Fire the Depths

by Peter Lerangis

  “What’s weird?” Alex said.

  She boosted him higher, and Max peered inside. His palms rested on a square section of rock that was now pushed down. “It looks like someone cut a section of this rock into a square,” Max said. “And when I touched it, it moved downward into the surface. Like some kind of button.”

  “This place is giving me the creeps,” Alex said.

  Max grabbed the flashlight and shone it inward. The hole was about two feet deep. Against the back was a tennis-ball-size chunk of some rocky substance that gave off pinpoints of reflected light. Max reached deeper and closed his fingers around it. It had the uneven roundness of a rock, but the sharpness of metal. “Got it,” he said, pulling it toward him. “This thing is incredibly heavy.”

  He braced his elbows on the slightly depressed square section of rock.

  It moved again. Deeper down.

  With a click, a section of the wall below thrust out directly into Max’s chest. He and Alex fell backward, sprawling onto the ground. The heavy little rock thumped to the ground, and the flashlight clattered away from them.

  Max scrambled to grab the light. It was pointing directly at the rock.

  Close up, the thing was even stranger looking—solid black and studded with metallic shards. As he scooped it up, he saw something attached to the back of it, a rope that was yellowed with age and partially gnawed through. “It looked like they wanted to keep this in place, and I broke the security mechanism. Which was a rope.”

  “I guess it’s valuable,” Alex said.

  Max heard a distant rumble outside. “What was that?”

  “Thunder?” Alex said. “I don’t know. Come over here, Max. Look at this wall!”

  Max swung the flashlight around. A small square in the wall had popped open like the drawer in a filing cabinet. That’s what had knocked them over. With a gulp, Max reached inside and pulled out a thick pile of folded cloth. It smelled of mildew, and it cracked as he unfolded it.

  Inside was a small leather-bound volume. A rusted metal key slipped off the top of it and fell to the ground.

  Max stooped to pick it up. It was clunky, heavy, and old-fashioned. “What’s this to?”

  “Maybe the note explains,” Alex said.

  Max shone the light over her shoulder as she opened the little book. The text was French. Max’s heart raced as Alex began to read:

  “‘The Lost Treasures, Part Three,’” she said. “Weird. There’s something written across the top of the page in all caps. He never writes in all caps.”

  “What’s it say?”

  Alex continued: “‘WARNING! BEFORE CONTINUING TO READ FURTHER, TAKE NOTE: DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES REMOVE METEORITE FROM ITS PLACE.’”

  “Meteorite?” Max said.

  Alex scratched her head. “Météore. I’m pretty sure that’s what the word means.”

  “If he didn’t want us to remove it, why did he put it there in the first place?” Max asked.

  “Unless someone else did,” Alex said. “Max, you pressed down on some kind of mechanism that opened the drawer, right?”

  Max nodded. “Yup. Twice.”

  “You didn’t put enough weight on it the first time,” Alex said. “Verne must have meant for you to read the note first.”

  “Okay, so we took the meteorite, big deal,” Max said. “We can put it back.”

  Another boom resounded, this one louder and closer than the other.

  Max felt his blood running as cold as the air outside. He spun around and shone his flashlight on the dense, heavy, metal-studded rock.

  And its broken tether.

  “Or maybe,” he said with a gulp, “we can’t.”

  30

  SPENCER Niemand hated climbing. It taxed the knees and weakened the spirit.

  Stairs, he thought, should be seen and not taken. And if God had meant for humans to live among hills, he would have made them goats.

  Never in his life did he expect to be trudging up Mount Wretched in Nowhere, Greenland, against the driving snow. In the company of Basile the Insult Oaf.

  Necessity, however, was the mother of torture.

  No human being in his or her right mind would choose to endure this. Certainly no children would, unless they had a good reason. Which is why Niemand had taken it so seriously when he’d seen the two little thieves sneaking off this way.

  “A bit of a chill, eh?” Basile cried out.

  “Chill? I’ll be lucky if I survive this with any facial skin left!” Niemand shouted.

  “Then it would be an improvement!” Basile said.

  He did not have the energy to respond. Basile would pay for this later.

  The going was molasses slow. Basile, to his credit, was an expert climber. He had scaled the seven highest peaks on seven continents. He had a coil of rope around his shoulders and a pickax tucked into his ample waist. He knew how to navigate. And he knew how to use a flashlight.

  “Watch your step here!” the big man called out, focusing his light on one section of the narrow path, just ahead. “Oh, dear. Oh, blast it . . . !”

  Niemand nearly collided with the cheeky beast of a man, who had decided to stop short. “What is it, Basile?”

  “Looks like one of them may have gone over!” In the beam of his flashlight, the footsteps veered abruptly over the edge.

  “You say this as if it’s a bad thing,” Niemand said.

  Basile turned. Ice had gathered on his brows, lashes, and beard, and the venom in his glance made him look like Santa’s secret devil. “This weather must make you feel toasty warm,” he said, “because your heart is at absolute zero.”

  “Yes, where it is enjoying a nice cup of tea with your brain.” Thunder boomed in the distance, and Niemand felt the ground shake. “Now stop the chatter and get us up there.”

  Basile thrust his pickax into a crag in the stone cliff face. “Hold onto this as you pass,” he said.

  After clearing the narrow, partially collapsed section of path, they found that the upward climb leveled a bit. The path widened slightly. Basile picked up the pace—and not a moment too soon, as another deep rumble shook the earth.

  This one was closer. It brought both men to their knees. A sound came to them in the wind, the likes of which Niemand had never heard. It was not an explosion exactly, but a distant stuttering roar, like an avalanche.

  “Hurry!” Niemand shouted.

  “We’re almost there!” Basile replied.

  Niemand looked up. Not far above them, maybe another twenty yards, was the mouth of the cave. Footsteps led into it—that was clear. What wasn’t clear was whether they belonged to one person or two.

  He had to admit, he was grateful that at least one of them was alive.

  He did have a soft spot for children.

  31

  “MAX, where are you?” Alex’s voice shouted into the darkness.

  The third boom had knocked Max off his feet and jarred the flashlight from his hand. He felt around for it and came up with only a battery. “The flashlight’s broken!” he called out.

  Alex’s hand grasped his arm. She pulled him toward the cave entrance, where there was more light. “I moved it,” Max said. “The meteorite. It had some kind of cable attached—and I broke it! Jules Verne said not to do it, and I did—and look what happened!”

  “So the meteorite was attached to explosives?” Alex said. “Who would do something like that?”

  From the distance came a low, extended rumble. “I don’t know,” Max said. “But I don’t want to stay here. We have the book. Let’s get back to town and read it. Come on.”

  As they scrabbled to their feet, Max spotted the outline of the meteorite on the ground. He scooped it up and stuck it in the pocket of his coat, which made the coat sag practically to his knees.

  Alex was already back out on the entrance ledge. The wind had kicked up another notch. It pummeled Max’s face. He had to close his eyes against it. “How are we going to do this without a flashlight?”r />
  “Very, very carefully!” Alex shouted. “There’s still some sunlight.”

  As they stepped toward the path, Max heard a strange, distant hissing noise. It grew steadily louder as they walked. One moment it seemed to be coming from behind them, another moment from below.

  “What is that?” Alex cried out.

  “I don’t kn— ”

  Before the word left his mouth, the hiss became an unmistakable roar. Far below them, the sea surged from the south. It was clogged with stacks of ice, jagged blocks of ice. The floes fought and tumbled and smashed each other to pieces, as if they were racing to the bay. A sound welled upward like a shrieking choir as blocks of ice scraped against one another. Waves pummeled the shore. Shattered ice plumed into the sky and landed in a brittle clatter like spilled bones.

  From their vantage point, Max could see the front of the swell heading toward the peaceful cove of Piuli Point. “Alex, we can’t do this!” Max said. “Maybe we should stay in the cave until this passes!”

  Alex took a deep, indecisive breath. Her feet were glued to the path, her eyes fixed on the destruction below.

  And that was when Max saw the shadows moving beneath her, coming slowly up the path. The hair on the back of his neck felt like needles of ice. “Alex!”

  He grabbed her arm. She lost her balance, stumbling toward the edge of the path, but Max held tight. “Max, what are you doing?” she cried out.

  A voice called up from below in the semidarkness. The sound of it chilled Max more than the weather.

  “Is this the party?” said Spencer Niemand. “I brought the ice.”

  “What are you doing here?” Max shouted. “How did you find us?”

  Niemand smiled. “A little puffin told us.”

  If it weren’t for Basile’s flashlight, Max was sure he’d be dead.

  The big guy was very patient about turning to illuminate the edges of the path as the four of them hiked downward.

  The wind was still stiff and punishing. But the thundering explosions had stopped, and the raging water was beginning to slow. Packs of ice were forming, melding together, splitting off. They floated into the bay in new formations, turning, smacking against moored boats. Max had seen at least three of those boats capsize.

  “You have made some idiotic calls, Stinky!” Basile said. “But climbing down this path right now? That bloody well tops them all.”

  “Just do your job!” Niemand insisted. “And remember, you’re responsible for three other souls!”

  “Two if you’re counting souls!” Basile shot back. “Two plus twenty-three if you’re counting egos. Now be careful here. This is the place where someone slipped.”

  “Me!” Max shouted.

  “Right. Everyone grab on to the pickax for support.”

  Max heard a metallic chink as Basile dug the pickax into a rock fissure.

  Basile went first, then Niemand. Max clung tightly to the ax handle, using it to support his weight as he leaped across the bad section. He nearly came down on a small chunk of ice that must have been blown up onto the path from the turmoil below.

  He felt Basile’s arms grab hold of him from behind, to keep him from falling.

  “Are you all right, lad?” Basile asked.

  “Y-Y-Yes,” Max replied. “Thanks.”

  “Everyone be careful of the ice!” the big man announced, kicking the chunk off the ledge. “The closer we get to the bottom, the more of these we’ll see. They’re being blown up here by the wind!”

  Alex was the last to get over the rough spot. As they all moved forward, she shouted, “What do I do with the ax?”

  “Sorry?” Basile shouted over his shoulder. “I can’t hear in this blasted wind!”

  “The pickax!” Alex shouted back.

  “Leave it!” Basile bellowed. “I don’t think we’ll need it from here.”

  “Nonsense!” Niemand snapped. “We can use it back on the Conch!”

  Basile stopped and turned around. “What?”

  “We’ll need it on the Conch!” Niemand repeated. “I say we get it!”

  “Look down there, for heaven’s sake—there will be no Conch if it gets clobbered by one of those bergs!”

  As Basile stepped backward, his foot came down on another loose ice chunk.

  Max saw the big man’s body teeter. He watched Basile’s left hand trying to grasp on to the rock wall. He heard him shout “Bloody ice!” followed by a sharp skidding noise as the ice chunk shot away from under his foot.

  And then came the scream—deep, raw, animal-like—as Basile fell off the ledge and into the teeming white mass below.

  32

  MAX’S stomach lurched up into his throat. Behind him, Alex was screaming. Even Niemand seemed shocked.

  He had to turn away. This was impossible. Not Basile.

  He heard no special splash, no last cry of terror. The sea below was a chaos of foam and spindrift, a wash of white into which the big, blustery guy had simply disappeared. Like a rock or a meteorite. Like a shrug of nature.

  And that was the biggest horror of all.

  Max felt his back smack up against the rock wall. As he began to sob, Alex took his hand, and he let her. Neither wanted to let go, so they stayed there, battered by the wind, for what felt like a year.

  It wasn’t until they heard the blast of a distant siren that Max opened his eyes. He could see that a fire had broken out in the village of Piuli Point. The dock was flooded, and boats were floating in the streets.

  Max looked down the path. Spencer Niemand was making his way slowly. He was using his own flashlight. “Why didn’t he tell us he had one of those?”

  “He wanted Basile to do all the work,” Alex said.

  Max took a deep breath. The shock of Basile’s death was hardening inside him. It was transforming into a rage that filled his nostrils with the smell of cat pee until his entire brain felt toxic. Silently, slowly, they made their way down the path. The wind sprayed splinters of ice against Max’s face. It battered his ears. But none of that was as painful as the image that kept repeating itself over and over in his brain—Basile being swallowed up in whiteness.

  He felt numb. At least twice he tripped on the path. By the time they got to the bottom, he could not feel his toes.

  “We got here by snowmobile!” Niemand shouted. “Follow me!”

  For a moment, looking around, Max was convinced they’d come down the wrong path. The area here looked nothing like it had when they’d started. Where there had been a long slope down to a rocky shore, now a swell of seawater churned and spat. Ice-choked and thick, the surf raced upward against gravity, then pulled back with a hollow roar.

  Max, Alex, and Niemand stayed close to the base of the peak, trudging slowly back the way they had come. The numbness in his toes made Max’s steps clumsy and uneven.

  As the elephant ridge curved sharply inland, the ground angled uphill. They followed the curve, heading for the field they’d crossed a couple of hours ago. Here the terrain became more familiar, the wind weaker.

  Now the sun’s crown was just visible above the horizon. In its dull glow, a snowmobile waited on the crest of the hill. Niemand wiped off some of the snow that had piled on it, and he beckoned them to get in.

  His face seemed brittle and gray, and Max had a great urge to spit in it. The idea of riding in the same vehicle with Niemand made his stomach turn. But his toes were frigid and his cheeks felt like they were cracking. Under the circumstances, getting as far away as fast as possible seemed like a great idea.

  He strapped himself in next to Alex. It would be a tight squeeze with three people, and she scooted over to make room for Niemand. “I hope you’re happy with yourselves,” Niemand said through chattering teeth. “We will need to hire a new captain, and if you think that’s easy in this godforsaken wilderness—”

  Alex had had enough. “Your friend just died, Niemand. Before your eyes. Before ours. He did it trying to keep us safe. And all you can think about is what a
n inconvenience it is for you!”

  Niemand was walking around behind them now. Max heard a click and a creak as he opened a small storage area in the rear of the snowmobile. “I grieve in my own way,” Niemand said. “And in case you’re worried, I promise I shall grieve for you equally.”

  “You won’t have the chance,” Alex said. “You’ll go way before we do, and I will be the first to dance on your grave.”

  “Oh?” came Niemand’s voice. “Don’t be so sure.”

  Max felt something drop down over his head from above.

  A rope, thick and stiff, pressed tight against his and Alex’s chests. Before they could react, it pinned them against the back of the seat. With their thick coats and gloves, Max and Alex could barely move. “Cozy?” Niemand asked.

  “What are you doing?” Alex demanded.

  Ignoring her, Niemand kept wrapping the rope. He circled it around each of them individually. He tied it down to various places on the snowmobile. Each turn held them tighter in place.

  “This is nuts!” Alex yelled, struggling against the binding. “Are you afraid we’ll jump off on the way back? We have nowhere to go! Don’t do this. I thought you didn’t hurt children.”

  “I smell fish I smell fish I smell fish . . .” Max murmured.

  “Of course you do.” Niemand’s breaths made frigid puffs as he leaned against the side of the snowmobile. “You have been very useful to me. You should be proud of yourselves.”

  He reached into Max’s pocket, quickly yanking out the meteorite. “Do you have anything else for me?”

  “No,” Alex said.

  “You want to live, don’t you?”

  Alex glared at him. “Left jacket pocket.”

  Niemand reached in and pulled out a small leather- bound volume. He opened it and smiled. “French is such a daunting language,” he said, quickly pocketing it with one hand and holding the meteorite high with the other.

  He stared at the dangling, broken fuse. “Well, doesn’t this just get curiouser and curiouser . . . ?”

  “Okay, you have what you need,” Alex said. “Happy? Now unwrap us, and let’s get back.”