Icebound

A Story by david jones

A group of scientists go to Antarctica to hunt a creature that has been contained for 100 years.

The snow whipped through the piercingly cold air, landing on the thick sheets of ice that seemed to have never been cracked. The sun was out, shining amongst the dull and dark clouds that penetrated the blueness of the sky that was directly under it, but it did know good. The yellow rays of the sun were uselessly emanating through the dark clouds, trying to break out of their prison, not bothering to warm anything. The ice cold water moved, waves lapping onto the glittering, beautiful, icy icy shore. Right under this mass of ice was a shape that was caught, something that looked as if it were caught in a mirror, snow coating its hair and faces, its mouth opened to reveal teeth that should've fallen out years and years ago. Ice was a good way for body preservation, as was evident here. The shape had been locked their in the ice for at least one hundred years.

The cold wind blew. Something suddenly shook; ice seemed to be breaking, cracks running up the large glaciers, as if another large chunk of ice were to plunge into the icy depths, most likely because of global warming. And that is indeed what happened. A chunk of ice fell from the large iceberg situated across the ocean, and splashed into the water....another cracking sound. The ice from where the figure was concealed was cracking, cracking, and suddenly the figure let out a miraculous first breath. It should have been.

But it was alive.

And it wanted blood.

The boat was bobbing up and down, and thirty year old Richard Procter was standing there, trying not to fall into the icy depths below. He was an Oceanic scientist stationed in the cold, snowy abyss at the bottom of the world...Antarctica. Him and a few of his collegues, Michael Hanson, Jim Swanson, and Larry Dowley were on the boat as well�"they were studying the warming of the ocean. That warm water that was being created this far south, by the apparent warmer rays of the sun, was causing much of the sheets of ice along each side of the ocean, as well as the glaciers that towered into the sky, to melt and be destroyed. Destruction of the very fabric of Antarctica. These scientists had been sent from Dallas Texas to help with the studying of this, and to make observations of what they were seeing in terms of ice degradation.

Richard was a family man. At his home he had a couple of daughters (all of whom were teenagers) and he had a loving wife who, at first, detested these things that he wanted to do but even she knew she shouldn't get between him and his job. So he packed his thing and took a plane out to Mexico, where he flashed them his password....he got onto another flight, and this time he traveled for a longer period of time, landing in the southern most tip of Argentina. It was there, in the midst of the dense trees, humidity, and rain, that he met the rest of his people as they took a boat down to the coldest place on earth.

The sky was a distant blue, snow having cleared out hours ago. As he looked up into the sky, entranced by the blueness of it all and the swirling of the clouds that seemed to blend into the sky so beautifully, he could feel the small heat rising on his face. Once he out his head down low though when he needed to talk to these people bout something, a wind whipped through the air, a cold and icy wind so strong it nearly knocked him off the boat.

“How's the family?” Michael asked, breaking the abrupt silence that had been going on for a few minutes. He was dressed in a heavy, fur coat with a red scarf that was wrapped so tightly around his neck to prevent the cold that you would've sworn he was suffocating.

Richard turned to him. “Very good. Linda is doing alright, and the kids are in high school. Wendy is nearly graduated now.”

“That's nice,” said Michael, “and the job?”

“This job? It's nice.”

“No not this one,” Michael said.”Your other one. As a writer.”

“Oh, that. It's alright. I haven't gotten much published but I have written a novel, which iis a good start I guess,” Richard said.

“You damn right it is,” said Jim with a southern drawl to his voice. “And what is this novel about?”

“Some of our explorations of the world. Completely fictionalized of course,” Richard said.

“Can I read it?” asked Larry.

“If it gets published.”

“I could read it now. Give you feedback. Ya know...edit it for ya.” Everyone on the small boat burst out laughing. The boat lurched to the side, before steadying itself. “What, it could work.”

“I wouldn't let you touch my manuscript,” said Richard, laughing, “you'd take out all the wrong s**t.” Everyone laughed again, including Larry, who was a good sport when jests were made.

“It's alright,” Michael said. “I wouldn't even let him come near my HOUSE!” Larry roared with laughter. That was what these pals did best; they joked around with each constantly. Larry was usually the butt of the jokes, but he was such a good friend and he was so used to it he just didn't care anymore.

“I will however,” said Richard, “give you a personalized signed copy of I do, indeed, get it published. Sound good to you?” Larry nodded, excited. A thin current of wind whistled through the still and silent air, creating a couple flurries of snow floating to the ground. Richard aimed the boat to shore with his ores and paddled forward, the right ore slicing through the water like a knife. They stopped right on the edge of the icy patch and stepped out of the boat, careful not to slip.

“Well here we are,” said Michael. He looked around at the Arctic landscapes surrounding him.

Richard said, “The base should be a couple miles from here. That way.” He pointed toward the right. They were wearing specially designed boots that helped them walk through this climate; the bottoms of them contained spiky crystals which would grip the patches of ice, making it nearly impossible for them to slip and fall, though it was not unheard of. They walked for a little while in silence, the wind whipping even harder than it had been when they were on the water.

“Anyone we are expecting to meet?” Jim asked.

“As far as I know, a scientist named Carl Booney,” replied Richard. “My supervisor told me that he would be there waiting for us.

“Perfect,” Larry said. They reached the building. A couple of dog sleds were sitting in the front of the building in supposed parking spaces, and the loud barking of dogs came from the building. Richard went to the front door, and knocked. A moment later, the door opened and a burly man was standing there with a thick, brown beard shrouding his kindly face in secrecy.

“Who is this?” the man, who must have been Carl, asked.

“Richard Procter,” he said, extending his hand.

“And who might you be?”

“A fellow scientist. My supervisor, Kenneth Williams, told me that you would be here, waiting for us.”

“Are the Richard Procter? Famed scientist?”

“That's right.”

“Well come in, you and all your friends.” He backed up, allowing Richard and his crew to enter the small, but warm area that looked like a lab. A fireplace was slowly crackling along the far wall. Tables were littered with various items; maps, vials of liquid, and other technology that these scientists used. A couple of rifles were leaning against a wall.

“What are those for?” Richard asked.

Carl turned around. His face was suddenly very grave. “That is what you are here about.”

“Yea?” Larry asked.

“It's not really about science. Well, I mean, it could...but...there is something here with us, I saw it.”

“Penguins?”

“No. Something that shouldn't exist down here,” Carl said.

“You, mean, the Abominibal snow man?” Richard asked.

“Well this figure...it was dark. I don't think it was covered in white fur. But you're job, for me, here, is to help me find it, hunt it, and kill it, no matter the cost,” Carl said.

“How are we supposed to believe you about this thing, whatever it is?”

“You don't have to,” Carl said, “but believe me or not its out there, and soon it will be looking for blood, looking to kill each and every one of us to quench its unending hunger and thirst.”

“When are we going out?” Richard asked.

“Soon,” Carl said. “We need to get ready to take this thing on. And I know just the thing.” He went to a cabinet and opened it, revealing two shelves stocked with rifles. “They are all loaded and ready to go.”

“That's a Springfield Colt Action rifle,” said Larry. He reached for it. “Feels good.”

“Larry's a gun aficionado,” Richard told Carl.

Larry pulled the hammer back, looking at the bullets. “This is a damn fine gun you have here,” he said.

“Well thank you. I get some of the best guns. I usually go to the mainland, either in New Zealand or southern Argentina, and I pick some of the guns up,” Carl said. He grabbed another gun; this one was a pistol. A .357 magnum. “This is my personal favorite.” He handed it to Richard.

The pistol felt good in Richards hands. He pulled out the revolving wheel, and sure enough bullets were neatly placed in each of the cartridges.

Everybody already knew how to fire the guns considerably well; they had all, as friends, as a squad, taken classes showing them how to fire various different types of guns. They all went hunting sometimes, when they got the chance, in the woods of Texas, and they needed to know how the guns worked, of course. Richard had also once been a police officer for a brief period of time; so he had extensively advanced knowledge on how to handle weapons and firearms of all types. Richard tucked the magnum in the waistband of his thick pants, grabbed a rifle from the cabinet, and checked to see if it was loaded. It was always good to double check. He slung it across his shoulder. Carl, with a rifle clutched in his gloved hands, walked to the front of this group of scientists.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let's go,” Richard said. They went outside into the unknown.

It knew they were after it.

It didn't care.

All the more blood for it.

It was standing in the middle of the deep snow that glittered around it like a field of crystals. It was carrying a meat clever in its hand. It had long, brown hair that veiled its ugly face. It was looking down�"following a sort of trail of blood.

Animals.

Down here?

And now pesky humans.

It would eradicate them.

It had to.

They were walking through the deep snow drifts, squinting through the flakes that seemed to blow in their faces because of the large, whipping wind that created a vortex of snow that nearly surrounded them. Richard crouched by a rock so he could feel better�"his stomach was turning at the antcipation of meeting this thing, whatever it was, and his legs were screaming with pain, not used to trekking through his harsh of an environment. He stood up, the snow continuously blowing in his face. His cheeks were red. His feet were in pain; if he wasn't more careful, he would end up with frostbite. He wrapped the scarf around his face as tightly as it would go, though, painfully, he had to leave his eyes uncovered so he could see for this thing. The burning sensation of the wind slammed into his eyes, causing them to sting. He nearly fell down a couple of times, but luckily he had Michael right behind him....Michael lifted him up.

Carl was way ahead when he stopped. The storm had gone crazy�"it was insane! There was a couple of cracking sounds that emanated from the ice and suddenly Richard felt even more afraid, felt as if the ice would crack under him, as if he would fall through and plunge to his death in the icy cold waters below.

He knew he should stop panicking....that was not an option. That would just make him even more afraid of messing up than he already was. He turned around and said, “Bloody Hell,” in a mighty good British accent. He looked ahead of him and spotted a couple of his companions that were leaving him behind�"they must have been feeling the same extreme pressure that Richard was feeling. It was just too much.

“I...Don't...k...know if I can....take...this...any...more....” Richard stuttered, and then he collaped to the ground, the cold getting to him. Michael crouched beside him, reached into a backpack, and produced a bottle of AQUAFINA water. The water bottle had been in an insulated container, so the water wouldn't freeze.

“Here, take this,” Michael muttered. Richard sipped from the water bottle very slowly. His lips were numb. They felt frozen shut. The water felt good as it coursed down him�"he felt a combination of hot and cold. That was not good.

Suddenly a screamed pierced through the night, sounding even louder than the extreme sounds of the whistling wind. Michael turned his head to the right; he raised his rifle and went forward, slightly.

Richard slowly got up. He was feeling sick. But he needed to help. He reached for his pistol. He could feel the freezing metal through his hands which had five pairs of gloves on them. He put his finger on the trigger....another scream, louder, more prominent.

A dark shape amid the storm.

Michael fired.

The bullet streaked across the sky, into the darkness.

Michael moved forward at a more quicker rate, running as fast as he could through the thick snow. He stopped. Looked down. Saw dark stuff soaking into the soak.

Knew it was blood.

Twisted around.

And was hit from behind.

A blade sliced through his legs. Bone and sinew and flesh. Blood splashed across the snow. Michael screamed as the cold wind met with the mortal wound. He looked up from the ground.

Raised the rifle.

Fired.

The bullet hit. But it did no good. Michael was dragged through the snow, screaming, blood spouting out the back of his leg, and he was thrown against a glacier....his body slid down the mass of ice, leaving a large trail of dark blood behind. Carl found the thing, took aim, fired, but his bullet shattered the ice from one of the glaciers. The thing twisted around, raced toward him, grabbed him, and sliced the blade through his stomach and chest and Carl screamed in agony as blood sprayed from his chest with such volume. He fell forward, attempting to catch his guts. They plopped on the ground right in front of him.

Richard limped forward. He felt sick. Hurt. The cold was getting to him. He raised the pistol, fired. The bullet struck the thing in the back. It shrieked in agony. A guttural, inhuman shriek. Richard found a rifle on the ground, raised it, pulled the trigger....the bullet smashed the thing in the side of the head. And it was standing there, stunned.

Then it just collapsed to the ground, blood running from its head down through the snow, ending up in the ocean, tinting the blue water with a crimson red.

Richard fell to the ground, unconscious.