Sub-Zero

by Robert W. Walker

  “Have you seen Marie?” Tim asked immediately. “Well, no, not for awhile.” She was crestfallen. “What’s she got that I haven’t?”

  “I’d drop her in a minute for you, if I could find a way without hurting her,” teased Tim.

  “Sure!”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “Hours ago. She stayed at the switchboard when we all came up here.”

  One wall of the cafeteria was windows, but the venetian blinds had been pulled across them and the lighting in the room was dim. Occasionally the lights would flicker, threatening to go out. Tim stared trancelike through a portion of the blinds past the windows and out into the cold. He could make out falling ice and snow from the ledges along the building next door. He imagined the small avalanches adding to the piling snow about Fieldcrest. He felt like an ant captured inside a small boy’s sand castle on a beach.

  “Tim, what’s wrong with your hands?” Jackie was asking him.

  “Never mind that.”

  “We heard about Gordy and the man who was frozen to death,” began Jackie, a look of concern creasing her brow. “You don’t think something’s happened to Marie, do you?”

  “N0, I don’t think that at all,” countered Tim, reassuringly.

  “Then why isn’t she at the switchboard, or here with us?”

  “Did I say she wasn’t at the wires?”

  “You didn’t have to. You looked it when I said she was. Besides, I’ve tried to ring her down there a couple of times,” Jackie squeezed his arm. Tim stood up and shrugged, saying, “Marie could be anywhere in the building, Jackie. It’s no big deal.”

  “Yea, who knows,” answered Jackie. “I mean it’s a big place.”

  “Still worries me with what’s been going on. One reason we all came up here was because it was getting so cold down there.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll locate her.”

  Tim rushed out of the lunchroom and down the corridor leading to the elevators. His fears mounting, he pictured the elevator doors opening with Marie lying flat on her face, a knife in her back. He imagined going down to the switchboard room again and finding her there, twisted and strangled with her own headphone set, her body thrown behind some closet door, He cursed himself for not having thoroughly canvassed the room earlier, along with the hallway outside, and the whole damn floor.

  The elevator doors stared back at him. How nice it would be to see them open and find Marie smiling out at him. But it seemed the elevator would never come, and Tim looked around for the stairwell door. He rushed to it, taking long, brisk steps. Pushing the door open, he took the stairs. It was a long way down, but he felt panicky. The run would relieve some of his tension, he thought.

  He took the steps two at a time, onto each landing. He kept his breathing rhythmic, pulling air in at the nostrils, realizing there was very little of it to work with. He watched the floors, numbered in bold letters at each landing, pass by.

  But Tim’s headlong rush down the stairwell was abruptly stopped when he saw a figure ahead of him-dressed in a hooded; dark coat-rushing equally fast away from him. The person ahead was several flights down. Tim’s heart thumped. It could be Marie. Her coat was similar to the one he’d caught a glimpse of below. He began shouting.

  “Marie! Is that you?”

  Whoever it was, it was not Marie. N or did it seem to be a woman. The figure gave no response, but continued madly down the stairs and Tim thought he heard a controlled growling under the hood, like that of an animal.

  “Jesus’ Wait up will you,” Tim called out. “1 want to talk to you. I’m looking for someone.”

  But the hooded figure kept going faster down the stairs. Tim threw himself into pursuit now, realizing whoever it was, his behavior was suspect. Maybe Kennelly would like to talk to this guy, he thought.

  Just then the figure darted through a door on the 24th floor and disappeared. Tim almost passed the floor in pursuit, but realized at the last moment the door was slightly ajar when the door hissed air from its automatic hinge. Tim took the door. On the other side, however, he found only an empty hallway thrumming with some electronic noise. Near the end of a long corridor there were lights behind a door. Tim inched forward.

  22

  Tim Crocker stood before the door, where he suspected the strange man who’d given chase down the stairwell had fled. The name on the door read Benjamin J. Nevis, Ph. D., Meteorological Research. Tim had no idea that meteorology had offices way down here. Who was this Nevis fellow, he wondered. Certainly didn’t rate.

  Tim gave a tentative knock on the door and gently nudged it open. He was struck by the bright lights, contrasting so sharply with the hallway. He was amazed at the size of the room, which crossed to the outside wall and curved around the elevators, taking almost the entire floor.

  “Hello?” asked Tim, taking a step inside. “Is anyone here?”

  Tim’s eyes fell on the large wall maps and aerial photos which circled him. They were weather maps. His eye was caught by the series of maps near him, which were marked with black lines showing directions of air currents, and centers of low and high pressure areas.

  Another look around the room revealed a white haired man in a white smock, much like one worn by a doctor. He was seated at the control panel of a computer. The computer was an outmoded 4400 Xron. Tacked around it, along the corked walls, were several octagonal computer pictures. The old man seemed absorbed in one of them. Tim knew the pictures depicted current weather conditions.

  He cleared his throat as he approached the aged man whose back was toward him. “What’s the outlook?”

  The old man kept his back to Tim. He only slightly shook his head. He seemed undecided as to whether he’d heard anyone else in the room or not. He decided he hadn’t and went back to his octagonal. Tim saw it was a computer depiction of the USA., but it looked strangely different. There were no squalls of snow. Everything appeared normal. Then Tim realized there was no Florida to speak of; that, in fact, the coastline had risen several thousand feet. Coastal cities and states all over the U.S. were submerged below the sea.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Tim outright.

  The old man turned on his chair as if floating in air without the slightest noise or trace of surprise. “Long term prediction, based upon suppositions, calculations. Who are you and what do you want?”

  The old man was bearded and had friendly red cheeks and blue eyes. He was a stubby man, not more than five feet high. Somehow he reminded Tim of the mythical Santa Claus.

  “My name’s Tim, Tim Crocker. I was looking for someone. I thought he might be here. He was wearing a dark, hooded coat. Tweed, I think. You must have seen him come through here?”

  The old man stared at Tim as though he couldn’t make out what he was saying. “What is your purpose here? I don’t get many visitors.”

  Tim wondered if the old man were some lunatic relative of Fieldcrest’s and was kept on for that reason. “I’m with the Daily. Are you Dr. Nevis?”

  The white beard moved up and down quickly. Tim took the movement to mean that the man was Nevis. “I-was-look-ing-for-some-one,” began Tim, couching his words in tones a child would understand, speaking more slowly than a standing freight train. “Chasing him actually. He may be quite dangerous.”

  “Look here, young man,” blurted Nevis. “Don’t try my patience.

  No one has been in here but me. What are you up to? It’s less than two hours until air time upstairs, and I have to have this evening’s charts to Dr. Wertman by then.”

  Tim’s eyes scanned the room. It appeared empty except for him and the old man. “Wertman?” he asked, “You work with Mark Wertman?”

  “N at with him, for him,” answered Nevis, a slight irritation in his voice, “You didn’t think Wertman had all those predictions and long-range forecasts at his fingertips, did you? No. He’s much too busy a man to be bothered with details. He just shows up. I see to it he has the information he needs.”

/>   “What do you get in return?”

  “A computer room where I can work, a job,” replied the old man. “Sometimes 1 have an opportunity to do research. Not often.”

  “J thought Wertman was a real work-horse type meteorologist,” said Tim.

  “That’s the image Fieldcrest has promoted. That’s what you’re supposed to think. I didn’t know there was still one of you alive.”

  Tim looked puzzled. “One of what?”

  “A man who believes everything he sees,” laughed the old man.

  “Well, I don’t,” said Tim, still glancing about the large room, interested in the aerial photos, the large maps, and computer printouts that covered much of the walls. “What is all this stuff?”

  “I didn’t like the white, stark walls, and this stuff as you call it, this is my work.”

  “OK, but are you sure no one besides me came through that door?”

  Nevis shook his head and sighed, indicating that he was sure. “I am old, but I’m not blind.”

  Tim almost asked him how his hearing was but thought better of it. It didn’t appear possible that Nevis could be the man who Tim had chased on the stairwell. He moved very slowly, stiffly getting back on his stool before the computer console. Whoever had been on the stairs may have pushed the door open and kept running down them. He might have gone into another room on the floor. Nevis’ lights just happened to be on.

  Still, to satisfy himself, he asked Dr. Nevis if he could look around the complex room for a sign of anyone else having been there. His search turned up nothing. But he could feel the old man’s gaze upon him as he went about the room.

  As he looked about, his eyes kept going back to the many wall hangings. There was a picture of Great Britain but the English Channel was solid pack-ice. Another picture revealed that arid Australia was reduced in size with rising ocean levels, but the deserts were greener, lusher. Then his eyes were led again to America, where something struck him as odd.

  “Dr. Nevis,” began Tim as he came closer to the large map of the US, “what’s this dark spot here along the coast of California, Oregon, and Washington?” “Can’t you read a map, young man?”

  “Well, sure, a regular map.”

  “A road map, perhaps? Look here,” the old man began pointing out dark spots all over the map. “You see it is not glue or coffee stains. Read the legend.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” said Tim as the old man retreated. The legend showed a miniature of the dark spots Nevis had pointed out. Beside the spot it read, “Cold Spot.”

  “You see above, on the smaller scale, how the cold water off the Pacific Coast has increased enormously since the 1970’s?” Suddenly the old man was back and Tim started with surprise. Nevis was pointing to a group of maps near the ceiling which went all around the room. These maps each had a clearly marked date, going as far back in time as 1955. “Why do you think it’s so damn cold here these days? And this is the cause of the drought in the southwest. From Alaska to Baja, nothing but icy waters.”

  “Frightening to see. it so graphically,” said Tim.

  “That’s why these maps are kept here. Aerial photos, satellites, scare,” Ben’s voice wandered off as he shook his head. “Must not ever panic the people, they say! Fools! The people are frightened to death, or enough to kill others to survive. You’ll never see one of these, or any of my historical series on television. You might have at one time. But I think you’re too young to have been concerned in 1996.”

  “1996? You made predictions, long term predictions on the weather’?”

  “Calculations, my boy. Predictions are for sorcerers.”

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “Not to worry. I have no delicate sensibilities left, really, and as to your misworded question, yes. I made my calculations right here from FBE. I was not the only one who, after successive demonstrations of my calculations, lost my job. No indeed, even the Associate Producer was, as they say, canned!”

  “Fired? From FBE for having an opinion?” Tim said in mock horror. “It couldn’t happen!”

  The sarcasm was wasted on old Nevis who shot back, “Damn right, and it can happen to you or anyone else. That’s what worried all the others. The evidence, all my charts, my calculations were confiscated and I was booted out. I used to work elbow to elbow with those same technicians and reporters Wertman works with now.”

  “But you’re here.”

  “After twenty-four years they rehired me. I don’t know why. All I know is, I like eating better and now I do what I’m told.”

  “Who asked you to make the computer calculation I saw earlier, the one showing the U.S. half flooded by the oceans?”

  “Oh, you are nosey, aren’t you? Looking over my shoulder were you?” The old man waved his question away as soon as he said it. “You reporters haven’t changed in twenty-four years.”

  “That may be true,” began Tim, but he was immediately interrupted.

  “Right now shorelines are down drastically. Twentynine years ago they were up. The fluctuations that have occurred should only occur over thousands of years. Why do you think we’ve been hit with so many tidal waves and hurricanes? Fluctuating base levels in lakes and rivers, continually reshaping their valleys, cause floods every other year and droughts the next! Climatic zones are a thing of the past. Habitat and vegetation belts are reduced to a few areas. All manner of plant species and animals have disappeared from the face of the earth, including fresh water fish.”

  The feeling of being trapped came over Tim again as he pictured fish trapped below ice so thick no vegetation could grow beneath it for them to feed on. What the old man was saying to Tim, in his cocksure way, was frightening.

  Tim shook his head in near disbelief, “But Wertman and others say the present situation is a crazy fluctuation in an otherwise orderly world. You don’t see all this as a climatic oddity?”

  “I should not say anymore perhaps.”

  “Oh yes you should. I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  “Why? What will you do with my words? Print them?

  Make a fool of me again, as the papers did in 1996? Call me a crackpot?”

  “I just want to know the truth. I don’t believe the garbage the tube weathermen have been feeding us for years either.”

  “What will you believe then? You know the old saying, believe in something or you’ll believe in anything!” replied Ben Nevis with a chuckle. “Where else are you going to get information if not on the air waves and in newsprint? And not so often in newsprint anymore. Everyone believes what their told, so long as it’s palatable. No one wants the truth, and I’m not so old and foolish to put myself on the line again. Once burned, twice shy.”

  “What your colleagues are calling a climatic oddity, you have another name for?” asked Tim.

  The old man was silent for a long time, “Come over here, I’ll show you something, young man. Do you see this map. Here is Hudson Bay in Canada, now a perennial glacier, growing like a hungry animal, daily. We can see now with our own eyes that glaciers are not simply a product of snowcapped high-altitude mountaintops, now can’t we? The naysayers can put that in their pipe and smoke it. Now we have irrefutable evidence that glacial eyes can grow in lowland areas, and not simply creep down to lowland areas.”

  “Can you put all that in terms my readers might understand, Dr. Nevis?”

  The old man looked angry at this. He pointed to the map again. “Look here, dry sea beds, such as the English Channel, will be filled with glaciers in a few years, at the present rate at which the sea level is falling.”

  Tim stareed for some time at the area designated by the old man. Nevis continued, “This area is uninhabited now, or so we are told. It is anybody’s guess as to how many people are trapped here. Most have migrated in one form or another. You’d move off, too, after watching a great lake of this size become a glacier and then begin to encroach on your back yard. Look all about the map. Would you care to see any satell
ite shots? Newly formed barriers of water, rock or rock-hard ice, inhospitable territory turning to tundra as far south as Minnesota!”

  “Wertman says this is just a frozen lake. You say it’s a glacier. What’s the difference?” asked Tim.

  “There is a world of difference, not the least being the notion that a frozen lake will thaw. Suffice it to say that the Hudson’s water has diminished as much as the sea level has, and that the water was replaced by tons of very real ice and snow. The weight of the accumulations has spread the ice outward, started it moving.”

  “Have you got proof of that?”

  “You look but you don’t see, Mr. Reporter,” said Nevis, stepping to the next map in the row. “Here’s the same area several years; ago, and another map several years before that. Weather history in the making.”