay,' said Alex. 'That leaves me number five.'

  Alex revealed the fish.

  Glen stepped forward to block Chrissie. He'd be damned if he'd let her snatch the best piece. The others all reached down first.

  Alex handed Glen the tail.

  But it wasn't all bad.

  Alex handed Chrissie the shriveled bony head.

  #

  Chrissie studied the shriveled fish skull for at least ten seconds.

  Then she threw it.

  It missed Alex by miles, bouncing off the ice and landing against Carl's boot.

  'That's ridiculous,' she yelled. 'I found the fish and you gave me the disgusting boney head!'

  'You chose the largest fish,' countered Alex calmly. 'It actually worked out pretty evenly.'

  'This thing?' yelled Chrissie, holding up her fish. 'It's tiny!'

  Carl picked up Chrissie's fish head. 'Don’t you want this?'

  'Wait!' said Chrissie, dashing to Carl. 'You said you didn't care what piece you had, right Carl? Swap with me. Please!'

  Carl had chosen a plump middle section.

  Carl handed her the head. 'I can barely drink water, let alone chew a boney fish head, Chrissie.'

  Chrissie snatched it from his hand.

  Glen sniffed his piece of fish. The tail smelled like fish jerky. He bit away one stringy corner.

  Flavor exploded in his mouth. His eyes rolled back. Oh, God, this tastes incredible. I think the tail might be the best part.

  Megan teased off a piece and tried it. She smiled at Glen. 'This is the best fish I've ever tasted. And I don't even like fish.'

  'You do now,' said Glen.

  Everyone separated to eat or ration their fish as desired.

  I have to make this last as long as possible, thought Glen.

  Little good would come from eating it quickly. He'd still be starving. Better that he break off a small stringy strip every half an hour and suck on it.

  This way I'll have something to look forward to.

  Glen’s watch beeped. It was time for the group to rotate jobs.

  Alex didn't waste a second. He grabbed up an icepick and targeted the shallowest object.

  Tsk...tsk...tsk....

  Glen understood. Now I'm sick of carrying ice chips too.

  Pulling on a glove, he studied the ice.

  It resembles a planet, he thought. An ice-locked planet full of little pockets of natural resources to keep us alive. If I have to mine the planet to stay alive, where should I mine next?

  He spotted an interesting looking shape. Steel struck ice.

  Tsk...tsk...tsk....

  In seconds, Glen found his rhythm. His mind returned to the ice-locked planet idea.

  A melting planet.

  He remembered his father's big desk globe. As a boy, Glen had spun that globe until his father warned the cities might fly off.

  Glen had sold that globe less than a month ago. Along with everything else of value in his house.

  He had no other choice.

  He was in trouble.

  And he knew exactly when the trouble started.

  The trouble started when he was fourteen years old and waiting outside an Italian restaurant.

  'No anchovies!' he'd called to his father's back. His father waved to show he'd heard.

  Glen had stayed outside because of the car.

  The black Porsche 911 mesmerized him. He'd only seen sports cars in magazines.

  What’s it like inside?

  He glanced around. No one was watching. He peered through the window.

  It looked leathery and futuristic.

  He felt guilty just looking inside.

  The owner seemed to agree.

  'You almost finished?'

  Glen spun and apologized all in one word, 'Sorry-I-was-just-looking.'

  But the guy smiled. He had pizzas. He pressed his key ring so the windows lowered.

  'Take your time,’ he said. ‘Art takes time to appreciate.'

  Glen nodded and looked back through the window. He looked carefully now, taking in all the fine details of the dashboard and center console. Now he could smell the leather.

  'It's beautiful,' he said, stepping back. 'It must be fun to drive.'

  'It is,' the man said over the Porsche. 'But that's not why I bought it.'

  'Why then?' asked Glen.

  The man's answer changed Glen's life.

  He met Glen’s eyes and said, 'Because whoever dies with the most toys wins.'

  Glen barely noticed the car drive away.

  He suddenly understood.

  He knew why Pharaohs hid their treasure and why paper boys expanded their paper routes. He knew why his father worked every scrap of overtime and his grandmother still knitted baby clothes for the flea markets.

  No one wanted less.

  Everyone wanted more.

  They never stopped.

  Because whoever dies with the most toys wins.

  When Glen's father returned with the pizzas, he found a different son. Glen had found his religion.

  #

  Tsk...tsk...tsk...

  Glen stopped and yanked off his glove.

  Now my right hand is shaking too.

  His hands weren’t shaking from the penetrating cold.

  He needed food.

  He'd never gone without meals. He even snacked during the night.

  His hands felt jittery and surreal. He pulled the small fish from his pocket.

  Should I eat half?

  No. He hid the fish from sight. He could last longer. Shaking hands and a growling stomach never killed anyone. Starvation might. He'd stick to his half-hourly nibbles and push through the strange sensation.

  '...Glen....'

  Glen looked around. Someone had whispered his name.

  Alex made the 'be quiet' gesture before beckoning Glen over.

  What’s he up to?

  Glen padded over silently in his slippers. He heard the others still working.

  'What's up?' Glen whispered.

  Alex pointed. 'Look.'

  Glen wiped ice off a familiar object poking from the ice. He tapped it with his pick.

  Tink, tink.

  'A wine bottle?' asked Glen. 'Sounds empty.’

  Alex said, 'Look closer.'

  Glen studied the g
reen-tinged glass. 'There's a note in there!'

  'Shhhh,' hissed Alex.

  'Should we tell the others?' asked Glen.

  Alex shook his head. 'We should read it first.’

  'I’ll pull it out,' said Glen.

  ‘Hurry,’ urged Alex. ‘They’ll be back for more ice in a second. Try twisting it.’

  Glen tried. It moved. He twisted left and right, left and right, feeling it loosen up.

  Thonk!

  It lurched free.

  'Nice work,' said Alex.

  Glen held the bottle between them. Inside rested a rolled piece of paper tied with string. The string led to the cork. The cork was halfway out.

  Glen handed Alex the bottle. 'You found it.'

  Alex gently worked the cork free so it didn't go pop!

  He lifted the cork, which pulled the string, which drew the note from the bottle.

  It's not a note. It’s a newspaper clipping.

  Alex unfolded the paper and became immediately transfixed. Reading, his face cycled through emotions. Surprise, confusion, disgust, and then fear.

  'What’s it say?'

  Alex handed Glen the clipping.

  It was horrible. The words were bad, but not as bad as the picture. It made Glen wish they'd never found the bottle.

  'Is this real?' asked Alex.

  Glen nodded. 'I remember this. I was a kid. It was on the news because her father was the mayor.'

  'Did she live?'

  'I don't remember.'

  'Fucking hell,' said Alex. 'I mean...Jesus Christ. What do we do now?'

  'We have to tell them.'

  'Let's think about this for a minute. That might make things really bad.'

  'We don't have a choice,' said Glen.

  Alex looked like a cornered animal. 'I know. It’s just....'

  Glen didn't want to be a part of this. All he wanted was to go home. He handed Alex the clipping.

  He began shivering, and again, it wasn't because of the cold.

  #

  'A bottle?' asked Victoria, moving around and slapping her hands together. 'We stopped for a stupid bottle?'

  'It's useful for water,' said Megan. ‘My plastic bottle keeps running out.’

  Glen had gathered everyone.

  'We can't stop moving,' said Victoria. 'It's too cold. Come on.'