Jury Duty (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  “Ready?” is the call from below.

  “Ready.”

  Nick and Adrianna reach up and switch on their headlamps. The sudden surge of light causes him to squint. Adrianna looks pale. Dark rings surround her eyes. Her cheeks are gaunt, while her lips are cracked. She looks at him and must see something similar as her eyes speak of resignation rather than resolve. They descend, but neither of them look down. They look at each other, keeping pace with each other.

  “And I’ve got you,” Bear says, once again taking Nick’s pack at the bottom of the rope.

  As a team, they go through the motions, clipping onto an anchor and then unclipping from the rope. The soldiers release the main ropes, shielding them from the lash as it whips past yet again. Jazz and Bear are unrelenting. They’re methodical. Robotic. Once again, they disappear below them. Reluctantly, Nick reaches up and switches off his light. Adrianna follows, but not before locking eyes with him once more.

  “We’re trapped,” she whispers. “If there’s anything down there.”

  “There’s nothing down there,” Nick says, not wanting to have this conversation.

  “But there is,” she says. “We know there is. We’ve seen it.”

  For once, Nick would rather not have a scientist on hand. She’s right. With the darkness looming over them, it’s easy to panic. Nick balls his hand up into a fist, wanting to fight the fear. For now, they’re still hooked onto the anchor point, awaiting word from below to proceed. Oh, how he longs to hear the call of ready. The only thing he can control is the rope feeding through his belay plate. It’s poor comfort, but at least he gets to lose himself in the rappel.

  “It wants to get out,” Adrianna says, not content to let the conversation die. “You know that, right?”

  “They’d use the elevator shaft,” Nick says softly. “It’s bigger.”

  “It is,” Adrianna agrees.

  “And we have to consider their needs, right?” Nick says, trying to use her own logic to calm her. “Maybe they need something. Like we need oxygen on the Moon. Maybe they can’t just come up here after us. Maybe they need a spacesuit on Earth.”

  In the darkness, Nick hears Adrianna’s tone of voice change as she composes herself.

  “Maybe.”

  He asks, “How did they survive down there for so long? I mean, it’s like hundreds of thousands of years, right? How is there anything down there?”

  Adrianna seems resigned to defeat.

  “We don’t know. Machines wouldn’t last that long, but life does. Life has thrived beneath the ice for millions of years. It may be that what we think of as a machine is somehow alive.”

  “Maybe they want something else from us,” Nick says. “Maybe we’ve got this all wrong. We’ve read too many invasion stories and watched too many monster movies.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  A distant voice echoes up the shaft.

  “Ready.”

  The two of them switch on their headlamps and continue their descent. This time, Adrianna smiles.

  Backpack

  Nick’s backpack hangs several meters below him, swinging around on a rope attached to his harness, dragging him down into the darkness.

  “And, I’ve got you,” Bear says, pulling on Nick’s pack. He drags it over to the conduits.

  Nick uses his belay plate to come to a halt. The double ropes dangle below him, splitting apart as they flail around. He would feel a helluva lot better if there were knots in the end. Instead, the tips waver, teasing him. Let go. If he lets the rope run through his fingers, within seconds, there will be no rope at all. It’s unnerving to think that death is so close at hand.

  Bear takes Nick’s backpack from him, attaching it to an anchor point on the wall. A metal spike driven into the ice takes the weight of his pack, relieving the pressure on his belay plate.

  As the team descends, they use a variety of anchor points from trusses holding the conduits in place to anchors pounded into the ice during construction. Hearing metal creak and groan under weights never intended for it isn’t reassuring, but more often than not, they’re hooking into a cross member keeping the pipes against the ice wall.

  Nick is tired. He wants to ask, how much further? But he’s afraid of the answer.

  Thin beams of light cut through the mist forming deep within the shaft. The original borehole is still visible, having been cut by a different drill head. When the shaft was widened, the construction crew must have used a slightly different process as the rest of the ice wall is smooth.

  Lights turn with the motion of their helmets, illuminating random sections of pipe or the deep blue ice. Vapor drifts around the team. An eerie half-light surrounds them.

  “Well, that’s fifteen points down,” Jazz says. “Congratulations! We’re halfway.”

  Halfway? Rather than being an accomplishment, such a realization is exhausting.

  Bear reaches out and grabs the double ropes, pulling Nick in toward an anchor point.

  “A little lower,” Bear says, reaching down and grabbing a carabiner on Nick’s waist. Against his better instincts, Nick eases himself down. He watches as the end of the ropes dangle against his boots. Bear pulls on a sling, dragging one of Nick’s carabiners over to the anchor point.

  Nick’s heart is pounding madly within his chest. On each previous drop, they stopped with at least a few meters of rope beneath them. This time, Bear’s taken him right to the end. There’s moisture in the air. His gloves slip, and he slides lower still. Nick’s fingers tighten above the prusik. The end of the double ropes tap against his trousers, touching at his shins.

  “A little closer,” Bear says. “Can’t—quite—reach.”

  Bear drags Nick’s back against the conduits and pipes running down the length of the shaft. Nick’s fingers are like an iron vice wrapped around the frozen double ropes. All the muscles in his body are tense.

  Ice falls from an anchor point.

  Ping! Bam! Zing! Bang! Boom!

  Blue-white fragments of ice disappear beneath Nick’s boots, bouncing off the slick walls as they race into the pitch-black darkness.

  Bear yells, “The pack!”

  Before Nick realizes what’s happening, Bear is swinging on Nick’s harness. The increase in weight jerks at his belay plate.

  “Goddamn it!” Bear yells.

  Bear’s released his anchor. He’s got one arm around Nick’s waist. The other is holding the length of rope attached to the loose backpack. The pack swings wildly below them, colliding with the ice wall. As it twists, it swings them around. The backpack ricochets off the ice, bouncing like a pinball.

  An anchor in the ice has failed. A long metal screw has been wrenched from the wall. It dangles from the pack as it spins. Carabiners clash, crashing together. A cascade of ice plunges down the hole.

  “Bear!” Jazz yells, but she’s unable to complete a sentence. Everything’s happening too fast.

  Bear is untethered. He slips.

  He grabs at Nick’s harness, but his gloved fingers don’t hold.

  Bear slides down Nick’s body, grabbing his legs and pinning them together as the double ropes slide up to Nick’s thigh. It takes all of Nick’s might to hold them there. No knots. Goddamn it! If there was a knot, he could let the rope run.

  Bear has still got hold of the fallen backpack. His right arm is stretched out below him, gripping the rope, but the weight is dragging him down. He can only hold onto Nick with his left arm. His strength is failing. Bear slips from Nick’s knees to his ankles. His armpit hooks over one of Nick’s boots, providing some relief. The pack spins, bouncing off the conduits and colliding with the pipes, threatening to drag him into the darkness.

  “Let it go,” Jazz calls out.

  “It’s got our scuba gear,” Bear replies.

  Nick struggles with the way the double ropes reverberate above him. The tension on the ropes makes them difficult to grip. Bear wriggles beneath him.

  Through gritted teeth, Nick says, “Ca
n’t—hold—on.”

  “Hang on,” Jazz replies, seemingly ignoring him. She grabs the spare rope from another pack hanging on the ice wall.

  The double ropes continue to slide through Nick’s belay plate. No matter how hard he squeezes, the combined weight drags him down. The end of the double ropes slip past his waist. The prusik bunches, pulling tight, but with two men and a backpack, it can’t hold.

  “I’ve got it,” Bear yells, swinging his legs wide and reaching for the wall. He tries to clip a carabiner onto a support truss but to do that he has to push to one side. Heat surges through the double ropes. Bear lifts the pack with one arm.

  “Just—about—there.”

  Bear kicks against the wall, wanting to swing closer to the conduits. Nick twists with the motion. His helmet collides with the pipes, rattling his head.

  To his horror, Nick feels the double ropes passing through the glove on his left hand. Once they’re free of the prusik, the loose ends race toward the belay plate. Above that, his right hand squeezes tight. The muscles, ligaments, and tendons in his hand are failing. Cramps seize his arm. The heat of the friction reaches through his leather gloves. He can’t hold it. He can’t.

  “Almost,” Bear yells.

  The aluminum carabiner strikes the truss. It rebounds, failing to close over the icy metal.

  “Shit! Fuck!” Bear yells in that fraction of a second as the double ropes slip through the belay plate and from Nick’s gloved fingers.

  “No,” Nick yells, scrambling with his hands, trying to grab the rope as it whips away from his harness.

  Nick is weightless.

  From his perspective, he doesn’t fall. It’s the ropes that race away from him, rushing up toward the surface. His body twists. His headlamp reflects off the glossy ice.

  The backpack falls with him into the darkness.

  Bear plunges down the shaft screaming. His hands reach for the conduits, grabbing for them, but that only causes him to rebound away from the pipes and wiring.

  Bear reaches for Nick. His hands thrash about as he falls away. His eyes. Nick will never forget the look of disbelief in those eyes as the darkness swallows them. Bear slams into the ice wall. His arms flail about, desperately trying to grab hold of something—anything.

  Nick falls along behind Bear.

  The wind rushes past.

  Chunks of ice fall beside him.

  He’s dead, and he knows it.

  The rocks and ice at the bottom of the shaft are going to rush up at him, rising out of the darkness to pulverize his body. Nick’s fingers reach for the slick ice rushing past.

  Before he can react, his head whips forward toward his chest. Spasms ripple through his body.

  Nick’s helmet smashes into the ice. Cracks run through the thick plastic. The strap under his jaw goes taut, choking him.

  Gloved leather fingers tear at the hair on the back of his neck.

  “Got you,” Jazz says, grunting. She’s grabbed Nick by the back of his helmet, with her gloved fingers reaching up inside it, catching his hair. The helmet is wrenched half off his head. Nick chokes. Straps dig into his throat, cutting off his breathing. His legs dangle beneath him.

  Bear plummets into the shadows. Occasionally, his headlamp is visible, flickering as he tumbles into the darkness.

  Within seconds, he’s gone.

  Nick reaches up with his hands, trying to grab hold of the conduits. He’s desperate. Nothing. His gloved fingers slip, unable to grip the icy pipes. There’s no air. He can’t breathe. His crampons collide with the wall and he kicks. Metal spikes knock ice loose. Again and again, he strikes until one of his boots digs in. Nick pushes up. The crampon holds, relieving the pressure on his neck and allowing him to breathe.

  “And again,” Jazz says.

  Nick raises his leg, kicking hard into the ice. His crampons bite, allowing him to push higher on unsteady legs. Jazz grabs the collar of his jacket and reaches under his right armpit.

  “One more time.”

  Nick wrenches his boot free and digs in again, driving higher.

  Jazz turns him, allowing him to push up off his crampons with ease. She’s upside down, which confuses him. Like a circus performer on a high-wire trapeze, her legs are entwined in the rope above her, freeing her arms as she dangles within the shaft. She’s attached her spare 25-meter static rope to an anchor and swung down in time to grab him.

  “Can you reach that truss?”

  “I—I think so,” Nick says, grabbing a carabiner on a sling. He pulls it from his harness and reaches out, hooking it over the thin metal.

  “Okay. I’m going to let go of you now. You’re going to be okay. Okay?”

  Nick has never wanted to be held more in his life, but he manages a shaky, “Okay.”

  Jazz releases him, and he swings in place beside the conduits.

  The truss holds.

  Nick’s helmet knocks against the ice. He comes to rest hard up against the sewage pipe. Beneath him, there’s nothing but darkness.

  Whoosh! Wham! Boom! Bang! Kaboom!

  It’s heartbreaking to hear Bear falling to his death. Nick can only hope he’s been knocked unconscious, sparing him from the terror. Jazz returns to join Adrianna on an anchor point fifteen meters further up the shaft. No one talks for the best part of a minute. All they can do is listen to the sounds ricocheting around them as their friend dies. The final thud is heartbreaking, echoing up the shaft.

  Wah—boom!

  In the silence that follows, Jazz cries. Tears roll down her cheeks. She wipes them away, smudging grit on her face.

  Adrianna is the first one to speak.

  “I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Jazz sniffs, ignoring the comment. She addresses Nick.

  “I’m going to need your help with the ropes.”

  He nods, straightening his helmet.

  Even though she said that, Jazz resets both sets of double ropes as he hangs below her. Over the next ten minutes, she barely speaks beyond a murmur. Anything she does say is directed toward the rappel, not them. She helps Adrianna and Nick tie their prusiks and attach their belay plates. Jazz reaches up and switches off their headlights. It’s somewhat symbolic. She’s prepared to do everything she can to get them out of here alive.

  Yet again, Jazz leaves them hooked into their anchor points, only this time she descends alone. A solitary light glides below them, dropping into the darkness.

  Nick is still in shock. Sitting there in his harness with his light off, surrounded by the darkness, two words tumble from his lips.

  “He’s gone.”

  This time, Adrianna reaches out, taking his hand. She doesn’t speak. There’s nothing she can say that will take away the pain.

  Ten minutes later, a feeble voice calls out, “Ready.” And with that, they’re on the move again as though nothing happened.

  Nick and Adrianna turn on their lights and descend slower than before.

  At the stopping point, Nick helps with the retrieval of the ropes. He feeds the blue side through the next anchor and turns away as the black rope falls past. Although he’s seen Bear do this a dozen times, he’s not prepared for how the rope whips around when it comes to a halt. The weight of the ropes tugs against his gloved hands, but he keeps them secure.

  “Good work,” Jazz says, yet again helping him and Adrianna with their prusiks and belay plates. Nothing more is said. There will be time to mourn later. At this point, two words from Jazz is a pep talk. She’s on autopilot. Like them, she wants to get the hell out of this goddamn shaft.

  As Jazz descends further, Nick looks up. He can’t see the light anymore. It’s got to be there, but it’s not even a solitary star in their bitter, dark night. The maintenance shed might as well have been swallowed by another dimension. Vincennes is a dream.

  “How can she go on?” Adrianna asks as they wait in the darkness to descend to the next anchor point.

  “She’s got no choice.”

  “W—Why ar
e we doing this? We don’t know what’s down there.”

  “Yes, we do,” Nick says, feeling he owes Bear a debt to go on. “Survivors. We’ve got to help them. We’re their only hope.”

  From the shadows, Adrianna nods. “We can do this,” she says as a voice calls out from below, urging them on.

  “Ready.”

  Hours pass like days.

  Each stage takes them deeper, but it feels as though none of them bring the team closer to the flooded research center. For Nick, they’re descending into hell.

  Water

  It’s been five hours.

  Nick’s bladder is bursting.

  Jazz dangles before a steel bulkhead set into the ice. Her headlamp flickers over the frozen door. Rather than entering a research station, it looks as though they’re opening the blast door on an aircraft carrier.

  Nick and Adrianna are on the main lines while Jazz has hooked up her spare rope to an anchor above the door. This allows the three of them to hang together in front of the entranceway.

  Backpacks dangle below the team, disappearing into the darkness. Nick has no idea how much further the shaft extends, and he has no desire to find out. Somewhere down there lies the broken body of his friend.

  “Once I’m inside, I’m going to need you to help me with my pack.”

  “Understood,” Nick says, keeping a firm grip on his belay plate. The idea of slipping lower and having to climb back up is not appealing. Adrianna flips the double ropes around her thigh, locking herself in place. Nick does likewise, freeing up his hands.

  The door opens inwards. Jazz turns a series of large metal handles strategically placed around the hatch, but it doesn’t move. She pushes against the cold metal surface. It won’t budge.

  Nick grabs one of the handles on the doorframe and presses his shoulder hard against the steel.

  “And push,” Jazz says.

  It’s hard to apply any muscle as his body inherently wants to swing away from the hatch.

  “Nothing’s easy, is it?” Nick says.