THE LAST GHOST OF CHRISTMAS

by Jesse Colt

  “Well, get him out of there, Laddy. Lesson your fond of sharing you’re seat with the likes of him,” he chuckled again. “I’ll collect him next time I’m back this way. No need to hurry him south. There’s one bastard ain’t got no loving relatives hoping he’ll make it home early for Christmas mass.”

  Jim searched desperately for Ron and the snow cat. He had had enough! Another few days up here wouldn’t kill him. Nester and Geezer could make the trip and take their frozen buddy with them. He wasn’t desperate enough to risk his life in a rickety old plane that was little more than a flying hearse.

  Jim looked across the shadows to where Ron had parked the agile machine. The snow cat was gone! The receding tracks were already drifting in. He looked into Nester’s laughing eyes. He knew the callused Ukrainian was thoroughly enjoying Jim’s discomfort.

  Jim sucked in a deep breath. He would freeze walking back to camp and there was no sense asking Nester for mercy. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word.

  “How do we get this bastard out?” Jim stammered.

  Nester was at the corpse’s feet in a second. “Grab his bloody shoulders and pull him face forward, we can slide the ugly bastard out the back-cargo door on his fucking knees,” he encouraged.

  “Yeah, that’s the way to handle him Lads. Tilt him forward out the seat and then flip the bastard over. Slide him down the floor on his arse. Them frozen fellows come out really easy once they’re out of their seat. I got a bad back, but I’ll get the sleigh for his ugly carcass.”

  They began to wrestle the unyielding corpse. Even in death the massive frame seemed obstinate and uncooperative. The frozen torso was as stiff and inflexible as a rigid side of freezer beef. Kalhoun was hunched forward into a sitting position, determined to cling to his seat. There was just enough room between the oversized seat and the bulkhead to maneuver the massive corpse out. They struggled mightily until the rigid form began to yield. They wrestled the remains part way out of the seat, but the resolute figure seemed to clutch at the narrow aisle, frustrating their efforts.

  Jim struggled on the frozen floor, sliding across a patch of slick aluminum sheeting. Nester braced his wiry frame against the frozen bulkhead and put a headlock on the un-yielding neck. The corpse lurched from the seat, just as Jim slipped on the frosty surface. Kalhoun made one last desperate leap forward, pinning Jim between the seat and narrow corridor. Jim felt the bite of pure terror as the corpse began to slide over him. The great whiskered face moved relentlessly downward. The stiff frozen hands stabbed into Jim’s stomach as if the corpse still had an evil will of it’s own. The arctic butcher seemed intent on extracting his vengeance on those who were trying to remove him from the last southbound flight. The corpse was as heavy as a steer. The great immobile form appeared intent on crushing Jim against the frost on the firm aluminum floor. He screamed in terror, trapped beneath the grisly remains and pinned between the two front seats.

  Geezer shuffled back from the hanger in response to the desperate shouts. He poked his head in and squinted through the cabin trying to determine the reason for Jim’s pitiful moans.

  “Jim, are you okay?” Nester called; certain his friend had suffered some injury from the fall.

  “Nester,” Jim gasped. “I’m fine, just get the ugly bastard off me! Oh, merciful Christ, get him the fuck off of me!”

  Geezer heaved his stiff shoulders into the aircraft. He pushed in beside Nester where the bearded figure was fighting back a fit of laughter. Together they began wrestling the corpse off the moaning figure trapped beneath the frozen hands. At last they succeeded in swinging the unyielding cadaver upright. Jim wriggled free and staggered up on one trembling knee, wiping the sweat off his dripping brow. He caught his breath and found the courage to help drag the rigid remains out of the aircraft and into the cold hanger.

  He watched as his callused companions gleefully propped the corpse up in a battered wooden chair and looped a worn extension cord around the rigid torso.

  Jim winced at the pathetic figure lashed to the seat. What would happen if someone from the station walked in on the morbid sight? He could imagine Risk collapsing with a massive heart attack.

  “Surely you’re not going to leave him like this. The man’s frozen stiff. For shit sakes, it’s Christmas!” Jim protested.

  “Hah,” Geezer snarled. “Where he’s headed for, it won’t take them long to thaw him out. Evil son of a bitch. May the fires of hell be turned up when they see him coming. I’d a stuck the knife in him myself if I’d had half a chance,” he repeated. He favoured the corpse with a vicious kick to its frozen shins and spat at the icy boots.

  Weasel continued his vacant leer at the roof of the old building. His crossed eyes were focused on the layer of frost on the upper beams; oblivious to the insults being heaped on his pathetic remains.

  “Well, shit. Reckon you might have a point there!” Geezer acknowledged. “Maybe we ought to be more generous with him, seeing as it’s Christmas!”

  He jerked the Santa Claus cap off his own head and jammed it roughly over the thinning hair line of the huge corpse. He snatched a bottle of cheap Scotch from the top of a cluttered shelf. There was still an ounce or two in the bottom. He stared ruefully at the drained bottle. For a moment Jim thought he was going to pour the contents on the corpse, instead he let the remaining booze flow down his own throat. He coughed and jammed the bottle into the frozen hands.

  “There you are you ignorant son of a bitch. Now you have a really Merry Christmas!” He wiped his stained mitts against the running nose again.

  “Come on, let’s get this show on the road, before we freeze the skis into the bloody snow.”

  Jim turned away from the disgusting spectacle. He could have stood a drink himself.

  He followed Geezer’s hunched form into the night and watched as the old bush pilot inspected the tumbled freight in the crowded cargo compartment. Jim collapsed reluctantly into the frozen seat vacated by the cold corpse and examined the interior. The aircraft seemed pieced together with worn scraps of material. Plywood sheets were screwed into the sides of the fuselage and fresh metal studs adorned the hull. The splintered wooden floor was patched with irregular pieces of aluminum sheeting. Wire cables crisscrossed the frame. Jim shuddered at the thought and wondered if it was too late to bolt for the exit.

  Geezer pulled a large thermos of hot coffee from his solitary piece of luggage. Jim watched the gnarled hands rummage through a pile of soiled newspapers and garbage at his feet. The trembling fingers extracted three used Tim Horton coffee cups from the pile of rubbish on the floor. The battered paper cups were worn, soiled and stiff from the frost. He pried the frozen lids off the waxy cups. Nester held the containers steady while Geezer’s trembling hands splashed the stained receptacles full with steaming coffee.

  “Here, we had better pour this before we get airborne. The air can be a little rough this time of year,” Geezer mumbled.

  He forced his stiff neck around and examined the shadowy figure in the back. “Better have a drink, Sonny.” He passed the soggy cup to Jim.

  “You look a little pale this morning, Laddy! Maybe you’re just a nervous flyer!” He winked at Nester and handed him a stained cup, full of steaming coffee. A shaky hand pulled his crushed pack of cigarettes from his pocket and Jim winced as the old man struck a match amid the fumes of the cabin.

  Jim accepted the weeping cup. He was tempted to throw it out, but the windows were frozen. He watched as Geezer’s trembling hands fumbled with the switches and the cockpit assumed an electronic life. The huge mittens hammered the start button. The engine sputtered once then puffed a thick cloud of blue smoke before stalling. Geezer cursed the balky machine, took a long sip of coffee, coughed and tried the engine again. This time it reluctantly began to fire on all cylinders. The motor roared to life, the irregular pulse pounding the plane and setting all the loose fittings trembling and vibra
ting.

  Geezer tapped frozen gauges and revved the sputtering engine. Another stream of blue smoke drifted past, driven in the growling whirl of the propeller’s wake. The shuddering plane trembled on the frigid skis, now frozen into the coarse snow. Geezer revved up the roaring engine until the craft shook off the icy grip of the polar ice. The engine thundered, rising in tempo. The metal skis screamed in icy protest as the plane gained speed and began to lurch across the rough strip of ice and snow. Jim sucked in his breath and cinched his seat belt tighter. He balanced the scalding coffee on his knee as the staggering machine gathered speed. It rumbled and bounced across the unyielding terrain until finally it lurched heavily into the air. For a few seconds it seemed to fall again, but the engine gained power, fighting to drag the overloaded aircraft into the frigid arctic wind. The lumbering aircraft gradually eased skyward and began a long slow arc over the endless white terrain below.

  Jim looked to the south where the pale horizon had reappeared. From their elevated position he could see the sun making a vain attempt to color the dusky sky again. He examined the gauges and squinted past the shuddering propeller. The faint horizon was swinging giddily past the cockpit as they pitched around the featureless sky. Jim scowled at the gauges. He could see that about half the instruments were still sitting at zero. The compass appeared to be spinning wildly.

  He had logged numerous hours in bush planes and was familiar with the workings of the console. He examined the temperature indicator. His apprehension grew as he realized that most of the gauges were not functioning.

  Geezer hoisted his dripping cup to Nester and took a long sip. Nester saluted him with his own and turned back to Jim’s tense features. He hailed him in turn and Jim numbly raised the container to his lips wondering what the odds of their survival would be if they crashed in this barren wasteland. The compass seemed to right itself for a moment and indicated that they were heading south. Jim felt a little better. Every minute in the air would put them a few kilometers closer to civilization. He raised the steaming coffee to his lips and took a long swallow. The coffee was black and bitter. The strong brew had a familiar stinging edge to it. It couldn’t be! He sipped it again and silently cursed Nester’s profile in the dim cabin.

  The coffee was laced with rum, strong enough to burn his throat. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as the terrible reality hit him. He was heading into the tundra in a broken-down aircraft with an ancient pilot intent on getting himself and his passengers drunk.

  For a moment he was overcome with white anger. When it had cooled a little, he directed his rage at the laughing Ukrainian before him. He tapped him roughly on the shoulder and Nester leaned back to hear his words over the thundering drone of the smoking engine.

  “Nester,” he shouted. “If we make it down to Yellowknife alive, I’m going to buy two bottles of beer. The ones with the long necks!”

  Nester raised his cup in salutation, delighted that Jim had finally gotten into the spirit of the flight.

  “Then,” Jim cursed over the dim in the cabin, “I’m going to take the bottles and beat the living crap out of you!” His words were lost in the roar of the craft as it struggled to remain airborne in the dark sky.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The darkened craft droned over the endless white landscape, its icy wings trembling in the frigid air, struggling to pull the craft forward. Jim cowered in his cold seat, watching the wing tips flexing under the strain. The plane seemed to be flying in defiance of gravity, plunging and bobbing over rough air pockets while the stressed frame creaked and moaned in frozen protest. The blunt wings battered their way through the dense air, sending shock waves back along the rigid struts and snapping against his hard metal seat.

  For a time, Jim watched the feeble wing tips fluttering under the strain, then turned away unable to bear the sight. He had finished the potent coffee, but it had not helped ease the trepidation growing in his soul. Nester had been insistent with his offers to refill Jim’s cup, but Jim’s angry scowl had finally turned him away. He watched as his companions eagerly passed the thermos back and forth and gulped down the steaming contents. Soon Jim had another concern, for it appeared that Geezer had turned control of the rickety aircraft over to Nester.

  Both men were obviously drunk, trying to sing along to some risqué tape playing into their headsets. Jim wondered what might happen if someone tried to contact the wayward flight. He dismissed the concern. The outdated transceiver was probably not in working order.

  He peered down at the frozen landscape; a dim motionless white carpet that stretched from horizon to horizon until it vanished into the gloom. His weary eyes examined the icy panorama; a scene so featureless that at times they seemed suspended and frozen over the barren white plateau.

  Their craft began to pitch and yaw. Jim clutched desperately at his seat! When the craft steadied again, he leaned over and peered cautiously out the frost-covered portal. Jim had flown in the arctic enough to recognize that a storm was forming over the ice packs below. He prayed that their flight would outdistance the fierce winds and that providence would somehow grant them a safe landing. He wondered about their scheduled stopover in Old Bow. Would the plane hold together long enough to reach their destination? Jim stole a quick look at the heavy crates crammed into the compartment behind him, straining against their frail cables with each lurch of the plunging craft.

  He tried to imagine the Old Bow airport. He promised himself that if there were an airfield and a hotel at this remote location, he would abandon the flight and take his chances on the next charter out. He knew Nester would be adamant that they continue on together, but he was not prepared to risk his life just to avoid the anger of his feisty companion.

  …

  Three long hours later, subtle changes appeared in the landscape below. Scattered patches of stunted trees had begun to stain the featureless white terrain. His companions had grown silent. The thermos lay cold and empty on the floor of the aircraft. Jim watched it rocking on the frigid deck with each pitch of the straining wings. The plane began to lose altitude and they dropped towards the surface of a massive lake. The shoreline seemed to be merging into a huge V shaped channel. The aircraft continued to wobble lower, the engine sputtering and slowing. Jim prayed that Geezer was the architect of this maneuver and not Nester who seemed eager to gain control of the struggling craft.

  Jim watched as Geezer stretched forward, squinting over the console and peering through the swirling snow on the lake, trying to focus his watery eyes on some familiar landmark. The ponderous craft dropped heavily, and Jim’s stomach heaved in response. He was desperate to get back on solid ground, but he feared the landing even more than his shaky flight under the aircraft’s shuddering wings. The savage gale that whipped the storm across the lake reached its angry tentacles skyward, clutching at the frail plane. The gusts buffeted the flimsy ship; allowing it to remain aloft only at the whim of the fierce wind gods below.

  They swayed and bounced through the air while Geezer’s weeping eyes searched the stormy shoreline. Jim clung desperately to the cold metal seat. Then he spotted them! A scattering of faint yellow lights winked through the storm. Geezer noted the specks of illumination and uttered a triumphant shout as he jammed the rudder, swinging the unsteady craft back over the lake.

  His bearings now fixed in his fogged brain, the old pilot began a long slow arc back over the snow-covered ice, then rounded the turn. He began to drop the lumbering aircraft onto the lake. Jim was aware of savage winds tearing at the shivering wings, threatening to strip the worn ailerons from the struggling craft. He sensed Geezer’s frantic struggle to hold the nose steady against the onslaught of the gale. Jim’s senses reeled as they pitched into the swirling snow rising off the stormy surface beneath them. He could hear the fierce cross winds screaming though the taut cables. He had unhappy visions of crashing through the frozen black ice now rushing towards them through th
e gaps in the storm. He looked at Nester’s rigid frame, where the grim looking figure was clinging to his own seat. He would have cursed the obstinate Ukrainian, but his voice was frozen in his throat.

  The plane plummeted through the storm and into the heavy blanket of snow raging up from the unyielding lake. All sense of direction or elevation vanished. They were engulfed in the blinding white cloud. Jim felt the cold hand of death upon him and was aware of a sickening falling sensation as the aircraft plunged to its certain doom.

  The flight ended with a crashing jolt! The plane began to skid, spinning like a toy across the slick ice. Above the squeal of the aluminum and steel skis, there was a terrible ripping sound as the skis slashed through the unyielding snow. Geezer cut the sputtering engine. For a moment a foreboding silence enveloped the night before the craft plunged through a series of hard packed drifts. He heard the renewed screams of the skis on the iron surface of the ice and the protest of the airframe as the stricken machine careened across the lake and tore through ridges of frozen ice and snow. For a few violent seconds, the plane bounced and scraped across the rough surface. The spinning craft slowed again as it skidded into a long bank of snow that snapped the racing skis to a rough halt.

  Jim was aware of his pounding heart and the silence broken only by the fierce scream of the wind, lashing at the stressed cables. He forced his mind to end its racing course, to analyze his situation. They were on the ice. He had survived the rough impact! He squinted into the night, desperately afraid that he would find flames licking at the thin fabric. There were none, only the muted lights of the cabin detailing the cold cockpit. He mentally checked his stunned body, surprised that all his extremities were still functioning and apparently sound. He strained to focus his eyes into the cockpit where the faint glow from the instrument panel outlined Nester and Geezer, now beginning to converse in normal tones.