by Mike Kraus
“I don’t see Itivdleq. They’re gone. Either they’ve flooded or lost all power. In either case, it does us no good to go there.
“Can we try farther south to Maniitsoq?” Tart asks. “We could shelter there.”
“In this ice? It’ll take us a full day, if we’re lucky.” The captain grumbles the words beneath a sheen of genuine panic and fear. Maniitsoq is eighty miles from their current position, but the southern waters might have less ice. “But… I don’t see that we have a choice. Change course for Maniitsoq. Maintain full speed.”
“Aye, Captain,” Tart says. The man punches in the new coordinates and turns the ship away from the inlet, heading farther down the coast. The Ocean Explorer jostles and shakes as it grinds against the ice, the friction felt through every deck. While she’ll gamely try to cut through it, every minute locks them in tighter and soon they’ll be at its mercy.
***
Nathan awakens to a deep tremor, his groan in harmony with the ship’s hull as something cracks against the bow with a dull thud, knocking him farther from his slumber, jostling him awake. It’s been hours since the first sounds of the ship breaking through ice terrified him, and he’s since grown used to them. He understands that this is what a sturdy ship breaking through ice sounds like – or at least that’s what he tells himself.
He sits up and looks around to get his bearings, the bathroom light spilling into the cabin giving him enough to see by. The curtains are locked tight against the outside and the lump on his left is his wife buried beneath the covers. Nathan made the mistake of falling asleep on top of the comforter, and now his hands feel like ice and his feet are slightly numb even with his thick socks and boots on. He exhales a sigh of frigid air and realizes he’s in the grasp of a deathly cold. The only reason he’s not frozen stiff is because he seeped some heat off Joan’s covered form.
She stirs next to him. “Nathan?”
“I’m awake, babe. When did we fall asleep?”
Light glows faintly beneath the covers as she checks her watch. “About three hours ago.”
A brief spike of panic gut-punches him. “Where are the kids?”
The cover flips down to reveal Adda snuggled beneath the blankets with her mother, and Nathan breathes a sigh of relief.
“Where’s Logan?” he asks.
“He said he was fine in his room by himself,” Joan says. “But it wasn’t this cold before. What’s the temperature in here?”
“I don’t know.” Nathan shakes his head, then addresses Adda. “Cold. How come you didn’t bring Logan with you, honey?”
Adda raised her head two inches and stared at him. “He told us to go away, so we did.”
“Yeah, but this is crazy cold.” He stood, hugged himself, and hopped to get his circulation flowing. After a few seconds of that, he nodded at the pair. “Stay here and keep bundled up.”
“Wait.” Jean raised from the covers. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to check on Logan. Then I’m going to have a chat with the captain.”
Joan nods and pulls the covers over her daughter, up to her own chin as Nathan dashes to the window and pulls aside the curtains. The grinding is almost constant now, the ice field having completely encircled them. The cracks between the chunks and slabs are slim, just inches at best, and in some places they’re melded into one big mass, slowly cutting off the ship’s progress, forcing it to go through them rather than around.
Nathan grabs his room key off the dresser and heads for the door. In the hallway, he shuts the door quietly behind him and steps one door down to room 104, knocking firmly. When nobody answers, he knocks again, panic creeping into his mind, and he calls out, face up against the door, shouting.
“Logan? Logan?!”
The boy doesn’t respond, so he backs up a pace, preparing to slam his weight into the door to force it open. Just as he’s lunching forward, the door flies open, and his son stands there with a tired expression. Nathan reaches out and grasps the boy’s shoulder, feeling that he’s warm, maybe even warmer than himself. “Oh, thank God. You’re fine.”
“Why… why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“Because it’s freezing on this level, and you have no one to share body heat with.”
“I’m fine.” The boy narrows his eyes, looking annoyed. “Trust me.”
“Trust you?” Nathan stares at his boy quizzically and then smells the faint hint of smoke drifting from his room. “What’s that smell?”
“I found a candle in one of the drawers. That’s what I’m using to stay warm.”
The ship’s bow lifts as they slam through what must be a particularly thick ice patch and Nathan grabs the door frame, feeling the engine clanking , vibrating the floorboards beneath the thin carpeted hallway. He’s used to hearing it thanks to the repeated impacts, but he’s more aware of its strains and groans than ever before, especially since they seem to be growing more strained with each passing moment.
He levels a hard gaze at his son. “Put the candle out.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so. Put it out!”
“But, Dad--”
“How are you going to feel when the smoke alarms go off and activate the sprinkler system? You’ll be soaked in under a minute. We all will.”
“This ship is so old, they probably don’t even work.”
“Son.” Nathan clutches Logan’s shirt gently but firmly. “Put the damn candle out and go to our room with your mother and sister. Get into bed with them and keep warm.”
“Okay, Dad. Jeez.” The boy jerks out of his father’s grasp, his sneer almost putting Nathan over the edge.
“I’m serious,” he snaps, leveling his gaze, leaving no room for questions. “Get your butt in there, find all the extra blankets you can, and help them stay warm.”
“Yes, sir. I’m going right now.”
“Good kid.”
With his family okay for the moment, Nathan turns and strides down the hall to the stairs leading to the upper decks.
“Wait,” Logan calls. “Where are you going?”
He half-turns in reply. “I’m having a word with the captain. None of this seems right.”
“Be careful!”
Nathan doesn’t reply but hits the stairs hard, flying up them two at a time until he pushes through the door to the captain’s deck. His breaths come out as mist, the cold instantly tearing at his cheeks, the darkness so complete that the ship’s lights seem paltry, barely able to pierce the gloom. The sounds of crunching ice are loud but somehow gentle at the same time, giving off low squeals as it’s compressed, pushed aside by thick layers of steel and the propulsion of the ship’s diesel engines. There’s a spot of open deck before a short passage leads to the bridge and at the entrance, four men jostle one another, held at bay by two big sailors standing guard.
The sailors don’t appear threatened by the passengers, who aren’t particularly intimidating, either, but the situation is nonetheless tense, Nathan assuming they’re mostly fathers and husbands keen on keeping their families warm and fed.
“We just want to know what the hell’s going on,” one of the larger passengers says. He’s got his hood thrown back, cheeks rosy, a bit of frost caught in his mustache, his bundled coat making him look bigger than the sailors.
“The captain will make an announcement shortly,” replied the sailor on the left, a red-haired guy wearing denim coveralls beneath a thick jacket and hood.
“It would be better if he made one now,” a second man counters.
“What about the ice?” the first civilian asks. “Did the captain accidentally run us into an ice field?”
“No, he didn’t.” The red-haired sailor responds to the man with flat certainty. “The ice came upon us suddenly. We had no warning from shore.”
The bossy civilian’s return glare is an expression of vicious anger barely held in check, Nathan recognizing him as a man who’s used to getting what he wants and not used to taking no for an answe
r. A gust of wind kicks up off the ice, freezing air whipping into the gaps in Nathan’s coat, forcing an uncontrollable shiver down his back. There’s an unnatural pause in the confrontation as they allow the warmth stealing air to punch through, each of them closing their eyes until the gust passes.
“Again,” Red Hair says, recovering. “The captain’s going to make an announcement very soon.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Bossy plants his fists on his hips. “We should be on a flight back to Ottawa by now.”
The guards only stare at him.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I want my money back. And your company will have to eat the cost for all our return flights. The itinerary expressly stated we’d be back in Kangerlussauq by 10:30 PM.”
The other passengers grumble in agreement.
“You can take that up with the company when we reach shore,” Red Hair acknowledges. “Until then, the captain needs his--”
The bow of the ship rises abruptly and then lands with a crash, throwing the passengers forward into the guards. Nathan puts his palm against a metal pole, the frozen surface sending a cold ache through his wrist. As the men untangle themselves, Bossy shoves Red Hair, the sailor returning the favor, smashing the big man back so hard he splits the crowd and lands in Nathan’s arms. Nathan catches him to keep him from plunging to the deck, hissing in the man’s air as he lifts him to his feet.
“Hey, buddy, no need to be hostile. Settle down and let me talk to these guys.”
Bossy is bigger and stronger than Nathan, and he easily twists out of Nathan’s grip. Nathan expects the man to charge the sailors and an all-out brawl to ensue, but the passenger holds himself in check and only glowers at the guards.
“Yeah, man,” Bossy replies, red-faced but not entirely witless. “See if you can get some answers from these guys.”
“Right. Great.” Nathan pushes between the other men and faces the guards, keeping his balance on the shifting deck. “I spoke with the captain earlier about a few things, and we’re on good terms. I’ll bet he’d let me in to ask some questions.” Nathan gestured to the bridge and back to the men standing behind him. “I’ll bring his answers back to these guys. You know, so the captain isn’t bombarded.”
The guards share a doubtful look, but Red Hair nods at the idea. “Who should we say is coming aboard the bridge?”
“Just tell him it’s Mr. Thibedeau. I’m the guy who watched the whales with him earlier.”
The guard nods, turns, and disappears down the hall and into the bridge that stretches the width of the ship. The passengers relax and shoot Nathan thankful looks as a light dusting of snow falls across their shoulders. The guard returns twenty seconds later and gestures for Nathan to come ahead. Questions from the other passengers fly as he follows the guard down the short hallway.
“Ask where we’re headed!”
“Find out if we’ll arrive at Kangerlussauq by mid-morning! If so, I can still make my flight!”
The sailor leads Nathan along the hall and through the bridge door where several deck officers turn to look. The room is cold, and he expects to find indignation, contempt, or even an apology written on their faces. What he doesn’t expect to find is their eyes filled with fear, lips pensive as they steer the ship, clutching the consoles and instruments like men sailing the razor’s edge between life and death itself.
“Here he is, captain,” the guard says.
The tall, swarthy Captain Mains stands near the port side glass, looking down.
“Come ahead,” he calls, gesturing for Nathan to approach.
Nathan circles a navigation table laden with a chart so intricately marked with course headings and it might as well be Chinese. Only when Nathan comes to his side does the man speak, his accent still indeterminate, his seaman’s growl drawn back within his chest.
“Mr. Thibedeau. I hear some passengers are restless.”
“Yes, sir. We just want to know where we are and how we ended up in such a thick patch of ice.” Nathan follows the man’s gaze as the ice slides by beneath the ship’s lights. He notes there are no more spiderweb cracks between the layers and chunks. All pretenses of an ice field are gone and all that’s left is a big sheet of that stretches as far as the lights allow him to see. Any new cracks are caused by the Ocean Explorer as she plows and grinds in a helpless crawl through the endless white.
The captain stares down a moment more before his eyes flick to Nathan. “We tried to head up the fjord to Kangerlussauq, but it’s blocked up. We thought to land at Itivdleq, but there are no welcoming lights.”
“What do you mean no welcoming lights?”
“The town either lost power or has been flooded.” Mains shrugs. “Either way, it’s no good to us now.”
“Have you called them via radio?’
“We’ve tried, Itivdleq, Kangerlussauq, Sisimiut, Sarfannguit, and Maniitsoq. Only Maniitsoq responded, and that’s where we were headed.”
A chill streaks up Nathan’s spine. It’s one thing to imagine the boat being stranded or ice-locked, but it’s quite another to think all the towns along the Greenland coast are flooded or locked in a freeze so deep they might as well be dead.
“Well, at least there’s Maniitsoq.” Nathan starts to feel relieved before he catches himself. “Wait, what do you mean we were headed there.”
“It’s eighty miles down the coast.”
“We don’t have the fuel?”
Captain Mains nods. “Not enough to plow our way through this ice.”
Nathan stares as the ice lazily passes beneath them and he blinks as he realizes that they’re moving even slower than when he first stepped onto the bridge mere moments ago.
“What are we going to do?” he asks.
“We’re going to wait.”
“Wait for what.”
The ship fights and grinds for another twenty yards before the bow lifts one last time, coming to rest in the bed of ice. The engine continues churning for another thirty seconds, and Mains raises his hand, reluctantly giving the command he’s been dreading for the last hour.
“Kill it, Tart.”
The deck officer hits a button, and a deep silence engulfs them as the engines slowly wind down. Without the sound of the engines, they’re left with the groaning ice, creaking hull, and the weak air circulation rattling through the vents. The wind and snow pick up, gusting against the glass and Nathan blinks at the captain in terror.
“Sir, what are we going to do? Can we call for help?”
“All the calls have already been made, but Mr. Tart will initiate an emergency positioning beacon as well. Anyone listening will have our location, and we’re not terribly far from shore.”
“Maybe someone will send a helicopter,” Nathan says, hopefully.
“That’s what we’re hoping.” Mains nods as a crewman Nathan presumes is Tart heads through the right-wing door.
“What should we do until then?” Nathan’s thinking about his family, how they can keep warm, and if Adda and Joan brought snacks aboard from their last stop.
The captain sighs and reaches up for a microphone. He flips a switch and feedback snaps through the speakers for a moment before he puts it to his lips and speaks.
“Attention, this is Captain Mains. I’m sure most of you are aware we’ve been plowing through an ice pack for several hours now. You might also be aware that we have just stalled in it. Due to the dropping temperatures, we’re asking everyone who has an external cabin to gather their possessions, blankets, and food stores and make their way to the main lounge. We’ll direct the ship’s heat into that area. I repeat, we’ll shut off heat to the outer passenger quarters and focus it into the main lounge.
“Emergency beacons are being placed, and Maniitsoq knows we’re out here. Hopefully, we’ll see a helicopter and rescue crew by tomorrow afternoon. Rest assured, the Ocean Explorer is rated for ice like this, and her hull will hold. So, until the rescue crews arrive, please make yourselve
s comfortable and warm and try to be patient.”
The captain hangs up the microphone, staring out at the drifting snowflakes for several seconds before turning and marching toward the front of the boat, lifting his binoculars to his face. Nathan follows on his heels, mind racing.
“What if something happens to Maniitsoq, or they can’t send a rescue team? We’ll need to take stock of the food on board and ration things, right? I mean, we could be out here for two days, or even a week. Don’t you think we should—”
“We’re at the end of our two-week tour, Mr. Thibedeau. How much food do you think is left on board?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“You’d have to ask the head chef, but my guess is that we’ve got two or three days worth of food for everyone. Maybe enough water for a week. If Maniitsoq can’t send a rescue team, we’ll need more than a miracle to save us.”
Nathan stands in silence, looking down at the ice that locks the ship. It’s beautiful and alien, reflecting the lights like something from a fantasy landscape, almost seeming friendly and inviting in its beauty if not for the inevitable death it brings to the unprepared.
The captain turns to him and rests his hand on his shoulder. “Go see to your family. It’s about to get very cold and very uncomfortable. And, Mr. Thibedeau?”
“Yes?”
“You need to prepare them for the worst-case scenario.”
“Worst-case scenario?”
The captain’s look of finality settles on Nathan like a frigid breeze. He gives a solemn nod and rushes from the bridge to see to his family.
Chapter 19
Barbara, Wyndale, Virginia
Sunlight shone through gaps in the thick, billowy clouds, painting the darkened edges with bright white highlights. The wind had long since fallen from shingle-tearing gusts to sullen swirls, rustling the trees behind the McKnight property that stood as silent guards, watching the macabre funeral unfold. Barbara, Darren, and Marie had used the Gator utility vehicle to transport the five dead men deep into the woods. They’d taken all morning, and many breaks to dig the graves, wearing gloves to minimize the blisters – or so they told each other.
