The Cold Beneath Page 18

  “Eighteen hours. Eighteen hours gone, and he has yet to stir. Maybe whatever happened has passed. Or maybe it didn’t happen at all?” He raised an eyebrow.

  His words shook me to my foundation. Eighteen hours should have been plenty of time for Blackburn to return and attack. Yet I heard no wailing. No distinct scream. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I.” Lightbridge stood and joined me at the bars, drawing his face uncomfortably close to mine. “So why don’t you explain that to me? Explain how you had a ship full of corpses taking to their feet and coming after you, yet when we return, the madness suddenly stops. Tell me, Philip. I want to believe you. I want to understand.”

  The answer was obvious. I was mad. I had imagined the entire affair. For all I knew, I had shot perfectly innocent men, then riddled their corpses with more bullets. And all because I thought the dead were rising? Even in my own mind it sounded crazy. As I stood there, trembling and terrified, not knowing what more I could say, the sounds of hurried footsteps rose from the hallway. Lightbridge and I both turned to see one of the crew rushing at breakneck speed toward us as he shouted for his captain.

  “Sir!” the man cried. “Sir! We have need of you!”

  “What is it, Collins?” Lightbridge asked as he stepped away from the bars again. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

  When he approached, I could see the young man’s face lacked all color, though he had just run what must have been the entire length of the ship. The poor lad was more terrified than I, but of what, I didn’t know.

  “It’s Mr. Josephus, sir,” Collins said.

  “Albert?” Lightbridge asked with a start. “What about him?”

  “He’s returned.”

  “So soon?”

  The man nodded.

  Lightbridge gave a great hoot of relief as he raised his arms to the sky. “Thank God Almighty! Hallelujah! Good old Bert. I knew he’d come through for us.”

  The look of sheer terror on the man’s face told me there was no cause for celebration. “Sir, I hate to interrupt, but …”

  “But? But! But! Out with it, lad. What’s with the big but?” Lightbridge laughed so hard he had to hold his sides to keep from falling over. He was right, it was a beautiful sound after not hearing if for so long.

  Collins, however, wasn’t as amused. “Something isn’t right.”

  Lightbridge almost stumbled over his own cheer. “We are about to be rescued from this insidious place. What could possibly be wrong?”

  The crewman shot me a quick and dirty look, then shifted his glance back to Lightbridge. “I think you should come see for yourself.”

  Lightbridge mirrored the shifting glance, then grunted as he understood that I was not to be trusted with the news Collins bore. “Very well then.” He scooped up the stool and turned to me, saying, “Mr. Syntax, I fear we shall have to pick up where we left off another time. I will sort this out and get back as soon as I can.” Lightbridge leaned in close to me, adding, “While I’m gone, think about what happened. Very carefully. And eat something, son. I think you’ll find the details will become much clearer on a full stomach.”

  They rushed off, leaving the lights on for me this time. It was a step up from being a prisoner in the dark, but not by much. I was still behind bars and had lost my station among the crew. I recalled Collins’s glance, his doubt, his disgust, all meant for me and my deeds. When I was wrist-deep in gore and firing at the mangled corpses of our friends, I thought I was rescuing us all from a terrible fate. Now? I wasn’t as sure anymore. Lightbridge had a point. If Blackburn hadn’t risen after eighteen hours, then either the worst had passed, or it hadn’t happened in the first place.

  I had to deal with the very real possibility that I had imagined the whole affair.

  But what else could have transpired? What killed those men? A wild animal? A wolf or a bear? No. While the Arctic was rife with wildlife, none had the nerve to approach the ship as of yet. Then what took the life of so many men? One answer stood out above all others.

  Me.

  I must have suffered from some kind of psychotic break, during which I lashed out and killed seven men. Then, as if that weren’t enough, I violated the corpses of the deceased crew. It was a nauseating notion, but it was the only possibility left. The dead did not return to life. Only the living could kill. And I was the only one left alive. As Lightbridge said, all signs pointed to yes.

  Yes, I must have gone about the bend.

  In a way, the idea came with some measure of relief. I had gone from an assured torturous resurrection to just being flat-out bonkers. This suggested I was a murderer, true, but the liberation from my imagined curse was enough to leave me without worry. Nothing was certain anymore. For all I knew, a wild animal killed those men, and after I stumbled upon their corpses, my ensuing insanity played out the rest like some sick drama. I decided that sounded plausible. It must be just what happened. The dead couldn’t get up and scream, so it must have been the howl of some wild beast. Perhaps I really was a victim the whole time!

  I giggled, giddy with the thought that maybe, despite my hopeless situation, I would still emerge as a casualty and not the cause. I was also bolstered by the idea that the whole revenant thing was hogwash. Just something my frantic mind created to fill the gaps created by too much anxiety and stress. After all, I was a man of weak constitution. Gideon had said so himself.

  The smell of the chilling meal rose to me again, and I decided to take the man’s advice, falling on the tray like a starved animal. Though in truth I was still too disturbed to eat, I forced down the meal and drink. I would need all the strength I could muster to face my oncoming demons. After I ate, I did feel better, and the details started to sort themselves out in my refreshed mind. I wasn’t sure just what happened, but I had settled on the fact that whatever it was, it didn’t include the dead returning to life.

  After two hours or so of musing on these truths, I heard the footsteps of someone approaching. I stood, drew a deep breath and calmed myself. I was ready to face Lightbridge with a different story. The truth would come to the surface, and I was prepared to take responsibility for my possible wrongdoings. As the footsteps drew closer, the absence of squealing metal informed me that they did not belong to Lightbridge. True to my certainty, it was Collins who rounded the corner and approached my door.

  “Hello there,” I said. “I know you don’t have much to say to me …” My words trailed off as I caught sight of the man’s face. He met me with a familiar terror-stricken expression, but the disgust he held for me when his eyes met mine had vanished. Replacing it was a look that bordered on suppliant. As if he silently pleaded for my forgiveness, or perchance my help.

  He was also carrying the keys to my cell, which he promptly used to set me free.

  “Follow me, sir,” Collins said, then turned to leave.

  So I had returned to rank of sir? I couldn’t imagine what would bring this about. Perhaps Geraldine had bribed the young man to release me. Unsure of his intentions, I grasped him by the arm.

  “Listen,” I said. “I appreciate your help, but I don’t want to run. I need to face what I’ve done.”

  He looked back at me and shook his head. “Run, sir? We aren’t running. Lightbridge has instructed me to bring you to him. It’s about Mr. Josephus.”

  “What’s wrong with Albert?”

  Collins opened his mouth, but for a moment said nothing. Then he looked to the floor as he explained, “I’m not completely sure, sir. I just know that something isn’t right.”

  My dread returned like a stone, weighing each one of my steps as we returned to the upper deck. Collins led me to the infirmary with a rushed stride, urging me to keep up, to walk faster. Outside of the infirmary stood Lent and Bryant—the man who tried to attack me earlier. Each one appeared as harried as Collins. To my surprise, they didn’t attack me, nor did they growl or shout. Do not take this as some miraculous change of heart, for they did not regard me warmly e
ither.

  “Out of the way,” Collins commanded. “Cap wants a word with him.”

  The men parted, allowing us entrance as Collins held his hand out to me, gesturing that I was to enter alone. I thanked him and ducked inside, as one of them closed the door behind me.

  Geraldine rose from her seat and ran to greet me. As she fell into my arms, she cried out, “Oh, Pip!”

  This was most unexpected. Not only had I returned to the status of ‘sir,’ but now my love was calling me Pip again. I wanted to rejoice at this, to take pleasure in my sudden and strange redemption. But as I feared, this turn of heart came at a dreadful cost.

  I clutched my love to me, glancing over her shoulder to the other occupants of the infirmary. The remaining five convalescents were tucked in their beds, with Lightbridge seated beside the one on the far right, looking as serious as the grave. Wait now. Five men? If I had let one die, and Blackburn passed on while I was incarcerated, there should have been but four men. I took a quick re-count. Five total. It could only mean one thing.

  “Albert?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” Geraldine said softly into the crook of my neck.

  “Come,” Lightbridge said, beckoning me.

  I released my love, and with some measure of distress, I joined Lightbridge at the bedside. The state of Albertan Josephus was appalling. He looked as though someone found the bluntest, largest, lumpiest branch they could get their hands on, then beat him mercilessly. His wounds were bandaged and on the mend, but even with the cleaning and resetting, I could tell he had broken a fair number of bones. His right arm was set in a makeshift cast of copper pipes and gauze, and I could tell from the twist of his fingers that the arm was beyond the restorative capacity of our meager equipment. It was a testament to his strength that he was even alive at all!

  “Albert,” I whispered.

  He stirred at my voice, opening his eyes, and within them I saw an infinite weariness. His wounds ran deeper than the ones that showed on the surface. Albert was struggling, fighting hard for his life, and under better medical conditions, he might have had a chance. But here, in the broken shell of our ruined ship, it was a battle he was sure to lose.

  “Philip?” he asked. “Laddie, is that you?”

  “Yes, you old tinker.”

  “‘Tis good to see you. Good indeed. And you’re looking fine. Ain’t ya?”

  “I’ll do. But what of you? You’ve certainly seen better days, my friend. What tragedy befell you?”

  What little life sat in his eyes was swallowed by a sudden and dreadful darkness. He took on a brooding expression, turning away as he addressed the wall more than me. “It’s a terrible tale, laddie. A terrible tale.” He then fell quiet, as if unwilling to explain.

  I stared at Albert in equal silence. Part of me wanted to prompt him for his tale, but my sanity didn’t want to hear it. I knew, somehow, that his words would plunge me back into that dark madness from which I’d just narrowly escaped. I was willing to let it be, but Lightbridge was never one to leave things well enough alone.

  ****

  back to toc

  ****

  Twenty-Five

  Albert’s Account

  “Go on, Bert,” Lightbridge prompted. “Tell him what you told us.”

  Albert sighed, weary and weak, then turned to face me again. “Lad, you aren’t going to believe me. I don’t know why anyone here does. I’ve surely gone mad, but … ‘tis impossible … the things I’ve seen. Impossible, but it happened. I swear to you it happened.”

  I closed my eyes, moved to the point of nausea by his words. Before his tale had even begun, I knew exactly where it was headed. And how it would end. I slipped out of my heavy jacket, sickened by the tone of his voice and the heat of the room.

  “No one doubts you, Albert,” Lightbridge said. “Now, tell us again.”

  “Aye, Cap,” Albert said. He drew a deep breath, then settled into his tale. “The lads and me were about two days out, and making good progress from what we could tell. That damned perpetual sunlight gave us long days to travel, and many of us were used to short lengths of sleep, so we put it to good use. I reckon that compound of the doc’s kept us from getting too cold. In fact, the more we pushed forward, the warmer we seemed to keep.” He paused in his tale to look at Geraldine. “Thank ye for that, lass. I’m sure I would be a goner if it hadn’t been for your … medicine.”

  Geraldine dipped her head. “You’re most welcome.”

  The man returned his gaze to mine, his voice taking on a clipped edge of sorrow as he continued. “The evening of the second day met with tragedy. We came across a chasm, not too terribly wide, but as long as the eye could see. Rather than losing a few days trying to see if we could go around, we decided to spend a few wee hours crossing the blasted thing. We could see the bottom from where we were; it wasn’t very deep at all. Perhaps twenty feet or so. To our advantage, one of the crew was experienced in this sort of thing. Baugham was his name. He said that he and his brother used to climb rocks for fun in their youth, before smallpox claimed the lad’s entire family.

  “Although he lacked the specialized equipment of a professional climber, he made good on his word of experience and helped us all down the sheer face of the ice. It was on the climb back up when we caught a turn of bad luck. We were all at the top with just Baugham to go. Now, he had climbed up and down that chasm wall at least ten times in his efforts to help us all up. But on his last pass, a wind started to whip up, and … before we knew it, he was blown right off the ice. Fell a good fifteen feet to the chasm floor. The echo of his snapping bones filled the chasm, and it fills my nightmares still. It was terrible. Just terrible.”

  “What happened then?” I asked, eager to hear what I was so sure he was going to say.

  “We were too shocked and tired to press on. We pitched camp for the night, which is a very hard thing to do when the sun is still so very bright. The men wanted to fish him from the chasm, but I wouldn’t allow it. I wasn’t going to lose another soul to that gaping maw. The men saw reason, and we went to bed without further argument. But … that night …”

  Albert paused, closing his eyes and clenching the sheets of the bed in his good fist ‘til his hand shook with the effort. Geraldine moved to his side, soothing him with soft words of encouragement and patting his sweating forehead. Lightbridge sat back and watched without saying a single word. After Geraldine assured him that he could finish, Albert looked back to me, and the darkness had returned. It was the look of a man who had seen too much. Done too much. It was, I am sure, exactly the look I bore when I told Lightbridge my tale.

  “We woke to screaming,” Albert said. “An awful screaming of suffering and pain. I didn’t need to check the men to know who was making it, because it rose from the very chasm we’d camped beside. It was Baugham. He was lying at the bottom of the chasm, alive and in such pain. We had left him down there for dead, and he awoke in the night, suffering. It tore at my heart, lad. Tore at my soul to hear him screaming like that. I had the men stay back as I took to the edge of that cursed chasm. But when I looked down, Baugham wasn’t lying where we left him. He was up and moving about.”

  “No …” I whispered.

  “He was climbing the ice, Philip. He was climbing up that same sheer expanse from which he’d fallen, only this time without the help of ropes. Like a spider he was, climbing that face with his bare hands. And fast! He was up the side of the ice and among us before we knew what was happening. When he reached the top, he stood there, staring at us as if he were weighing us as opponents. The men were overjoyed to see him, as well as duly impressed. But before we could welcome him back to the land of the living, he turned on me. He attacked me! One moment he was swaying on unsteady feet, the next he was lunging for my throat. I think he meant to kill me. No, I know it now.

  “We tussled, and he broke my arm. Just snapped it like a dry twig. It didn’t take long for the men to realize the threat was real, and it took the whole of
three men to pull him off of me. No sooner had they done that than Baugham turned on another man, drawing blood before we could do anything about it. He tore through Pearson’s snow suit like it was tissue paper. He snapped Hart’s neck as easily as he did my arm. I have never seen someone so vicious, so hell bent on killing another.”

  “But you fought back?” I asked.

  “Aye, lad, as best we could. But no one had readied their weapons. We didn’t expect him to be up and about, much less attacking us. It was Johnson who finally gained the upper hand. He somehow managed to get Baugham to the edge of the chasm again, where he pushed the man off. Baugham fell, screaming that tortured scream all the way down. This time he hit harder, with a longer fall, and went silent. For good.”

  “His head,” I said under my breath.

  Albert heard me. He raised an eyebrow in question. “What was that?”

  “He must have hit his head? Yes?”

  “Yes, it burst open like a melon, it did. But even worse, Hart was dead and Pearson was bleeding to death. That man tore them apart like a wild animal. Chewing and ripping. He was crazy. I have never seen anything like it in all of my days. Johnson helped me bind Pearson’s wounds, as well as my own. Pearson died within an hour; there was little we could do to save him. We then spent the rest of the night plotting our course back to the ship. You must understand we couldn’t go on like that. We had to come back.”

  “We understand,” Lightbridge said. They were the first words he had spoken since Albert had begun his tale. “Don’t worry, old friend, there is no fault in your return. You did what you had to. Now, tell him the rest.”

  Albert sighed again, and with it I knew the worst was yet to come. “We bunked down again, trying to grab at least a few hours of sleep. It was hard, knowing that three of our friends were dead in the blink of an eye. Not just dead but there, so close. I slept little. When I finally drifted off, I was awoken again by those terrible screams. I was on my feet and out of my tent in moments, as was Johnson. We looked to one another, and I was sure by the look in his eyes that he wondered the same thing I did. How could Baugham have survived yet another fall?