The Melting

by Christopher Coleman

  I feel no need to defend myself to Stella, but I would be lying if said I don’t feel the tiniest of stings from her jab. If I had found a way back on the cruiser, maybe Danielle would still be alive.

  Stella looks at Pam and frowns. “Are you going to open the door or what?”

  “Okay,” Pam answers quickly, timidly, and then she unlatches the door to the cellar, pulling it up and flopping it to the floor.

  I walk over to the opening and look inside, and there, on the floor about ten feet below ground level, are Tom and James sitting against the tight, metal walls of the enclosure. Their eyes are closed and they look haggard and skinny, in dire need of a meal. I immediately note their shoes, which are not on their feet, and I quickly realize the banging was coming from them throwing the footwear up against the bottom of the cellar door. It was likely that physical strain and their cries for help that have now tired them to the point of exhaustion.

  “Jesus Christ, Stella,” I say, shooting a glare toward the woman that’s as poisonous as the thoughts in my head. I take a single step toward her, this time with aggression, and I can see the soldier to Stella’s left raise his rifle and point.

  And then I hear a voice from below.

  “She made it out.”

  I can hear immediately that it’s James, his speech weary and dry, and I move back to the opening. I have no concern for the weapon pointed at me—I assume the endgame involves me dying, though probably not like this—and I can see James is slightly less slumped than before. His eyes are still closed and his breathing is labored and slow.

  “She made it out, Dom. They tried to get her, but...” James coughs a couple of hoarse, painful coughs. “But she’s a badass.”

  I doubt Stella can understand the words James is saying, not from the distance she’s standing, but she can definitely hear that he is saying something, and I don’t want to risk him getting shot for spilling any secrets he may have, though what harm they would do at this point I can’t imagine.

  “Good James,” I whisper down. I look over at Pam, who’s standing only two or three feet from me, and I give her a stare that threatens murder. “We’ll find her, buddy. Just hang in there.”

  “What is he saying?” Stella calls down from her perch, and I can hear a trace of concern in the question.

  “He’s delirious,” I call back, and I realize that I’m not sure that isn’t the truth. “He’s dying Stella. And being in that cold pit is only going to speed that up.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  I shake my head and chuckle softly. “Man, Stella, you are quite the thespian. I mean it. I taught English literature for eight years, at the college level, and I saw lots of Shakespeare and Ibsen and O’Neill. But I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a performance like you pulled off.”

  Stella purses her lips, as if accepting my words as a compliment.

  “I mean, I always knew you were a bitch, which I’m pretty sure you knew I always knew; but I thought there might be a small pocket of decency inside you somewhere.”

  “What the hell do you know about decency?” Stella snaps, clearly fed up with my indignation, especially considering she’s the one with the guns. “How many times did you cheat on your wife, Dom? A decent amount of times? And then the woman you left her for, how decent was it of you to let her die out in the snow, ravaged by monsters?”

  “Monsters that you created,” I remind, but it lands with little effect. Still, the fact that Stella is pointing out my flaws and indiscretions as a way to justify her own brutality leads me to reconsider that perhaps at least has the remnants of a conscience; otherwise, why would she be wasting her breath?

  “If we could have conducted this experiment without anyone dying—or changing—don’t you think I would have chosen that route instead?”

  I shrug and answer honestly. “I don’t know, Stella. I have no idea what to think about you. I mean, you’re obviously evil, I just don’t know exactly how far into hell you go.”

  She rolls her eyes and shakes me off dismissively, as if my answer is a childish one.

  “Experimentation is a messy thing sometimes. Especially in this industry. And this particular experiment was simply necessary. It was the only way we could know the full impact, the global impact.”

  The more Stella reveals to me, to us, the more I know for sure she doesn’t have any intention of letting us live. “The global impact of what?”

  “Our product, Dom.”

  “Your product?”

  Stella steels her look now. “That’s right. Our product. The result of decades of work by geniuses in fields ranging from chemistry to anthropology. And unfortunately, I don’t have the time to explain it and you don’ have the capacity to understand it even if I did. No offense on that last part; it’s just that there’s a lot of advanced science involved that I fear it would sound a lot like Greek to the untrained ear.”

  I have so many questions my head is ringing, about the chemical and the explosion and the snow and the reasons for the changes. But Stella’s demeanor gives me the feeling that my time to ask questions is nearing the end, so I cut to the ones most important to me. “How are you doing this? How could you destroy so much and be able to explain it to the rest of the world?”

  Stella shrugs. “It’s not easy. Every day is a mammoth effort by our PR people to satisfy the press. But we have extremely charismatic and persuasive people in our company, people who earn a lot of money to explain things satisfactorily. But it’s also perhaps not as difficult as you might think. There are more than enough bad people in even worse countries all over the world. And plenty of their surrogates here at home. It’s hard to satisfy the details the families and the press and the politicians demand, but it isn’t hard to find someone to take the rap.”

  I shake my head, hearing the words but still not quite believing it all. “But you’ve got a whole county cordoned off. More than one county. Even if you can convince people that thousands are dead or missing, how can you keep that going?”

  “She has an army son.”

  It’s the colonel from the exit ramp. I notice his stature and facial structure the moment he steps from the shadows and past Stella. But he doesn’t remain on the scaffolding; instead, he climbs down the ladder, moving with the grace of a gymnast, despite being in what must be his late-fifties. He hops to the ground, turning towards me on the dismount.

  “It’s a fact that history has proven over and over again: people trust the military force on the ground. Even the generals and politicians in charge of that force don’t question it, at least not in the beginning. After all, what choice is there? A bomb went off in Warren County, and those of us on the scene, the elite squadron of soldiers who happened to be conducting exercises there at the time, well we’ve decided the area is no longer safe to occupy. We’re working on getting all of the names of the people affected, of course, but until then, we can’t risk allowing anyone inside. Think Chernobyl, something of that magnitude. That’s what the world envisions now when they hear Warren County. There’s a whole lot of radiation and instability inside, and that’s all people need to hear to keep as far away from this place as possible. We tried to pick a time when the fewest people would be affected, but there’s really no way to do that with an area this large.”

  “So you’re the heroes then?” I take a step forward, feeling a primal need to exert some measure of counter-masculinity. “Blame some fanatic from ten thousand miles away, and then sacrifice yourselves for the cleanup.”

  The colonel smiles a huge toothy smile that stretches temple-to-temple. “You’re damn right, son. Who else would be willing to clean up this cancer-infested cluster-fuck?”

  It’s a rhetorical question, but I shake my head, indicating that no one would.

  “And fortunately, as Ms. Wyeth alluded to, we didn’t need to search ten thousand miles. We were able to find a fanatic right here in town. Eastern European—Muslim, but with blonde hair and blue eyes. That way everyone is happy. He
’ll be as infamous as Hitler when this is over.”

  “Who are you? Where do you get this authority?”

  “It’s a long, thin chain of command, son. That’s about all I can say about it.”

  I look back to Stella. “So how does this end? What’s the point?”

  Stella nods, satisfied with the inquiry. “That question, the ‘why’ part of all of this, is the last question we ask at D&W. Our sponsor never gives us a reason, and we don’t ask for one.”

  The colonel picks up from Stella and continues the answer, as if completing the second half of a motto. “Create something new and powerful, and we’ll figure out how to use it. Those are the specs.”

  I feel nauseous and I want to sit, but instead I lean over slowly and put my hands on my knees. I keep my head up, facing forward, trying to breathe.

  The colonel takes a few more steps in our direction now, walking casually, his tight lapels and rows of medals making him look like an actor in some Vietnam drama. He steps past me and takes a quick peek into the pit, giving a mildly curious ‘Hmm,’ as if he’s seeing Tom and James for the first time in their new accommodations. He then saunters over and stops directly in front of Smalley. “Hello, specialist Smalley.”

  Smalley’s eyes get wide as she takes a swallow, and then she looks over to Jones first, then to me, and then finally to the ground.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?” the colonel asks, a bemused smile on his face.

  Smalley stays quiet.

  “I never forget my soldiers, even the ones who were under my command for as short a time as you were.”

  Smalley stays quiet.

  “And I always give my soldiers a second chance, that’s another thing my men and women know about me.” The colonel pauses and dips his chin, and a rigid, compelling stare forms beneath his brow. “We could use more bodies here, Smalley, especially those who’ve been out there, who’ve been in the fight.”

  “What the hell is going on, Smalley?” Jones asks. “You know this piece of shit? You were under his command? When?”

  For a moment, I think the colonel is going to rush Jones and snap his neck with his bare hands. I can’t imagine someone as intense as the man standing before me letting a remark like that slide. But he doesn’t react a bit.

  “This was my story, Jones,” Smalley says. “I just never told you the details. Special orders. Top secret. Orders were for peacekeeping, but I knew that was a lie. I found out what was happening three days into my tour, and then, during one of our missions into the interior, I walked away. They didn’t abandon me, I went AWOL.”

  Smalley pauses and blinks a few times, clearing her thoughts.

  “I thought since I knew the perimeter and where the snipers were that I’d be able to get us out that day. But they reinforced everything. It was my fault, Jones, it was my fault we lost all those people that day. And you don’t ever talk about it, but it was my fault. I was the one who suggested we go that direction.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Smalley. I never blamed you for a second. But...why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “I don’t know. It was stupid. The rest of you had similar stories about being left in the cordon, abandoned, so I adjusted my story. I thought otherwise you might think I was some kind of spy or something. And then it just got too far in to change. I’m sorry, Jones.”

  “We never discussed this,” Stella says to the colonel, breaking up the internal revelation between Jones and Smalley. “And we have way too many loose ends as it is.”

  I can’t know for sure, but something tells me the loose ends she’s referring to are Pam and Sydney.

  “Ah, but see that’s where you’re wrong,” the colonel says, smiling, never taking his eyes off Stephanie, who looks as humbled and uncomfortable as a prisoner of war. “Specialist Smalley is no loose end.”

  Smalley looks over at me now, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, soldier!” the colonel shouts. He’s in Smalley’s face now, spittle flying.

  Jones steps over to wedge himself between the two soldiers, and without a second’s pause, the colonel thrusts his knee into Jones’ groin, sending him to his knees with a thud. Jones keeps his back straight, despite the trauma, and I can see the butt of the pistol sticking from the small of his back.

  I’d forgotten about the gun, and to this point, no one from Stella’s team has thought to check us for weapons. I’m still adorned with the backpack containing the various supplies from the grocery store, including the knives and flares.

  “Don’t step to me, son. I don’t know where unit you’re from, but I’d suggest you never step to a ranking officer that way.”

  “Fuck you,” Jones manages, though it’s barely audible through his pain.

  Smalley meets her colonel’s eyes now, and I can see the tension that’s built up in her jaws. “Yeah, Colonel Marsh, fuck you.”

  The colonel stares coldly at Smalley and, for a moment, I think she’s about to meet a similar fate as Jones, perhaps with a backhanded slap to the face instead. But the colonel just smiles and turns back to Stella. “I guess you’re right, Ms. Wyeth, it looks like we can continue with the experiments as planned.”

  “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “What do you think, Hemingway?” the colonel asks. “Take a few guesses. I bet you’ll never get it?”

  I ignore him and stay locked on Stella. “I assume you plan on killing us, but what else? Are you going to turn us into these things?”

  “Look at that!” the colonel shouts, as if I’ve landed on a jackpot at a casino.

  “I know you’ve noticed the snow, Dominic, how it’s melting. Slowly, but it is melting. And there’s no more coming, at least not of the variety we created. And our new creations don’t do well in the warm air. You may have seen our resident example on your way through the corridor.”

  The gray creature in the office. I nod.

  “They need the snow for life. The chemical that laced the initial snowfall caused their change, but it’s the snow itself that keeps them alive. They need it, like a great white needs the salt of the ocean. But it also makes them lethargic and docile. That is until, as you know all too well, they get agitated or intrigued enough to attack.” Stella looks up and to the side, pondering. “We haven’t quite nailed down what qualifies as intriguing tot them, not yet, but we think we’re getting closer. However, we have a dilemma. A paradox I suppose.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Now that the snow is melting, they’re becoming more aggressive. They feel threatened, we think. Perhaps it’s pain, we’re not sure, and they’re lashing out in ways they haven’t to this point. They don’t need the sound of crashing glass or the approach of a person anymore, they’re just attacking.”

  “So what does any of this mean exactly? We’re all screwed, I take it?”

  “Soon the snow will melt and they’ll eventually die. But in the meantime, in that transition phase, they’re expressing the aggression that we’ve been trying to harness, the combative qualities that will be useful to our sponsor.” Stella motions to the colonel. “Therefore, in our new batch, we’re hoping to find that proper balance that will keep them alive but also aggressive, even after the snows have gone.”

  “New batch? What the hell are you talking about? You just said they’re dying? That’s what you need to let happen. Even if you kill us, Stella, you can’t do this again. How many people can you kill? And do you really think you can keep exploding bombs in small towns and explain it all away with terrorism?”

  Stella shakes her head matter-of-factly. “No. No, of course not. We’ve purchased other islands around the world—on behalf of our sponsor, naturally—and that’s where we plan to perfect things. Obviously the citizens of this country can buy this story only once. Twice would be a bridge too far, I think.”

  Stella stops again and looks to some distant spot, considering that this could happen again. Another terror at
tack, perhaps.

  “But in the meantime,” she continues, “during the melting, we can still do a lot of work here in the lab. There’s so much more to learn about their behavior, why they attack, how they change. And that’s where you come in. Though, honestly, you and your friends are a bonus, Dom. I was thinking we would just have Tom and James to work with—and Pam and Stella, of course.”

  Pam’s eyes immediately shoot wide and she begins to shake her head. “No. You said you needed us for—”

  “For what, Pam? IT. This entire place is run remotely from Headquarters. You’re here for just the purpose I’ve intimated. You always have been.”

  “My family knows I wasn’t in the blast. They know I’ve been flying in, working on the ‘cleanup.’” Pam makes the air quotes, again with the last two fingers on each hand.

  “And your family will be sad to learn of your disappearance somewhere in the interior. You were following Spence, of course. You two were sleeping together, right?”

  “No,” Sydney cries. “You can’t do this.” And as she says her last word, she turns and races toward the door that opens into the long corridor that leads out to the lobby, never looking back.

  I see the soldiers raise their guns, followed by Stella shouting, “No!”

  The two soldiers lower their weapons and shoulder them, and then race down the ladder and in the direction of Sydney. The first one takes a wide path through the office corridor, but the other takes the more direct path, coming right toward me and the open cellar.

  And that’s when I make my move.

  As the soldier reaches the start of the cellar, just as he begins to pass me, I thrust out my hip and shoulder, and catch him squarely on the right side of his body. The collision almost sends him airborne, and he careens toward the hole, flailing.

  His left foot goes in first, and he nearly drops to the bottom of the pit like a bag of sand; but as his body begins to slide down, sending him in completely, he manages to grab the ledge of the cellar with his right hand. For a moment his right foot catches the ledge as well, which would have kept him in a position to climb up, but it slowly drops in by his left, and now he’s hanging on with only his hands, his dead weight below him.