MELT: A Psychological Thriller (12 page)

Glen turned to walk away. 'I've had enough. Thanks for showing us your magic deodorant bottle, Victoria.'

Victoria pointed at Glen. 'You thought we were hidden underground, correct?'

Glen paused and shrugged. 'It's possible.'

'Well, we're not,' said Victoria. 'This chamber isn't buried or in a cave or inside another structure. We're on the surface, in plain sight.'

Victoria pointed to Carl. 'And you thought we might be in another country, correct?'

Carl nodded.

'Well, we're not,' Victoria said emphatically. 'We're in the Northern Hemisphere. Still in the United States.'

Carl asked, 'And you know this because...?'

'Because our watches match the local time outside this chamber,' revealed Victoria.

She can't know the local time
, thought Megan.
We could be anywhere. She’d need to have x-ray vision.

'She's-making-it-all-up!' Glen hollered, blending his words in frustration.

'I am NOT!' barked Victoria.

Carl stepped between them, raising his hands. 'Victoria, where's your evidence? How can you know any of this?'

Victoria peeled her hateful glare off Glen. 'Because my father was a butcher.'

'Oh, for fuck's sake,' said Glen, throwing his hands up and walking away. 'I'm done. She’s crazy. I'll be digging.'

Megan and Carl traded doubtful glances.

'Go on,' prompted Chrissie.

Victoria watched Glen depart.

Victoria did that on purpose,
realized Megan.
She stalled and provoked Glen into leaving. Now neither Alex nor Glen were present, the two people she trusted the least.

'It was our family business,' began Victoria. 'My mother served at the front counter while my father and brothers butchered. I managed the ice room.'

‘Wait,’ said Megan. ‘Did you say ice room?'

Chapter Eight

 

'That was my job before electricity reached our town,' explained Victoria. ‘I kept the ice room cold. I know how ice affects confined spaces. So I know that we should all be dead by now. Frozen stiff.'

'Then why aren't we?' asked Megan.

'Because this chamber is being heated.'

'Through the ceiling vent?' asked Carl.

'It's not the vent,' said Megan. 'I was right under the vent up on the ice. It's no warmer up there.'

'The sun!' cried Chrissie. 'That's why you were checking the walls.'

Victoria beamed at her star pupil. 'The sun
is shining on us. I've been tracking it.'

She wasn't exhausted
, realized Megan.
She was monitoring the wall’s temperature.

Everyone stood dumbstruck.

Carl reacted first. He felt the wall above the deodorant bottle. Without speaking, he dashed around the ice.

'She's right,' he called. 'This side's colder!'

'The drain’s our north pole,' Victoria stated. 'It's exactly opposite this point. This is our south pole.’

Megan pointed at Chrissie. ‘Chrissie has Ericsson’s watch. It has a thermometer.’

Chrissie fished Ericsson’s big watch from a cargo pocket. She checked the screen. ‘This says the temperature is dropping.’

‘Because of your body heat,’ explained Carl. ‘It was measuring how warm it was in your pocket. Just give it a second.’

Chrissie nodded. ‘It’s stabilized at forty-four degrees.’

She rushed to check the other side of the chamber. ‘It’s thirty-nine degrees around here!’

Carl said, ‘You were right, Victoria.’

‘I didn’t need a machine to tell me that,’ replied Victoria.

'Okay,' said Megan, 'We have north and south poles. How does that help?'

'Lots of ways,' replied Carl, checking his watch. 'It's three pm outside now. So this is the warmest this chamber will get.'

'Did you say
warmest
?' asked Megan.
I'm already so cold!

Carl nodded.

Chrissie shuffled back into the conversation. 'I'm freezing, and you're saying it will get colder?'

'Much colder,’ confirmed Carl. ‘We should be resting now. When night falls outside, resting will be suicide. We’ll have to walk or work non-stop.’

'Non-stop?' blurted Chrissie. ‘With no breaks?’

Carl looked to Victoria for confirmation.

Victoria said, 'Anyone who stops moving too long will freeze. Simple as that. With no source of outside heat at night, we have to generate our own.’

Thank God I didn't hurt my ankle when I slid off the ice
, thought Megan.

'That's crazy,' cried Chrissie. ‘Non-stop? We can't do that.'

'We can,' said Megan. 'We've mostly been doing it today.'

'Not non-stop!' declared Chrissie. ‘We haven’t even eaten.’

‘That’s why we need rest.’ Victoria’s voice now commanded attention. When she spoke, everyone listened.

'We'll rest huddled together,' said Carl. 'We've got six hours before the true cold sets in. That means six hours to rest. Anyone who needs the drain, I’d go now.'

Carl fetched Glen, but Alex stayed on bomb watch.

Everyone sealed their clothes as best they could to conserve body warmth.
Megan found herself lying between Victoria and Chrissie.

As Glen bent over, mail spilled from his robe. He snatched it up.

'You can put those in my bag,'
Megan offered.

'I'll keep them,' said Glen.

Megan understood. Evidence of the real world felt important to keep close. Even mail.

As they huddled down together, Carl said, 'The ice is melting faster now. We'll keep a continuous watch on the bomb. Same order as today. When the ice melts from the second tailfin, we'll double the number of people watching it. We’ll double again when the third fin melts free. When it falls, we'll all be ready.'

The unyielding floor punished Megan’s bruises. Her ear stung. Her shin throbbed.

'Those stupid lights,' complained Chrissie.

Alex yelled, 'Can someone please turn the lights off?'

'Here, use this.' Glen passed Chrissie something.

'Me?' asked Chrissie, sounding surprised.

'I don't need it,' said Glen. 'I always sleep during the day.'

'Thank you.'

Chrissie fitted the eye mask.

'Ouch.' Something in Victoria's apron poked Megan. Megan pushed it away.

'Sorry,' said Victoria. 'Better?'

'Yes.'

After a few minutes on the cold hard floor, Megan felt warmth emanating from Victoria and Chrissie.

Someone's stomach rumbled loudly.

‘Get used to that,' said Chrissie. 'I'm not good at being hungry.’

Surprisingly, Megan wasn't feeling hungry. If anything, she felt relieved.

Why do I feel relieved?
We haven't escaped.

But they were surviving. They were learning.

This chamber is our world now. We have a north and a south pole. A water cycle. A calendar. Temperature zones.

Across the chamber, Megan's umbrella marked their north pole like an explorer's flag.

What else can we learn? Enough to escape? Is that why we're here?

Even though her bruises throbbed and her ear hurt from the stone shard, she felt her mind slipping into that halfway place where time passed quickly.

Tomorrow they needed to keep moving or die. They had no choice. They could walk or dig. Megan already knew her choice.

I’ll dig. The ice holds answers. I know it.

GLEN

 

Chapter Nine

 

Glen stared at the bomb.

It moved!
he thought.
It just moved!

Glen doubted icy Ericsson could really prevent the bomb detonating.

If it falls now, we’ll
all be incinerated in a fiery heartbeat. No one will know but me.

Heart pounding, Glen checked the bomb's tailfins.

Two tailfins were still ice locked.

He exhaled in relief.

It didn't move. I'm overreacting again. That's perfectly normal. Just calm down, Glen.

He tightened his bathrobe. The sun had set outside. Without sunlight, the temperature was dropping.

How cold will it get in here? Is it even possible to survive a night in here?

 They’d find out soon enough.

'Where's global warming when you need it?' he mumbled.

He checked his watch.

10:35 pm.

My bedroom alarm clock is buzzing right now. Sampson will be scratching at my door.

Glen's cat always heard his alarm clock.

He'll have nothing to eat until the police realize I've been abducted.

Glen’s last outside memory was of his cat, Sampson.

It was a terrible memory.

Glen had been sitting at his PC playing World of Warcraft. The doorbell sounded.

He lifted his earphones.

Was that angry knocking?

Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to answer it. He'd given up answering his door, his email or even his mobile phone days ago.

He rubbed his itchy eyes and checked the time.

Yep, he'd pulled another all-nighter. Ten hour of caffeine-fueled online mayhem. How could a computer game be so addictive? Well, it wouldn't matter soon. He'd have no electricity after Friday.

His mouth tasted nasty.

He searched his drawer for chewing gum. The tattered yellow packet gave up a single pellet. Chewing, he scratched his three day stubble.
Better shave while the electric razor still works.

In the bathroom he plucked a note from himself off the mirror:

 

DON'T WEAR YOUR PAJAMAS ALL DAY YOU LAZY PRICK!

 

Glen crushed the note. Yesterday-Glen was a bossy pain in the ass. His pajamas were comfortable. He wasn't going out. Why did it matter if—

STOP
, he told himself.
Pure laziness has fucked your life up enough. Get dressed!

He spat the gum into its wrapper for later. The electric razor buzzed to life, but stopped again instantly. The bathroom light went out too.

Shit. They've cut my power. Have I lost track of the days again?

He checked his watch.

It’s only Wednesday!

They weren't allowed to disconnect his power until Friday.

He dashed out the front door and tripped over his garden hose. One slipper flew off, but he recovered and ran around to the fuse box.

'Hey!' he yelled at the guy messing with his fuse box. 'You can't do that until Friday!'

The fuse box door swung back, revealing the person ruining Glen’s day.

He had no face. Or rather, he wore a full face mask. A gas mask. A scary as hell gas mask. Nothing like an electrician would wear.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh shit!

A trap.

Glen glanced back, praying he wouldn't see....

Another masked man stood behind him, blocking any escape. The second man held Glen's garden hose.

'Look,' said Glen, pointing toward the 'SOLD' sign in his front yard. 'I've sold the house. I'm signing the contract on Saturday. You don't need to go all Halloween hard-core on me.'

And not just with masks. They both wore rubber boots and gloves. Rubber everything.

A sickening connection fused in Glen's mind. They weren't trying to hide their identity. They weren't trying to scare Glen. They wore the protective equipment to insulate themselves.

One had an electrical fuse box.

One had a garden hose.

Oh God — they're going to electrocute me. They're going to push me against the fuse box and spray water at me. They'll cook me alive!

'Please don't,' begged Glen. 'I can explain! You don't need to do this!'

The man at the fuse box nodded.

Glen barely glimpsed his garden hose. It dropped over his head like a hangman's noose.

He grabbed at the hose, but—

YANK

—the loop jerked tight around his throat.

He tried digging his fingers under the hose. It didn’t work. The hose squeezed so tight he thought blood would squirt from his ears.

Fuck — they're strangling me. They're really killing me!

Glen tried to speak.
This was all a huge mistake. He'd sorted this out.

He couldn't utter a sound. He couldn't breathe. He could barely think.

Fight back!

He thrust his head back. Made contact. His reverse headbutt hit the man's face. No, not his face. His mask. Only his mask. Useless.

Glen's vision blurred. Darkened. Faded.

He saw his cat. Sampson. Watching from under the fuse box.

He thinks it's all a game
, Glen thought, his final thought in the real world before waking in the chamber.

They hadn't murdered him. They'd choked him into unconsciousness.

In hindsight, a dart in the ass would have been nicer.

 

 

#

 

 

Brrrrrrrr

A strong shiver swept up Glen's spine and chattered his teeth like a tiny earth tremor shaking roof tiles.

Time to start jogging again.

He'd learnt to jog in little circles. Jogging on the spot made his slippers fly off. He hated chasing them in bare feet across the freezing floor.

After jogging thirty small circles he checked the tailfins again.

Still okay.

He touched the back of his fingers to the bomb's fuselage.

It’s as cold as the ice. If it's frozen, maybe it can't explode.

Crack - tink...tink...tinkle....

Glen jerked back his fingers.

What was that?

He'd distinctly heard a cracking noise, then the sound of a bouncing ice chip.

He bent over Ericsson, checking the ice under the bomb.

SHIT! Look what I've done!

Some ice under the tailfin had fractured. A piece had fallen out. That was the sound.

Glen blinked, not quite believing what happened next.

Tiny cracks began spreading from the tailfin. Spider web cracks that branched and re-branched as though the bomb was sending roots down through the ice.

Crackle...crack...crackle...crackle....

Oh my, God. No, no, no....

Panicking, Glen knelt on Ericsson's chest, slapping his palms to the ice, praying he could hold it together.

'HELP! HEEEELP!' he shrieked. 'IT'S FALLING!'

His prayers went unanswered.

The fractures weren't stopping. Now they were branching out from above the bomb. They were everywhere!

The icy jigsaw held in place for a split second then...

...shattered like a windshield hit by a cannonball.

Ice burst through Glen's fingers. Shards cascaded around his hands like a collapsing sandcastle.

'
NO, NO, NO!'

The ice began birthing the bomb straight into Glen's arms.

Glen shoulder-charged the bomb, trying to pin it to the ice.

Thrusting his full weight against the freezing metal, using every ounce of strength, he shoved and shoved and shoved. Red-faced and shaking from his adrenalin-fueled effort, Glen felt the bomb halt.

 
It's stopping. I've got it!

His elation faltered.

First his legs, and then, by degrees, his entire body began buckling under the weight.

This is it,
he realized.
I'm going to die and there's nothing more I can—

Carl's body hit the bomb with such force that Glen was amazed the weapon didn't detonate.

The two of them halted its lethal descent again, but Glen didn't think that even together they could lower the weapon safely.

But they weren't alone.

Alex was between them. Under them. Under the bomb. Sitting on Ericsson with his back against the ice bracing the bomb above his head.

Megan straddled Alex to get both arms under the weapon.

Glen snatched the tailfins, twisting to make room.

'Hurry,' shouted Alex from under the bomb. 'My arms are giving out.'

Totally unplanned, but like four choreographed dancers performing a complex maneuver, Glen, Carl, Alex and Megan lowered the bomb to the floor without crushing fingers, breaking limbs, or causing life-ending explosions.

No one spoke until the bomb kissed the floor.

Four pairs of hands gently released the bomb's fuselage and tailfins.

For at least ten seconds, Glen only heard heavy breathing, settling ice shards and his own heartbeat.

I'm alive.

Megan broke the silence. 'We did it.'

'There was no room for me,' said Chrissie, 'or I would have helped.'

Carl smiled at her. 'Four people were enough. Although for a moment I thought we’d be the last casualties of World War Two.'

'It felt like we’d practiced it,' said Alex.