- Frozen Fingers -

Frozen Fingers
By HyperLinkzer

The white continent, encased in eternal ice. The greatest desert, where storms rage and silence reigns. The last true wilderness, where the sun doesn’t shine for three months of winter and doesn’t set for another three of summer.

Antarctica. No polar bears allowed.

Eighteen-year-old Danny removed his left glove and traced the railing. The frosted metal bar was cool to touch, as was everything else in all 5,000,000 plus square miles of the frozen continent - perhaps because it was ten degrees below zero? Danny smiled to himself absently, and replaced his glove.

It was winter, and it was dark. The sun hadn’t come up for a week, and Danny sincerely hoped he would be gone before it came up again in a few months. After being away from home for 16 days, he was starting to miss the warm weather of Florida, and he was impatient for his return.

The sea around the boat he was on churned slowly, the dark blue waters crashing into each other and then dissolving into white foam. The ship, Explorer II, a mostly white, mini ocean liner that tended to blend in with the bleak landscape of the continent it visited, was cruising sluggishly along in the Amundsen Sea, near the ice.

Now that he thought about it, the temperature wasn’t so bad. The average for winter was about 30 degrees below. Ten below is bad enough though, Danny thought, jerking his hat lower over his ears. Maybe if he pulled his jacket sleeves further down over his wrists, it wouldn’t be so –

A glint in the darkness from the sea ice stole his attention. At first, Danny assumed it was just the lights of the ship reflecting off the ice. But a quick second glance told him otherwise.

A group of men were attacking a seal with harpoons. From the looks of it, the seal had about ten minutes to live.

Danny’s eyes widened and he sprinted across the deck into the hallway that led to the captain’s quarters. The door was shut, and Danny hammered his fists on the door as hard as possible.

No one came to the door.

Danny stopped pounding and stepped back, his heart racing. The steering room.

He ran back down the hall back to the deck and climbed the stairs to the captain’s usual place at the helm. Danny skidded to a stop behind the captain, who was behind the controls of the ship.

“Captain,” he panted, “Some guys are out there killing a seal.”

The captain turned around. Danny’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t the captain. It was a creep in a tuxedo.

Who wears a tuxedo in Antarctica?

“Well, well, young one. It seems that you have discovered my . . .” the tuxedo man paused, as if thinking of the right word. “Diabolical plot, I guess you could call it.”

Danny attempted to assume a more casual look and snorted derisively, trying to keep his hands from trembling. “I guess I could call it a plot, but that doesn’t really fit the bill. How about attempted murder?”

“What are you, some animal rights activist? No, it’s not murder. It’s just a little money-making thing I’ve got going on. Seal skin is rare these days. And since you know about my gig now, that means you have to go. I can’t have kids interfering with my business, now can I?” Tuxedo drew a gun and shoved it in Danny’s face.

Danny glared at the guy, then smacked the gun aside and kicked him hard in the gut. The man doubled over, dropping the gun. Danny caught it and stuck it in the small of his back.

“Tell your guys to call off the attack.”

“But -”

“No buts. Do it. NOW!”

The man whimpered and said into his walkie-talkie, “Abort. Abort the attack.”

Mostly static came back, but Danny could make out a garbled, “Roger that.”

Danny smiled and rammed his fist into the man’s temple, knocking him senseless.

He started breathing heavily again as the adrenaline slowly left his veins. After securing Mr. Tuxedo with a conveniently nearby rope, he withdrew his cell phone and dialed 911. No one answered, but he gave his location, hung up, stepped over the unconscious form, and pressed a button to anchor the boat.

Suddenly the walkie-talkie screeched. Danny jumped at the sound, then listened carefully to the message coming from the other end.

“We’ll be back in twenty minutes, sir.”

Danny froze.

“Acknowledge, sir.”

Danny couldn’t move.

“Sir? Are you there?”

Danny slowly reached for the device, and cleared his throat.

“Acknowledged. Proceed to the boat,” he said in his best imitation of Tuxedo’s voice.

No reply returned.

He leaned against the console, then slid down to the floor, shivering. Brrr, he thought, then decided that was an understatement. He checked his watch.

Probably about six and a half hours until the police arrived, if they came straight from Argentina.

But only twenty minutes until the raiders returned.

- - - - -

More coming soonish, probably before next year. It's not really high on my priority list right now.

I finally got around to writing the second part. Here ya go.

- - - - -

Danny breathed rapidly through his mouth, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. His position against the wall wasn’t comfortable, but at the moment he didn’t care. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he couldn’t stop it. His mind was racing about in circles, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch up with it, leaving him practically oblivious to the events going on around him.

Not that there was anything to be aware about. There was a man in a tuxedo lying motionless on the smooth floor and a silent walkie-talkie beside the man’s bound hands. No sun was shining through the windows, so the light over the control console was on, casting an eerie shadow over Tuxedo’s face and causing Danny’s mind to fantasize at what might be hiding in the dark. Under normal circumstances, Danny may have laughed at such behavior. Now the threat of an unseen attacker seemed all too real.

To top it all off, the raiders were returning soon.

Twenty minutes.

That was five minutes ago.

Danny had to think of something – and quickly. But, having never been in such a situation, he had nowhere to begin, not to mention that he was virtually senseless and was about to hyperventilate.

What do I do? What do I do? He repeated it over and over in his head. No feasible ideas presented themselves, so Danny stood up and made his way towards the unconscious body on the smooth floor. He slowly reached towards Tuxedo’s shirt pocket.

His eyes snapped open suddenly. Danny involuntarily shrieked and punched him in the face. Mr. Tuxedo groaned once and slipped back into unconsciousness once again. Danny’s heart rate spiked. That was too close.

He stretched his gloved hand back to the shirt pocket.

Nothing was in it.

He checked the other pockets.

Again, nothing.

Danny let out a breath and crawled away from Tuxedo. There was nothing useful at the helm. He made his way to the door, groped in darkness for the handle for a few seconds, then found it. The door swung outwards, letting in a blast of icy cold air.

He stepped out. The deck creaked under his boots. He tiptoed – as well as anybody can tiptoe in steel-toed boots – to the stairs leading to the lower deck, then stopped. He rolled up his jacket slightly and checked his watch. Still almost nine minutes until the hunters would arrive.

No need to tiptoe, he told himself. They won’t hear you. He took a deep breath and attempted to walk normally.

After a few seconds of that, he discarded his previous thought and went back to treading as softly as he could.

He continued down the stairs and entered the hallway leading to the cabins. Given that the Explorer II was not a chartered ship, there were no other passengers in the cabins – just Danny and the captain.

Except now it was only Danny.

He jogged the rest of the way down the hall to his cabin, confident now that nobody would hear him. Fumbling in his coat pocket for the key, he jammed it into the lock with shaky hands and twisted. He stuffed the key back into his pocket and burst into the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

The room was small. Even cabins on a cruise ship were not large, but this was no cruise ship. In terms of width, Danny could have lain down with his feet flat against one wall and bump his head on the opposite one. Fortunately, the length of the cabin was almost twice that. The head of the bed – which was not unlike a cot – rested against the far wall. A small dresser was placed at the foot, beside the door.

Above the bed hung a black and white clock. It seemed to tease him, relentlessly reminding Danny of the approaching danger.

Tick, tock, goes the clock, Danny. Hurry up.

Danny ripped off his gloves and tossed them on the bed. He then proceeded to pace frantically in the diminutive space remaining in the cabin, considering all possible courses of action he could come up with.

Hide in the cabin? No. The hunters would discover their boss at the helm and scour the ship.

Confront the raiders? With what? My socks? Most certainly not. Danny had brought his pocket knife with him, but he wasn’t willing to harm anybody.

He imagined the clock chuckling softly at him. Tick, tock. Really Danny, you’d better get moving. Or else you’ll be French toast – oh wait, you’re Canadian. In that case, I guess you would be Canadian bacon.

Danny snatched up a pillow and hurled it at the clock. It fell off the wall and dropped behind the bed.

Then he had an idea.

A crazy idea, to be sure. But an idea all the same, and it wasn’t like he had any other options.

He grabbed everything he had taken along and stuffed it in his backpack. He glanced at where the clock had hung moments ago.

He could still hear the ticking.

Tick, tock. Five minutes, Danny. Then you’re Canadian bacon.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder, grabbed the pillow, and stepped through the door into the hallway.