Blue Ice Dying In The Rain

by Jim Craig

What the hell? I stood there for a moment in disbelief.

  I looked around the yard again. Did I miss something? They had to be around here somewhere. I pushed away from the door and stepped off the deck. I walked around the muddy drive looking everywhere for another place they could be. I didn’t care who I woke up anymore. Little Miss Squeaky could take a flying leap. I wanted answers and I didn’t care who got upset about it. I mean, gimme a break. What was I supposed to do, stand around in the dark growing old?

  Okay, calm down. There had to be a simple explanation. The officers would apologize and explain what happened and where they’d gone. Then we'd talk about the weather and the fog and make a plan for getting back to Seward.

  There was nothing in the yard but a generator shack, some decrepit sheds, the barn, a couple more old trucks and that little cabin which was probably a staff dorm. Its front door was locked, and I could tell it hadn’t been open for a long time. The barn’s front door stood ajar, and I looked inside to see a dark space filled with old kayaks, paddles and moldy life jackets scattered across the floor.

  I walked back to the lodge being careful to stay out of the deeper mud. I stepped back onto the deck and walked around to the back. My footsteps sounded hollow against the rotting wood flooring, and I slowed to be sure it was going to hold my weight. There were more windows along the back of the lodge and another door. But no lights inside or out.

  The back side of the building opened out over a cove and a dock down below. All I could see were the stairs headed down to the water. No lights, no people, nothing moved. There were a few boats I could barely see, tied to the old pier.

  I almost turned and left, but then I realized that if I didn’t look everywhere I’d regret it. I thought about it for another minute but then decided to explore the dock. As I descended the old staircase I tested each step along the way. The boards were loose and soft, and they moved and sagged under my weight.

  When I reached the bottom there were rubber tires cut and nailed into the sides of the pier where two fishing boats and a Zodiac bumped against them. The decks were strewn with old fishing poles and gaffes. White plastic buckets and nets lay everywhere. Moss and crusty residue clung to the sides of the fishing vessels from lack of use. They were as deserted as the rest of the place. An old shed full of more fishing gear was decaying in place, its ancient door hanging on one hinge.

  At the end of the dock I turned and looked back at the lodge. It was a good sized place, probably eight bedrooms on the second level. And downstairs a kitchen, dining room and a greatroom with big windows facing the water behind me. I turned and looked out to the west imagining the view on a clear day. Sparkling water, mountains and sunsets would make this spot a fantastic setting. On good weather days anyhow. A stone chimney filled the wall on the south end. There were no lights in any of the windows. Looking up I couldn’t even see the top of the chimney for the thick layer of fog pressing in from above.

  I climbed back up the stairs avoiding the weak and broken spots in the boards. The enormous windows mirrored my dark reflection. I tried to look through them but all the rooms through the glass were black with gloom. I moved back around the other side of the building to get to the front again watching myself in the glass as I walked by. In my dark coat and cap I looked fairly sinister. No wonder the woman upstairs hadn’t let me in. My footsteps echoed on the hollow wooden boards of the deck.

 

  Out on the driveway, I thought about knocking again, but with a glance toward the upstairs windows, I dismissed the idea and turned back for the road to the airstrip. At least I could sack out in the airplane and wait for morning. Maybe by then the officers would show up. I stopped and took one last look behind me, but nothing had changed.

  I turned and started walking down the dark road through the woods, but something made me stop again. I had the distinct sense that I was being watched. Slowly I knelt down on one knee and pretended to tie my shoe. As I fumbled with the laces, I strained to look out the corner of my eye back toward the lodge. I could have sworn I saw a movement in an upstairs window, but when I turned my head to look at it more directly, it was just as blank as it had been before.

  The bugs and other creatures of the night watched me stand up and walk back toward the airstrip. I couldn’t see them, but they couldn’t have helped noticing the twisted expression on my face or the slight shaking of my head back and forth as I walked in the dark. I’m sure I carried the bewildered look of a man without a clue.

  My leg muscles felt tired as I pushed myself up the hill, and in my mind I went back over everything I’d seen. My eyebrows scrunched together until I felt a cramp in my forehead. Confusion enveloped me. Like a pebble in a boot, it wouldn’t let me relax. It was way past my bedtime, but there I was marching along in the middle of nowhere.

  What had I missed? Had there been a path behind the barn leading somewhere else where the troopers had gone? I hadn’t seen one back there, but what other explanation could there be? And why wouldn’t that woman have known about them? That was too weird. Something was very wrong.

  The troopers were smart men, professionals obviously. If they’d returned to the plane and found me missing, they would have looked around and then decided that I must have gone to the lodge. But I still didn’t know how I could have missed them unless there was a path somewhere else that I didn’t know about.

  I must have turned back and forth three or four times making a muddy circle of confused footprints on the road before I caught myself. How ridiculous was this? A guy could get dizzy and fall on his ass trying to make up his mind.

  As if to push me into action, it started to rain. I pulled my cap lower over my eyes, pulled the fleece tighter around my neck and headed for the airplane. She was my ticket out, my backdoor. My escape. And the only dry shelter around. Besides the lodge, that is. And I wasn’t going back there. Bad vibes.

  Besides, Daniels and Rankin were probably standing there waiting for me. Great, I muttered under my breath. The cranky one, Daniels, was probably going to rip me a new one for leaving. Water was soaking through my hat and dripping down the back of my neck, so I pushed myself to walk faster feeling the moisture seeping into my shoes and wetting my feet.

  When I got back to the clearing, the airplane sat all alone right where I’d left her. There was no one anywhere around. Tucked tightly against the edge of the soggy airstrip, her white shape glimmered in the foggy darkness as I walked toward her. I studied the glass thinking maybe the officers were waiting inside, but her dark windows stared back at me as expressionless as a gutted salmon on a river bank. Heavy rain drops plunked against her hollow skin, a sodden off key concert in the night.

  Holding out hope that they were lying down inside and out of view, I reached the plane and jerked the door handle. It wasn’t to be. The cabin was empty. I stood there for a moment staring at nothing, trying to think. At least the familiar sight and smell of the seat cushions, the headphones and the instrument panel comforted me for a second.

  I thought again about flying away. Back to where the world made sense. But reality had me trapped. Fog, rain, darkness and a sense of duty held me in place like I was suspended in time. I could always fire up the engine and take off, but I wouldn’t even make it across the bay. I shuddered at the image of flying a few feet above the water in a nightmare world seeing nothing through the windshield but fog.

  I kicked at a stone next to the tire and stamped my feet on the wet ground. I needed to get warm. Standing under the wing I stared out into the night. Fatigue weighed on me like a hundred pound pack. I thought about using the sat phone to call the trooper’s dispatch office, but I didn’t have any phone numbers. The idea of struggling with a directory service through the explanations and questions overwhelmed me. Besides what was the point? There had to be a simple solution. They had to be around there somewhere. It began to rain harder.

  Finally, I shook my head and gave up the idea of waiting up. I climbed into the backseat and pulled t
he sleeping bag out of the luggage compartment. I pulled off my wet shoes and socks and rubbed my feet. The cold flesh felt clammy and numb under my stiff fingers, but it felt good to sit down. I wrapped myself inside the bag and tried to get comfortable. Grimacing at the dampness in my clothes, I threw my soggy hat into the front seat. Then I pulled off my coat and balled it up into a makeshift pillow. I laid down, hunched around into a semi-comfortable position and closed my eyes.

  There was a steady pattern of rain drops on the wings, and occasional wind gusts rocked the plane slightly. I listened for any foreign sounds or approaching footsteps, but there was nothing out there but dark. I worked at ignoring the annoying thoughts battling each other in my head. It was time to give in and get some rest. I could feel some warmth beginning to build inside the bag, and I started to relax.

  My thoughts kept flashing back to the things I’d seen since the troopers left. The candle lit apparition squeaking at me from the top of the lodge stairs. I pulled the sleeping bag up tighter around my face and squeezed my eyes shut tight in a vain attempt to block them out. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning. At least I was doing my job. What was my job? Always a good question when things got confusing. I was just the cab driver. Fly 'em in and fly 'em back out. In between you just wait. Nothing fancy, no thinking required. Just do your job. When the troopers walked up to the plane and found me sleeping inside, I would be right where I was supposed to be.

  I couldn’t do anything else. All I could do then was get warm and get some rest. Be ready to fly when the weather cleared. I pushed the knowledge away that fog like this would surely still be thick in the morning. What did I know? Maybe I would awake to clear skies and troopers ready to fly back to Seward.

  Somewhere inside I knew it wasn’t to be. My eyes kept flapping open as I studied the back of the seat in front of my face and tried to ignore the little voice telling me something was definitely wrong. I knew it, and the little voice knew it.

  I hate it when that happens.

  After a while fatigue took over. My eyes closed, my muscles relaxed and I dropped off to enjoy a long rest.

  It wasn't to be.

  CHAPTER SIX