The Valley

by Rick Jones

  In the end, the people loved the show and wanted more.

  And no one cared where they got the contestants to fill the gladiatorial arenas, or the killing fields of a make-believe war, or so-called documentaries reenacting the events live as to what really went on in the Death camps during World War II, as long as the shows provided a level of gripping entertainment.

  Ben and Cheryl shut off the TV set and went out on the balcony of their accommodated suite to watch the last streamers of sunset dwindle.

  Neither said a word.

  They just knew.

  The world had finally lost its sense of humanity.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of Beneath The Mantle: A Lost World Adventure.

  Chapter 1

  He couldn’t stop smiling. “Look! I found penguins,” Stuart said. He raised his camera and zoomed in, holding his camera as still as possible, and wishing he had brought one of his tripods with him. These were the first penguins he had ever seen outside of a zoo. “They dressed up for us too,” he added. “Put on tuxes and everything.”

  “Nice camera,” a soft voice said beside him. Keshav, the English chap who was there with his wife on their honeymoon, stood beside him. Keshav wore his saffron orange turban, a warm beard covered his face, and a point and shoot dangled on his chest. He reached for Stuart’s Sony. “Mind if I take a look?”

  Stuart hesitated. “Actually, it’s a very expensive camera,” he explained. “I’m more comfortable keeping it in my own hands.”

  Keshav laughed. “Fair enough, mate.” He raised his own camera and began to snap photos.

  With the low resolution of a point-and-shoot, Stuart wasn’t sure why he bothered. There were much better photos on the internet already.

  The penguins sat on something like a small frozen island or the tip of an iceberg. There were three of them, and while they didn’t do anything interesting, two slept, and the third groomed himself under his armpit, they were indisputably real wildlife. It made the high cost of this cruise already seem more reasonable.

  “Do you know what kind of penguins these are?” Keshav asked while he took blurry photos without regard for aperture or framing.

  Stuart had to resist the impulse to lecture him on the merits of mirrorless. He reminded himself that not everyone was here to blog or on a six-month trip around the world.

  “They’re Gentoo, I think,” Stuart said. “I’ve been researching for my blog.”

  “They’re Adelie penguins,” interrupted a voice. They were joined by Harper Gomez, the paleontologist who had been to Antarctica before. “You can tell from the white ring around their eyes.”

  Keshav nodded. “Thank you, Doctor Gomez.” Keshav Sing was a tall, well-mannered man. His accent sounded of the Midlands, not the Punjab.

  “Ah, I wasn’t quite sure,” Stuart said to the doctor.

  She ignored him. Had been since two nights ago.

  “And where’s Baruna?” she asked.

  Keshav waggled his head ever-so-slightly. “She’s feeling a bit ill. Never been on a ship before, and although the Pantheon is quite large, she can still feel the sea.”

  This bored him, and Stuart stopped listening as he snapped more photos. Not many bloggers had been to Antarctica, and he could really break into the business this way. He started to write the post in his head. Today I saw … Shit. What was a group of penguins called? A colony? A pack? A pride? Something he’d have to check back in his room, if the Wi-Fi actually worked yet. It hadn’t so far, which annoyed the piss out of him, because he had paid quite a lot of money to join this cruise.

  Keshav said goodbye; he had to check in on poor seasick Baruna. He left, and only Harper and Stuart remained along the rail by the grey sea. It was his chance.

  “Harper?” he said. His voice sounded more tentative than he intended. “I mean, Doctor Gomez, if you’d prefer.”

  She already had walked away. But she stopped, turned around to face him. Her nose was too big for her face, and her light brown hair badly needed highlights. Stuart refrained from telling her that though. People didn’t appreciate good advice. Besides, she was mostly beautiful; tall and tan and lithe. Intelligent of course: she was a doctor. Just now, however, her face had the vaguely pained expression of someone removing a splinter. “To be quite honest, I’d prefer you didn’t talk to me at all.”

  “Listen, about what happened in Ushuaia.”

  “Nothing happened in Ushuaia,” she instantly corrected him.

  “I was too drunk and too excited. Trip of a lifetime, right? I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, as if by doing so she could establish his sincerity.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again.

  She sighed. “Fine. I’ll write it off as a youthful indiscretion. You’re not the first guy to kiss me when I wasn’t looking, believe it or not.”

  Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew wide as she stared behind Stuart, toward the sea.

  “The mist,” she said. “It’s coming in fast.”

  Stuart whirled around. The penguins were gone, hidden in the depths of the fog. The place they napped, be it land or glacier, had likewise disappeared. A wind blew in, cold and biting, and they both shivered. Stuart had grown up in Winnipeg, and he knew a thing or two about winter weather, but this was something else. This was a chilling attack, a frozen challenge from the depths of Antarctica.

  “The captain said we’d have sunny weather until tomorrow,” Stuart said. He needed to get his hat and gloves soon.

  “Welcome to the Drake Passage,” Doctor Gomez said. “It’s unpredictable and chaotic. Things get real weird here.”

  She was about to leave. “Do you want to have dinner tonight?” Stuart blurted out.

  She shook her head before he had halfway finished. “I’m joining Dean tonight. Even if I wasn’t, the answer would be no.” There was no apology in her tone, nor was there malice or anger. She simply stated a fact.

  “Oh right, alpha male is the dude for you,” Stuart, hurt, blurted out.

  “What is or isn’t right for me is none of your business. I knew you weren’t really sorry.” With that, she turned and left.

  Stuart, wrapped in fog, had rarely felt more alone in the world.

  He stood there, for a minute or an hour or a lifetime, until he realized that a server waited before him. The man was Filipino, like so many of the staff. They could work for a few months here and make more than a year at home. There was a blog post there; or maybe a series of interviews. Or he could write the article and sell it to Travel Jacket, or the Conquistador. They loved that minority storytelling shit.

  “Are you okay, sir? You’re shivering.”

  “What? Oh yes, I’m fine. What are you doing out here?”

  “Dinner is ready, sir.”

  ***

  Dinner was found in the form of three long buffet tables. The food was exactly what you’d expect, but it was fun to compare notes with the other passengers. He’d met some while still in Argentina, but others had joined late or not accompanied them to the bar for the meet-and-greet. Stuart showed everyone his pictures of the penguins; he’d taken thirty-four shots altogether, and not a one of them was worth deleting. The lady across the table from him thought she had seen a whale, though she hadn’t had her camera at the time. And Keshav, who sat to his right, spent a good fifteen minutes telling Stuart about how he had seen a giant petrel without ever actually including what a giant petrel might be.

  Baruna remained in her room, still sick, and there was no sign of Doctor Gomez or Dean Maxwell, her hairy brute of a date. But even as jealousy simmered in him, Stuart enjoyed his pasta and sushi. The crowd was lively, and people excitedly chattered. An hour of repeated visits to the buffet table had passed when Captain Kugeon strode in to make an announcement.

  His smart blue jacket contrasted strongly with faded khaki cargo shorts. The man must be crazy to wear them in this weather, Stuart thought. He w
as in his forties probably, and his light brown hair and goatee made him look somewhat like Jeff Daniels. The kind of guy you knew just by looking at him that really enjoyed the Grateful Dead. With him were three other officials, including the hotel director, and the chief engineer. The engineer tapped at an iPad, frown on his face, while the other two merely hovered nervously.

  “Folks,” the Captain said, voice drawling. “Something ain’t quite right.”

  Chapter 2

  It’s minus ten degrees outside, and the ship, big as an airport, is tossing and turning in the waves. Everyone says it’s unusual, but apparently the motto here is to ‘Expect the unexpected.’ All I know is that I’m lucky to still be alive.

  Today started beautifully. We left the town of Ushuaia early in the morning, and soon, Argentina, and land itself, was a distant memory. I can’t exaggerate how beautiful it already is. The water was so blue, with stark white blocks of ice here and there. I’ve been to Jasper, Banff, along the Icefields Parkway and through the Canadian Rockies. This was better. More, I don’t know, dramatic. It’s the end of the world down here, and I feel fine! (Hmm. That might be a good blog post.)

  The only problem is there was no Tim Hortons. The coffee here is about as good, but I sure do miss those donuts. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. They told us our phones might not work. I called my brother James for about two minutes today, but kept trying after that and got absolutely nothing. Wi-Fi has been non-existent so far too, which is really annoying. I complained twice, but they just made fun of me, smirking behind their uniforms. We paid for it though. We should at least get a discount. So far the Pantheon has little to recommend for it.

  I spent the morning swimming in the pool, and then a few hours in the sauna. They cleaned my room and moved my cameras without asking me. That pissed me off, but I didn’t say anything. But, Jesus, they could have dropped them or scratched the lenses or stolen the memory cards. I was in a bad mood for a while, but then things got better. This afternoon I saw penguins. Gentoo or Adelie, no one was sure. We should see Emperors soon, I’m sure. And then the fog rolled in. It was beautiful, mysterious and forbidding, and cloaked us all in a soft cushion.

  But something was wrong. At dinner, the captain came in and made a big announcement. The weather has changed for the worst, and the wind won’t stop. It’s howling with the voice of a thousand wolves, and even down here in my little cabin, I can still hear it. The long and short of it is that we can’t take the Drake Passage. It’s too dangerous. Ships do wreck here, and although there was some complaining, I think they made the right call. I assumed we’d head back to land, but instead, the Captain is taking us a different way. I’m not sure if he said “Beatle,” or “Beagle,” but either way, that’s where we’re going. If that doesn’t work, it’s back to dry land and a partial refund. It better work.

  I feel a bit like Frodo when Sauron kicked them off Caradhras. Now we’re delving into the Mines of Moria, exploring the unknown. What balrogs shall we awake, I wonder?

  But I didn’t even get to the best part. Right after the Captain made his speech, the whole ship vibrated. And then we started tipping. We’d hit an iceberg! Just a little one, and we crushed it, but still. The tables went flying, and there were broken wine glasses and plates and food; a huge mess everywhere. With all that broken glass and the ship turning like that, something dangerous literally could have happened right then.

  I went to bed early tonight. No one is my age. They’re all old, except one lady, a biologist or paleontologist who has worked on these ships before, explaining wildlife to all us tourists. I don’t think she likes me. Anyway, the ship is rocking, and the winds are blowing. I’ll upload this, and some great penguin photos, just as soon as we get Wi-Fi.

  Chapter 3

  Baruna felt better and had joined Stuart and Keshav in a large banquet hall filled with an impromptu buffet table of fruit, croissants, and pancakes. The primary dining room was still closed, but this room felt more cozy anyhow, though that might have been because it felt more full even with only some twenty people inside.

  It was cold, and all of them wore down jackets. Stuart sipped decent coffee in a brightly colored plastic cup as he fought to warm up. They were seated in chairs that were fuzzily orange or green and seductively hard to get up from. The insistent fog blocked the windows on either side, and in front, was the bridge, where several officers studied instruments and charts. The ship had bobbed in the heavy water all night and from the bleary eyes and sluggish movements of his fellow passengers. Stuart judged no one had slept well.

  He’d had strange dreams. He took an algebra test at high school, everything normal, except his teacher was a Stegosaurus. The last question on the test was simply: Why did we go extinct? Where did we go wrong?

  He still heard the dinosaur in his mind’s ear: Where did we go wrong?

  Keshav and Baruna spoke amongst themselves, but now Keshav turned to Stuart.

  He gestured at Stuart’s camera. “How can you take photos with all this fog around?”

  “My camera is weatherproof,” Stuart told him. “It’s why I picked Sony. I also have a waterproof case for it, and I seal it in a plastic bag.”

  “You don’t take any chances,” Keshav said.

  “Indeed,” said Baruna. “You can take a great many pictures of white clouds.” She poked fun, but gently so. Stuart liked it when chicks teased him a bit.

  “Not that it matters what I take pictures of. There’s still no fucking Wi-Fi,” Stuart said.

  “I’m not being funny, but you Americans are obsessed with Wi-Fi signals and peanut butter,” Keshav said.

  “First of all,” Stuart said. “I’m Canadian. North American, but not American. Do you see a gun in my pocket? Therefore, it’s Wi-Fi and maple syrup we’re all obsessed with.”

  Keshav’s turban shook silently as he laughed. “Fair enough, mate, but aren’t you here to unwind?”

  “Read a book,” Baruna added. “Or do some Sudoku.”

  “You know, I’m a travel blogger.” He had mentioned it to Keshav a few times, but Baruna represented an untapped market.

  “Very nice. What is your blog called?” she asked.

  “Elementary, My Dear Holmes,” Stuart said. He saw their blank looks and he added. “You know, because of my last name. It’s Holmes.”

  “Is your blog about education?” Keshav wanted to know.

  “Well, no. It’s an allusion. You know, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  Shouts from the bridge interrupted him. They all looked up at the panicked men. Something dire had happened, and the worst thing was that Stuart heard no anger in the shouted voices. He heard only fear.

  He and the honeymooners walked to the front of the room to the bridge. The boat continued to sway, but either it was better than the night before, or they had all gotten used to it. The door remained open, but there wasn’t room to enter. It was not a large area to begin with, and in addition to the captain, the chief engineer, the hotel director, and the deputy captain, Dr. Harper Gomez and Dean Maxwell had also crowded in. All of them pointed through a window that was nearly opaque from the fog. The engineer shouted at the hotel director, the captain shouted at the deputy captain, and everybody wore the stunned, disbelieving look of someone who has just learned very surprising, very bad news.

  “Excuse me,” Stuart said. An immediate silence fell over the bickering officers. Until now, they hadn’t noticed him. It was hard for him to be impolite, but he pressed on. “What’s going on?”

  He could feel the discomfort, and he shrunk away from the sudden scrutiny. Maxwell Dean, the big fellow who’d eaten dinner with Doctor Gomez the previous night, eased his way out.

  “Listen guys,” Dean almost sounded Canadian, but he was in truth from a small town in Alaska, the kind of place where kids know how to ski and shoot before they can walk. “There’s no need to panic.”

  “We are not panicking,” Keshav said.

  “Is there a reason
to worry?” Baruna asked. Unlike her husband, she still had a faint Indian lilt in her voice.

  “You want to tell us what’s going on?” Stuart added.

  Dean paused for a moment. His plaid shirt was red and brown, and with his orange-brown beard and wide shoulders, he looked like he’d rather be sawing down trees in a primeval forest than dealing with over-curious passengers.

  “Listen, usually these big cruise ships take the Drake Passage. The weather can be bad, it’s true, but it’s plenty big enough to maneuver in. Normally this is dead easy. Autopilot can take us all the way there. The bridge only has a junior officer or two, to monitor things.”

  “But the captain said the Beagle Passage last night,” Stuart said. Where did we go wrong?

  “The other two passages, Magellan Strait and Beagle Channel, well the weather tends to be better, but they’re too narrow for most modern ships. Wintertime, they do get icebound, and the wind can blow so strong that ships struggle to move at all. You’re right, we are in the Beagle Passage now. Captain himself took us here in the night. Drake was the worst I’ve ever seen it, and I’ve been tagging along on these things for over three years now. It was try this or go home, and the senior staff decided we try this.”

  “So what is the problem?” Baruna questioned.

  “Well, the problem is that the weather isn’t getting any better. There’s some weird electricity in the air, and instruments aren’t exactly working.”

  “Maxwell,” the captain barked from inside. “That’s enough.”