Beneath The Mantle

by Ahimsa Kerp

  And the front of the ship dipped down as it began to sink.

  Chapter 4

  Fuck. I don’t even know where to start. We struck disaster today, literally. The ship hit an iceberg, or the other way around. I guess it depends on your perspective. When we hit it, not only did the front of the ship tear open, but a Volkswagen sized, rock-hard chunk of ice flew into the bridge. There were others that smashed different parts of the ship, killing or wounding those unlucky enough to be beneath them. I was right there, at the bridge, when the ice struck. I saw two men die right in front of me. It all happened so fast. Captain Kugeon is injured, bleeding internally, and the radio still won’t work. Wi-Fi remains down, of course, and nobody can get their phones to work at all. We are on an island, alone. The ship is falling apart, and if the ice weren’t holding us up we’d be under water right now. Where did we go wrong?

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t know why I’m writing. If we sink, my laptop will surely be destroyed. It helps me relax though. A lot of the staff panicked today, and jumped ship. They’re all dead now, or so we think. The kitchen is gone, along with much of the food. We’re lucky to be alive, and it is mostly for one reason.

  Dean Maxwell. I thought of him as a good-old-boy, a hick. But when shit went down today, he was like Bear Grylls out there. He got all the survivors together, moved us to the safest part of the ship, and set us to doing small things so that we didn’t freak out too much. I helped bandage people with cuts. Who knew that first aid course would come in handy so soon, eh? Thanks mom.

  It’s so unreal. It feels like a bad dream. I think we’re all wondering when we might wake up. Like I said, the ship is barely afloat. Maxwell, Doctor Harper, and some others are leaving tomorrow morning. Apparently there are some small islands, the Diego Ramirez islands, about twenty kilometers from here. They’re going with a group of five and I volunteered. My skiing skills convinced them. I’m not sure why they chose the Indian honeymooners, unless it was pity. Surely Maxwell knows that the only chance at survival is leaving the ship. We should probably have everybody leave, but who knows how strong the ice is? Some people are determined to wait for a rescue. The cruel irony is that we’re not that far from land! If this fog would lift, they’d find us immediately. And Robert Falcon Scott died, what, eleven miles from his camp?

  I’ve got to try and get some sleep before tomorrow. We’re setting out at dawn. I’m scared, but it’s better than sitting here, waiting to die. And besides, it will make for a good blog. If I survive.

  Chapter 5

  In the early morning, as an icy wind blew in from the south, amidst sheets of blue-grey ice and chunks of rock and glacier looming in the fog, and with a cold so bitter it knifed through clothing and skin, they met on the ice. They were bundled in puffy jackets layered over fleece layered over polyprop, and their breath hung in the air like little clouds.

  They’d been lowered into a lifeboat, and once on, the ice the damage to the big cruiser was shockingly clear. The big ship had been ripped and battered, and it was indeed true that ice was the only thing that kept it afloat.

  “There’s really a radio on this island?” Stuart asked, to no one in particular.

  “There should be,” Dean Maxwell answered. He was the only one who didn’t wear a big jacket; he had instead opted for a blue fleece vest that covered his flannel shirt. “I was there four months ago. I used it myself. Of course, I took a boat there last time. The sea freezing up like this is unusual, to say the least.”

  “Expect the unexpected out here,” Dr. Gomez said. “That island is our best chance at survival.”

  “I’m ready,” Keshav said. He and his wife looked out of place, ungainly on the ice. But Baruna was in med school, and bringing someone with healing knowledge was a sound plan.

  “Baruna is almost a doctor. It makes sense. But what about him?” Stuart asked privately to Maxwell. He pointed to Keshav.

  “Well,” Dean Maxwell said. “Baruna is more than just a doctor. Besides, if I’ve learned anything in my thirty-three years, it’s that you can never have too many big guys with beards on your team.”

  “Fine. Where are the skis?” he wondered.

  “Can’t ski here,” Maxwell said. “The ice is far too dangerous.”

  “We’re walking twenty kilometers?” Stuart asked. “I thought you wanted me here for my skiing prowess.”

  “Well it’s certainly not for your charming personality,” Doctor Gomez said, too loudly for it not meant to be heard.

  Baruna and Keshav were huddled together, as they sought protection from the wind.

  “It’s not twenty kilometers,” Maxwell said. “More like eighteen and a half. Need I remind you that you all volunteered?”

  No one answered him.

  “None of this would be necessary if we could get our phones or radio working,” Maxwell added. “Technology,” he said, using it like a curse word.

  And thus the quintet set off, slipping on the ground, walking around boulders. If it hadn’t occurred to any of them before that this was highly dangerous, it certainly did now. Wind whipped at them, cutting through their layers. The footing was always uncertain, and they had to go one at a time, testing each step. After about an hour, the mist burned off, revealing just how dramatic their surroundings were.

  Stuart took several photos, falling behind the group as he unwrapped his camera from its plastic bag and waterproof case. He had to dig past his journal, an extra memory card, two spare batteries, a headlamp, and a small collapsible tripod to find his camera cord. His backpack was fuller than it should have been. In addition to the camera equipment, he had brought a flashlight, several granola bars, and a small first aid kit. It paid to be prepared.

  No photographer could resist the starkly dramatic scenery; glaciers shades of blue he’d never seen, black, volcanic rocks, and a blue sky that stretched seemingly forever. Stars were dimly visible in the morning sky, but there was something strange about them.

  It took longer than he realized to take the photos, and Stuart hurried to catch up with the others. He found Doctor Gomez. She looked at him coolly as she knocked ice off of her boots.

  “Doctor Gomez,” he said. The Indians were a few minutes ahead of them, and Dean Maxwell was so far ahead that he was already out of sight.

  “It’s spooky to think that the ice could break anytime,” she said. “We are walking across frozen ocean right now. It’s interesting how terrifying I find that prospect to be.” Her voice sounded small.

  “Look at the sky,” Stuart said, trying to distract her. “You can still see the stars. There’s something wrong with them.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the stars,” she said. The irritation sounded plain in her voice. “We’re in the southern hemisphere. They’re just different here.” The wind whipped at them with frigid force.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Stuart said. “I’ve been to New Zealand, and I’ve seen the Southern Cross. I mean, these are stars I’ve never seen before.”

  She looked up again. In the faint light, it was hard to see them at all. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Look, we are falling behind.”

  They hurried to catch up, and soon the stars were too dim in the brightening sky. The sun, though, did not rise; it hung on the horizon, as though someone had pressed the pause button. It wasn’t long before they caught up with the other three, who were huddled together against the chill wind. Maxwell looked unhappy. “Try to stay together,” he said. “And let’s not take longer than we need to. The longer we’re on the ice, the more likely we die.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Stuart said. “We’re finally getting some nice weather.”

  But Dean shook his head. “That is the worst possible thing that could happen right now.”

  “Why?”

  “The warmer it gets, the more likely this ice will melt and crack. We still don’t understand how it froze so quickly, so early in the season. This sun could be our death sentence.” />
  “Well, don’t sugarcoat it for us,” Stuart said. But no one laughed at his joke.

  Three hours later the strangest thing happened. Stuart had fallen behind again; he understood the necessity of speed, but it was impossible to resist so many photos. This would make his name in blogging. Besides, it wasn’t like he was getting out his tripod, like he should, for these shots. He hadn’t told anyone that he had a portable tripod in his backpack. If they radioed for help from the island, he could take it out, and get some great photos.

  As he dropped the camera back to its resting spot on his chest, his foot slipped on the ice. He fell but did not touch the ground. For one moment, Stuart Holmes floated in the air. It was like gravity was late to work that day. He hung there, horizontal, almost four feet in the air. And then a second or two later he landed back on his feet. Stuart jogged carefully to catch up with the others.

  He couldn’t tell them about it. They already thought him a callow youth. This unbelievable story would merely convince them of his growing insanity. And could he be sure that it had happened? Perhaps lack of sleep had caught up with him.

  He caught up with Doctor Gomez, who had fallen behind the others again.

  “Hey!” Stuart shouted again. Now she heard him and shook her head, as if clearing away the mental fog. “We have to catch up. Come on.”

  “I can’t get up there,” she said. Harper Gomez pointed to a wall of ice and snow, a two meter tall obstacle stood before them. Stuart had climbed many such places, though he regretted lack of crampons and ice axe.

  Together they crested it, sliding down on their butts to get down the other side. The other three ice walkers were not in sight at all. As they stared, eyes squinting in the growing light, a loud cracking filled the air.

  “Mother. Fucker,” Stuart said. He grabbed Doctor Gomez’s hand and pulled her forward. “Come on,” he shouted. “We have to run.”

  The ice had begun to split. Zigzagging chasms appeared around them, and the cracking of the ice sounded almost like gunshots.

  Doctor Harper had not removed her hand from Stuart’s. But she wasn’t panicking. “There,” she said, her voice sounding as calm as though reading from a newspaper.

  They darted off to the right, in the direction that she had indicated. There was no time for fear, no time for second-guesses, or even first-guesses; it was a time for action, and they sprinted across the ice.

  It cracked before them, all the way through. They came to a skidding, slippery halt just before a three meter drop into the dark water below.

  “It’s breaking up!” Stuart said.

  “Jump,” Doctor Harper shouted back.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked. The split already stretched almost a meter wide.

  She leapt. Her long legs carried her across, and she made it over, just barely. “Come on,” she said.

  “Oh hell,” Stuart said. He took a few steps back and then charged forward. His camera bounced uncomfortably on his chest. He didn’t mean to close his eyes, but in retrospect, it might have been what saved him.

  His left foot just touched the other side. With slippery momentum, it carried him across. He dragged his left foot and bent his knees, skating on his shoes. “I didn’t even fall,” he shouted with happiness.

  Gomez stared at him unhappily. “We’re not out of this yet, mensa.”

  They hurried on. The fog was returning, more quickly than naturally possible. “With no visibility, we’ll fall through the first chasm we come across,” Stuart said. Doctor Gomez did not reply, and he realized she had known this but elected not to state the obvious.

  In a bizarre turn of weather, it began to snow. Not the soft gentle flakes of yuletide, but a howling wolfish storm of ice and sleet. Their heavy clothes protected them from the worst, but the wind cut through them as though they were nude.

  A flare went up in the air, its red crackling energy bright enough to outshine even this sudden storm. It was maybe five hundred meters ahead.

  They made their way forward. Twice more the ice cracked, and twice more they jumped across. It was impossible to see the footprints on the ground now as light faded and new snow coated the ground.

  Stuart wondered now if this was how his life would end. He hoped they found his camera. There were some good pictures on there. Just then, they bumped into a dark shape.

  It was Keshav. “Come on,” he shouted, voice muffled by the wind and his thick jacket. “We’ve found the island.”

  Already? Stuart thought, but he followed Keshav. Soon they had reunited with the other two party members as well.

  “Nice of you two to join us,” Maxwell said. His eyes never left Harper Gomez’s face. “Hurry; it’s like this land is trying to kill us.” The storm howled at them, a full scale blizzard on the ice.

  “Oh turds,” Baruna said. “Fifteen minutes ago it was sunny.”

  Stuart could see the dark shape before them that could be an island. All he could make out in the storm was a vague half-circle, but it was a chance at refuge.

  The ice beneath them cracked.

  “Run!” one or all of them must have shouted. Heedless of the slippery ground, of potential gaping holes in the ground, of the minimal visibility, they sprinted forward.

  It was Maxwell who stopped first. He waved to the others, forcing them to stop. He had to shout to be heard over the wind, over their frantic heartbeats. The gunshot sound of cracking ice was all around them. Stuart could smell his own sweat.

  “It’s some kind of cave!” he yelled.

  Stuart nodded, too winded to answer. A cave seemed improbable, but he’d take any refuge he could, even if it was in the mouth a sea serpent, or the stomach of a whale.

  “I don’t think we should go in there,” Maxwell shouted. “I don’t like the look of it.”

  “We don’t have any choice,” Doctor Gomez shouted back.

  “If we stay out here, we will die,” Karuna added.

  “I can push on, find the island,” Maxwell said.

  “In this weather? You’re not immortal!” Doctor Gomez yelled. They were all standing centimeters away from each other and still needed to shout.

  “Guys,” Stuart said. “Um, guys?” He didn’t shout, but he didn’t need to. His camera was floating up, off his chest, and up to his face.

  “How?” Baruna asked. “Are you doing that?”

  “I have no idea,” Stuart said. “I did it to myself earlier though.”

  “We can deal with this later,” Dr. Gomez said. “First we need to get out of this storm.”

  The ice beneath their feet erupted as a deep chasm split the earth.

  Chapter 6

  Keshav leapt forward. He found purchase on the ice and turned around, falling to his belly. Instantly, he had Baruna’s hand, and he helped her climb up to safety.

  Doctor Gomez landed on a shelf a meter down and she climbed up to the other side.

  Stuart fell back, so that he was now on the other side of the two-meter wide chasm.

  Of Dean Maxwell, there was no sign, save for a distant splash into the icy dark water far below.

  “Dean!” Harper Gomez screamed. There was, of course, no answer.

  The crack widened again.

  “Jump, Stuart!” Keshav called.

  “I can’t jump that far,” Stuart yelled back. He was more terrified than ever before in his life. He wanted merely to cuddle into a ball, with a blanket over him, and a warm cup of tea handed to him by his mother.

  Baruna led Doctor Gomez into the cave entrance.

  “Hurry,” Keshav said. “I will help you.”

  The ice stretched again, a centimeter or two.

  Stuart took several steps back, and then charged forward. He’d done this recently, of course, but at the half the distance and had barely made it. Screaming, he reached the very edge of the precipice and jumped.

  He had the distance, but not the height. His body slammed into the ice, half-a-meter below the top. Stuart’s fingers scrabbled in the ice f
or purchase, but he felt himself slipping. Below him was a painful fall that ended with an icy tomb. His hand reached for a firm grip but he was falling. And then there was strong pressure on his wrists, and he was lifted up, out of the groaning chasm.

  Keshav had him and helped him scramble out of the crevasse. Stuart lay on the cold ground for a few moments, panting and catching his breath. He hoped he hadn’t pissed himself.

  “You know, Keshav,” Stuart gasped. “You’re stronger than you look.”

  Keshav smiled. “I am a Sikh,” he said simply. “But I’m no match for my wife.”

  Behind him, Stuart could see the cave entrance. It was shrinking, collapsing in on itself like a shadow bereft of sun.

  The Canadian was immediately on his feet. “Come on!” he shouted. “Run!”

  The man from the Midlands did not hesitate.

  Keshav ran forward, charging into the rapidly disappearing entrance.

  Stuart was just behind him.

  It was no more than two meters high when they reached it. Stuart skidded in, sliding into first, while Keshav dove forward. They landed and looked behind them; the entrance was completely gone.

  There was no sign of snow, of ice, of wind. No sign of the icy tomb for Dean Maxwell, no indication whatsoever of the Antarctic blizzard that had nearly claimed all their lives. Behind them, where all that should have been, was a sandstone wall, tinged red, with strange figures on it. They looked old; Egyptian old, maybe even Sumerian old. Stuart wished he had paid more attention in art history, and realized that was the first time he’d ever thought that.

  They were in a round chamber. The ground was cool grey stone, but the walls were all red sandstone, littered with strange designs. The roof was high, 12 meters or more, and the air was jungle heavy with plants, with rot, with life. It was light in here, as though dim torches had been lit, but there were no evident sources of the light. It seemed to come from the walls themselves, as though the very air was infused with light.