Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Beyond the Frozen Fire

“Story of my life,” Gabriel said.

Elaine returned, the tray loaded with micro wave burritos on plastic plates. She handed the plates around. “Eat up,” she said. “Won’t stay warm for long.”

Gabriel wolfed down the food. He’d eaten worse. Of course, he’d survived for a week once in the Peruvian jungle on a diet of rainwater and grubs, so that wasn’t saying much.

“I don’t know about you all,” Elaine said, “but I’m gonna hit the sack. Nils’ll be up for another few hours working in the lab if you need anything but otherwise, you’re free to bed down wherever you can find the space.”

Nils began gathering up the dirty plates. “Velda,” he said. “You can sleep in your father’s bed, if you don’t mind bunking in my room.”

“That’ll be fine,” Velda said. Her face was closed off and unreadable.

“Rue, why don’t you take the couch,” Gabriel said, putting a hand on Millie’s massive shoulder. “You and me are on the floor.”

“I don’t think there’s enough floor for the two of us,” Millie replied, unrolling an extra-large sleeping bag. “You know I love you like a brother, but I don’t particularly want to snuggle.”

“That’s fine,” Gabriel said. “I’ll bed down in the mess hall.”

Gabriel collected his bedroll and headed down a short hallway to the mess. It was barely big enough for the square card table at its center. Gabriel had to fold up the table and lean it against the wall to make room to lie down on the floor.

Once he’d done so, Gabriel discovered that he still felt wide-awake, mind restless and full of unanswered questions. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, he decided a hot shower would help him relax.

The first door he opened led to a cramped laboratory. It was meat-locker cold and the floor was raw exposed ice. A variety of probes had been sunk deep into the ice and twinkling banks of high-tech machines and top-of-the-line computers compiled, sorted and analyzed the data. Nils sat on a crooked stool in front of a bank of monitors. He wore a thick sweater, muffler and wool watch cap but no parka. His gloves had the tips of the fingers snipped off for easier typing and the pinkie of the right glove had been removed altogether. Although Gabriel was shivering, Nils seemed comfortable in the chill.

Nils was holding a second cup of steaming cocoa in one hand and a silver hip flask in the other. When he looked up and saw Gabriel, he finished pouring a slug of what ever the flask contained into the cocoa and then held the flask out to Gabriel. It proved to be surprisingly excellent bourbon. Gabriel took a swig and gave the flask back to the big Swede.

“Tell me,” Gabriel said. “What do you make of Dr. Silver’s last transmission?”

Nils took a sip of his cocoa, watching the continuous parade of numbers across the screen beside him.

“I was the one who received the transmission,” he finally said. “I tried to respond but there was no reply.” He paused, tapping away at the keyboard for several seconds, his face stoic. “What he claims to have seen is not possible. I believe he is dead.” His expression softened slightly and he looked down into his mug. “Don’t get me wrong—the man was as capable a scientist as anyone I’ve known, and physically? He was in better shape than most men half his age. Stronger, too.” He shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter how strong you are down here. The ice is stronger.”

Gabriel nodded.

“I understand this is difficult for Velda. I hope seeing the place where he disappeared and confirming that his remains cannot be found, she will be able to let go and finally accept the loss.”

Gabriel nodded, wrapping his arms around his body and stamping his chilly feet.

“I thought I’d take a shower,” he said.

“Down at the other end of the hall,” Nils said, without looking away from his monitors.

“Thanks,” Gabriel said and left the big Swede to his ice and his numbers.

The other end of the dim hallway terminated in two identical doors. No way to know which was the bathroom, so he picked one at random and knocked gently.

“Yes?”

Velda’s voice.

Gabriel pushed open the door to reveal a tiny dorm-like room. Two narrow beds and not much else. Twin footlockers, a small halogen reading lamp burning on one of them. Velda sat on one of the beds, her long legs drawn up beneath her chin like an anxious child. She wasn’t crying, but there had been a flash of vulnerability in her face that quickly submerged when she saw Gabriel enter the room. She unfolded her legs and stood to meet him. Her thick, auburn hair was down around her face

“I was just looking for the…” Gabriel began, hand motioning pointlessly in the direction of the door, but she cut him off.

“Come here,” she said.

She reached out to pull Gabriel into an embrace. Her lips were just inches from his, barely parted and begging for a kiss. Who was he to argue? He gave her what she wanted and she gave it back in spades, her fierce, urgent heat threatening to melt through the polar ice beneath them.

After, they lay entwined and spent in a tangle of blankets, sharing a warm, comfortable silence. Gabriel found himself drifting just on the edge of sleep when Velda spoke, almost too soft to hear.

“I have to know,” Velda said. “I can’t stand not knowing.”

“I understand,” Gabriel replied, reaching down to brush her hair back off her forehead.

He did, too. His own parents had vanished, not in the frozen Antarctic but in the heat of the Mediterranean. They’d been on a speaking tour at the end of 1999 (the theme had been prophecies surrounding the turn of the millennium) when the ship they were traveling on had vanished for three days. When it had appeared again, not a living soul had been on board, just three crew members with their throats cut. Gabriel remembered all too clearly the ache of waiting for news, of not knowing. Every time a body washed up and was identified as one of the other passengers, Gabriel was torn between feeling relieved and feeling resentful that others were being set free to mourn while he and Michael and their sister, Lucy, remained in the purgatory of not knowing. It was a terrible thing to lose hope, but terrible, too, to have it—to carry the burden of hope from day to day, watching as the odds grew slimmer, but being denied the respite of their ever dropping to zero.

In the end, the bodies of Ambrose and Cordelia Hunt had never been found. The U.S. government had declared them dead, a verdict Gabriel had reluctantly accepted—he’d certainly never been able to turn up any evidence to the contrary, and he’d tried. But acceptance wasn’t the same as closure. He understood why Velda wanted closure.

“I begged him to come home,” she said. “When I was here last, six months ago—I told him, Papa, you’re seventy-five years old, you gave up teaching ten years ago, why can’t you stop and come home? But he said no. ‘Now more than ever, with global warming…’ ” She threw up her hands. “He felt his expertise was needed. He said he’d never be able to live with himself if he left the problem to others.”

“Maybe he was right,” Gabriel said.

“But now he’s vanished,” Velda said, “and all his expertise with him.” She turned to Gabriel. “It’s more than just not knowing if he’s alive or dead. I can’t help thinking that my father may have made the discovery of a lifetime. Even if…” Her voice caught, and she stared up at the low ceiling, collecting herself. “Even if he didn’t make it,” she said, finally, her voice steady and controlled, “I feel like the world should know about his discovery. It would be his legacy.”

Gabriel nodded, about to say something reassuring, but Velda didn’t let him speak. She pressed her lips to his and seconds later, what ever thoughts he’d been entertaining went out of his head entirely.