Absolute Zero: Final Part

PART THREE- ABSOLUTE ZERO




The men were in bad spirits. Their helicopters had had to make a two day landing to cope with the sudden, massive snowstorm, and they were now at least a week late. Their progress was slow, perhaps only a couple miles a day, with over a hundred more to go. They would never survive to cross the ice fields and back, let alone find the crew alive, if weather didn’t become easier soon.

“Hi, you, what’s the forecast?” yelled John, the pilot, back to Pete. The former had been listening to the weather radio more closely than John, who had to focus on flying the helicopter.

“Say it’ll pass in a few days. ‘S headin’ south, so we oughta be getting’ out o’ it in three days.”

He vaguely had the impression of John saying something profane from the cockpit, but he couldn’t be sure. “We’ll make it, don’t worry. We’ve been through more’n this,” Pete reassured his long-time partner in the Alaskan flights. He settled back and let his eyes glaze over as John hailed the other helicopter to give them the news.




* * *


LOG 31
3.5.11
RON’S RULES

1. NO ONE GOES OUT WITHOUT NOTIFYING RONALD LEAN
2. ALL FOOD IS RATIONED ACCORDING TO RONALD’S JUDGMENT
3. ALL FIREARMS REMAIN IN THE POSSESSION OF RONALD AT ALL TIMES
4. SEIKE HUNTS HIS OWN MEALS
5. ANY FORM OF MUTINY, DISRESPECT TO RONALD’S BETTER JUDGMENT, OR OTHER MAJOR OFFENSE WILL BE SEVERELY DEALT WITH
6. ANY BROKEN RULE IS MET WITH IMMEDIATE BANISHMENT
7. RULES ARE NON-NEGOTIABLE



* * *


When Joan read Ronald’s rules, she was speechless. She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe him.

He’s delusional- he thinks he’s king!

Her jaw was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pain in her head. Her head felt like it was breaking apart. She was enraged- how dare he hit her? She would love to just take his precious fucking gun and put it to his twisted little head, and…

No. That’s Ronald’s thinking.

She didn’t imagine Ronald could do anything to her, not if she and Samson both rose against him, but for now, she was in no shape to get in a fight with him, so she would comply for now. She needed to look for food. She paused at his door. Was there a rule against this? Whatever.

She took a breath, held it, and knocked.

Silence.

She hesitated. “Ron?” she called, but there was no answer. Well, there wasn’t any choice, really, and technically, he hadn’t made any “rule” against going into his room, so she turned the knob. She looked into his room he wasn’t there. Instinctively she started to say “Ron” again, but the words froze and seemed to harden and grow in her throat as something fell against her foot and she looked down.

She screamed. It was short, though, for fear that Ronald was here. Swallowing her disgust and horror, she lifted Samson’s limp, bloodied torso and held her hand to his mouth.

No breathing.

Pressing her lips as tight together as she could, as though some unwarranted sound might escape, she used her foot to push his head up, out of the way, as she closed the door again. She leaned against it.

Ronald killed Samson. Ronald had completely lost it.

Had he deliberately left Samson’s body in his room? Was he hiding it? Or was it possible that, like some cases she had heard of, he had a split personality and didn’t even know what he’d done?

The only way to find out would be to talk to him and see how he acted. But the thought repulsed her. No, she didn’t need to know; all she needed to know was that he had gone essentially bonkers and that it probably wasn’t a matter of whether she obeyed his “rules” or not; he would kill her eventually anyways. Thinking it so bluntly, though, made her cringe.

She had to get away. One way or another, she had to get out and hope that she would meet up with the helicopters going the other way.

But what about food, weapons? There was hardly any food. Ronald had the weapons. Her brow furrowed. Well, there had to be some way. She had to get out.
She turned sharply as she heard footsteps from the front room, and quickly darted into her own room and shut the door.

She listened to the sound of his door open down the hall, and waited tensely to hear how he would react. Then she realized she’d been holding her breath, and let it out in a rush. She heard a thumping sound, and then a wet, slithering noise, as something being dragged… what in the name of God was he doing? The sound continued past her door and beyond, in the direction of the living room. After that, she could hear no more. A door opened and closed, but she couldn’t tell which one from in here. Then, after a few moments, she heard his footsteps, and barely had time to realize he was coming to her room before he called her name and the door opened.

She froze, then forced herself to relax, and tried not to look as though she’d been listening. He looked at her strangely as he entered the room, and she braced herself, wondering what was going to happen next. Then the look was gone, as fast as it had come.

“Come on,” he eventually said. “We need to work.”

Surprised that he would consider doing such a thing with his opinion of the situation, she immediately complied, and donned her gear for another day on the ice field.


* * *


LOG ENTRY 32
3.7.11
RONALD LEAN


THEY’RE COMING, I KNOW THAT. THEY’LL GET THE WEAK ONES. THEY ALWAYS DO. THEY GOT DANNY. THEY WOULD’VE GOTTEN SAMSON. REALLY, HE SHOULD THANK ME. JOAN MIGHT HAVE A CHANCE. SHE’S STRONG. BUT SHE HAS RIDICULOUS IDEAS. IF SHE LISTENS TO ME, SHE’LL MAKE IT. BUT I AM ESCAPING THEM NO MATTER WHAT… EVEN IF THAT MEANS SHE DOESN’T…

WE HAVE NO FOOD LEFT. BUT I’VE FIGURED IT OUT- JOAN WON’T BE ABLE TO COMPLAIN THAT I DON’T TAKE CARE OF THINGS AFTER THIS. AND MAYBE THIS WILL TEACH HER TO LISTEN. SHE’S BEEN ACTING STRANGELY, GIVING ME LOOKS. I DON’T LIKE IT. I DON’T TRUST HER. AND SHE KEEPS STARTING TO ARGUE WITH ME. EVEN IF SHE STOPS HERSELF BEFOREHAND, IT’S STILL THERE. SHE HAS TO LEARN.

I’LL KILL TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE- AND AFTER THIS, MAYBE SHE’LL REALIZE THAT SHE’S NOT QUEEN ANYMORE.



* * *
Ronald sat in the living room by the fire, smoking just as Danny had been when they arrived. He waited.

He knew that Joan wanted to escape- it was too obvious. He knew people too well to be fooled. He couldn’t let her leave like that, though, because it represented the undermining of his authority. Also, it would mean he had no more control, and he needed that control over her to survive. He needed her if anything happened, whether as a companion or sacrifice, it didn’t matter. He needed her. But she couldn’t know that- she had to think he was in control. He needed her to think she needed him… to be in control.

Everything was ready; all he needed was to wait for her to come. A tap-tap-tapping on the floor made him look up to see that dog of hers, Seike. He scowled at it. The dog watched him with complete equanimity, then trotted off silently.

That was another thing. He didn’t like that dog.

He was interrupted by the sound of a door closing in the hallway, and footsteps. Joan… good. He smiled briefly, but was gone within moments. When she entered the living room she jumped upon seeing him and stuttered an unconvincing hello. Huh. She must have been up to something. Well, no matter, he would fix her.

“Hi, Joan,” he greeted her unemotionally. “How have you been?” He felt a brief satisfaction at the frozen expression on her face, as though she’d recognized the hidden inquiry: what have you been doing? She muttered a bit of generic nonsense and was about to excuse herself when Ronald stopped her.

“Joan, how much food is left?” She glanced at him, looking confused. “Last I checked…” She grimaced, shook her head. “Well, not much of anything, really.” Ronald nodded, as though this interested him. “Ah. Yeah, I noticed. Well, I found something. It could last us a week or more, if we are careful with it.” She looked surprised.

“Really? What is it?” Ronald bit his lip. “Well, it’s in the kitchen. Could you help me with it? You’re better at this than me, since you were on a farm or something before this, right?” She nodded. “Yeah, I’m could at skinning things and cutting it up…” She furrowed her brow. “Did you go out hunting?” A little smile spread irresistibly across Ronald’s face. “Yeah… yeah, I guess you could say that.” With these words, he turned and headed for the kitchen, noting with satisfaction the sound of Joan’s steps behind him.



* * *

LOG ENTRY 23
2.6.11
SAMSON FREDERICKS


I REMEMBER WHEN I WANTED TO BE A PILOT. BOY, DID THAT GO OVER BADLY… MY DAD WORKED ON THE ICE FIELDS, AND BEFORE HIM, MY GRANDFATHER. I DON’T KNOW WHY SO MANY FAMILIES LIKE JOBS TO RUN IN THE FAMILY LIKE BLUE EYES OR HEART DISEASE. IT MAKES NO SENSE, WITH ALL THE OTHER TRADITIONS WE HAVE TO STICK WITH. BUT NOW I TRY IT, EXTRACTING OIL ISN’T TOO BAD. SOMETIMES I GO TO THE WOODS A FEW MILES OFF AND JUST LOOK AROUND. JOAN’S DOG, SEIKE, USUALLY COMES WITH ME. THE OTHERS SAY I SHOULDN’T GO OUT INTO THE WOODS, WITH OR WITHOUT THE DOG, BECAUSE I COULD BE MAULED BY A BEAR OR SOMETHING, BUT THERE ISN’T MUCH AROUND HERE. PROBABLY THE COMPOUND AND ALL THE MACHINERY MADE EVERYTHING BUT THE BIRDS AND SMALL GAME GO EVENTUALLY. THE WOLVES ARE THE ONLY THINGS THAT STAYED WORTH FEARING, BUT THEY’RE PRETTY SOLITARY AND SHOULD BE DOING WELL FURTHER DOWN THE MOUNTAIN.

THE OTHER PEOPLE ARE PRETTY NICE- I’M JUST GLAD I DON’T CLASH WITH THEM, SINCE I’VE GOT TO WORK WITH THEM. THOUGH TO TELL THE TRUTH, I DON’T REALLY CLASH WITH ANYONE. THE ONE GUY, THOUGH, RONALD, IS A LITTLE BAD TEMPERED AND STRANGE. OH, HE’S A NICE ENOUGH GUY, AND THE JOKES HE MAKES ABOUT EATING JOAN’S DOG (OR JOAN, FOR THAT MATTER) IF WE RUN OUT OF FOOD ARE PRETTY FUNNY. BUT DEEP DOWN, HE’S A BIT… I DON’T KNOW. HE JUST SEEMS LIKE HE MIGHT HAVE A SCREW OR TWO LOOSE. SOMETIMES I COME INTO THE ICE BOX TO GET FOOD AND HE’LL ALREADY BE THERE, JUST STARING AT THE ICE OR THE FOOD OT SOMETHING. HE KEEPS TALKING ABOUT IF THE HELICOPTERS DON’T COME, IF WE’RE ALONE, WHATEVER. HE OBSESSES ABOUT SOMETHING GOING WRONG. HE KEEPS REARRANGING THE FOOD IN THERE, LIKE HE’S TRYING TO RATION IT MORE CAREFULLY, AND HE DOESN’T EAT MUCH AND COMPLAINS IF WE EAT TOO MUCH. IT’S NOT JUST WORRYING, THOUGH. HE FIGHTS FOR NO REASON. THEN, RIGHT AFTER SAYING SOMETHING REALLY CRUEL TO SOMEONE, HE’LL MAKE A JOKE THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING AND EXPECTS US TO LAUGH WITH HIM. BUT IF WE DON’T, HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING. HE JUST LOOKS AT US, AND LEAVES. I DON’T KNOW. HE’S ALRIGHT. MAYBE HE’S JUST ECCENTRIC. SOME PEOPLE ARE LIKE THAT. I HAD A BEST FRIEND, IN MIDDLE SCHOOL…


* * *


Joan followed Ronald. She wondered what he’d found- she hadn’t seen any deer or anything, though she imagined there had to be some, with the wolves. What bothered her, though, was how calm Ronald was. You’d think he hadn’t killed Samson…

Ugh. No…

Still, she couldn’t just forget he’d done it- or the fact that she couldn’t trust him. She felt terrible, too, because Samson had always seemed to be such a nice kid- and that was all he really was. A kid. What had to be wrong with a person, to kill someone with their bare hands like that! At least, she though he’d used his bare hands. She imagined he’d done it at the same time he’d hit her, and she hadn’t heard a gun go off. Still, she hadn’t known what had happened until the next day.

They’d reached the kitchen. Ronald didn’t open the door to go in immediately, though. Instead, he just stood there, looking at her. She swallowed. As she was about to speak, to try and break the silence somehow, he spoke.

“You haven’t asked about Samson. Not once.” The words that had been forming in her head even after he started to speak stopped. Her head was blank. Oh… oh shit…

Meanwhile, Ronald was still speaking, as though her eyes didn’t have the deer-in-the-headlights look, as though her mouth wasn’t gaping. “I just find it odd, that you show so little concern, considering that he’s been gone for several days, with these monsters around.” Here, she found something to latch on to, and immediately protested. “They aren’t monsters-“ she began, but he stopped her. “Do not start that, Joan!” he snapped, his eyes, for the first time, losing their calm in a split second. His face contorted as he sought to control himself. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, desperately hoping she could calm him again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what they are. I hope they aren’t monsters. I’m just afraid.” At this, Ronald immediately relaxed. He even grinned, quite suddenly, but it wasn’t a good grin, and she got the feeling that she’d made another mistake- a different kind of mistake.

“Yes, we’re all afraid,” he said, still grinning. “But I’m not afraid. No, not afraid, not anymore. The little bastards won’t get that out of me, and that’s where we differ. I’m stringer than you. Oh, you’re alright, for a woman, and a member of this group, but you’re still not like me. You still have these ideas of what’s “rational,” what makes sense-” Ronald leaned closer, and unconsciously he drew back his lips in a grimace- “But that doesn’t apply any more. All that applies is that there’s them, and us,” he said, jabbing his finger at himself when he said ‘us.’ “So,” he continued, “We have to act like it. We can’t cringe at little things. We have to be made of more than that.” He scrutinized her. “Come on, then,” he said, and pushed open the door.



* * *


As the nurse showed Ronald into the room, he looked around him. The walls were painted with various pastel colors intended to be soothing, and the whole place was spotlessly clean. The room into which he was shown was furnished like any bedroom, but there were differences. There was an average bed with a blue blanket, plain carpeted floors, a window. But the place was too clean- it was neat in a manner that suggested not that nurses were constantly busy in this room, but that none of the objects were ever misplaced. He ran his finger lightly on an easel in the corner. It came off dusty.

And there were no books. The bed had no frame. The window had no curtains, and was sturdily locked and reinforced so it couldn’t be broken. It was the perfect room for his manic-depressive mother, who, after the violent death of her husband, went from super charge to suicidal, then finally got to a point where she was basically catatonic. She would sit still for days and days, even weeks, and then she’d suddenly try something awful.

The nurse departed, and Ronald lifted his gaze from his finger, absentmindedly wiping it off on his pants. Slowly, his roving eyes found the figure seated motionless by the window when he could delay it no longer. He took a deep breath.

“Mother,” he called gently. The figure did not move. As he drew closer, he could see that she was wearing a plain cotton nightgown with a pink ribbon at the neckline. There was a pearl bead seated in the center of the bow, gleaming golden-pink in the rosy sunset radiance. He rested his hand lightly on his mother’s shoulder and looked out the window. He could see a woman in the courtyard below working in the institution’s garden, and across the road which was visible from here, he could see the sign: “Hampton’s Mental Institution.” His mouth tightened as he looked down again, at the frail, white-clad shoulder his hand rested on.

He hated this place. The nurses were nice, of course, but just like every other hospital, it was fake- forced. They were too sunny, and they never stopped grinning, like some hopped-up horde of dolls in very clean caps and dresses. He wanted to get his mother out of here. The way the nurses left her was- abominable. Just manipulated and moved her like a doll for appearances. They didn’t care. But they wouldn’t let him take her.

It wasn’t safe- that was the watchword. Safety. It wasn’t safe for her, it was unsafe to change scenery so suddenly, it was unsafe, she needed regular visits to a doctor. She needed continuity. The only hope he had of getting her out was to make a miniature replica of the asylum at her house, so she couldn’t hurt herself, and hire a suitable doctor for her… which was very unlikely to be accomplished. But he was still trying.

That was what this job was about. He told her about his training, his plans. They needed men extracting the oil, and it could pay well. A job in an office, he explained, wouldn’t make the cut… but this would.

Eventually, the nurse came back for him. Dusk had fallen, and it was his mother’s “bedtime.” He suppressed his anger, the desire to simply grab his mother and get her out of there, get her out of this replication of her childhood, as though she couldn’t care for herself. Instead, though, he nodded, and bent down to kiss her slack cheek. He peered into her vacant eyes, looking for something, some life. Nothing. Her eyes were too empty for him even to imagine a sign of love or recognition. He could only hope that his regular visits helped her. But soon he would have to go, and even that would stop.

It’s only for a little while, he told himself. Then I’ll have the money for the doctor and a new, better house, and she can leave this place…

“Goodbye, Mom,” he whispered, before turning and following the nurse out, into the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear the clicking of the locks on his mother’s room like she was a caged animal, a criminal, a prisoner.


* * *


Joan gasped as her mind sorted out the scene before her. Her feet started to root themselves to the ground, but Ronald pushed her relentlessly on, into the room, until she was standing over Samson’s body on the counter.

She wanted to vomit. It smelled horrible- the smell of dead, rotting flesh was overpowering, combined with a feeling of sickening heat from the fire blazing high in the other room. His skin was blotched with blue and purple, as though he had been beaten, and his muscles were stiff. His skin was smeared with blood. His face was a wreck. Bile rising in her throat, she turned away, struggling against Ronald’s hold.

“Ronald, no- what are you doing! What did you do to him!” But she knew. He’d beaten Samson to death, of course, but the sight of him, the undeniable confirmation, was overwhelming. Ronald held her tightly. His face was hard as animated stone as he spoke. “You know what I did. I imagine you saw him in my room. But that’s okay. Really, you should’ve remembered to ask about him… no matter, though.” She looked up at him.

“Is this what you hunted?” She whispered, horrified realization hitting her. “You want me to-“ She stopped, shocked. His face was unchanged. He walked around the counter, dragging her with him. He bent down, reaching for something. When he straightened, she saw that it was a long knife, dull bladed, gray metal, with only the slightest hints of rust on the very tips of the gleaming blade. He thrust it at her, forcing her to grab it as he released his hold.

“Do it now, Joan,” he said quietly, and she then noticed he was holding something which he’d drawn out of his pocket- a handgun, which he had leveled at her stomach. His face was cold, unemotional. She looked back down in disgust at the body before her. An animal, she thought desperately, Just think of him as an animal. Imagine he’s an animal. Then she reached out, grasping the knife in both trembling hands, and began the first cut.



* * *


She was in the bathroom. The basin they used to fill with water for bathing was full to the brim with scalding-hot water. She scrubbed her skin harshly in the burning water with the rough sponge until her skin was red. Her clothes, her skin, her hair- they were covered and filled with blood from the crude job she’d had o do with the dull knife. Her skin was clean by now after her third basin-full of water that night, but still she scrubbed it as hard as she could, trying so hard to rub away the invisible shadow of what she’d done from her protesting skin. She couldn’t repeat this enough; but finally, when she couldn’t take any more, when the little pinpricks of blood appeared on her skin’s surface to recall Samson’s blood and make her vomit for the fourth time, she stopped.

Shivering, she rose unsteadily from her place on the cold floor in front of the basin, grabbing the towel rack to steady herself on the water-covered floor. She looked at herself in the mirror. She was an absolute wreck- her face was haggard from her sleepless night, her hair was a mess. She ran her hand halfheartedly through the fiery mass in an attempt to tame it, then drew a long, quivering breath. She struggled to keep the memory of that night’s dinner in the back of her mind, forcing it to focus on other things… like how to get out.

It would have to be tonight. There was no other way- tonight or tomorrow morning, she had to go. The question remained, though, of how to do it. She froze as, yet again that night, the scratching started up again, all around her. The bathroom was closest to the center of the compound to make it as warm as possible for bathing and other things, but she could still hear it. After a few moments, the sound died out without consequence, and her muscles relaxed in relief.

How many times had the noise, the… creatures?... come and gone that night without consequence? She didn’t know. Even now, she felt Ronald’s own mindset invading her own practicality. They're waiting, she thought. They’re waiting for something…

She dried herself off as gently as possible, attempting to soothe her raw skin which was only just returning to its normal pale hue. She dressed in the clean clothes she had chosen. Already the old, bloody plants and sweater were burning in the fire in the living room; with any luck, by morning, all that remained would be the brass buttons of her jeans.

She walked from the bathroom, on until she’d reached her own room, and shut the door. She sat on the bed, thinking. Even if she got out, who knew what would happen to her… still, maybe she would be okay if she took Seike. It hadn’t escaped her notice that, in spite of half his life being spent outdoors, the dog had never come to any harm. That, combined with a weapon of some sort, should be sufficient to protect her. She wasn’t afraid of whatever was out there when she thought of it this way. Not compared to the fear of Ronald, anyway. But where to get the weapon?

She gnawed on her nail, pondering this. He always carried some gun with him now, whether it was the rifle strapped to his back or the pistol at his hip. When he went to bed at night, he took it with him. Surely he didn’t wear them to bed… perhaps she could grab one of them while he was asleep. Or away doing who knew what. He probably left the other in his room. Except there was one problem. The door was always locked.

Thoughts and ideas continued to swim about in her head until finally, she drifted off to sleep.


* * *


Her bag was full. Her hands fumbled nervously with the zipper as she closed it on the bundle of clothes inside. There was no food, except for her bottle of water; nor was there any weapon. The only other thing besides clothes were matches- packs and packs of them. All the matches they had. She was dressed as though she were going out to yet another challenging but ultimately dull day out on the ice field. But she had no intention of lingering. Her boots were tightly laced, all her gear assembled except for her head gear. Seike was in the living room; this she knew because she’d checked the whole house for Ronald and he wasn’t there. He was outside… doing something… she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She was leaving.

She took a quick drink of the water she’d filled her bottle with from the pot Ronald had heated earlier.

Grabbing her bag, she hefted it and slung it over her shoulder. Then, without hesitating, she opened the door of her room and entered the hallway.


* * *

Ronald pushed open the door to the compound slowly, carefully. It barely made a noise. That was because he’d greased it last night, while Joan was asleep. He walked in slowly, listening. Silence.

He continued into the compound, following a carefully planned and prepared route. Soon he was in the living room. There was Seike, sleeping in front of the fire. Sleeping. He grinned and walked over. He lifted the dog’s jaw roughly, looking at it. It didn’t respond. But there were the blood stains on the floor, where he’d put the piece of meat laced with sleeping pills. A whole jarful of them- say, twenty pills? He smiled wider now. Yes, that was about right. Sleep tight, doggie. A line of spittle swayed as he dropped the dog’s head back onto the floor.

He turned his back and settled himself into the chair in the corner, the one made of wood that no one sat in. It didn’t even creak. He rested the fully loaded rifle onto his knees.


* * *

His fist connected to the other man’s jaw with a dull, satisfying crunch. He felt the bone and flesh giving under his relentless pounding, felt the blood oozing out and clinging to his skin as he punched the bastard again and again. Droplets flung back around the room, onto his face, his clothes, and he felt little bone fragments jamming themselves into his fist.

Ronald suddenly felt a pair of hands dragging him off of the other man. “Ronald, stop it, what the hell do you think you’re doing!” Ronald shook the hands off him, wiping his forehead with his arm as he turned on the person.

“For God’s sakes, did you see what he did! We could’ve all fallen into that goddamn chasm because he decided to freeze up! He’s not suited to this job-“

“That’s not for you to decide!” yelled the other man, whose name was John. His black eyes snapped with an energy that Ronald had never seen in the elderly man. Now, his own eyes burned dangerously as he advanced on John. “I think it is for me to decide when it damn near gets me killed,” he said quietly. As he passed the table against the wall, his hand slipped into his pocket and wrapped itself around the pocketknife he carried there at all times. “But look, let’s discuss it- after all, it’s your business too, right?”

Bewildered by the man’s sudden bright nature and equally bright smile, John said, “Well, of course. Look, man, you don’t have to act this way, there’re better ways of handling things.” He motioned Ronald over to a chair at the table. Ronald grinned widely. In his pocket, his hand tightened on the knife as he stepped away from the unconscious man he’d assaulted so brutally moments before.


* * *

Joan searched with sharp, jerky movements through Ronald’s dresser. She was on the fifth drawer. So far there was nothing. As she finished searching, she let out a little, frustrated cry. She was almost afraid to open the sixth drawer. But she had to look… she had to look. She drew in a breath as she suddenly felt dizzy. So nervous… if it wasn’t there…

She finally pulled open the sixth drawer and reached into the cloth, pushing around with her hand.


* * *

“What do you mean, it’s not enough!” Ronald shouted at the man. “I mean, it’s not enough,” said the manager of the institution impatiently. “You need a steady income of at least thirty-five thousand dollars a year in order to be able to afford the necessary doctors and other expenses for your mother. I’m sorry, I can’t let you take her on twelve thousand a year. It’s regulation-“

“Screw regulation!” Ronald snarled. “She’s my mother! I’ve been working my ass off, I think that counts for something and that I should be able to take her home!” Exasperated, he waved his hand around him. “Jesus Christ, do you think that this is even doing her any good? How many patients have you exactly helped? Huh? How many have fucking benefited!”

The manager addressed him coolly. “There is no need to resort to shouting profanities. Furthermore, we having the highest treatment rating in the state. You yourself made a point to ask about this when you were putting her in here.” Ronald’s eyes flared. “I swear to God, if you don’t let me take her-“

“You’ll what?” asked the other man hotly. “You’ll get yourself committed here? If you continue this, I will be forced to have security remove you.” His finger hovered over the intercom button. “We have the most renowned security, too,” he said softly. Ronald clenched his fists, then relaxed them.

“I’ll find a better job,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll get a better job, and I’ll take her out of here.” The other man regarded him with a superior tolerance. “I would advise you to get a handle on that temper, too,” he said. “Otherwise, they might still refuse to let you take her.”

Ronald’s lips tightened, and he turned abruptly and walked out of the door, down the hall, out of the building. His fists were tightly clenched, and a little warm trickle began to leak through between his fingers.


* * *



Her fingers closed on cold metal. Yes. She pulled it out quickly and triumphantly. Yes! She hefted the handgun with elation. A smile formed on her lips. She was ready.


* * *

Ronald looked up as he heard the sound of a door open, then close. His grip tightened, ever so slightly, on the rifle. He waited.



Scritch. Scratch.


His tongue lolling out, Seike trotted over to the source of the sound behind the ice-box. Before the intruder could escape, Seike leapt at it, the scratching reaching a culmination of screeches and hisses as the dog's teeth closed around the body of the large, black rat. It was dead within moments. Seike tore into it, ignoring the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow behind him. As a shadow crossed the dog and his meal, Seike looked up at the intruder plaintively. Ronald took in the scene, and his face contorted slightly before he calmed himself and whistled shortly for Seike to follow him.


* * *

John shifted nervously in his seat. Ronald was staring at him. “I guess you’re right,” Ronald finally said. “These weaknesses just have to be… nipped in the bud.” His thumb rubbed the knife in his pocket. Meanwhile, John nodded. “Exactly. We just have to make a point to stop this tendency quickly, so this sort of thing doesn’t happen again-“

Ronald lunged forward, arm stretched, knife out. The blade slashed John’s gullet once, twice, slinging blood as he did. Blood spurted, flowed, gushed out. Blood dripped off of John’s chair, splattering onto the floor beneath. The knife tore the flesh repeatedly until it was shredded and John’s head lolled limply. Finally, Ronald stood up and looked around him. He ran his hand through his hair with a shaky sigh, leaving little lines of blood in it. With another sigh, he lifted the dead body of the older man and headed outside, where he hefted him onto the large backhoe unceremoniously. He turned and went inside for the other man, whose chest still rose and fell slightly, albeit unconsciously.

As Ronald lifted him, he stirred, his eyes still closed. He moaned. “Hush, man, I’m taking you to your bedroom,” he whispered soothingly, his voice disguised. But when he walked through the door of the compound into the cold air, the young man opened his eyes. He gave a shout as he recognized Ronald, and tried in vain to free himself, but Ronald was stronger. He felt himself heaved roughly onto the freezing backhoe, then an unmovable weight as Ronald turned John’s dead body over across his chest. He gave a little gasp as he saw John’s expressionless, lifeless eyes. He couldn’t move; John was too heavy. Still struggling and shouting, he felt the backhoe begin to move and realized with horror that Ronald was heading to the chasm.

He gave one last helpless scream before Ronald turned, reached back, and hit him on the head with something heavy.


* * *


Ronald watched as Joan fumbled slightly with her bundle and the handgun she’d stolen from her room. Shifting the rifle so it was pointed at her, he deliberately rose from his chair so she saw him.

“Hi, Joan,” he said quietly. She stood stock still, her eyes wide, once again with that deer in the headlights look. “Ron,” she said meaninglessly. Her voice was tinged with fear. He smiled. “What are you doing, Joan?” he asked politely. His stance was relaxed, as though the hands pointing the gun at her had no connection to the rest of his body.

She was speechless. What could she say? No getting out of this now…

There was no other option. So she raised her arm in a swift motion and pulled the trigger.



* * *


“Sir, are you okay!” shouted one man, as he jumped down out of one of the helicopters, and ran towards Ronald. Ronald stumbled slightly. “Man, you gotta help me,” he said, his voice rough, eyes hysterical- the very picture of fear. “My team, they fell down, there, the ice just… we just didn’t see it… then it was too late-“ He broke down sobbing. “It’s my fault,” he wailed. “I was supposed to be on watch, watching ahead for this, I’m sure it was my fault!”

The man who came out of the helicopter looked shocked. “You mean they’re dead?” he asked. Ronald gave a low moan. The other man seemed to remember himself, and patted Ronald’s shoulder lightly. “Look, man, it wasn’t your fault, this stuff just… happens…” The man looked helplessly at his partners, who were watching Ronald wide-eyed. At his gaze, they immediately sprang into action, radioing in, getting Ronald back to the compound where they would get his things for immediate departure. It was already too late for his team, who had suffered yet another unfortunate accident on the ice field.



* * *


Ronald scrubbed the wooden floors until they were spotless of blood, hiding all the evidence of his crime. He worked with a feverish rapidity, rushing to get done with his chore before the helicopter came. It had taken too much time to get back after he’d driven the backhoe off the cliff, jumping out at the last second to watch it fall in where that stupid kid had only moments before made his fatal, screaming descent.

As he heard the helicopters outside, he stood up, then quickly put away the bucket of bloody water and the equally bloody cloths he’d used, depositing them under the wooden floorboards of the compound before running out to meet them.



* * *


She pulled the trigger.

After a moment, she opened her eyes. She gave a little shout and tried to jump back- Ronald was only two feet away from her, the rifle level with her head- but he caught her with one hand.

“I guess someone forgot to check if it was loaded,” Ronald said softly, his eyes cold. “Oops.” Joan just stared at him. No. No. This was wrong, all wrong- he should be dead. But no, now she thought of it, of course it wouldn’t be loaded, he wouldn’t do that, and she even remembered, it had been too light. But she’d overlooked that- how could she overlook that!

“Seike!” she shouted, lunging forward and pushing Ronald’s rifle off
balance. But his hand still held her, and as she waited for the fatal blow, she heard him laugh. “You want your dog?” he asked mockingly. “Go take a look at your dog.” He thrust her towards the fireplace. Seike was still there, on the floor, sleeping…

She squinted. His fur- it wasn’t moving! “What did you do?” she whispered, reaching out to touch the dog’s fur. She lifted Seike’s head, finally. A line of drool dripped from his mouth. He didn’t wake.

“You killed my dog,” she whispered in disbelief. She looked up at him, and saw with yet another shock that he was bending over her, looking over her shoulder. His hand came down to rest on her shoulder softly, as though he were a comforting her. She cringed, but didn’t dare to swat his hand away. He still had the gun.

“Yes, that’s a good girl,” he crooned. “Behave, maybe I’ll be quick about it.” She stared at his hand. What had they taught her in training…

She grabbed his arm and pulled him over her shoulder, into the fire. The moment he landed, she was up. There, there was his gun, only a foot away-

For a moment, though, she was immobile as a wave of dizziness and nausea attacked her. “Shit-“

He shouted and lunged at the same time she jumped for the gun. She could almost reach it…

She grabbed it, but he was on top of her, his hands wrapping themselves around her throat. With a yell, she hit him on the head with the rifle, over and over, until he let go. Recovering almost immediately, he knocked the rifle out of her hands. With a shriek of pain, she twisted herself uncomfortably until she could grab the iron poker of the fire. Ronald’s weight lessened on her suddenly as he went for the gun, and she chose that moment to plunge the pointed end of the poker into his back.

He screamed as she drove it in deeper, deeper, then left it lodged there. She let go and grabbed the rifle. As she took aim, her finger tensing on the trigger, he spoke, his voice hoarse with pain.

“One problem, girlie,” he whispered to her, and she stopped, lowering the gun a little. “What?” she asked. He grimaced, as though he were trying that horrible grin of his again. His whole body was shaking and heaving now. “I poisoned that water. I already got you.” He moaned. “I got you,” he whispered. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lowered the gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger. She kept pulling it long after he was dead, even as she fought the gun’s recoil, until it was empty. Then she felt that nausea again, and vomited.

She stumbled outside blindly, gasping, trying to see straight, but thwarted by dizziness and the storm. She continued like this for what felt like ages, before something cold, metallic, and dubiously solid met her blindly grasping fingers. She struggled into the ice box, and as she fell down, onto the snow, she saw the icicles clinging firmly to the shelves, their crystal transparent cleanness soiled by the pinkish-red stains of blood, and she realized that this had been what stabbed Ronald. The metal roof of the ice box suddenly lifted, heaved, and with a great, tearing screech seemed to rise up against the force of the wind, scraping against the rest of the metal roof. This... this had been... Oh. Damn.

She laughed suddenly, her head growing light, her whole body light. It was just a storm. No monster… only a storm…

She laughed again, at the irony of it: so much for all their experience! And she was so light, like she would float suddenly. Only a storm. Her last thought was, I love storms.