Frozen Fire

by Evans, Bill; Jameson, Marianna

No material ever devised, no structure ever conceived could have withstood the furious, deadly force of the massive boulders that fell from thousands of feet above the mining edifice. The pipeline that would have been hailed in a matter of days as a modern marvel of design and engineering was wrenched loose from its mooring. Once loosened, it became lethally vulnerable to the seduction of gravity and the torment of deep-ocean currents.

  Ripped free of its fortified nest on the seafloor, the structure fell, leaving a gaping, sucking gash in its place. Frenzied from the force of the explosions and implosions going on around it, and bearing within it thousands of tons of crushed rock and twisted metal spears, seawater rushed into the fragile seafloor gap, widening the fissure.

  Violently released from the unimaginably enormous pressure of supporting trillions of tons of the earth’s crust, and suddenly flooded by an unnatural surge of seawater, the large, frozen, pale, clathrate-structured crystals of methane hydrate burst through the deep, narrow trajectory that had been so carefully crafted by the now defunct pipeline. The newly freed, lightweight crystals rushed into the water column, creating an upward avalanche of destructive, churning solids lighter and more deadly than earthly ice.

  Tainted by the crew of Atlantis with chemicals intended to stabilize them, the crystals shattered, their components separating and recombining. The altered substance rose through the water at vicious speed, becoming ever lighter until the crystals dissolved into nothing more than ancient water and bubbles of methane gas that had been created when the earth was little more than a spinning ball of cooling rock. Freed of the confines of tangibility, the methane gas rose higher and faster, destroying the density of the water column.

  From the moment the first rush of crystals burst from their icy, hidden Paleozoic cavern into the alien warmth and fluidity of the water column, every unsuspecting creature that moved into the path of the rushing bubbles, whether boneless or skeletal, warm-blooded or cold, single-celled or sentient, was doomed to a horrific death.

  The unimaginable pressures their bodies relied upon for survival vanished without preparation or warning. Amoebas and shrimps, squids, sharks and jellyfish exploded and the torn remnants of their bodies sank without grace to the seafloor. Even the leviathans of the deep, the great whales, with their ability to dive thousands of feet and return to the surface rapidly and safely, crossed the boundaries of the methane chimney and burst into smeared and bloody clouds of matter that had no form, no shape, no longer any purpose but to decay.

  CHAPTER

  19

  8:59 A.M., Sunday, October 26, off the coast of Taino

  Only moments had passed, but Marie was far enough away from the structure for her nerves to have steadied and her mind to have cleared, if only minutely. Her inability to make contact with the surface was of concern, but of greater concern was getting herself out of danger, which meant out of the sea and onto dry land. Irrespective of what had triggered the landslide—a terrestrial volcanic eruption, a submarine earthquake, or something more sinister—Marie knew that remaining any longer than necessary in a small underwater vehicle with finite power and air supplies and limited communication channels was foolhardy.

  Her body drenched in sweat and her system awash with adrenaline, Marie maintained contact with the other, no doubt equally terrified pilots, reporting her position and plans, and requesting that they do the same. After only a few brief, tense exchanges, both other subs went silent in rapid succession, one with the pilot in mid-message.

  The sudden silence would not allow her the kindness of pretending either craft was still functional. The knowledge that Marie and her two companions were all that remained of Atlantis hit Marie like a hard blow to her gut. All she could do was clench her trembling muscles against the horror she felt and the loud roar of the sea’s fury pounding in her ears, and focus on her own survival.

  “We appear to be out of range of the rockfall,” she said in a voice that was reasonably calm. “Are you still with me?”

  Choked assurances were followed instantly by loud, unrestrained sobbing. Anger spiked within her. She wished she hadn’t spoken.

  Marie steered the submersible into a slow, ascending turn as she increased its speed to maximum. Her intent was to return to the topside port as quickly as possible. The turbidity of the water began to lessen slightly as the vessel rose slowly through the four thousand feet she had to traverse, but she kept the lights on as a precaution should any other vehicles be approaching the area for reconnaissance or recovery.

  It was only because of those lights that she saw the sparkling veil that lay directly in her path.

  For a split second, she thought it must be a hallucination caused by extreme anxiety or a head injury she was unaware of. Instinctively, she slowed the sub and watched as the water before her seemed to shimmer and sparkle and move sinuously in the murky light, as if it were alive. Marie forced herself to blink, to take an instantaneous inventory of her surroundings, her body, her reality. Everything was normal, yet the vision grew more distinct as the sub drew closer to it.

  It wasn’t until she was too near the specter to change the sub’s course that she realized the shimmer wasn’t a trick of the mind, but a massive, never-ending stream of bubbles soaring through the water.

  She stared through the thick, heavily scratched window, her blood thumping almost painfully through her veins.

  Bubbles don’t belong in the water column.

  For an instant, it was as if time stopped. She could hear in her mind her own words, spoken decades ago in a younger voice, inside of a classroom.

  “A bubble is a spherical defect or void formed by a gas within an enveloping medium, frequently a liquid.”

  A terrified glance at the vehicle’s inertial navigation system revealed that they were almost directly over the pipeline.

  The pipeline she’d watched collapse.

  A scream of abject horror ripped from her throat as Marie realized she was witnessing the nightmare scenario she’d spent years working to prevent: the uncontrolled discharge of methane gas into the environment.

  The ghostly mist of bubbles before her was the natural result of the altered crystals melting into the water column; nothing could stop the bubbles’ progress through the water and into the air. There, the methane would linger for years, eventually destroying the atmosphere and, subsequently, all life on the planet that atmosphere sheathed.

  There was no time for another thought or even another prayer as she frantically worked the controls of the sub in an attempt to change its course, and her own fate. But her efforts were to no avail as the perturbations of the water and her own panicked actions played havoc with the vehicle’s sensitive electronics. The sub pitched and rolled uncontrollably in the turbulence immediately outside the degraded water column. In seconds the sub had crossed the illusory, unnatural boundary into the upwelling pillar of bubbles where the overwhelming volume of methane gas had diluted the density of the water until it was dramatically different from that of the water surrounding it.

  Death, when it happened, was horrific but quick.

  The submersible fell like a heavy stone thrown into a still pond, plummeting toward the seafloor. Within seconds, it was wrenched by a bone-shaking impact; it echoed with an eardrum-shattering boom and a screaming hiss. Marie was barely cognizant of the sub’s rupture in the nanosecond before her own body became one with the dark, roiling, rushing sea.

  The vehicle became a rain of inanimate particles, the remains of its occupants indistinguishable from anything else that had ever lived or breathed. In an instant, they were transformed into a gruesome amalgam of warm mammalian flesh and cold machinery, a grim, bloody cloud of technology and humanity and dreams.

  9:00 A.M., Sunday, October 26, off the coast of Taino

  After listening to Sam’s latest message—he’d gone from sweet to concerned to downright pissed off over the last twenty-four hours—Cyn powered off her crackberry and tossed it into the duffel at the end of her bunk
.

  She had to force herself to feel justified in ignoring his calls. Fighting off the guilt that was chewing at her brain went with the territory.

  You’ll see, Sammy. Especially when I come home with the biggest story of my career. You’ll see how wrong you were to try to stop me.

  The last image of him—sleepy, tousled, gorgeous—crashed into her fantasy. As did the ring he’d offered her.

  Nothing has changed. We are so over. We were over before this trip started.

  “Deal with it,” she snapped under her breath. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and headed to the deck, stopping at the top step to take a deep breath and let the world wash over her.

  The setting was beyond idyllic. The water lapping at the boat was sapphire for as far as she could see. The sun was behind her, rising toward the center of a sky that held only a few harmless, gold-edged clouds. Its heat and light burnished the six hard, almost-naked bodies of the lithe young men who crewed the boat as they went about their duties.

  Of course, all of those young men had glanced at her and then pointedly looked away, and she knew better than to expect anything remotely like conversation from her girlfriends. But Cyn refused to dwell on any of that, just as she refused to dwell on Sam and his demands. She was even able to block out the fairly sordid memories of how she’d spent the night and chose instead to focus exclusively on the results she’d procured.

  While Günter had never said he accepted her apology, a rigorous, frequently debasing expenditure of Cyn’s energy and imagination had gotten him to rescind his decision to leave the area. And, not long before dawn, she had been able to persuade him to follow through on his original promise to take the boat inside the territorial boundary of Taino.

  Cyn moved across the deck to the starboard railing. Despite feeling the frigid disdain of everyone around her, she found herself on the verge of completely inappropriate laughter at the sheer absurdity of her situation.

  Here she was lolling in the middle of Any Girl’s idyll—sun, water, hard-bodied near-naked men—and her blood was pumping for a reason unrelated to any of it.

  The clipper had spent the last few hours drifting through the mostly empty waters to the west of Taino. The crash had happened off the island’s eastern coast, and that’s where all the action was. In fact, by the time Günter had gotten the boat under way and they’d left the area, the number of vessels, mostly pleasure craft, had more than doubled from the day before and the U.S. Coast Guard was getting a bit aggressive in its unilateral decision to play international water cop.

  It could have been, as Günter said, that the coast guard was getting antsy because the sea was getting slightly choppier as a storm centered on the other side of the Bahamas supposedly gained strength, but Cyn didn’t believe it. All the military posturing going on indicated to her that something big was going down, something bigger than just the crash of a private jet, and she was determined to get closer than anyone else to see exactly what that something was. She’d convinced Günter that, with all eyes on the other side of the island—including the point-and-shoot news helicopters and photographers with extremely long-range telephoto lenses—their best chance to get a scoop was to sail in from behind, hugging the coast.

  She knew that waiting patiently at the border and following the rules was not how you got the news; you got the news by being bold and, yeah, by breaking the rules.

  When Günter announced his decision not to head back to port, everyone on the boat had been relieved and there had been smiles all around. When he went a bit further and told them he’d decided to break Tainoan law and head to the site, the response had been more subdued, but no one had complained. The only thing missing from the scene was anything that hinted of any thanks to Cyn for her efforts or the results they’d garnered.

  Not that what the others might or might not have been thinking of her mattered a damn to Cyn. Overall, a few hours of weird sex with a gorgeous, angry man was a small price to pay for getting the story she—and only she—was going to get.

  Cyn couldn’t hide her smile as she realized that everything hinged on the next few minutes. They were coming about in their first attempt to breach the off-limits waters of Taino.

  She stood at the rail beside Stephanie, still sullen and angry, and Grace, who was marginally more friendly. They had been friends all through college and had indulged in their share of cold-shouldering over the years. And, despite their silence, Cyn knew they were as buzzed as she was as they clustered together and scanned the horizon, keeping one ear open for any barked order from Günter.

  Enjoying the surge of cool wind on her face as the boat cut through the water under full sail, Cyn glanced back at the captain as she heard him call for Pieter, the first mate, in a stream of unintelligible Dutch. The only word she could make out was “sonar.” After watching him for a minute to see if she could discern what was happening, she turned back to the horizon. They were now inside Taino’s waters and rapidly approaching the first jutting edge of the island’s southern headland.

  “Oh, God. We’re in trouble now,” Stephanie muttered, causing Cyn to turn around.

  Approaching the boat were two wetsuited people on Jet Skis. The wakes revealed they had just emerged from a small, nearly hidden cove along the shore.

  There was a low shout, and almost immediately the boat began to slow as the sails dropped.

  “You.” Günter spoke from close behind her.

  Cyn started, then composed herself and said, calmly, “What?”

  “You get in the inflatable and go over there and talk to them. I am not about to get arrested. You got us into this, you can get us out. Why don’t you use your press card?” he finished grimly.

  An unhealthy churn started in the lower section of her stomach as Cyn walked to the stern of the boat. One of the silent Dutchmen helped her down the ladder; another waited in the small rubber dinghy.

  She made it into the rocking inflatable, landing unceremoniously on her butt as the sailor gunned the engine and arced away from the clipper before she’d secured a seat.

  In a few minutes the crew member cut the engine as the slowing Jet Skis pulled alongside the inflatable.

  The Taino security agent nearest the inflatable shoved his goggles up to just above his eyebrows. “You’re in restricted waters. We have to ask you to leave. This area is secure.”

  The security guy’s Gomer Pyle accent might have been amusing if he hadn’t been built like the side of a barn and covered in a clinging, black wet-suit with a gun-shaped lump strapped to one thigh and a sheathed but brutish-looking knife strapped to the other, and sporting what looked like body armor beneath the straps of his high-tech life vest.

  Okay. I’m intimidated. Cyn tried to smile. “We’re on a clipper cruise. We were given permission—”

  “No, ma’am. All visitor permissions have been suspended. You would have been notified about that. You must leave the area immediately.” He didn’t have to raise his voice or even get aggressive. There was no way Cyn or any other rational human being would have argued with him, or his silent, female colleague, who was similarly dressed and just as heavily armed.

  “Hey, I think we’ll leave. No offense,” Cyn replied with a weak smile.

  “Thank you, ma’am. You just head toward the open water. We’ll go tell your captain what we told you. The crew can pick you up out there.”

  The sailor next to Cyn was moving to restart the motor when a loud shout from the deck of Günter’s ship reached them and all of them—security team, sailor, and Cyn—turned toward the clipper. Everyone on the boat seemed to be moving like scurrying insects, and Cyn’s eyes followed their pointing arms to a sight so incomprehensible that at first she thought she was hallucinating.

  Cyn watched incredulously as a section of the surface of the sea erupted into crashing, burping turbulence a few hundred yards away from the boat’s stern. The patch swelled and churned, filling the air with a low, unearthly growl that gradually became more of
a roar.

  The choppy sea surrounding the frothing patch was calm by comparison.

  The raw sound of Velcro being torn apart yanked Cyn back to the present and she turned to see both security agents lifting binoculars to their eyes.

  “What is it? I mean, that can’t be from a whale, can it? No whale is that big.” The words burst out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  “No, ma’am. Looks more like a submarine emptying its tanks in a hurry,” the woman agent replied. “But there are no subs over there.”

  “It could be an underwater volcano,” the sailor offered in broken English, peering at the patch through the small binoculars he’d taken from the inflatable’s safety kit.

  “That’s no volcanic eruption. It’s too small, and there’s no ash or solids coming up,” the woman snapped, her voice rapid-fire with nerves. “Whatever that’s coming from is—”

  As suddenly as it had begun, whatever it was stopped and the water returned to normal.

  No one said anything for a full minute, as they looked to one another for silent confirmation that they’d actually seen what they saw.

  A hoarse, panicked shout from the sailor made Cyn swing her head toward the clipper’s bow in time to see a large circle of water turning to what looked like foam very close—too close—to the boat. The circle was expanding rapidly in all directions, turning paradise into a watery shop of horrors.

  At a shout from Günter, the people clustered in the bow jumped into action. They raced around the deck, trying to raise the sails and get the boat under way even as it drifted closer to the turbulent patch.

  “Those are my friends on that boat,” Cyn growled as she grabbed the binoculars from the Dutch sailor’s hands. As she brought them into focus, she saw Grace fling a hand to her chest and begin clawing at her throat as her eyes went wide and she took on the expression made famous by Edvard Munch’s The Scream.

  Cyn watched her girlfriend’s face go purply blue. Grace fell to the deck, body convulsing, eyes still wide with panic. Bloody foam appeared at the sides of her gaping mouth. Neither of the two women Grace had been working alongside stopped to help as her body flipped through the rails and into the water. Those women had also fallen, clutching their throats, their bodies seizing and arching spastically into shapes Cyn had never seen a human body attain.