MELT: A Psychological Thriller

by Shane M Brown

  Alex rested his head back on the wall. 'I've had worse.'

  Much worse, thought Glen, remembering Alex's other leg.

  'Victoria, I need the safety pin in my bag,' Megan pointed. 'In the zipper pocket.'

  Victoria had the pin in seconds.

  She's got everything in that bag, thought Glen. I'll never criticize my sister's giant handbags again. If we ever talk again. Jesus, I fucked things up with her. When I get out of here, I’m going to fix that.

  'Okay,' said Megan. 'All done.'

  Alex tried weight bearing, then some painful-looking steps.

  ‘I can walk,' he said.

  Glen was relieved. In fact, he couldn’t ever remember feeling so relieved before about anything. Every emotion inside this chamber seemed amplified. Even time felt different. An hour felt like a day.

  I’ve only known Alex for two days and he feels like family.

  Megan washed her hands in the steady stream of melt water.

  Carl and Victoria started shifting the collapsed ice toward the bomb.

  Chrissie pointed at the object she'd partially exposed. 'Well, Alex? Can you still dig?'

  Alex pushed off from the wall, but Glen held him back.

  ‘You don’t have anything to prove, Alex. I'll do it.’

  Alex didn't argue.

  Chrissie shrugged and began helping the others move the collapsed ice.

  Glen investigated the object.

  It looked like the tail end of an animal statue. The statue’s head and feet were still ice-locked, but most of the work had been done.

  Chrissie has almost finished. Why didn't she just get this out herself? She worked like a madwoman to dig this far. Why stop so close to finishing?

  Glen felt the object. Is it wood? Maybe when Chrissie realized it wasn't food she lost interest.

  After a dozen carefully placed knife strikes, Glen could wiggle the object. He didn't want to damage it, so he kept chipping the ice until it felt really loose.

  I'll try pulling it out like a loose tooth.

  He handed Alex the knife. 'This one's ready to come out.'

  'Better not be another bottle.'

  'It's not a bottle. It's an animal carving, I think. The head's in the ice, but the tail and legs are free now.'

  'Be careful the ice doesn't collapse when you pull it.'

  Glen nodded and braced one slipper on the ice. He gripped the wood with both hands. On the third tug it wrenched free in a shower of ice crystals.

  'What is it?' asked Alex.

  'Wait a second.' Glen tapped off the clinging ice to reveal...

  'A horse,' said Alex. 'It’s not wood. It’s plastic.’

  'It’s a kid’s toy,' realized Glen. 'Look, it's got wheels for feet.'

  Glen tested the wheels. They were frozen in place.

  Megan came back for more ice.

  'Hey, I know what that is,’ she said, pulling her phone out. ‘That's a miniature copy of that big one. The horse from that famous Greek legend. Hold it up, Glen.'

  Glen turned so Megan could take a photo.

  She clicked her fingers, trying to recall the name. 'It's called a...a....'

  The toy stood ten inches high. Glen liked it. It had a vintage feel. He turned it over and found another surprise. A little hatch lay recessed in the horse's abdomen.

  'I've found something. There's a little secret door thingy.'

  'It'll be frozen shut,' predicted Alex.

  Glen tried anyway.

  It popped open easily.

  Glen looked inside, utterly baffled. It was mechanical inside. Parts were moving. A small motor whirred to life. Little tubes joined a nozzle that seemed to be aiming straight at—

  'Don’t open it!' cried Megan.

  PHUT!

  The nozzle spat powder in Glen’s face.

  White powder filled Glen's eyes, his nose, his mouth.

  What the....

  Glen threw down the horse, wiping his face frantically.

  It’s burning!

  His eyes. His nose. His mouth! Everything was burning and he couldn't even—

  CARL

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Is he epileptic?' yelled Carl.

  Glen's body convulsed like a thousand killer bees were attacking him.

  His slippers flew off.

  His mail scattered from his robe.

  A Rubik's cube appeared from somewhere and skittered across the floor toward the ice.

  'He has asthma,' said Victoria. 'It's an asthma attack.'

  Alex had dropped to his knees, struggling to stop Glen's head thumping against the steel floor.

  No one else could gain a grip on his wildly thrashing limbs. Carl had a bloody lip for his efforts.

  'That's not asthma,' said Carl. 'He's having a fit!'

  'Oh, God, it's the radiation,' cried Chrissie. 'We've all got it!'

  'It's not a fit,' shouted Megan, pointing where Glen had thrown down the wooden horse. 'White powder shot out of that thing. It went straight in Glen's face. It was a trap. It was a Trojan horse!'

  A Trojan horse? thought Carl. Like the Greek thing? White powder? Carl only knew one white powder that killed people.

  'Get away from him!' Carl yelled. 'Get back, Alex. He's contagious! It could be anthrax!'

  'I didn't see any powder,' said Alex, holding his ground, struggling to stop Glen's head bashing on the floor.

  'His back was to you,' implored Megan, pointing at the statue. 'I was looking at him. He opened the horse and white powder shot straight into his face. You're touching the powder, Alex. It's poison. It’s on your hands!’

  Alex wasn't letting go. Carl could see that. No amount of reasoning would stop Alex helping his friend.

  'Fuck.' Carl dashed in and grabbed Alex in a headlock. He yanked Alex backward and away from Glen.

  'Everyone around the other side!' yelled Carl.

  'But that's near the radiation,' cried Chrissie.

  'Let me go!' hollered Alex.

  'Just do it,' yelled Carl, dragging Alex. ‘It’s not the radiation!’

  Shit, this kid is strong.

  It took all Carl's strength to pull Alex away.

  'You can't help him now,' Carl hissed in Alex's ear. 'It's already inside him. It's a trap! He's poisoned. You can't help—’

  Carl tumbled backward.

  Not because of Alex.

  His heel struck the Mayan calendar.

  He tried to keep one hand on Alex's shirt, but as they both tumbled backward, Alex came free. Carl began to scramble to his feet, planning to tackle Alex before he got up, but Alex didn’t get up.

  He rolled onto his back and yelled at the ceiling.

  'FUUUUUUCK!' Alex roared at the ceiling. 'FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUCK!'

  Victoria covered her ears against Alex's yelling. Or perhaps from the gurgling, thumping sounds coming from Glen.

  Megan slumped down with her back to the steel wall, sobbing into her hands.

  Carl sat on the calendar, staring at his fists, trying not to imagine Glen bashing his own brains out around the ice.

  'There was blood coming from his ears,' said Chrissie.

  Carl said, ‘Wash your hands, Alex.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘WASH THEM!’ Megan screamed at Alex.

  Alex obeyed Megan.

  He rolled over and rubbed his hands on the ice.

  Glen's convulsions weren't slowing. If anything, the sounds coming around the ice intensified. The — thump, thump, thump — of Glen's skull hitting the floor left no doubt the young man would soon be brain dead.

  'Somebody fix this!' Victoria shrieked at the ceiling. 'For the love of God — somebody please fix this!'

  'We can't just leave him,' said Megan, wiping her face and standing up. 'Listen to him. He's suffering.'

  'He's unconscious,' said Chrissie.

  'You don't know that!' yelled Megan.

  'He's not unconscious,' said Alex. 'I saw his eyes. He's awake. Listen to him. He's awake.
'

  'We can't do anything,' said Chrissie. 'He's dead already. Listen to that. Listen to what it's doing to him. No one can survive that. No one. If you go back around there you could end up the same.'

  'But he's still alive,' pleaded Megan. 'Listen to him. It's Glen. It's Glen!'

  'He can't go on much longer,' said Chrissie.

  'You don't know that!' yelled Megan. 'You don't know anything!'

  Carl couldn't take it anymore.

  Glen deserved better than this.

  Much better.

  'Give me the knife,' Carl said to Alex.

  'What for?' Alex demanded.

  'Oh no, Carl,' implored Victoria. 'Not in here with us. Please. Just let the poor boy burn himself out. He can't go on much longer.'

  It didn't sound that way to Carl. To Carl, it sounded like the worst way anyone could possibly die. Every moment sounded excruciating.

  'Help him, Carl,' cried Megan. 'Not with the knife. Some other way.'

  'Smother him,' said Chrissie. 'Cover his face with something so you don't touch the powder. His robe! Use his robe!'

  Carl remembered Glen had thrashed himself free of the robe.

  Can I do that? Can I smother Glen?

  Alex snatched up an icepick.

  'None of you will go near him!’

  Alex blocked their path to Glen.

  'Listen,' said Megan.

  Glen had gone quiet.

  Alex dropped the pick and limped around the ice. Everyone followed. Alex stopped short of approaching Glen.

  Carl saw why.

  'He's bright red,' said Alex.

  Carl saw blood soaking through in patches all over Glen’s pajamas.

  ‘His eyes are bleeding,' said Alex.

  ‘He’s hemorrhaging,’ said Carl. ‘All over his skin. Everywhere.’

  'What did they do to him?’ Alex asked.

  No one had an answer. They all just stood there, taking in the scene of Glen and his robe and his mail and his slippers.

  Megan lifted her phone and took a photo of the crime scene, recording where everything fell and how Glen lay at the moment of his death.

  ‘I’m going to make them pay,’ said Megan. ‘Somehow I’ll make them pay for this.’

  Alex nodded.

  'What do we do now?' asked Chrissie.

  'We make more ice,' said Carl bluntly. 'Now we have two bodies to keep buried.'

  #

  Limping, Alex dragged Glen by the ankles, insisting the others stay back to avoid the poison powder.

  It made sense.

  When Carl checked, Alex was sitting and pushing Glen into position with the soles of his shoes.

  Like packing fish into a freezer, thought Carl.

  Glen had joined Ericsson in their makeshift cemetery.

  Apart from Glen's big slippers, no one suggested using Glen's clothes.

  Too risky.

  Alex had washed his hands until they wrinkled. Carl used Megan's umbrella tip to flip Glen's bathrobe over the Trojan horse. He pushed the poison package to their burial mound.

  Carl hated Megan touching Glen's mail and Rubik’s cube, but she wouldn't be told. She just ignored him, putting Glen's belongings in her bag.

  It took them hours to produce enough loose ice to cover Glen.

  Finally, Chrissie poured the last two slipper-loads of ice over Glen's face.

  They stood in a semicircle, exhausted from the hard work.

  Megan looked at Victoria. 'Should we say something? I don't know if he was religious.'

  'I'll say something,' said Alex.

  Everyone looked down.

  Alex said, 'You saved all our lives, Glen. You saved my life twice. It’s not fair that you’re dead. If I could, I’d trade places with you. I owe you that much. The only good thing about this place was meeting you. I wanted to know you better, and I wish we had more time to become friends. When we escape, I’ll find your sister and tell her what you did for us. She’ll be proud of you. We were all lucky to meet you.'

  Carl was glad Alex didn’t mention the horrible way Glen had died. He’d talked about the good way Glen had lived.

  Megan started crying.

  Alex handed her something.

  It wasn’t a handkerchief. It was a watch. A black digital wristwatch.

  ‘I heard Glen saying he wanted you to have this,’ Alex explained. ‘It’s safe. I washed it.'

  Megan strapped Glen’s watch on silently.

  That's why Alex wanted to move the body alone, realized Carl. Getting the watch for Megan probably felt like he was carrying out Glen's last wish.

  Everyone began to turn away, but stopped as the music started.

  Carl was staggered.

  The timing was beyond coincidence.

  It was the eeriest moment Carl had ever experienced.

  From above them, the notes from a single piano played down over their little funeral.

  Alex’s phone was playing its daily alarm.

  Oh, my God,' thought Carl. That even sounds like funeral music.

  Carl closed his eyes. The music felt like a slice of the outside world because the tune sounded familiar.

  When it stopped, the effect felt jarring.

  Megan asked, 'What music was that, Victoria?’

  Victoria stared into the ice where they'd buried Glen. 'Why?'

  'For Glen's family,' explained Megan. 'I thought we could tell them.'

  ‘I know that one,’ said Chrissie. ‘It was Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.’

  Victoria stared into the ice. 'It doesn't matter. We won't be telling anyone. None of us will leave this place alive.’

  #

  Carl prepared himself for a fight.

  It was time to rest.

  Chrissie and Victoria won't want me sleeping with the group.

  Since the bottle revealed his secret he’d felt like some primitive outcast needing to rejoin the tribe or die on its outskirts.

  Anger flared in his gut. He hadn't hurt these people. He'd only helped them. He'd wrecked his own teeth so they could dig for food and water. He'd earned his place. If Victoria or Chrissie wanted to challenge him, let them try.

  They can't stop me. I'll sleep wherever the hell I like!

  Part of Carl wanted to be challenged. Let those bitches try to stop me and we'll see what happens.

  Carl rubbed his palms together. They itched like hell. Probably from carrying ice all day. Another pain in the ass he'd had to endure since they found his bottle.

  I'm the same man today as I was yesterday. If they have a problem with that, then I'll make it their problem, not mine.

  He scanned the ice above their sleeping area, making his sleeping intentions clear.

  The ice melted faster during their 'night'. He'd rather avoid a chunk of stone or metal or God-knew-what landing on his head.

  'All clear?' asked Alex, choosing his place to rest. 'I couldn't see anything, but you're taller.'

  Glen had been the tallest. Carl felt in his pocket for Glen's gum. Without Glen’s help, Carl would be in much worse shape.

  That's why I feel so angry, realized Carl.

  Why did the ice choose Glen? Chrissie chose that spot to dig. She should be buried under the loose ice, not Glen.

  'Carl?' prompted Alex. 'Does it look safe?'

  Carl snapped from his dark thoughts.

  'It looks fine,' he replied.

  He glanced toward his bottle. The newspaper clipping was gone. Chrissie probably took it. That's her style.

  Carl felt nauseous.

  In fact, now he thought about it, he'd felt increasingly nauseous for hours. He scratched his palms again, feeling some of the skin flake away.

  'You okay sleeping on the edge again, Carl?'

  Alex had provided Carl an opening.

  Carl glanced at Victoria and Chrissie. Chrissie was adjusting her eye mask. Victoria had taken the umbrella. Megan sat carefully tucking in her clothes, insulating herself. She'd barely spoken since Glen died. The dark circ
les under her eyes were darker since they'd buried him. Her movements looked slower.

  Carl quickly hunkered down shoulder-to-shoulder with Alex. His legs pulsed with relief. He'd never endured so much constant movement before in his life.

  'Thanks,' Carl whispered.

  Alex's hood covered his eyes. He lifted his hood discreetly, locating the others.

  'It could have been any of us,' whispered Alex. 'Your secret just came out first.'

  'What?'

  'Glen figured it out.'

  'Figured what out?' asked Carl.

  'He figured out why we're here. He wanted to tell you. We couldn’t tell Victoria or Chrissie.’

  Alex dropped his arm back over his face. Time was up.

  Chrissie and Victoria chose their sleeping spots.

  'What are you whispering about?' demanded Chrissie.

  Here it comes, thought Carl. She heard us.

  'Glen,' answered Alex without hesitation. 'So mind your own business.'

  'I heard my name,' said Chrissie hotly.

  Alex lifted his hood to stare at Chrissie. 'Because you've got Glen's eye mask.'

  'He gave it to me,' said Chrissie, suddenly defensive. 'Why don't you mind your own business?'

  'Happy to oblige,' said Alex, dropping back the hood.

  And simple as that, Alex deflected Chrissie's attack. He'd maneuvered Chrissie into a defensive position, distracting her from their whispering or Carl's sleeping arrangements.

  I'm glad Alex is on my side, thought Carl.

  Alex was sharp as a razor. Glen wasn't stupid either. If those two discovered something, then Carl needed to know about it. So many questions overlapped in Carl's mind that sleeping felt impossible.

  Why would they trust me after the newspaper clipping? They know who I am and what I've done. It doesn't make sense to trust me.

  Yet Carl felt they did. Or had done, in Glen's case.

  Alex will have to use the drain sometime. I'll ask him then.

  With that settled, Carl began his breathing exercises. He'd learned the technique in prison. Even if he couldn't sleep, he'd feel better afterwards.

  Carl repeated the breathing routine three times before he heard it.

  He heard the ice.

  Talking.

  Not so a human could understand, but with a combination of dripping, trickling and cracking sounds. The dripping sounded constant. The melting ice water running down the drain occasionally altered pitch as the flow changed, but the solid ice talked the loudest.