Girl in Ice(75)

Two minutes, thirty-five seconds.

I charged upward, grabbing at the frigid water and dragging it behind me with frenzied strokes. Still roped to me, the trap popped free from the seafloor, its drag like a body chained behind me.

Frantically I flashed my dim headlight up toward the underbelly of the ice. Green rings glowed everywhere.

But which is the diving hole?

I pictured it: a long oval shape, like a bathtub. Caught sight of it. Clawing at the water, scissoring sluggish legs, I made slow progress toward the glimmering beacon. The trap jerked along beneath me, yanking me back down with every upward thrust, the rope cutting into my waist.

Finally, I reached the pale green pellucid circle. Thrust my red rubber hand up, expecting air. Solid mass greeted me. Eagerly I felt around the surface. Had it frozen over? Impossible…. Eyes leaking tears inside my goggles, I balled my hands into fists and came up hard with my knuckles. Only ice, several inches thick.

This wasn’t the hole! Only a thinning of the ice where some light shone through. The trap bumped up against my back, then floated past my face, eels churning.

Fifty-nine seconds.

Pushing up against the solid ice, I sent myself back down a yard or so. Had to see the geography of my underworld. I twisted my neck, trying to comprehend what I was looking at.

There were dozens of these glowing circles, these false holes.

It was only then that it hit me. The ice sheet above me was slowly creeping along, like a sky full of clouds in a swift wind.

That explosion was no calving berg. The Dome had broken away on its own ice floe.

And it was moving.

I kicked myself down a few more feet, dragging the wretched crate behind me like everything I’d ever dragged in my life, the great weight of my fears and phobias and grief and all I could not solve.

Forty seconds.

What is special about the diving hole? What makes it different from all these other rings of thinning ice? For Christ’s sake, Val, what?

I craned my head back, knowing I couldn’t wish any of the green circles to be the hole; all I could do was scan the rippling ceiling of ice for some sort of clue. Shockingly far away, a faint lavender light blinked on and off, on and off.

The flashlight I’d abandoned near the edge of the hole.

I thought, It’s too far away.

I’m going to die down here.

I kicked off toward the smudge of winking purple, the horrendous trap jerking me back half a stroke for each one I took.

You have to let it go, Val. Untie yourself and let it go.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Could I make it to the hole with this trap chained to me? I pictured Nora’s body rolling lifelessly in the blue hell, Raj’s corpse butted up against the soapy underbelly of some pitiless berg. The light flashed in the distance, and I loved its battery-powered heart with all of mine, but for every kick, the crate reeled me in, oxygen already thinner in my lungs.

I had to let the eels go.

Sigrid will die without them.

I will die with them.

Thirteen seconds.

I felt for the rope at my waist, begging a god I didn’t believe in for forgiveness. My clumsy rubber fingers grappled at the knot, but to my horror the force of my swimming had tightened it to something I didn’t have the strength, dexterity, or time to loosen. I had no knife. I was wedded to this cargo. I yelped in my mask, contorting my body in a vain attempt to free myself. Priceless seconds wasted.

Two seconds. One.

Blinking red zeros.

With a low hiss the pump of oxygen slowed. My head felt gaseous, like a balloon. I stopped fighting the rope and became still. I felt high. I was an astronaut severed from the ship. The purple beam swept across my retina, flashing deep into my brain. Jump-starting some primal life force.

Flippered feet churning, I reached up and hauled the water behind me, the trap like a boat I was towing. Sipping at the wisp of air that remained, I pictured my body free of anchors and slim as a knife. The purple caress of light bloomed as inky curtains fell darkly on either side of my vision and began to knit together. A violet radiance filled my head. So this was God, had been God all along, How could I have doubted?

But as I was blacking out, that revelation fell away. I forgot why the light mattered. What did it mean, this bright pulsing marvel above me, this tender neon angel? Oxygen-starved weakness rippled through me, ironing me flat. All I knew was to go up, to touch that sweet glow. I was aquatic; I was a sea creature; I was something about light.

What is it? I’m supposed to want light.

Want light.





thirty-three


I shuddered awake. Among the clink of dishes and scrape of silverware, Wyatt and Jeanne spoke in hushed tones, their slippered feet hissing back and forth. I squeezed my eyes shut. Could still feel their rough grip as they hoisted me from the freezing water, hear my oxygen tank bang against the sides of the hole, taste my first sweet shot of heavenly air.

I inhaled the odors of brewing coffee, fried fish, wet wool steaming over the heater, musty couch stink as I gathered blankets tighter around my shoulders. Every muscle and bone of my body ached, my mouth sandpaper dry. I didn’t dare lift my head, only hazarded a peek at the rug—I’d done a fair job cleaning the bloodstains, but how soon would he learn about the broken test tube, did he already know?

I recoiled at the screech of Wyatt’s chair as he dragged it close. Slitted my eyes open and coughed but otherwise stayed quiet. He worked a hand through the graying stubble of his beard as he examined me, something like concern on his face, or was it curiosity? Jeanne bustled around a minute longer, finally landing in the blown-out recliner next to him. Deep blue twilight lent their faces a deathly pallor.