From the Deep

by Michael Bray

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said, pulling out her pickaxe and slamming it into the face of the ice shelf. With agility, Rainwater could only ever dream to have, she started to ascend; making the initial few feet look easy as she waited for them to follow. Mackay glanced at Rainwater, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “Next time you try to talk me out of something, remind me to listen to you.” Rainwater muttered.

  Mackay chuckled and swung his own pickaxe at the face of the ice shelf. “Aye, I’ll do that,” he said with a wink.

  Rainwater managed a smile, and he too started to climb, knowing certain death now surrounded them on all sides, and the worse was potentially to come.

  Like a huge, deep scar cutting through the top of the ice shelf, the crevasse had smooth, glass like walls interjected with razor sharp jutting shards of ice. Curving at a forty five degree angle, the crevasse narrowed into a near vertical shaft beyond which Russo’s thermal readings suggested it opened again and should be traversable on foot. As he had looked into the inky depths, he had almost given in to his urge to quit, and only carried on because success would mean he would be able to return to the real world and get a fresh supply of his beloved medication.

  Morrison stood beside him, checking his harness as he prepared to abseil into the abyss. Even he was now showing the strain of their predicament, his face taught and frightened as he licked his cracked lips.

  “I don’t like this,” he said to Russo as he peered over his shoulder into the darkness.

  “It will be fine. Once we get to the fifty foot mark, it should be walkable.”

  “Should be?” Morrison snapped back with a strained grin. “You don’t sound too confident. Maybe I should have asked for an extra hundred grand instead.”

  “The readings suggested it was walkable.”

  “Did the readings also tell you exactly what risks are involved with doing this?”

  “I’m sure you can’t wait to tell us.”

  “Believe me, I don’t enjoy it, but you need to know the facts.”

  “Then tell us all quickly so we can move on. The transport vessel will be close now.”

  “Well in that case, I’ll be brief. This isn’t like abseiling off a roof or down a mountain side. These walls are smooth as glass. There’s no way to keep a foothold. In places, water will have gouged holes, narrow, inescapable shafts that lead nowhere. The slightest slip, the tiniest mistake could see any one of us fall down one of these voids.”

  “All the more reason to be careful. I’m sure none of us want to die.”

  “If you fell in one, you would. Or at least, I know I would. Better to go quickly than suffer a slow and agonising death. The irony is even if we survive and make our way to this chamber, none of us really win. Not when this creature is down there.”

  “And as I told you that aspect is completely under control. Do you think I would drag us out here if I didn’t have a plan?”

  Morrison sneered. “A few days ago I would have said no. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Oh, and why might that be?”

  “You’ve become a victim of your own success. There are no limits for you, not anymore.”

  “It sounds like you’re ready to desert me in our time of need.”

  “Don’t worry,” Morrison replied, leaning back and taking the strain on the rope. “You don’t need to start thinking about pushing me into one of those death holes. As long as I get paid, I’ll do whatever you say.”

  “Let’s get moving then. We don’t have much time.”

  He nodded and started to inch into the crevasse, his feet struggling for purchase against the slippery surface.

  “Careful as you come,” he muttered, letting out a little more line. “It’s a bastard to stay upright on.”

  Russo followed suit, and along with Mito and the rest of his team, began to lower themselves down the slope. As they edged below ground level, claustrophobia enveloped him, and the need for his medication became a living entity – a thrashing, enraged thing in his stomach that demanded his constant attention. Counting back from ten, he dismissed it, concentrating his efforts on keeping his footing.

  “There was a guy once,” Morrison said, his voice reverberating off the walls that surrounded them on all sides. “A guide on Mount Everest. He knew it well and made his living from taking people up and down the mountain. Anyway, he falls into this crevasse. Maybe he didn’t see it, maybe it was covered with a snow bridge. He—”

  “Snow bridge?” Russo asked, the story already repulsing and fascinating him as they inched away from the comforting glare of the sun.

  “Yeah. Dangerous things. Looks like solid ground, but in reality, it’s just a few inches worth of barely frozen snow. You step on that, it ain’t holding you up. Anyway, this guy, he falls into this crevasse. Falls maybe a hundred and fifty feet.”

  “Holy shit,” Russo muttered as Morrison went on.

  “He probably died instantly. At that depth, bones would shatter on impact. Ice here is as hard as rock. Even if he survived the initial fall, he wouldn’t have lasted long. Hypothermia would set in soon enough. Can you imagine how it would be? Lying broken and in agony and just waiting to die?”

  Russo kept his eyes on his feet as he inched down the incline. He could feel Morrison looking at him and the smile etched on his lips.

  “You could have picked a better time for this story. Why now?”

  “Because I need you all to respect this place for how dangerous it is. Make no mistake. Death could snatch any and all of us in an instant and there wouldn’t be anything we could do about it. Just… Keep it in mind.”

  Morrison had reached the edge of the slope, and looked into the vertical drop below.

  “I don’t see a ledge. You sure it’s here?”

  “I already told you. The imaging says it was.”

  “Wait here for a minute,” Morrison said, adjusting his position. “Let me go first and make sure we aren’t all wasting our time.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Morrison abseiled over the edge and into the darkness. Russo waited, unsure if it was paranoia of the lack of drugs that were making him feel as if everyone was staring at him.

  “Hey, boss,” Mito said, snapping Russo from his train of thought.

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Russo looked the soldier in the eye, and the fear was plain to see. He felt a pang of remorse, and remembered the mission.

  “You can go back to the surface if you want to,” Russo hissed. “Be aware though that when we get back, you can expect a future confined to the inside of a prison cell.”

  “Be reasonable. None of us signed up for this.”

  “You signed up to protect your country, and that is exactly what this is. To refuse is to spit on our flag.”

  Mito clenched his jaw, and although Russo knew he wanted to say something, the big man declined.

  “The next person who mentions this will find himself court marshalled. Make sure the rest of the men know that.” Russo whispered.

  “Hey, Russo!” came Morrison’s voice, echoing off the crevasse walls.

  “Yeah?”

  “Looks like that machine of yours was right. Come on down. You’ll need to power up those UV lights though. It's pitch dark down here.”

  Russo looked at the men, who were in turn staring at him. “Well you heard him. Power up your lights.”

  Russo twisted the activator on the underside of the vertical tube light attached to the breast of his outer jacket. The crevasse walls were immediately illuminated in a green hue, which cast their shadows into long, disfigured shapes.

  “Okay, let’s go.” He said, making sure to sound as confident as he could manage. As the crew watched, and with more outward confidence than he felt inside, he dropped over the ledge and plunged into the darkness.

  Around two thirds of the way up the face of the ice shelf, a terrifying revelation overcame Rainwater.

  He cou
ld go no further.

  He clung to the ice, his arms and shoulders screaming in protest, his heart thundering at a tempo which reverberated around in his head. He couldn’t move. Even though the sun had been shining, the wind was still strong, tugging at him and making his coat flap, snapping angrily against his body. Just ahead, Mackay was making steady progress, and although slow, he at least still had control of his limbs. Above them both, and almost at the top was Clara, who was showing her range of skills by climbing the ice shelf with relative ease.

  Rainwater knew he should call out and tell them he was unable to move, but his tongue wouldn’t operate, and was stubbornly forcing him to remain silent. He looked down, and immediately regretted it, as a rush of vertigo surged through him.

  “You okay, lad?” Mackay shouted from above, his eyes glinting in the sun.

  Tell him yes.

  Do anything.

  Hell, a nod would do.

  He still couldn’t move, and was increasingly certain he had found the place where he was going to die. Not at sea like he feared, but on the side of the Ross Ice Shelf, clinging like a frightened child to it until the wind snatched him away.

  He could hear distant voices – Mackay and Clara in discussion and calling to him. The wind rocked him, cutting through his layers of clothing and biting into his skin. It was somehow comforting. In fact, he thought if he closed his eyes for a few minutes, he might be able to ignore the situation. After all, his eyes were heavy. Surely, nobody could begrudge him a little rest from the demands of the climb.

  “Hey.”

  Rainwater’s eyes snapped open, and he blinked away the soup in his brain. He looked at Clara, who had descended back down the ice, and now hung beside him.

  “You can do this,” she whispered.

  He wanted to reply, to explain calmly to her that although he appreciated the effort she had gone to come back, his body was simply refusing to cooperate. Of course, he couldn’t, and so returned his gaze to his gloved hands, which were still stubbornly clinging to the ice. Clara put her hand on top of his, and he looked at her.

  “Remember what I said. Take it steady.”

  He did as he was told, his body shifting into some kind of autopilot as he finally started to ascend. It was easier with Clara beside him, and he was grateful for her presence.

  “Thanks,” he said as they moved closer towards the summit.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know…panicked I guess. I’ve never been too good with heights.”

  “So you decided to climb an ice shelf?”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well. I’ve never been one for taking the sensible option either.”

  “So I see. Are you going to be alright now?”

  “With the climb?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have to be. Going back doesn’t look like an option anymore.”

  Clara looked over her shoulder, and was surprised to see how much the ice field had broken up.

  “It’s a good thing we set off when we did. Crossing the ice would be impossible now.”

  “Whatever happens, we have to see this through to the end. There’s no going back.”

  Clara turned her attention back towards the climb, and with Rainwater’s words bouncing around in her head, she started to understand not only was the future uncertain, it was going to take a minor miracle for them to make it back to civilization in one piece.

  The fissure had widened into a walkable passage as Russo had predicted. However, although the width had been easily determined, the height had not, and now Morrison led them single file down the narrow passage, which was too small to stand upright in as it wound deeper into the ice. Half crouched and with their shoulders brushing the walls, they walked in single file. Mito was suffering more than most, and was grunting and muttering as he tried to force his broad shoulders through the incredibly tight confines.

  “This is crazy,” Morrison whispered, his voice amplified by the walls. “This thing is getting narrower, not wider.”

  “Just keep going,” Russo replied, turning side on to push past a particularly narrow section. “It shouldn’t be far now.”

  “ I love how we are risking our lives on should be and shouldn’t be,” Morrison shot back, flashing an oozing smile over his shoulder at Russo, which was cast into long probing shadows by the UV light on his jacket.

  “I thought you were happy as long as you got paid?”

  “I’m still here aren’t I?”

  They moved on, squeezing their way deeper into the glacial ice.

  “It’s getting pretty tight up here,” Morrison said, squeezing with some effort between two jutting pieces of ice. “How far do you think it is before this thing opens?”

  “Soon,” Russo grunted as he too squeezed between the narrow ice, unwilling to tell Morrison they probably should have already arrived at the opening.

  “Don’t you find it crazy that we’re probably the only people ever to set foot in this passage?”

  “I didn’t realise you were the type to get all sentimental.”

  “That wasn’t my point.”

  “Oh, and what is?”

  “My point is nobody else would be stupid enough to do something as insane as this.”

  Russo snorted in response, as Morrison shifted position.

  “Hang on, the tunnel is getting wider here.”

  Russo joined Morrison in a small, smooth chamber that tapered off as it descended deeper into the ice. Below, another narrow fissure awaited them. Morrison grimaced as he began to remove his backpack and uncoil another length of rope. Russo however, smiled.

  “That’s it. Through there is where it opens to the chamber where the creature lives.”

  “That looks pretty narrow,” Morrison said as he prepared the climbing rope.

  “I have to see,” Russo shot back, and began to inch down the incline, his boots barely giving him purchase.

  “Whoa, wait a second,” Morrison said, grabbing Russo’s jacket sleeve. “We need to get the safety ropes set up and…”

  “Forget the ropes, I have to see it now!”

  “I can’t let you do that,” Morrison said, conscious of the watchful gaze of Mito and the others as they joined them in the chamber.

  “You can’t stop me, I’m going down.” Russo said, further inching his way down the dangerously slick incline.

  In a single motion, Morrison dropped the ropes, grabbed Russo by the collars of his jacket, and slammed him into the wall.

  “Now you listen to me,” he hissed, his nose inches from Russo’s. “Up there, you were in charge. Down here, you do as I say.”

  “Let me go. I’m paying you. I control you!” Russo said, squirming under Morrison’s grip.

  “You’re paying me to keep us alive, which is exactly what I intend to do.”

  “This is my mission!” Russo said through gritted teeth. Morrison only smiled as he leaned in close and whispered in Russo’s ear.

  “There are a lot of people here in this hole who would like nothing better than to see you fall and break your snivelling little neck. Believe me, I’ve wished it on you more than once. However, like you, my reputation means a lot to me, and so does my money. Let me make one thing absolutely crystal clear. My financial gain is the most important thing in the world to you right now.”

  “To me? Why?”

  Morrison smiled his lion’s smile. “Because that’s the only thing stopping me from throwing you to the wolves. Make no mistake. You could have a tragic accident here and nobody would ever question it. Places like this, in the dark with danger all around…These are my places. This is where I thrive. You want to stay alive, then you do exactly as I tell you. Now I don’t know what kind of drug you’re in withdrawals from right now, but…”

  “I’m not on anything I…”

  “I really don’t care. All I know is, you’re putting us all at risk. The next time you step out of line will be the last. Got it?”

 
; Russo nodded as Morrison released his grip.

  “Now just give me a minute to get these ropes ready, and then we can go take a look.”

  Russo nodded, watching as Morrison returned to uncoiling the ropes. Despite the cold, another intense warm sweat was surging through Russo, and he could feel the glaring eyes of the team – his team– 9 of the best who he had personally assembled for this mission on him. Now however, cast in flickering green hues, their shadowy faces were full of hate, and betrayal.

  My God, they want to kill me.

  Just as he was trying to deal with that idea, another popped into his head which overruled all others.

  They want to take over the mission. They want to take the credit for my hard work.

  He looked at them again, focusing on their devious, shadowy faces.

  Yes.

  That was it. He was sure of it.

  How can they be stopped? How can you re-establish superiority?

  Even as he said it in his head, his hand went to the pickaxe on his belt, its weight reassuring against his leg. He wondered how they might react if he were to plunge it into Morrison’s head. Would that act alone, the sight of blood which would look black in the glow of the UV lights be enough to make them toe the line long enough for him to complete his mission?

  Stop it.

  That was the rational side of him. The side before the drugs, before the lack of sleep, and before the pressure. It had certainly been a while since it had made itself known, and Russo allowed it a chance to say its piece.

  You’re being paranoid. It’s the withdrawals talking. You need Morrison to get you out of here.

  Maybe his rational side was right, or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, the desire to slam the business end of that pickaxe into Morrison’s skull was becoming overwhelming. In fact, he was starting to want to do it.

  And what? Mr Rational screamed at him. You go to prison and someone else takes the credit for all the hard work you’ve put in?

  “Okay, we’re ready,” Morrison said, interrupting the conversation playing out in Russo’s head. “We go together, understood?”