I belong. She’s never had anyone but me. She’s alone. She’s the monster. She’s the fucking ingrate monster pathetic whore spawn of shit that should be beaten into a pulp fucking ugly THING—
No longer skating through the higher dimensions of space and time and merely looking into the human world, the Old Ones are what matter. We’re clean and pure, we’re true beauty. We have no need for Botox and diamonds and plastic surgeries and prissy skirts and other human nonsense. The Old Ones are the diamonds, and the humans are The Deformed.
We are. It’s as simple as that. We are.
Clasped in each other’s arms, bracketed by life and death that no longer touch us.
We are. We give ourselves to the whole. We are.
And as the winds settle and the sun torches the blackness from the sky, Tatania’s remains dissolve, and I slip back through the iridescence and into the cliff to join the others.
I am forced into speech because men of science have refused to follow my advice without knowing why. It is altogether against my will that I tell my reasons for opposing this contemplated invasion of the Antarctic—with its vast fossil hunt and its wholesale boring and melting of the ancient ice caps. And I am the more reluctant because my warning may be in vain.
“At the Mountains of Madness” . H. P. Lovecraft (1936)
ON ICE
Simon Strantzas
The bearded Frenchman landed the plane on a narrow sheet of ice as expertly as anyone could. It wasn’t smooth, and the four passengers were utterly silent as the hull shuddered and echoed and threatened to split along its riveted seams. Wendell closed his eyes so tight he saw stars, and clung to what was around him to keep from being thrown from his seat. When the plane finally slid to a stop, part of him wanted to leap up and hug not only the ground but the men around him. He didn’t, because when he finally opened his eyelids the first thing he saw was the thuggish Dogan’s disgusted smirk, and it quickly extinguished any lingering elation. Isaacs, for all his faults, was not so inhibited. Instead, he had his hands pressed together in supplication and whispered furiously under breath. It caught Dogan’s eye, and the look he and Wendell shared might have been the first time they had agreed on anything.
“The oil companies have already done a survey of Melville Island, so there shouldn’t be too many surprises ahead,” Dr. Hanson said. “However, their priority has never been fossils—except, of course, the liquid kind—and it’s unlikely they saw much while speeding across the ice on ATVs, doing damage to the strata. So we have ample exploring to do. We’ll hike inland for a day and set up base camp. From there, we’ll radiate our dig outward.”
Gauthier unloaded the plane two bags at a time, and his four passengers moved the gear to the side. They packed light—only the most essential tools and equipment—so the hike would be manageable, but seeing the bags spread across the encrusted surface, Wendell wondered if he were up to the task. It took too long to load everything on his narrow shoulders, and when he was done he suspected the pack weighed more than thirty pounds. Dr. Hanson looked invigorated by his own burden, his face a smiling crimson flush. Isaacs was the opposite, however, and visibly uncomfortable. Wendell hoped the goggle-eyed boy wouldn’t be a liability in the days ahead.
They walked across the frigid snow, and nearly an hour went by before Dr. Hanson turned and looked at the breathless entourage behind him.
“So, Wendell,” he called out, barely containing his anticipation and glee. “Have you noticed anything peculiar so far?”
Wendell glanced at both Dogan and Isaacs, but neither showed any interest in Wendell’s answer. Even Dr. Hanson seemed more concerned in hearing himself speak.
“For all the research the oil companies did here, it looks as though they made a major error in classifying the rock formations. It doesn’t really surprise me—you said they weren’t here looking for rocks. Still, they thought all these formations were the result of normal tectonic shifts—that these were normal terrestrial rocks.”
There was a pause.
“And that’s not the case?”
“No, these are aquatic rocks. The entire island is full of them.”
“And how do you account for so many aquatic rocks on an island, Wendell?”
“Lowering water levels, increased volcanic activity. The normal shifts of planetary mass. It’s unusual for something so large to be pushed up from the ocean, but the Arctic island clusters have always had some unique attributes.”
Dr. Hanson nodded sagely before catching his breath to speak.
Wendell noticed that the dribble from Hanson’s nose was opaque as it slowly froze.
“These islands have always had a sense of mystery about them. The Inuit don’t come here, which is strange enough, but they have a name for these clusters: alornerk. It means ‘the deep land.’ I don’t know where that term comes from, but some claim it has survived from the days when the island was still submerged.”
“That would mean either Melville Island only surfaced sometime in the last ten thousand years, or—”
“Or there was intelligent life in the Arctic two hundred million years before it showed up anywhere else on the planet.”
“But that’s impossible!” Dogan interrupted, startling Wendell. He looked just as confused. Dr. Hanson merely laughed excitedly. “Yes, it’s the worst kind of lazy science, isn’t it? I wouldn’t put too much stock in it.”
They fell back into a single line quickly: Dr. Hanson leading the way, then Dogan, Wendell, Isaacs, and finally the pilot, Gauthier. Wendell made a concerted effort to keep close to the front so he might hear anything Dogan and Dr. Hanson discussed, but the sound of their footsteps on the snow had a deafening and delirious effect—at times he hallucinated more sounds than could be possible. The constant crunch made him lightheaded, a problem exacerbated by the cold that worked at his temples.
But it was Isaacs who suffered the worst. Periodically, Wendell checked to see how far behind his fellow student had fallen, and to ensure he hadn’t vanished altogether. Yet Isaacs was always there, only a few feet back, fidgeting and scanning the landscape. Gauthier likely kept him in place. The two made quite a sight, and Wendell was amused by how little Gauthier did to conceal his contempt. Isaacs was a frightened rabbit in a cage. Gauthier, the snarling wolf beyond the lock.
“This feels wrong,” Isaacs whined, and Wendell did his best to pretend he hadn’t heard him. It did not dissuade Isaacs from continuing. “You can’t tell me this feels right to you guys. You can’t tell me you guys don’t feel everything closing in.”
Wendell glanced back. It was reassuring to see that even an expensive jacket couldn’t prevent Isaacs from being ravaged by the weather—his eyes bulged, his color was pale.
“Isaacs, look around. There’s not a wall or anything in sight. Nothing to box you in. The idea you feel confined—”
“I feel it, too.”
Nothing about Gauthier’s face betrayed that he’d spoken. Nevertheless, Wendell slowed to close the distance between them. Isaacs did the same, eyes wide and eager.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you feel it?” Isaacs said. “I feel it all over my body. I don’t like being here alone.”
“You aren’t alone. There are five of us, plus a plane. And Gauthier has a satellite phone, just in case. The only thing boxing you in is all your protection. You’re practically surrounded.”
“Then why are we so alone? Where are all the animals?”
“They were probably on the shore. Gauthier, we saw some birds or something when we flew over, right?”
The pilot shook his head slowly. It spooked Wendell nearly as much as Isaacs had.
“Well, I’m sure there are animals around. They’re probably hiding from us because they’re afraid.”
“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Wendell,” Isaacs said. “I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. We should get back on the plane and go.”
“Wait, did Dogan
put you guys up to this?”
The look of surprise did not seem genuine, though it was hard to be certain. Wendell wanted to press further, but he heard Dr. Hanson’s voice.
“Wendell! Isaacs! Come, you must see this!”
Wendell turned to the men before him. They looked confused. When the three reached Dr. Hanson and the visibly uncomfortable Dogan, Wendell didn’t immediately understand what the concern was. Before them lay ice, just as it lay everywhere. Dr. Hanson smiled, but it held no warmth. It was thin and quivering and echoed his uneasy eyes.
“Do you see it? Right there. On the ground. Where my foot is.” There was only ice. Wendell kneeled to get a better look, but a pair of iron hands grabbed him and yanked him back to his feet. He stumbled as Gauthier set him down.
“Don’t,” was all the pilot said.
“Are you really that much of an idiot?” Dogan asked, and Wendell felt once again the butt of some foul trick. Had it not been for Dr. Hanson’s distinct lack of humor, Wendell might have stormed off into the snow. Instead, he tamped his irritation and looked again.
He wasn’t certain how long it took, but slowly what the rest had seen resolved. Isaacs, too, spotted it before Wendell, serenading them with a litany of “oh, no,” repeated over and over. Dr. Hanson tried to help by asking everyone to back away, while Wendell wondered why no one simply told him what he was missing.
Then he realized it wasn’t him who was missing something but someone else, because trapped beneath the sheet of ice was what could only be a severed human finger.
The flesh was pale, verging on white, and beneath the clouded surface it was barely visible. Wendell inspected the hands of the party to be sure it hadn’t come from any of them.
“I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”
“It’s not going to leap out and grab you, Isaacs. Get a grip on yourself.”
“But where did it come from? Doctor Hanson, could it have come from Doctor Lansing’s party? You said they were here for a few days. Why else would they have left after finding only those three small ichthyosaur bones?”
“I asked Doctor Lansing that very question, Wendell. He simply responded by asking me how many bones beyond three I thought would be necessary to collect to prove his point. Five? Ten? Fifty? He said all he felt necessary were three to prove ichthyosaurs traveled this far north. I’ll grant you: that makes little sense, but that’s Doctor Lansing for you. Even he, however, wouldn’t be foolish enough to waste time poring over this discovery. More than likely, it was due to some accident involving the oil men here before us. There’s nothing we can do for the fellow that lost it, and we have more important discoveries to dig up, discoveries beside which this will ultimately pale. Let’s march on. We still have a journey ahead of us.”
Dr. Hanson resumed walking, Dogan trotting after him. Isaacs looked as though he was going to be sick, but before he could Gauthier shoved him.
“Keep moving. Standing too long in the open like this isn’t a good idea. You never know what’s watching.”
Wendell looked around, but all he saw were hills of ice in every direction. If anything was watching, he had no idea where it might be hiding.
Wendell couldn’t stop thinking about the finger as they continued on. Maybe it was the sound of their footsteps, or the dark beneath his parka’s hood, but he felt increasingly isolated from the group, and as they traveled he became further ensnared in thought. He’d never seen a severed body part before, and though it barely looked real beneath the ice, it still made him uncomfortable. Someone had come to Melville Island and not only lost a finger but decided to leave without it. How was that possible? Wendell shivered and tried to get his mind on other less morbid things. Like water.
Water is the world’s greatest sculptor. It is patient, careful, persistent, and over countless years it is capable of carving the largest canyons out of the hardest rock. Who knew how long it took to carve the shapes that surrounded the five of them as they walked? It was like a bizarre art gallery, full of strange smooth sculptures that few had ever seen. Wendell reached into his pocket and fished out his digital camera. As he snapped numerous photos, he realized he was the only one doing so. Dr. Hanson barely slowed his pace to acknowledge the formations, and the sight of the towering rocks left Isaacs further terrorized.
“Do you have to take pictures? Can’t we just keep going?”
“Dr. Hanson said to document everything.”
“Then why didn’t you take one of that finger?”
It was a fair point. Why hadn’t he taken that photograph?
“It’s not really part of the history of Melville Island, or the life that was here, is it?”
Isaacs shrugged, then spun around like an animal suddenly aware of a predator. Wendell stepped back.
“What is it?”
Isaacs took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Nothing. I guess.”
He wanted to say more, but despite Wendell’s prodding Isaacs remained quiet.
They trudged along the ice, keeping their heads down as they followed Dr. Hanson. He had studied the maps for months and was certain that their best bet was to set up base camp about twenty-five miles in. From that point, they could radiate their survey outward and see what they might discover.
Wendell wondered, though, if it wouldn’t have been better to remain nearer the shoreline where remnants of a water-dwelling dinosaur might be more evident. He kept his opinion private, not wanting to contradict a man capable of ending his career before it started. Which was why Wendell was both surprised and irritated when Dogan posed the same question. And even more so when he heard Dr. Hanson’s response.
“Good question, Dogan. I like that you’re thinking. It shows a real spark your fellow team could learn from. However, in this case you haven’t thought things through. Don’t forget that during the Mesozoic area we’re most interested in the Earth had yet to fully cool. Melville Island was more tropical than it is now. The greatest concentration of vertebrates will likely be farther inland. It shouldn’t take us more than a few more hours to get there.”
The thought of traveling a few more hours made Wendell’s body ache. The cold had already seeped through his insulated boots and the two layers of socks he wore inside them.
“Maybe we could stop and rest for a second? I don’t know how much longer I can carry this gear.” As Wendell spoke the words, his pack’s weight doubled in tacit agreement.
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Dr. Hanson said, and Wendell wasted no time slipping the burden off his shoulders. Immediately relieved, he then sat on the snow to give his tired feet a rest. Dr. Hanson, Isaacs, and Dogan all followed his lead. Only Gauthier remained standing, one hand on his belt, the other in his frozen beard. He looked across the horizon while the others used the moment to eat protein bars and contemplate what had led them to their seats at the top of the world.
It had been days, and over-familiarity combined with sheer exhaustion was enough to keep them quiet. No one spoke or glanced another’s way. They simply kept their heads down and tried to recuperate before the next leg of the journey. Dr. Hanson’s eyes were wide as he plotted their next steps. Isaacs experienced jitters, which continued to multiply as the group remained stationary. Dogan, however, was the opposite. With eyes closed and arms wrapped around his legs, he appeared to have fallen asleep. Until Gauthier delivered a swift kick to his ribs.
“What was—?”
The pilot shushed him quickly. Dogan, to Wendell’s astonishment, complied.
“Did any of you see that?”
They all turned. Around them was the vast icy expanse, wind pushing clouds over the snow-encrusted tundra, eddies dancing across the rough terrain. But Wendell saw nothing different from what he’d already witnessed. A glance at the other men revealed the same confusion. Wendell looked at the towering Gauthier, waiting for the answer to the question before them, but the pilot was silent. He merely continued to stare. Isaacs could not bear it. “What? What do
you see?”
“Shut up,” Gauthier hissed, and Isaacs cowered, his breathing uneven. Dr. Hanson flashed an expression that was buried so quickly Wendell didn’t have time to process it.
Gauthier raised his arm and pointed away from where they had been walking, off into the distant vastness that flanked them.
“I think something’s been tracking us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’ve been watching while you four were stumbling along, and I saw something—a shadow, keeping pace with us. It’s been there ever since we left the runway.”
“Where is it?”
“There. Do you see it? In the distance. It’s not moving now. Just a shadow. Watching us.”
Wendell squinted, but still saw nothing.
“It’s likely a polar bear,” Dr. Hanson said. “I’ve been warned they come to the island, looking for seal. No doubt he knows we’re here.”
“Should we be worried?” Isaacs asked.
“It’s not going to come after us,” Dogan said. Dr. Hanson was more hesitant.
“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far. But there’s enough of us that it should keep its distance.”
That failed to reassure Wendell. And if he wasn’t reassured, then Isaacs—
“So you’re saying a polar bear is following us, and we shouldn’t be worried? Nothing to worry about at all?”
“It’s okay, Isaacs. You’ll be okay. Gauthier, tell them not to worry.”
“Don’t worry. It’s moving now. It looks too small to be a polar bear anyway. Probably just a pack of wolves.”
It wasn’t long before they were moving again.
They successfully made it to the camp site without further report of being trailed. The lack did nothing to calm Isaac’s nerves, but Dogan reverted to his old ways, insinuating himself between Dr. Hanson and Wendell any time they might have had a moment to speak. It was infuriating.
The five of them had been awake and traveling for well over twenty hours, and as far as Wendell could tell the sun had not moved an inch. The clouds, however, were not so bound, and he suspected their speed had as much to do with Hanson’s decision to camp down as did the coordinates Dr. Lansing had provided him. The last thing Wendell wanted to do when they finally stopped walking was set up the tent, but Gauthier helped them all find the motivation through the promotion of fear.
New Cthulhu 2: More Recent Weird Page 24
