The Blue (Book 3)

by Joseph Turkot

  And it’s enough to keep me going. Just to sit and watch the stars. The only clear thing anywhere. Except for the black outline of the seal. But he doesn’t come any closer all night long, and when the stars have started to fade away, and a new color of light starts to come into the patch in the sky, he disappears. Like the morning has scared him off, back into the ocean. And when the stars turn to pink and orange bands of light, I can’t tell which thing is more beautiful. When the patch finally finds its blue again, Russell wakes up. I tell him about the stars and then the colors, and how beautiful they were. He pauses when I mention the colors. Are you sure? He asks me. I tell him yes. Orange and pink and then blue. It seems to mean something to him. I have to ask him a dozen times during the course of the day as we continue our march toward the blue. What does it mean? And it’s only hours later, as we’re sitting down to eat the last of the dog food, that he finally tells me: It’s the East. We’re drifting east.

  We march almost all day again, only stopping to drink and rest three times. Only water and rest, because our food has run out. No more eating. It’s only when we pitch the tent and the night starts to come in that Russell says he’s going to hunt tonight. I ask him what he means, and he says he’s going to hunt the seal. I want to scream no at first, like the seal is our friend. Like it’s the same as us. Fighting through the same struggle. But I can’t say a word. I look at Voley, and that despite his wild fur, he’s grown much skinnier than he once was. And Russell, his gaunt eyes, sunken cheeks. And I know I must look the same. And even that same look, the skeletal change, was on the seal. I feel the gnawing in my stomach. And so we have to hunt.

  I help set up the tent, and then, once everything is settled, Russell says he’s going out. Do you want me to come? I ask him. He tells me no. Just stay by the tent and keep the pistol with you. And then, in another instant, he’s gone.

  I watch him fade into the distance, become a tiny silhouette. The rifle hanging by his side. And then I check the thermometer. Thirty-three. Warmest it’s been at nightfall yet. I watch the sky, and then it hits me: The snow’s practically stopped falling. It’s just a touch of wet every now and then. And I don’t even feel it unless I look right up into the sky. I’ll have to ask Russell if he’s noticed when he gets back. Voley comes out of the tent and curls up by me, puts his head on my lap. I ask him what he thinks about the seal. He just nudges in closer and closes his eyes. We watch the dimming patch of clear sky, and then, like clockwork, the stars reappear. My hands run through the snow around where we sit, and my fears are right—it feels softer, more like slush. Like the top layer of the Ice Pancake is melting away. Thinning down toward the sea. I wonder how thick it really is. And then, I flash back to when I fell in the ocean. How low the Ice Pancake side was, and how high the Resilience side. I think there must only be a couple feet of ice between us and the ocean. But still, for days, the Ice Pancake hasn’t moved one bit. It’s remained as flat and stable as solid earth. No shaking, no motion of swells rolling beneath her. And it strikes me that that could all change. What if it keeps getting warmer? I ask Voley. But that’s what we’re hoping for anyway, isn’t it, I remind myself. To get under the blue, the sunshine. But without anything to keep us out of the water, it doesn’t make much sense. Except to die where it’s sunny. And that’s what we must be doing still. I listen to the silence, not even the shrill whip of the wind anymore. Wind that hasn’t hit us hard in days. Just empty silence and the beautiful stars and Voley’s head on my lap.

  Every few minutes I scan the horizon, waiting to see Russell reappear, or to hear the sound of the rifle. But nothing comes. Time passes and I just watch the stars shimmer. Imagining what must be happening where they are. It’s as I’m drifting off to sleep when I hear the rifle blast. My head pops up and I check the horizon. No sign of Russell or the seal. In twenty more minutes Russell appears over the horizon, empty handed. But I can’t imagine he could carry or move something as big as that seal anyway. With sadness, I realize he must be coming to get me to help him drag its body. Or to move the tent to where the seal is. But when he finally gets back, he just sits down and tells me I can go to sleep. I want to ask him what happened, but I can tell. He’s upset. And he must have missed. It’s only as I slide into the tent that he tells me—there’s a crack opening up in the floe. What? I ask him. I had a perfect shot, but he jumped into the water. This thing’s breaking up. I don’t ask him what that means. I already know. And there’s not a thing we can do about it.

  In the morning, before Russell wakes me, I already feel the motion. Like the ground is gently rocking. Every minute, just a gentle rise and fall, barely noticeable. I remember what Russell said last night, about the ice breaking up. And just as soon as I poke my head out of the tent, he calls me over to look. When I get to him, he’s staring down into a five foot long divide of ocean. Then, he points off to another one. That one’s about two hundred feet away, he says, We’re riding swells again. And then, before I can ask him about the strange silver shining out under the patch of blue, he tells me we have to get the tent in toward the middle of the floe. As far from all the open leads as possible. So we walk back and transfer everything as close as possible to the center. And once we’re settled and as positive as we can be that we won’t slide off into the ocean, I ask him: What’s that? But he hadn’t even noticed it. And both of us stare, puzzled, because right where the rays of gold fall from the blue patch in the sky, there’s a mirror shine, bright silver, reflecting back up. Just one small glint but it’s there. Silver, not white. And as fast as Russell says it’s just a pressure ridge, I tell him no. It looks like metal.

  Chapter 6

  I do a long and slow round of the new Ice Pancake, a tiny fraction of its old size. Our new home is only half the size of the Resilience floe. I make it to every edge and look out, watching the patch of blue, and the metallic glint. Over the stretch of white there are a hundred new dark lines, fractures in the once colossal slab of ice. Now, when I reach the edge, I feel a slight shift under my weight. Like the ice is bowing, dipping me down toward the merciless ocean. I pause and wait for the sensation of wetness, the sign of the intermittent snowflakes, but I feel nothing. And then I start walking again, and the whole world becomes a sloshing sound as I avoid the new pockets of icy slush that have appeared everywhere. Some look like they pierce halfway down to the ocean, growing darker as they go, more transparent, merging their light blue and white with the murky brown of the sea. At times, I feel like one wrong step will send me tumbling down into one that’s too thin, and I’ll break right through. And when I take my eyes off of the ground for a moment, just long enough to see if Russell has packed everything up so we can start marching, I see the seal. Two floes away this time, limp-sliding along, turning his head this way and that. Slower than he’s ever moved. But watching us. Wondering about us.

  I call out to Russell and he sees too. Voley barks once, and starts to head off toward the edge of the floe, but Russell yells at him and tells him no. There are too many water pockets now. And Voley can’t afford to lose another leg. So we let the seal be, and it wobbles across its floe and stops, watching us make our first steps toward the sea gap.

  Russell says he spent a lot of time picking it out. Mainly because this gap of open water leads to another floe that split from the Ice Pancake that’s about three times as big as ours. One that doesn’t seem like it’s rising and falling with the ocean like ours does now. And the lead opens and closes as we stand by the edge, but when it swells to its widest, it’s still only about five feet across. Russell asks me if I’m ready. I tell him no, and that he should go first. Then he tells me he can’t because he wants to toss Voley over this one. I don’t argue, because I don’t want to take the chance that I slip and Voley goes down into the sea. Alright, I tell him. And then I back up, a good ten steps, preparing to make a flying leap over the brown and toward the blue. Wait, Russell stops me. He tells me I shouldn’t need too much of a running start, and with one I’m more li
kely to slip. I take a few steps closer, check to see that the landing side doesn’t have any dark impressions of hidden ice water craters, and then I charge. I jump much too early, so that I don’t have any chance of sliding over the edge. Adrenaline pumps and suddenly there’s wind again. Then, the next thing I know, I hit hard cold ice and slide. And when I get up, Russell claps. He’s smiling wide and then he starts to laugh.

  What the hell? I say, because I know he’s amusing himself with my crazy leap. You know, he says, You have some good moves. And he backs up and picks up the bags and starts to throw them across at me. Don’t waste them all on the baby cracks though, he chuckles. I tell him I’m not taking any chances, even if it’s only a couple feet. And then I say, It’s your turn. Let’s see your jump.

  Get ready for Voley then, he tells me. He lifts Voley up into his chest, and then wraps his right arm under his butt. The other hand goes under Voley’s chest and Voley licks the air, wondering what he’s gotten himself into. You know he can probably make it on his own, I tell Russell, and I remind him about Voley’s flying leap. But I don’t push it when Russell doesn’t respond. I can tell he doesn’t like the idea. He just backs up one step, whispers something in Voley’s ear, and then launches him like a missile. Voley throws out his paws in midair like he’s going to take a dunk, but he’s well across and slides on three legs without even tumbling. Then, once he recovers his balance, he drops down into the snow and the slush, like the toss was exhilarating. His nose digs into the ground and snaps back up, launching a volcano of powder. Then he rolls around, twisting himself into the snow until I calm him down enough that he doesn’t spill over the edge. When I look up, Russell’s making his own leap. He throws his hands up straight like a monkey, and then, he drops to his knees and slides onto our side. Real nice moves, I mock him. Did you see that slide? he says. And he turns around to see the tracks his knees left. Ten bucks says I can do a longer one on the next jump, I tell him. Make it a dinner—loser makes the winner whatever they want, he says, That means you’re going to be making me a pizza. I tell him it’s on. And just like that, we pick up our bags and fall quiet again. Slow but onward, across the new floe.

  The blue hangs above us and the metal shine flickers in and out of focus. I keep watching them both, the only thing to distract me from everything else in my head. The useless past that’s been piling there for the past sixteen years.

  Behind us the seal watches. Not following anymore, not bobbing from side to side, but still. Just watching.

  What do you think the silver is? I ask him. Don’t know, Russell says, But I’m willing to bet...

  You’re willing to bet what? I say after he never resumes what he was going to say. Bet that dinner you’re going to owe me? I prod. He finally answers and says, I’m willing to bet that dinner—that it’s a boat. Just like ours it got stuck in the pack. Same as us. I play along and ask him if he thinks there’ll be any supplies left in it, or if it’ll be damaged. I even start to think that maybe the ice will be melted enough that we’ll be able to dig it out and ride it. Maybe, Russell says. And then we turn the thoughts of hope inward and walk in silence again, forgetting that today is our first without food.

  I ask Russell about the seal. You think he’s given up? I ask. No, Russell says. He can’t give up. He has to keep hunting us. Or he dies. He’s just not as sure of himself as he was before.

  Chapter 7

  Another night arrives and I convince Russell to fire up the stove. I know we don’t have a lot left, but I can’t take another freezing night. Even together, it’s hard to get warm enough to finally drift off. And then when I do, it’s as if right away I’m being woken up for my turn to stand watch.

  The stars are out again during my watch, and I sit and watch them as my stomach gnaws at itself. Still nothing to eat and it’s starting to wear on my mind. I wonder what I would do if we were still back at Nuke Town. I imagine myself sneaking down while everyone else is asleep—finding the meat. Making a fire and throwing it on. Person or not. I start to tell myself that this is how it starts, this is how the veneer finally slips off altogether. And it’s amazing that Russell has been able to make sure I’ve never starved yet. All this time. But it’s finally stopped working.

  I see the seal appear, a dark silhouette against the muddied horizon, and I wake Russell like he asked me to. He goes out to hunt again. I tell him not to go when it’s so dark. Voley whines. He doesn’t want him to leave either. But since he won’t listen, and starts to walk away anyway, Voley gets up and starts to follow him. I grab his collar and tell him to stay. We need each other, boy. Russell disappears into the dark, and before he gets too close to it, I watch the seal wiggle off, and then hear the splash of his dive into the water. So many cracks opening up in the once great Ice Pancake that it isn’t even hard for him to escape anymore. Just one sign of us hunting him, and he’s gone. Impossible to get close enough to. Russell doesn’t even fire off a shot.

  The pilot stove sooths me and I start to fall asleep. The hissing sound and the warmth from Voley’s fur next to me and I’m gone. When Russell wakes me up, and I still feel my stomach consuming itself, I just want to go back to sleep. I don’t want to move. Don’t want to deal with a new day. So he calls my name again and I still don’t get up. Hey, he yells in at me. Time to go. He says it like he’s going to rip the tent down with me in it. And then, before I can escape the tent, he does. Pole by pole he starts to unhook the tarp and it comes in on me. No time to give up, he tells me. We’re too close. Come on.

  When I get out and help him gather everything together so we can march on again, I look at the blue. It doesn’t look any closer. And I want to tell him the ice must be drifting in the wrong direction now. That something’s changed. When we start to plod forward over the thinning crust of slush, I feel the wind start kicking up again—snowless and soft—but directly at us. Blowing us away from the blue. And the silver.

  I tell Russell the wind is probably pushing the ice floes the wrong way. That we might be marching in place. He just tells me to keep my nose to the ice, and to look for hidden fissures. I watch the ground and let Voley go ahead, between Russell and me, and we snake around about a dozen pockets of water, drinking from some of them, before we come to the next gap in the ice. But we’re so worn out from hunger that neither of us bring up the bet. It’s like our humor’s been destroyed already by just a day without food. We toss everything over in silence and I jump first. Then Voley. Then Russell. That’s when I see the seal watching us again. I almost don’t say anything because it’s like he’s always there now. A fixture on the ice.

  There he is, I say. Russell raises the rifle and looks down the scope. I think I can get him, he says. Then, after an agonizing moment of concentration, he fires. The seal drops, and I think it’s been hit in the head, but it pops back up, only stunned from the loud bang. Then it hurries off the ice as Russell readies his next shot. But something looks funny about how the seal gets over the edge of the ice. Like he’s struggling to do it. Even to just fall back into the ocean.

  I think you got him, I say. And I think of the seal’s face, and how it looked like a dog’s, and I feel sad. Like I didn’t mean for us to come all this way, across the whole country, thousands of miles, and then down south, and across this pack, just so we could run into the seal and that it could die because we can’t eat. But it’s a short-lived sadness, and my stomach flips again and tells me to sprint out to where it fell into the water. I start to go until Russell calls me back. He says to wait, but I tell him I’ll be careful—I know how to spot all the ice pockets. He tells me it’s not that. Look, he says. And when I turn around to see what it could be, unsure from his tone whether it’s good or bad, I see the most horrible thing I could ever imagine. The blue is slowly disappearing. Smothered by a new gray, much darker than normal daytime clouds. And all at once, I notice that rain has started up again—so soft you can barely feel it, but it’s rain, and I tell Russell. He’s already felt the first drops though,
and he says what it is: storm’s coming in. And I know we have no way to stand up to a storm. I completely forget about the seal, and my stomach, and think about the churning ocean underneath of us. From my imagination or not, I can’t tell, I think I start to already feel the ice maneuvering up and down over a long, slow swell. And we’re riding its thin crust. The last few feet of fractured pancake. And as far as my eyes can see, the ice looks so strong still, so pure and white. Like it’s a hundred feet deep. But I know better. The darkness is real, and the strength of the pack is all an illusion.

  My eyes fall to the silver glint as it fades out, disappearing, now just a memory in the growing darkness. The long tendrils of the sunlight withdraw into the heavens and it becomes in only a few minutes like the eternal dusk that I’ve always known. The tug of a good place to die vanishes. We have nothing.

  I want to tell Russell that our plan’s over. We can’t even die the way we want to. But by his voice, I know he’s not in the mood to hear it. Because he starts to look around, frantically surveying every angle, trying to see if there’s anywhere we can hide. But the nearest pressure ridge looks like it’s three or four miles away. In the end, his stare breaks and it turns into a fast-paced walk toward the ridge. The spot off to the west, half into the wind, where a giant iceberg rises up and clashes with the low-lying pack shards of the Ice Pancake.