The Blue (Book 3)

by Joseph Turkot

  I manage to take steps alongside him, keeping my arms out, embracing the new throbbing pain starting up in my leg again, telling myself I might not need amputations. I watch Spots the whole time I advance, but Spots ignores me. His eyes are on Russell, even with Voley snarling in his face, testing him. And then, without any instigation from us, he comes.

  The giant barrel chest lowers to the ice floor and he spreads out his flippers, sweeping forward in a clean jerk and knocking Voley away. I hear the whimpers but I can’t take my eyes off the beast. I steady my arms, putting all my weight onto my good leg, watching the seal pump forward with everything he has, and then, when he’s right on top of us, and I feel like I’m going to lose control of my limbs from the flooding adrenaline, Russell jumps forward, head on into the seal. They collide and Spots bats Russell away like he’s a doll. I watch the pathetic knife slide across the ice and get stuck in a pool of slush about three feet away from where Russell lands. The seal turns its head to see Russell struggling to get back up, and then, just as it’s about to dive down on him, its mouth open, I fall over right onto its back and grab with all my strength. My fingers slide across the rubber skin and slip, and as soon as I think I have a hold, I slide right down and roll underneath his body.

  I stare up in shock at the white and gray spots on the belly, and wait in terror for the ribs to drop down, hundreds of pounds with them, and crush me dead. The seal barks and rises instead, and I see the slender jaw from below, hanging down, its teeth ready for the death bite. And I have no way to jab its eyes from down here, or do anything at all, but wait, and hope that it doesn’t drop its body back to the ice and squash me. In the pause of terror, as I watch the thing loom over me, ignoring my presence, I hear Russell: he yells at me to roll away now, and like an alarm waking me from stunned terror, I realize he’s right—the body starts to fall back toward me. I twist and kick off with my left hand and leg, and drag my face through fresh snow. I hear the thud but I’m alive, escaped at the last second, and when I start to stand up again, the wind drives snow into my face, blinding me, and I can’t see the seal or Russell. When I blink and rub and can see again, it’s the final charge at Russell. From the ground, Russell stretches just far enough to grab the knife, and at the last moment takes hold of it, then spins onto his back to stare down the death blow. And then comes more barking, and it hits me that it’s not the seal but Voley—and there he is, just like in Blue City, somehow launching himself, this time with only three good legs. He claws part of the way up the slumped seal’s back and starts to slide off, but the assault stops the seal’s attack on Russell. Then, the barks change, high-pitched maddening barks that rise from the seal’s mouth now, and he slaps his flipper around to whip off Voley.

  I stumble forward and trip, putting too much weight on the wrong side, and when I see them again, Voley’s still hanging on somehow, biting and biting the seal’s back and the seal can’t reach him, as hard as he twists—thrashing left and right, and barking, and grinding through the ice—he can’t seem to sweep Voley away. From the corner of my eye I see Russell reach his feet again, position the knife, and make his own charge. It feels like we’re both going to converge on the seal at the same time, and all three of us will take him down, when Voley slides off finally, just before the seal rolls down onto the ice. The seal tumbles and gyrates away over the floe, belly flat and rolling through the slush, and I see no blood on its back—not a single mark. And Voley can’t rise to his feet. It seems impossible, because he slid off in time so he wouldn’t be crushed. And then I realize—Spots’s skin is too tough. Voley couldn’t get through it. Before I can figure out how hurt Voley is, I run right into Russell. His eyes on the seal, making its tumbling escape, and mine on Voley, and I smack right into him—the shock of white lightning sends me reeling, hard down onto the ice. And it’s when we’re down, trying to figure out what happened, that the seal rises up, like he wants to show us it really isn’t starving, that he’s still as massive as ever compared to us. His jaw opens again, showing the same teeth I’ve seen so many times now—canine fangs—and his eyes gleam wild with the same hunger and desperation that must be in ours. He strikes one time, with a single clean bark, into the ice with its flipper. After the impact he jolts forward, like a spring released, right on top of us, and then he plows down. I try to wait until the last second to try to evade, unsure if he’s coming down on me or Russell or both of us at the same time. I flick my eyes over to see if Russell’s still got the knife, but I don’t see it, and I close my eyes and roll at the last moment. And then, I hear the thunder: Tremendous, like the Sea Queen killing storm of Michigan is back to finally claim us after all, a hurricane angry because it’s been robbed of its victims, and after a 4,000 mile hunt, knowing we owed our lives to it, it finally found us. But then I know, by the sensation of a cold wet splash, and the salt in my mouth, that it’s the ice cracking, and no storm. The seal’s barks disappear with the incoming vortex of icy water, and the rain sea spits up and then rushes along the snow under me. I dig in with my hands and knees, scurrying away as fast as I can, like I’m escaping some kind of land slide. By the time I get my senses back, and realize that I’m alive, and that the floe has split apart again, I see my worst nightmare.

  I’m alone, on my own floe, with a wide lead of water separating me from all the other bergs. Russell lies, unmoving, on the next floe over. The knife is still in his hand, barely, just loosely clutched, limp at his side. I rack my brain to remember if the seal hit Russell, landed on him, pulverized his insides with its weight, but I can’t remember anything but the collision and then the thunder. And then I see just how bad things have become, when I scan for the sign of the seal’s whiskered head poking up out of the water. I don’t see Spots at all, just Voley. And he’s alone. Up again, and limping around, but isolated by the open ocean even more than Russell and I are from each other.

  I gather myself and rise to my feet, working slowly in disbelief over to the edge of the floe, intent to jump in, and swim to them, bring them each to me. But as I stare into the water, the white and gray form slides past. Quick but patient, unsure about the tiny floes left above water that we’re all stuck on now. It wants me to come in, I realize. And I pause—unsure if I should dive and swim like mad for Russell’s floe, and somehow claw my way up the floe shelf. Each moment that passes makes me feel like I’m wasting Voley’s life, and Russell’s, and I have to do something right now or we’ll be split apart forever. Russell! I scream. But he doesn’t make a sound and he doesn’t raise his head. I shout again. Russell! Russell get up! Say something! Say something!

  I try every way I can to get him to talk to me, to move, but he’s quiet and still. And Voley starts to whine from his floe, like he knows he’s drifting even farther apart from us with each passing minute. I look around in desperation and take in the weight of our horrible luck and it makes me cough and cry and feel my gut slip down and out of my body. It’s like Spots knew all along, and he was just toying with us—knew that there was a movement in the pack with all the wind, and it was weakening the floes from underneath, where he could see it happening—and the floes just waiting for the impact they needed from the seal’s body to complete the final split. And then, just when I think I hear something, that it might be Russell, and that he’s finally coming to, I realize it’s coming from the wrong direction. From directly behind me. Not where Voley is, and not where Russell is—but from another fragment of the old floe. When I turn around, I see Spots. Watching from me from his belly. Back up on the ice. He nods his head side to side, like he’s dancing again because of the adrenaline the break caused. It looks like he’s unsure about whether or not he wants to press his attack now that we’re isolated on the small cakes of ice. I keep my eyes on him, only glancing away every few seconds to see if Russell’s moving, or if Voley is drifting closer again. But both of them seem to be drifting farther out from me. Too far to swim to with Spots watching me. But then I realize, Spots will just go after either one of th
em, and then that’d be the same thing. So I have to risk myself and swim. Because it doesn’t make a difference now, one way or the other. But as much as I know I should, it starts to set in—don’t get in that water. It’s suicide.

  I don’t know whose voice it is in my head. At first I think it’s Russell’s, but then I realize it’s not. It’s somebody else’s from the past—from the distant past. Some dark space that I can no longer see or understand clearly. Don’t go in, it tells me, over and over. And then I finally accept it, and listen, and watch the seal. But I can’t figure out the voice.

  A noise comes eventually that startles me from my stare down with Spots. It’s Voley. He’s whining. The whines come in short bursts, and when I turn to see what’s the matter, he’s looking directly at me, right from the edge of his floe, ready to jump in. Testing the edge to build his confidence, ready to swim to me, because he can’t take it anymore. His paws scratch and scratch at the edge of his floe, and his nose lowers and raises, showing how hesitant he is. But the distance is way too far, over ten feet of ocean, and I know he won’t make it, and I yell at him desperately: Stay boy! Get back! And after three more shouts, somehow, Voley listens. He stops testing the edge and retreats, expecting me to fix things for him. I don’t know how long he’ll wait for me, but I can’t keep watching him, I have to check the seal again. My eyes dart to Russell, and then back to Spots. But Spots is still there looking at me. Watching patiently from his belly. Silent and still.

  After five minutes, Spots finally rises up. I think he’s getting ready to make his move at last, but then, with all the tension of it, he just lies back down. And this time his head settles and his eyes close, not even facing my direction anymore. As if he’s satisfied with the terror he’s caused for now, and he wants to sleep. I wonder why he doesn’t go back in the water, or try to go after Russell, or Voley, or me, like it seems his hunger should force him to do, but he doesn’t. He just puts his long, threaded body down on the ice. And then I sit down too, realizing that the only thing I can do is wait. Keep Voley from jumping in, keep calling to Russell, and wait for the pack to close up again. For the wind to drive the floes back into one Ice Pancake like I’ve seen it do before. I wait and wait and freeze and watch Spots. But every few minutes I look back and call to Russell, wait for him to move. And then I call to Voley. I try to comfort him. I tell him we’ll be back together again soon. Just stay, boy, okay? And then I shout at Russell again. I tell him not to die on me. And then, I have to watch the seal.

  When I fall asleep, just for a minute, it scares me. I can’t lose consciousness now, not when we’re all drifting apart and Spots is so close. I shake my head in fright, hoping I didn’t really fade out. But I did, I really fell asleep. And the first thing I do is rub my eyes and confirm that Spots is still there in front of me, in plain view where I can see him. He is.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. But the darkness looks awful, and it makes the panic rise in me for a moment before I check on Russell and Voley, that I really must have fallen asleep for longer than I thought. When I turn my head, fear like acid rolling through my gut, I sense the rocking motion of a swell under the floe. And from every angle, no matter how much I strain and double-check, I can’t make out a single figure on the ice besides the seal. No Russell, no Voley. Just the lost and distant specks of the pack. Long drifted apart, disintegrating, and taking with them every last piece of me.

  Part 3

  Chapter 13

  My eyes twist back and forth along the horizon. The sea chops and slaps the shelf of the floe as it drops into a quick glide down a wave, and then jerks up. Just enough momentum to launch up and over the next crest, spraying a high barrage of foam and frost that can’t reach me in the center. The floe rides the waves, over and over in just the same way, taunting me to start trusting the ice. To believe that this tiny island can weather the storm. And I count the swells.

  Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two…

  The sky is uniform steel in every direction, darker in one spot than all the rest. But all of the endless gray is just there as a contrast for the blue. It’s so close that I could touch it. And so is the plane. Only the thousands-of-feet depths and frothing sea between me and it. I rub my arms, hoping to ward off the numbness as long as possible—but despite the cold, I can’t help but think there’s something about the wind—a warm strand of air pushing through the cold everything, like the sea wants to preserve me so that I live on to the worst.

  My voice is too tired to keep calling out, and I lose track of the swells. I can’t remember if I said fifty twice, or if it was sixty-one…I start over again. For the third time, but in my head now: One, two, three…

  Spots has closed his eyes. I hope the swells will push his berg into mine, ram it apart and throw him down on the ice next to me, so that I can gouge out his eyes. He’s responsible for all of this. For the complete aloneness.

  For some strange reason, it passes through me that this is the first time that I’ve ever really been all alone. There’s always been someone—mostly Russell. But now, I don’t even have Voley. And feeling the stab of my loneliness, and another urge to vomit from the rolling sea, my mind forces itself to leave. I vanish from the Colorado pack. I think of Philadelphia.

  When Russell made up his mind, that the chaos would become too much and come too soon, and we had to set forth over the great sprawling farms of Pennsylvania, heading toward Ohio and the Midwest beyond, we’d had out last dinner with Jennifer and Delly. The last people he ever admitted were friends. Their kids were gathered around. I’m stopped with the thought of their children—I see their faces, but their names—nothing brings their names back to me. They had looked up to me so much. Wanted to follow me around wherever I went. But their faces disappear, following their names into nothingness, as I remember Delly’s warning.

  He said things weren’t bad enough to head out west. And that for all we knew, there was no reason to leave Philadelphia. No reason until the verdict was in on what exactly was happening. Russell had said the verdict would never come, because the news had stopped coming in. But Delly had warned us—don’t go West.

  I don’t know why I remember it, or why it passes through me—it feels like a collage of memories, and that their conversation maybe wasn’t even one night. And maybe the decision to leave took a very long time and very many conversations. All I see is just a glimpse of a fire. But I hear the voices. The voices of something that must be close to what family sounds like. And Russell said—I hear the voice like it was yesterday—that the solar flare was enough of a verdict for him. That the axis was shifting, and eventually, everything would go wrong. And Delly had said that that theory was no good, that the last news broadcasts had recanted that information just a few days before they shut down for good. But Russell hadn’t heard it. Even their projections of massive coastal flooding—Delly had tried to warn—all of it had been recanted. Just rain, Delly had gone on. No reason yet, Russell. But Russell had had enough reason with the death count rising—too many people packed too closely together there—too many people clawing after the same scraps of food, ammunition and shelter. Not enough food or medicine or hope. And the news stations had to recant their announcements. That’s what Russell told Delly, anyway. That if they hadn’t, panic would raze the cities to the ground much faster than the rain would sink them. And in the end, right until the hour we left, they didn’t see eye to eye. They stayed. They thought it would all pass. And we left.

  On the road we heard a million stories. Most of the talk came at night from strangers, when there were common fires. Everyone gathered around, and that was the only thing to talk about. In Ohio it was always stories about the comets. No one talked about the supply hoarding yet, or the rumors of cannibalism. That would take another couple years. It was still talk of the weather and the loss of the news broadcasts. But each group we passed, all the way until Indianapolis—it was always the comets. Russell carried the idea of the axis shift, and the solar flare, all
by himself through those parts. Brought it with him from stations out of Philadelphia that no one had heard of or believed. And there was nothing to go on other than that old memory of his—a crackling broadcast through an old radio on the top of a skyscraper one night in Philadelphia when I was only a few years old. So young I don’t even know that it happened except that he told me it did. My own memory of it really just Russell’s memory.

  But it was somewhere in there, somewhere around Indianapolis, that I realized the people had started to change. We hadn’t expected anyone to be friendly like Jennifer and Delly, but we didn’t think the veneer would strip away so fast. That was before Russell called it that. He would just mumble about it then—that people were losing something.