*****
Maddie was getting nervous and upset, as she paced back and forth between the main room and the ventilation room, stopping to strain her ears in an attempt to hear anything that would mean someone approaching. “Or something...” she said out loud. She then hoped that when Grizzly Addams returned, it was him and not his cousin, Polar Bear. That would be unpleasant, since there was no way out that she could see, other than the vegetable sunroof deal he had going, which she did not want to mess with. It looked dangerous, and she was short.
Maddie had felt and then heard the explosion, which got her heart pumping and motivated her to keep her gun in her hand. She didn't cock the hammer back, but it stayed in her hand the entire time. She heard a rustling and was overtaken by a momentary wave of fear, freezing her in place. It was definitely something moving towards the shelter, albeit very clumsily. The noise got closer and she wanted to call out but refrained, knowing it could be anyone, even them.
The roof of the shelter began to precipitate small bits of dirt, snow and dust as the doors shuttered once, then again, and she saw a hand reach under and lift it up. Before she could figure out whether to cock her gun and aim, Marcus fell through the half-open door, which closed as it was designed, right on his leg. This suspended him upside-down, and Maddie saw that he was in real trouble, not from the trap door, but from the cold. He was blue and trying to talk, but no sounds were coming out.
She grabbed his shoulders in a scooping motion, pushing him up slightly to dislodge his leg, and they both fell hard on the floor. He was a little bigger than she had expected and much heavier, far too heavy for her small frame.
She struggled to get out from under him, then dragged him into the main room where a nice fire was still burning. He was shivering, which was a good sign. When the shivering stops, death is close behind. Maddie knew this from cold-weather training and recent experience. His salt and pepper beard had pencil-sized icicles embedded into it and his eyelashes, eyebrows and hair were frozen together and sporting their own little stalactites of ice.
She opened the front of the stove to expose more direct heat, tossing in the remaining pieces of wood sitting on the ground next to it. She then started trying to strip the frozen clothes off of him. His clothes were nearly solid blocks of ice. The movements of his body kept them from solidifying into a cohesive piece, but they still formed blocks on the legs, mid-section, arms, shoulders and head. She had to really work at it, and the excessive struggling was warming them both up. His icicles were melting nicely, and only his lips and cheeks were still blue.
She got the top layers off and was struck by how many scars he had. There were dozens of them, long ones, short ones, raised ones and recessed ones. Tears started to well up in her eyes. The sight was heartbreaking, and she had to look away. It wasn't that he was hideous, he was actually quite fit, but it was disturbing to see so many obvious knife wounds and other, much larger wounds, on one person.
He was still shivering, though he was able to prop himself up on an elbow. He looked down, as if surveying his scars for himself and said, “It used to be pretty bad...” in his matter-of-fact way.
Pretty bad didn't exactly cut it, but she managed to save that inquiry for later. Maybe she didn't want to know at all. What she did want to know was what was going on now, and Marcus told her as he warmed himself.
She cried several times, sat open-mouthed for a while and then said: “They're Unicorns...” her tone rising in volume as the words came out. “I Knew It!” she screamed, so loud in fact, that Marcus jumped a little.
“OK...” Marcus stretched the phrase out in a tone that was very familiar to her, one that said, “Whatever, crazy lady.”
“Don't you start with me!” she snapped, making his eyes grow wide.
He smiled a little, then retracted it, as she was obviously and seriously angry, and at this point in time, he sort of needed her to be happy and helpful. Letting it go, Marcus reminded her of the employment files and that they needed to get out, away from here, as soon as he could travel. They would be fanning out and looking for them, and as secluded as the shelter was, they would eventually find it.
They talked more into the night, making plans and gathering supplies. He had everything they would need to travel comfortably but light. They would take only food, a water bladder for melting snow, a piston fire-starter and guns. He packed both of their backpacks to the brim. They would have to go on foot, making temporary shelters as they went, until reaching a village or settlement. It would not be pleasant, but he had done it many times before, and he knew he could get them both out.
As they packed, he told her more:
“The whales showed me Gray Beard's family tree, as best they could. In the old days they went by Merlin, not as a first name but as a last, eventually evolving as the horses themselves did, modernizing it into the more accepted, Sterling name.” However, he conveyed to her that just as in those days, they were no magicians or benevolent spell casters. They were evil men bent on world domination and destruction, using poisons then, as now.
“Back then, these poisons gave them superstitious power, as well as physical power. In the modern world, adaptation was necessary. In the right combinations it breaks down the nervous system or heightens its abilities, giving Sterling many of the same mental abilities as the whales. This has made him a shrewd and rich businessman, as well as nearly superhuman in his ability to avoid trouble and anticipate opponents, whoever they may be. They began funding research projects and supplementing fishing villages with money for watching the whales, either as a dedicated project, or as a side project to pay for other research and facilities.”
Marcus had seen how they chose lower-income students, who would jump at nearly any opportunity, particularly a well paid one, and those with little or no family ties. This latter step helped with parents. Parents could be the most tenacious when a child disappears. Marcus told her how each one of the villages and research stations were used to watch the whales, until groups like the one visiting now could be dispatched. Of course, Sterling went every time.
The villages and research stations were wiped out, the whales trapped and killed, and the horns were harvested. They had their own people throughout schools and universities as well, helping to falsify or confuse any real data collected, while secretly using money and influence to block anyone else from trying to research the species.
After a dinner of the remaining seal meat and some canned potatoes and green beans, Maddie filled him in on how she ended up at the top of the world. Then she began to inquire about his past. “So what's your deal?” she queried, “What are you hiding from?”
“Hiding?” he asked.
“People come this far north for two reasons: work or to get away from something,” she affirmed.
“A troubled past,” he offered.
“What kind of trouble?” she asked gingerly.
“I used to be a different person. I used to be a street thug, basically. I robbed drug dealers and crack-houses. It paid very well, but the risk factor was pretty high,” he began.
“I wanted money and all the things that go with it, but I didn't want to work for it and I had no real education. Crime was almost a guaranteed career. After reviewing my options, I decided that drug dealers and crack-houses were the safest and most profitable options. They're not going to call the cops, the neighborhoods they are in are not well patrolled, if at all, and everyone is usually so far out of their minds that I was in and out before they knew what had happened.”
“What about witnesses? Surely somebody saw you.”
“I wore the same tactical raid gear that the police used, right down to jackets and shirts with 'Police', 'Sheriff' and 'DEA' on them. Anyone looking on just thought it was another raid.”
“What happened?”
“My luck ran out. I kicked in one too many doors, and there was a dealer on the other side who didn't want to let his product go. He shot me as soon as I came through the door.�
��
She had already seen the huge scar on the upper left part of his chest.
“I shot him too. It was a reflex effect when the bullet hit me. I woke up in the hospital a few days later, handcuffed to the bed with the police watching over me. The dealer made it, though he was in much worse shape than I was. I got fifteen years when it was all over. I did my time, and now I'm up here to get away from all that... and people in general... I guess,” he finished.
As the night went on, they became more and more comfortable with each other, and eventually found themselves staring face to face, both realizing how long it had been since their last physical contact. They almost broke teeth, slamming together hard and fast, with an animal-like need that was purely physical, complete with all of the grunting and snorting of two wild dogs. After a few moments of heated and urgent exchanges, both were lying on the floor, breathing heavily and sweating profusely.
The only light was the glow escaping from the slats in the stove, giving both of their bodies a golden sheen. They made love again, this time more slowly, more attentive and lasting. They kept quite warm until morning came, though the fire had gone to coals sometime in the night; steam rose off of their bodies and puffs of condensation emerged with each breath. Both fell into a deep sleep, with no troubling nightmares or restlessness.
Mythical Page 14