The Cold Beneath (13 page)
And, again, that was that.
The corpse of the cook was escorted to the medical bay, for no one had the heart to return him to the cooling unit after the tragedy that had befallen him. I suppose we all worried that he might get up a second time, even though it seemed impossible.
Though, from what I am to understand, that was exactly what happened.
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Down with the Ship
True North.
How hollow those words sound as I roll them about my cold mouth. How ethereal they are as they hang in the air in the wake of my tepid breath. How they burn when seated upon my nearly frozen tongue. Even the thought of them scalds my very mind.
True North.
What a bitter joke that idea has become. There is nothing true about it. Nothing true at all.
The world thinks of True North as kind of Holy Grail. They think it to be a stunning white landscape rich in exotic animals and plants, a fine thing of unobtainable beauty. There is a wild notion that the first nation to lay claim to her, to stake her for their own, will find within her snowy bosom an overnight source of fortune and fame. They are blinded by her virginal form. Men made fools by her seduction. She draws her soft blanket of snow over pale shoulders, and beckons all adventurers to come hither, to take what she is so willing to offer. She is True. She is what you have been searching for this whole time. She is what you want. Isn’t she?
Before we reached this retched landscape, I am filled with confidence that each of us had an idea of what this so called True North meant. Do not mistake me. I speak not of the journey itself, for we all shared a common theme when set upon the task. I speak instead of the destination. Of what we thought True North would be. What it represented. And everyone’s view as to the value of True North was as different as our faces. No two men shared the same vision, just as no two men could share a dream.
To the multitude of crew, those brave men who lost their lives in her cold and pitiless clutches, True North held many meanings. Though I cannot lay claim to the knowledge of their minds and hearts, especially now they are gone, I will make a guess based upon mankind’s greater ideals. For one man it must have been a way to finance his dreams of being a landowner. For another, it became the recognition of his worth as a sailor. Yet another might have seen True North as nothing more than the answer to all of his dreams of world renown.
For my old friend Bradley, True North was pure adventure. I had never seen my manservant’s eyes so full of life or his smile to bright as the day of our liftoff. Though he had seen to me in steady faith for the last few years, the young man was hungry for change; I had sensed it for some time even before Lightbridge’s offer to join the crew. I had a feeling he would leave my employ soon, by choice. But instead True North has taken him from me, by force.
Albert confided in me early on that True North only held one fascination for him. I had to ask him to repeat his desire, and when he did I laughed aloud at him. He wanted nothing more than to see a polar bear up close! Albert risked his life because his friend begged him upon the journey, but atop this he had his own desires. Something so simple, yet even he was denied this pleasure by the cruel mistress that is our present hostess.
To our captain and courageous leader, True North was truth in its simplest form. It represented an honest challenge for Lightbridge. Something that he could exploit to its fullest degree without the hindrance of others peering over his shoulder. She was a mountain he could not only scale, but scale and scale again by the means of his precious airship.
If one were to ask me before we set out, I would have said that True North was a vast resource for scientific study. Admittedly, I was intrigued what we might discover in the Arctic, aside from the location of True North herself. Though, always the pragmatist, I also thought of the Artic Circle as the halfway point to my next paycheck. But now? Now that we have arrived, and I have witnessed her alleged majesty first hand, now I know the real truth. I have at last discovered the only thing ‘true’ about True North. She is but a cold, uncaring bitch bent on killing all who try to tame her.
Her deadly power shows in my shivering hands, in my sucking breath, in my trembling frame. If I linger much longer at this testimony, I might not have to succumb to the unnatural appetite of walking death waiting for me beyond the door.
I just might freeze to death instead.
But alas, I am compelled to tell the whole story now that I have begun. I fear leaving some poor soul half entrenched in our sordid tale, with just enough information to leave one curious, but not enough to fully warn him of our mistakes. Or our terrible deeds. I shall relate the wreck of the Fancy from my perspective alone, rather than dance across the page with suggestions and presumptions that seem unfounded.
After the corpse was taken to the medical bay and the mess cleaned from the kitchen, the crew returned to a well-deserved rest. The respite did not last long, though, as I was awoken again within the hour. This time it wasn’t screaming that tore me from my slumber, but instead a terrible blast. The thunder of it drove me upright in my bed, and before I knew what was happening, I was pitched to the floor by a violent lurch. For a moment I lay dazed, rear over ear, unsure of what was happening. Those quiet seconds were brief, however, for soon after came a keening wail. At first I thought it was the cook again, come to finish me for not doing a better job of defending his honor. It took a moment for me to realize it was the emergency alarm, accompanied by a bright red glow, which now bathed my room.
I scrambled to dress in a rush. After dressing, I burst into the hallway, unsure of where the danger lay. From the bow of the ship came a bright light, as if someone had opened all the shutters and doors, allowing the unremitting sunshine to pour into the ship. I shielded my eyes, wincing as I stared at the radiance, when a hastily dressed Albert called to me.
“The bridge is on fire!” he shouted as he ran past, scrambling up the hallway toward the distant orange glow.
I realized at that moment that the boom was the report of an explosion, and the lurch was the ship dying in midair. The glow in the distance wasn’t the eternal spring sunshine, but a fire that was consuming our precious vehicle. I set off after Albert, though looking back on it, I am left to wonder why. I was the least useful member of the crew in such a situation, untrained for such emergencies, unprepared for such a disaster, and above all else, an unabashed coward.
No.
As I read over what I have just written, I can see my own lie for what it is.
I knew why I followed Albert without a second thought, just as I still know as I write these words. I ran headlong into the arms of that most unwelcome calamity because I was worried about her. Geraldine’s quarters were at the head of the ship. If the bridge was on fire, there was a good chance she would be injured, or worse. After so many years of torment, so many nights lost in sleepless dejection at her hands, I and my broken heart still cared for her. I would like to think that I would have helped out regardless of her presence aboard, but I know this is not true. The sole reason I hurried along after Albert was because I feared for the life of the only woman I ever loved.
And so I found myself surrounded by the very flames of Hell, the shrieking alarm ringing in my ears, thick smoke choking my lungs and bringing me to tears. But I was stalwart, the product of a healthy Regimen, strong of body and able of mind. I tore through the burning debris, avoiding falling cinders and scorching wreckage as I did, searching for my single-minded goal. Through the black plumes and red flames, I came upon the bodies of so many crew members, yet all men, and I made a silent, selfish sigh of relief each time I discovered that a blackened corpse was not that of my Geraldine.
Lightbridge nearly mowed me down in the fog of smoke. He bore a sizable gash in his forehead, from which poured an impressive amount of blood, but he seemed no worse for the wear.
He shouted at me, “Where is Albert?”
I motioned somewhere behind me, unconcerned for anyone but my prize.
Lightbridge pushed past me, his bare metal feet clanging against the wooden deck as he ran to help the others.
I heard her then, shouting my name in between the pulsing wails of the alarm and the screams of dying men. It took a few moments to pinpoint her location, but the second I spied her amongst the ruins, I sprang to her side. She was pinned beneath a fallen crossbeam, trapped but alive. I moved the heavy beam, thanking the heavens that the thing was not ablaze. How it had missed catching flame when the world around the arid beam crackled into ash, I will never understand. Perhaps it was some small blessing, some miracle, though it would be the last of such things to which I would bear witness.
Geraldine was able to stand, though I could see her wincing as she got to her feet. I lent her support, helping her hobble from the burning wreckage in the only direction available to us at the moment—deeper into the bowels of the ship. It might seem a great folly to trap ourselves deeper in the belly of the burning beast, but considering the only other option was a sharp drop of several thousand feet into the bank of snow below, well, we decided to take our chances with the devil we knew.
With Lightbridge barking orders, Albert and the other men worked quickly behind us to stop the fire. I stayed in the background, my arm slung about Geraldine’s waist as we watched through the door. It was the first time in a very long time I had been so close to her. Under the sharp bite of burning chemicals and charred flesh, I caught the occasional waft of her scent, and pulled it into my raw lungs in greedy gulps. I am once again ashamed to say that I could have released her, could have made sure she was well and left her on her own as I returned to the flames and lent a hand.
Yet I didn’t. I held her, clung to her and reveled in her proximity, all to the chorus of a dozen dying men while the ship burned about us. I am not proud of this fact, but it is a fact none the less. They say confession is good for the soul. I suppose if I am to confess some measure of what happened, I should confess all.
As it turned out, the men didn’t need my help. No sooner had I settled into the background of the disaster with my Geraldine than a second blast sounded. It wasn’t quiet the earsplitting report of the first, but the effect was much grander. The airbag, while fire-retardant, could no longer resist the flames that licked her belly.
The seams of the bag gave way with a loud burst, which in turn released a steady flow of thousands of pounds of helium directly onto the fire beneath. I should explain to those not scientifically minded that helium is not only fire-resistant, it is also a dampener. As a result, it doused every burning flame in a constant airy blow. For a moment we were filled with a palpable relief, but just for a moment, because on its heels came the realization that the same airbag that had saved our precious ship from burning to cinders was also the one that had kept us aloft.
Now it was deflating.
The ship began its descent at once. With several miles between us and the snow-covered ground, we were doomed to split like an egg upon impact. All about us, objects as well as bodies rose into the air. Anything not tied down threatened to float away in the long fall.
“Grab hold of something!” Albert shouted above the whistling wind.
The command was well heeded, as I had already seized the doorframe behind us, with Geraldine hanging on for dear life across from me. A high-pitched whine raced through the ship as we hurtled toward the ground below us. Although such was not my wont, I sent a small prayer skyward, begging God himself to spare those who survived the fires from further pain on impact, and for my own selfish protection. As well as that of my sweet Geraldine.
“Philip!” Geraldine shouted. Her voice almost didn’t reach me behind the loud scream of the tearing wind.
I lifted my tearing eyes to her.
“I love you!” she shouted. “I never stopped loving you!”
The news was like a double-fisted blow to my heart. If the wind hadn’t already taken my breath, her words would have left me gasping for air. I was unable to answer her. I nodded, but wasn’t sure if she could see.
Even with all that has occurred, I would like to believe that at that moment, in that instance she spoke her true heart. All horror aside, I will die with the knowledge—maybe false, maybe not—that at some point in time, perhaps even right up to the end, she loved me. As she said earlier, only fools and madmen are blessed with requited love. Considering the tale I have yet to tell, you may find me, like Lightbridge, to be a bit of both.
I am unsure what happened those first few moments following our arrival upon the ground, for the impact knocked me clean out of my wits. In my concussed state, I experienced fantastic visions, all involving Geraldine and those three words she confessed as we fell to our deaths. I will not relate them, as they are of a most personal nature; just know they were beautiful and serene. I do not know how long I was blacked out, but I came around to the image of Geraldine stooping over me, her damp tears wetting my sooty cheeks.
“Philip?” she asked.
“Geraldine,” I whispered as I looked up at her.
