Ice: Deluge Book 4: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story)

by Kevin Partner

  “Ice is forming,” Tom called out.

  Buzz, torn from his ponderings, looked out at the water. The sea was quiet today, but he could see no sign of ice until he focused where Tom was pointing. A small islet that Buzz would swear hadn’t been there the last time he’d made this journey and, in sheltered little clefts where the water was still, ice glinted.

  It seemed that every day brought more bad news. The world—or, at least, this part of it—was getting colder, and quickly.

  As they approached the place where they’d pulled the inflatable out of the sea last time, Buzz could see that the water level had dropped again. He’d known this because their launch point on his island had moved down the slope, but it was even more obvious here because they’d landed on a gently sloping stretch of road which was now perhaps fifty feet farther out to sea than it had been.

  The snow had stopped falling, giving the scene a Christmas card look, though Buzz knew well enough what lurked beneath the surface.

  Tom guided the boat onto the road, then they jumped out to pull it securely onto the snow, heaving on the raft containing the ATV until they were able to untie the lashes and roll it off.

  Buzz kicked at the snow. “It’s not that deep. Just a few inches.”

  “We will have to be careful. We don’t want the ATV to get stuck. I don’t want to have to walk far in this. But I’m glad it’s here.” He pinched his nose against the stink that rose up from the ground as Buzz disturbed the snow.

  Buzz checked the rack on the rear of the ATV. They had a supply of water, rags and some of his precious isopropyl alcohol, as well as a couple of wire crates he’d taken from the stock room. They wouldn’t be able to bring anything large back as this was a reconnoiter: if they were lucky, they’d find some drugs to replenish their supplies, but Buzz was mainly interested in knowing whether there was any point in mounting a bigger mission later. No point hauling a fuel tank over the water if there wasn’t any accessible gas.

  “Are we ready?” Tom asked, refastening his coat and wrapping a scarf around his mouth.

  Buzz nodded and climbed on the back of the ATV. He pulled his woolly hat down over his eyes—a present from Jo that was more a demonstration of affection than an effective means of keeping his head warm. Tom turned on the ATV and they took off, swerving a little as he got used to the slippery surface.

  Branson was a small city of around three thousand inhabitants that had been built between the arms of two ridges that rose out of the Arkansas plains. At a couple of hundred feet above sea level, it was the first major settlement to emerge from the depths as the water level dropped, long ahead of Little Rock, the nearest larger city.

  Tom guided the ATV along the snow-laden track leading past the jumble of trees that still haunted Buzz’s nightmares. The scene was barely recognizable as a series of bumps in the pristine snow. The skull had been that of a child, he’d realized as he forced himself to relive the memory. In his imagination, it had been a girl, who’d run to that little room when she’d seen the wave coming in. Seeking shelter, she’d ended up trapped there as the water had seeped in, rising and rising until she’d drowned. Where were her parents? Perhaps their bones were mixed with hers, their skulls now hidden again beneath the snow.

  He said nothing to Tom, but felt his mood lighten a little as they passed where the little cabin lay and it finally disappeared behind a bend in the road.

  Minutes later, the ATV came to a halt and Tom stood up in the saddle. “Is that it?”

  They were at the top of a small rise looking down on a narrow, flat expanse of snow surrounded by low hills. In the center, shapes rose out of the snow.

  “That’s the radio mast,” Buzz said. “The center of town is just beyond.”

  Tom sat down again, twisted around and raised his sunglasses to expose his deep brown eyes. “I hope we don’t find it is buried too deep.”

  Buzz made a noncommittal noise, but it was enough to satisfy Tom and they were soon moving again. Truth was, it was creeping him out. For months, this little town had been hidden beneath the waves, and it was as if the water was reclaiming it even as it receded. If the snow continued here, then it would soon be entirely lost again.

  As they approached the mast, Tom stopped the ATV again. “I think we should walk from here. We’ve only got sixty percent power on the battery.”

  “Yeah, we don’t want to risk the ATV running out of juice, and we might have some more weight with us on the way back.”

  “And it is mainly uphill.”

  To begin with, it was a relief to get off the vehicle as Buzz’s hips had locked up on the journey, but soon enough he lost feeling in his toes and his mood darkened.

  “Is there no building attached to the mast?” Tom asked as they reached it and stared up into the gray sky. The snow was no longer falling, so that was one mercy at least, but the clouds looked threatening enough.

  “I think it’s a radio antenna, so just electrical stuff and maybe a studio. Not worth digging for.”

  Tom nodded and they passed it by, navigating along the way using road signs that barely poked through the surface of the snow.

  “Wal-Mart!” Buzz cried out as he spotted the familiar sign on the side of a bright blue painted brick wall.

  Snow reached halfway up the front of the store, pouring in through the doorframes with their missing glass.

  “¡Dios mío!” Tom yelled as he climbed the mound of snow piling up outside the store. “It stinks!”

  Buzz pulled out his mask. “I guess it’s time to find out if these work, then.” They each had a modified carpenter’s mask. Buzz had taken the carbon filter from the oven hood and cut out several layers that he sandwiched behind the mask’s dust filter. In theory, it would absorb at least some of the stench. In the top pocket of his coat, he carried a domestic carbon monoxide alarm he’d taken from the kitchen. All in all, their preparations smacked of Heath Robinson, but they didn’t have the resources or the time to do more.

  Buzz switched on his flashlight and led the way, gently descending the slope into the half-light of the store. Yes, the mask helped. The smell was still there, but largely hidden beneath the aroma of cooking oil. It was bearable.

  He reached ground level as he passed through the frame of one of the entrance doors, feeling his boots on solid ground for the first time since they’d gotten onto the boat. Slippery green and brown slime covered the floor, but it seemed to lessen as they went forward and they could walk more confidently.

  And then he gasped. “Oh my God!” Most of the shop fixtures had been swept away, presumably toward the back of the store, but as his flashlight found the sign for the pharmacy, he lowered it to see what was piled up against the front of the counter, between two low plastic and steel walls. The white of bones. Encased in a muddy filth that kept them in place, skeletons rather than a random collection of body parts.

  Embedded in the wall of mud, he saw a walker and a crutch. Glass reflected from his flashlight, as two pairs of spectacles looked sightlessly out at him. If they wanted to get to the pharmacy, they would have to climb over a wall of the dead.

  And then the carbon monoxide alarm sounded.

  Tom began making for the exit. “Get out!”

  “No way. These things are hypersensitive. I’m going in.”

  Buzz surged forward, ripping the alarm off his pocket and hurling it to Tom. He ground his teeth together as he picked his way over the bones and mud, navigating using his peripheral vision, until he reached the counter.

  There were more bodies here, one leaning up against a closed door, a pane of miraculously unbroken glass pinning it down. Above, rows of green-stained metal lockers and, beneath them, a mound of pill bottles.

  Quick! Before they come back!

  He shook his head to clear it. He only had seconds before he would feel the effects of the carbon monoxide, so he grabbed armfuls of pill bottles and shoved them into the bag over his shoulder.

  No! Be more selective!

/>   He looked up, his head swimming. Some of the lockers had doors, and some of those were dented and pushed inward. He stood and wrapped his fingers around the nearest, ripping it open then sweeping the entire contents into his bag.

  Can you hear me calling?

  He looked around. Nothing. Quick. He moved along to the next one, but it wouldn’t budge, but the one to the left of it did.

  Ho! Tom Bombadil. Tom Bombadillo!

  He ignored the hearty voice.

  The locker contained bottled medicines with syringes. The cardboard boxes had gone, leaving a mess of plastic wrapping, so he threw them all into the bag.

  Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow!

  He turned again at the sound of the deep, happy voice, but there was no one there.

  Run, my merry fellow. And don’t look back!

  So, he ran, stumbling and crashing against the counter before getting back to his feet, on legs that had turned to jelly.

  Again, he climbed over the bones.

  Get out old wight, crumble in the daylight!

  He ran, and fell, calling out.

  “Tom! Tom!”

  And, as he fell, a strong hand grasped him and he was hauled to his feet.

  “Tom!” he gasped.

  “Yes, it is me. And you are stupid.”

  “Tom Bombadil?”

  “Who?”

  Buzz allowed himself to be dragged out into the weak daylight and ripped off his mask to breathe the fresh air. His head swam and he rubbed his temples as Tom held him upright.

  “Are you okay now?”

  Buzz experimented with standing up under his own power. He swayed a little, but he felt his mind clearing. “Yeah. I think I got out just in time.”

  “With a bag full of treasure,” Tom said, opening up the pack. “Though it stinks. Do we go back?”

  Buzz sighed. “We’ll have to. I’ll look through these drugs to see if we’ve got what we need, then we’d better grab what we can from this end of the store. We’re going to have to bring breathing apparatus if we want to go any deeper.”

  Tom put the mask over his mouth again and turned to go. “You rest for a bit, but come if I call.”

  “I will. And, Tom…”

  “Yes, amigo?”

  “Thanks for coming for me.”

  They made it back to the boat before nightfall, but the plan had always been to camp overnight rather than risk being out on the water in the dark. They’d brought a tent and a small cooking stove, so they sat inside and heated beans up.

  He didn’t know if it was the carbon monoxide, but Buzz’s mood had continued to darken even as his headache had cleared. He knew he’d been foolish to risk poisoning twice and it infuriated him that he couldn’t rationalize an explanation for behaving so foolishly. At the very least, they should have retreated as soon as the alarm went off, allowed it to reset and then use it to map out which areas of the store were safe and which weren’t. But he had been fixated on the medicines behind that pile of bones and mud. Maybe the gas had affected his mind even before the alarm had gone off? Well, even if that was true, the fact was that Tom had done the right thing and gotten clear. And then he’d come back in to rescue Buzz when he started blurting out bits of fantasy poetry.

  “Hey, Buzz,” Tom said as he stirred the beans. “Do you think about the future?”

  Buzz looked across at him. This was, perhaps, the first introspective thing he’d ever heard him say. “I try not to. Not the long term, anyway. I thought I had the medium term sorted when I set up the farmhouse, but that’s all gone to hell these past few months.”

  Tom nodded. “My papa, he always used to say that we only have today, and to make the most of it.”

  “It’s a good philosophy if you can pull it off.” And if there are other people around you who are paying attention to the medium and long term.

  “He was a good talker, but not so good at following his own advice. But I miss him. How about you?”

  Buzz shifted uncomfortably. “My father passed on twenty years ago. He was a pharmacist who spent his whole life helping other people, but didn’t look after himself. Mom died a few years ago. She lived with Joel later in life.”

  “I’m sorry, especially about your mom.”

  Buzz smiled. “Maybe it’s a sign of how bad things have become that I don’t feel nearly as guilty about my relationship with her as I should.”

  “Yeah. It doesn’t pay to look back. So, are you and Jo gonna hook up?”

  “Hook up? I asked her to marry me.” The words were out before he could stop himself.

  Tom almost spilled the beans. “No! Well, good for you. When’s the big day?”

  “She said no.”

  “What? I don’t believe it.”

  Buzz shrugged.

  Tom began stirring the beans again, his eyes apparently focused on the dancing shadows cast by the stove. “I don’t get it.”

  “I just assumed she doesn’t think the same way about me as I do about her.”

  “You love her?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t have asked her to marry me otherwise!”

  “Then I tell you she feels the same way.”

  “She does?”

  “Sure. She told Anna.”

  “And Anna told you?”

  “Yeah. I think she’d like me to propose.”

  “And will you?”

  “Who knows? Like my papa said, live for today.”

  Tom poured the hot beans into a camping mug and handed it over.

  Raising the mug in a toast, Buzz touched it to Tom’s saucepan. “Good luck to you.”

  “And you, my friend.”

  Chapter 17

  Whiskey

  Bobby nursed the battered old Volvo station wagon along Route 93, his eye glued to the gas level indicator. He hadn’t wanted to use the Volvo because he couldn’t help thinking about the monster who’d owned it and how he’d tortured his daughter and, probably, his wife. But he’d had little choice. It was the only vehicle on that side of town and, given its age, pretty easy to hot-wire.

  Yuri had sat in the driver’s seat as Bobby had pushed the car along the road with the ignition on, the stick shift in second gear and his foot on the clutch. The old Swedish pile of junk had spluttered into life on the second attempt and had brought them almost to their destination faultlessly—if bumpily.

  “There!” Yuri said, pointing up at the sign. “Two miles! We’re gonna make it!”

  Route 93 went through the middle of the small city, but they saw more people and cars moving than in any of the settlements they’d passed through before. No one paid any attention to the rusty old Volvo as it made its smokey and slow way along the highway and Bobby began to believe that Yuri might be right. They would make it.

  Then, with a splutter, the car lurched, blew explosively out of the exhaust, lurched again, and then all power went. Bobby managed to roll it to one side, then kicked the door open and cursed from the sidewalk.

  Yuri got out from the other side and walked over to him, stretching his legs as he went. “Could be worse, my friend. Only couple miles. I can make it!”

  Bobby sighed. Yuri was right, but a couple of miles might take the rest of the day at his slow pace. And then there was the problem of acquiring a light aircraft. Now that he was resolved to sort things out with Eve and Maria, he wanted to get on with it. He knew it was a tiny matter given the importance of Yuri’s mission, but he saw it as a block on his future happiness. He needed to get beyond it, but many other things needed to fall into place first.

  “We better travel light,” Yuri said, pulling the back door of the wagon up and looking inside.

  “Yeah. We can leave the food and water, but we need to bring some warm clothes.”

  “Da. It feels like a fall day in Siberia.”

  Bobby nodded and cast his glance across the highway. They’d come to a halt beside a small shop selling knitting supplies that had a view of the pyramid-shaped mountains that
formed a range running to one side. Their peaks and shoulders were covered in white and the air had the taste of snow to come. They’d been traveling all day, and it would only get colder, but while Bobby didn’t relish the idea of walking the rest of the way, he felt that camping out in their car was to invite trouble. This small city looked largely untouched by the flood—at least on the surface—so they could have a functioning police department and he didn’t want to have that conversation.

  “Excuse me sir, why have you got a Russian in your car?

  “International Space Station? Pull the other one. Now, breathe into this bag while I cuff you…”

  “Let’s go,” Bobby said, handing over the walking stick Yuri had insisted they take from the monster’s house. He’d said it might as well be used for something positive instead of left where it was.

  Bobby slung the bag over his shoulder, slammed the door on the Volvo and began walking, forcing himself to slow down as Yuri fell behind. Bobby could see the pain on his face as he forced his legs to take his weight, and again when his injured hand happened to collide with any other part of his body, but his stoic mask only slipped once.

  They’d been walking for over an hour and had covered, Bobby estimated, half the distance when he looked back to see the cosmonaut leaning against a lamp post, grimacing.

  “Come on,” Bobby said; expressing his frustration before he could stop himself.

  Yuri shook his head. “Just a minute. Give me just a minute.”

  Bobby ran back to him and held him upright. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to arrive there after dark.”

  “Maybe we must settle for arriving at all, my friend.”

  Yuri lifted his upturned palm and held it out before, after a few moments, tilting it toward Bobby. A dozen snowflakes gently melted as Bobby looked up at a dark, gray sky, then checked his watch. “It’s not that late, after all.”