Ice Storm

by David Meyer

  I took a deep breath. "Is she going to be …?"

  "Honestly, I don't know."

  Graham grabbed my arm. "Come on."

  My heart felt heavy as I walked to the door. Just before I left, I took one last look over my shoulder.

  Beverly lay on the table. She was so stiff, so quiet.

  I left the room, closing the door behind me. There was nothing more I could do.

  It was up to Beverly now.

  Chapter 57

  Why?

  I clenched my knees to my chest. Lowered my head. Shut my eyes. Silently, I replayed the last two days in my head.

  Why didn't you look for her earlier?

  I opened my eyes. Slowly, I straightened my back until it was pressed up against the wall. I sat in the hallway, directly across from the Whitlow laboratory. I'd occupied the space ever since Holly had ordered us to leave, over two hours in total. I kept waiting for her to open one of the doors, to extend her head into the hallway, to give me news. I dreaded it and desired it at the same time. But so far, I'd heard nothing.

  Voices drifted into my ears. They came from the direction of the common room. It was Baxter and Graham, still arguing over the merits of charity. I felt a surge of anger. How could they talk about something so trivial after everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours? The Desolation had exploded. Johnny Richards had died. Jim Peterson had disappeared. Ted Ayers and Jeff Morin had perished. And now, Beverly was hovering between life and death.

  I fought hard to suppress my anger. People reacted differently to life-or-death situations. Some people cried. Others wanted solitude. And still others preferred to distract themselves with endless conversation.

  "And here's another difference," Baxter's tone suggested frustration. "Welfare is forced. But charity comes from the heart."

  "Bullshit," Graham retorted. "People donate out of guilt or to feel good about themselves. They don't care one bit about the people they're supposedly helping."

  "What about charities geared toward healthcare?" Baxter said. "Say I want to end the Muck, our local version of the flu. So, I collect money and buy drugs for the residents. What's wrong with that?"

  "You'd be treating the symptoms rather than the root cause."

  "And what's the root cause?"

  "You."

  Baxter's tone turned angry. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You're in charge of Fitzgerald, right? Well, have you seen its kitchen facilities lately? Specifically, the dishwashers?"

  "No, but —"

  "They're beyond nasty. I saw dried food particles and even some mold around their edges. Plus, I touched a few of them while they were running their cycles. They were ice cold. How do you expect to get rid of germs without hot water?" Graham snorted. "Forget about starting a charity. Just get some dishwashers that work."

  "I'm on a very tight budget," Baxter said stiffly.

  No doubt. After all, you've got to keep paying the tab for Fitzgerald's nightclub."

  They continued to fight, throwing out arguments and counter-arguments at a furious pace. It was enough to make my head hurt.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of disinfectant. My throat felt parched. My stomach growled. But I still didn't leave my vigil.

  My guilt surged again. I should've gone looking for Beverly the moment I'd arrived in Antarctica. Instead, I'd stalled, hoping to delay the inevitable. It wasn't that I didn't want to see her again. I just wasn't sure how to handle our reunion.

  After all, our relationship wasn't exactly an easy one. We'd fought together under New York's busy streets and yet she'd stolen a gigantic treasure from me less than a week later. She'd vanished without saying goodbye and yet she'd left a trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow. All in all, her actions confused the hell out of me.

  Graham lifted his voice a couple of notches. Baxter's voice got louder in response. I tried to ignore them. But I found myself distracted by Graham's words. Not the words themselves but rather, how he said them. He spoke with passion, conviction. He didn't seem overly concerned with winning the debate. I got the feeling he just enjoyed being a part of it.

  "What about charities that teach job skills?" Baxter asked. "You know the old saying. Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

  "Charities don't know a damn thing about job training," Graham replied. "Better for people to find jobs first."

  "Ahh." Baxter's voice took on a note of triumph. "Don't you see? How can people find jobs if they lack skills? It's a Catch-22."

  "Only in your imagination." Graham paused. "Liza told me she gave up on biology. She said she helps you run Kirby these days."

  Baxter's voice tightened. "Leave her out of this."

  "Managing a station requires a different skill set than biology. Where'd she get those skills? Did a charity teach them to her?"

  "That's different."

  "How?"

  "It just is."

  I tried to remember the last time I'd heard Graham so engaged with another person besides myself. He'd never married and while he'd dated, his relationships had always been fleeting. His old-school views had made him an outcast at the Explorer's Society. His long-time friends were either dead or living elsewhere. A sad realization occurred to me.

  He was lonely.

  I pulled my knees to my chest. Wrapped my arms around them. Beverly must've been lonely too. She'd spent almost two full days by herself in the middle of a vast, lifeless terrain. And all the while, I'd pretended she didn't exist. The very thought made my stomach churn.

  Guilt won't help her.

  I steeled my nerves. Forced myself to shut down the guilt. There was no point in dredging up past mistakes. I had to focus on my future, her future. Our future.

  "Here's a question for you," Baxter said. "One of your close friends—let's make it Cy—has gotten himself into trouble. Someone wants to kill him. What do you do?"

  It was Graham's turn to become defensive. "That's a stupid question. I'd do whatever it took to save him."

  "Of course you would." Baxter paused. "That's a form of charity."

  "No, it's not. It's sticking up for a friend."

  I wasn't sure I saw the difference. But Graham certainly did. I could see now why he was worried about death. Most religions promoted charity and turn-the-other-cheek pacifism. Graham believed in capitalism and slap-back resistance.

  I half-listened to them for the next few minutes. None of their arguments were new to me. I'd heard them all dozens of times among dozens of different groups. However, this time was somehow different. Their debate got me thinking about death, about the afterlife.

  What happened after death? What happened to our souls? Did we even have souls? Or were we just gene machines, sans ghosts?

  Science versus religion. It was an age-old battle. Religion was the entrenched powerhouse. But science was on the attack. Religion couldn't do much about it. It was forced to fight without evidence. Ultimately, faith in a Higher Power required a suspension of disbelief, not all that different than what was necessitated to trust in aliens, ghosts, or psychics.

  My eyelids started to droop. I was tired. Hell, I was exhausted.

  I lowered my head to my arms. Started a quick prayer for Beverly. For her life, for her soul. I did everything in my power to stay awake, to force my brain to get the words out. But I kept nodding off.

  My head tipped further.

  My thoughts vanished.

  And I drifted away into restless sleep.

  Chapter 58

  The door creaked. I spun around and watched ten people march into the room. They quickly split apart and took seats at the long table. They were white, old, rich, and male, hardly the picture of diversity. But it wasn't a racist thing or even a sexist thing, at least not anymore. It was a constancy thing. Each person in that room had faithfully served on the Board of Directors for decades.

  Andrew Zyler strode to the head of th
e table. For a full minute, he meticulously cleaned his thick glasses. Then he used the handkerchief to wipe sweat from his shaved head. "Hello, gentlemen."

  Without fanfare, Graham threw himself into one of the leather chairs. I cringed as it scraped against the table.

  I looked around for an open seat and spotted one opposite from Zyler. The leather squelched gently as I sat down in it. "Hi, Andrew."

  "Thank you for coming here today." His smile was thin. Then again it was always thin. "We appreciate your presence."

  Graham leaned back. "Why are we here, Andy?"

  "For the last few weeks, the Board has been secretly evaluating Mr. Reed. We decided to keep you in the dark due to your many years of friendship."

  I didn't like the sound of that.

  Zyler glanced at me. "It's our understanding that you consider yourself a private archaeologist."

  "That's correct," I replied.

  "For the sake of simplicity, let's call it what it is. Treasure hunting. For the last three years, you've crisscrossed the globe. Exact details of your digs are unknown. However, you've managed to flout pretty much every antiquities law ever written."

  "I can explain that."

  "Please do."

  "Antiquities laws are wrongheaded," I said. "They can't stop demand. As long as wealthy collectors exist, people will supply them with artifacts. Antiquities laws merely drive the activity underground, into the hands of criminals."

  "Couldn't you make the same argument about murder-for-hire? Laws don't stop people from wanting to kill other people. They merely drive the activity underground."

  I arched an eyebrow. "You're comparing me to a murderer?"

  He shrugged.

  "Treasure hunting is a victimless crime," I said. "It hurts no one."

  "Except history," Zyler retorted.

  "In its current form, yes." Beads of sweat bubbled up on my forehead. "But if it were legalized, the criminal element would melt away. With lower risks come lower profits. In order to get full value for their work, treasure hunters would have to fully exploit dig sites. In other words, they'd have to adopt the same techniques used by archaeologists."

  "I understand your point. It's debatable, but I understand it. However, the law is the law."

  "Some laws are meant to be broken. Don't forget, Dr. Martin Luther King was once considered a lawbreaker."

  It was Zyler's turn to arch an eyebrow. "You and Dr. King? Now, who's making the exaggerated comparison?"

  The sweat dripped down my cheeks. "Dr. King recognized some laws aren't just bad. They're illegitimate."

  Zyler nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. We're curious about your work. Could you walk us through your most recent excavation?"

  "I wish I could," I said. "But given the current state of antiquities laws, I make it a rule not to talk specifics."

  He stared at me for a long moment. "We know you've traveled the world for three years. We know you've visited a dozen different countries during that time. But we have no idea what you actually did in those countries. We'd just like a little insight into your activities."

  "I'm happy to speak in generalities."

  "Are you sure you can't just walk us through a single excavation?"

  "I'm sure."

  "Well, I have enough information to make my decision then." Zyler straightened up. "It's my unfortunate responsibility to tell you we've decided to revoke your membership in the Explorer's Society."

  "What the hell?" Graham leapt out of his chair. "Cy's been a part of this organization since he was a kid. If anyone deserves membership, it's him."

  "Please calm down, Dutch."

  "Screw you, Andy."

  For as long as I could remember, the Explorer's Society had been a second home to me. I could barely contemplate life without it. "Why?" I asked numbly. "Because I'm a treasure hunter?"

  "I like you, Cy," Zyler said. "I think that goes for everyone here. And while I don't agree with your career choice, I don't hold it against you either. All else being equal, I'd gladly overlook it."

  Graham slapped his palm against the table. "Then what the hell is this about?"

  "Our ranks include some of the greatest explorers in history. People who visited the far corners of the Earth, discovered new things, published works, and increased the general knowledge." Zyler looked me square in the eye. "You have zero books and articles to your name. What exactly have you done to improve our understanding of the world?"

  My stomach started to hurt. "How do I change this?"

  "As far as we're concerned, you've got a blank résumé. So, your best bet is to grind it out, join a few digs, get your name on some papers. I suppose you could also take a shortcut. You could do something big, something spectacular. It's really up to you."

  Zyler stepped away from the table. Adopting a quick pace, he exited the room. The other men followed him out.

  I sat still for a full minute, replaying the conversation in my head. Surprisingly, I realized the worst part wasn't the revocation of my membership.

  The worst part was I agreed with the decision.

  Chapter 59

  "Roy?" Holly cracked the door. "What do you want?"

  "Couldn't sleep. So, I figured I'd check on our patient." Roy Savala produced a cup of coffee. "Want some? It's cold, but chock full of caffeine."

  Holly took the cup. "Thanks."

  Roy tried to push past her. "So, how is she?"

  Holly blocked his path. "I don't know yet.”

  "Do you need help?"

  "No thanks."

  Savala cursed under his breath. It was one thing to kill Beverly. Her death—assuming he staged it right—would be attributed to her injuries. But Holly was a different matter. "Are you sure?"

  She gave him a skeptical look. "When did you start caring about other people?"

  "Look, I'm just trying to be nice here. Do you need help or not?"

  "I'll be fine." Holly shut the door.

  Roy turned away, barely concealing the sneer on his face. He saw Reed leaning against the wall, fast asleep. A deep frown was etched across the man's face. It looked like he was in the middle of a nightmare.

  Roy felt a brief moment of sympathy toward Reed. But he quickly quashed it. There were only two possible outcomes of the present situation. Either Beverly died or his secret would be exposed.

  And he'd do anything to protect his secret.

  Chapter 60

  "Cy?"

  Holly's voice penetrated my brain like a bolt of lightening. My eyes shot open. I lifted my chin. The left-side door was opened a couple of inches. Her face jutted out into the hallway.

  I tried to read her expression, but it proved impenetrable. "What time is it?"

  She checked her watch. "It's four in the morning."

  "How is Beverly?"

  "Still unconscious."

  I cringed. It wasn't great news. But it could've been worse.

  "On the bright side, she's warming up."

  I looked at her face. Met her eyes. "Give it to me straight."

  "Well, it's still touch and go." Holly smiled. "But she's turned the corner. I think she's going to make it."

  Chapter 61

  Roy Savala snuck down the hallway. He stopped just outside the laboratory. Quietly, he rubbed his hands together. Kirby's windows and doors were shut. But cold air continued to seep into the powerless building.

  He nodded at his brother. Then he opened the door. Several candles flickered gently in the darkness, illuminating the entire laboratory. He slid into the room. He waited for Ben to follow him inside. Then he quietly shut the door.

  After Beverly's rescue, he'd called Ben back to Kirby. They'd waited in the common room all night, sitting in the darkest corner. It had taken hours but their persistence had paid off when Reed and Holly walked into the kitchen area. The two of them had looked tired but cheery. It didn't take long for Roy to realize Beverly was going to be okay.

  He'd waited until they were totally distracted. Then
he and Ben had snuck past them and darted down the hallway. No one had seen them. No one would see them. The Ice Pyramid would remain a secret.

  He cast his eyes from side to side. It didn't take him long to spot Beverly Ginger. She lay on a long table. A mattress, probably dragged in from one of the empty rooms, supported her weight. A soft pillow rested under her head.

  Roy stood still for a couple of minutes. He listened to her soft breaths. He inhaled the scent of her blood. He tasted disinfectant and other chemicals in the air.

  He walked to her side. He felt bad about killing her. She didn't deserve to die. But he didn't have a choice. The Ice Pyramid was too important. He couldn't allow her to reveal its existence to the world.

  He picked up a pillow. He lingered for a moment.

  Then he pushed it into her face.

  Chapter 62

  Beverly couldn't breathe.

  It was strong, way too strong. It pinned her down, crushed her under its giant body. She thrust in every possible direction. But she couldn't escape it.

  Snow swirled around her. It completely engulfed her, blocking her vision. Then it parted. She got a brief glimpse of the beast.

  It lunged at her. She lifted her left arm, shoved it against the beast's throat. It grunted. Its gnashing teeth halted just inches from her neck.

  What in God's name was it? She couldn't tell. It was moving far too fast.

  Her lungs starved for air. She pushed her arm, driving the beast back a few inches. Then she coiled up her other arm and balled up her fist. With a sudden movement, she unleashed it. Her fist soared upward. It sank into a soft belly. The beast winced. Its eyes watered. Lifting its head, it sucked at the air.

  For a split second, the heavy weight on her body vanished. Beverly tried to scramble away. But the beast was too quick. It fell back on top of her, smothering her beneath its massive weight.

  She tried to breathe. But she couldn't fill her lungs.

  The beast pushed down on her, forcing more air out of her body.

  She saw hints of blackness. Swiftly, she formed another fist.