Expedition Beyond Read online

  “Something is very strange about that rock. I chopped off a good sample, so when we get topside, we’ll need to analyze it closely. What’s next?”

  He looked back at the spot where he’d cleaved green rock, but the rest of it was no longer there. Startled, he searched the wall around him with his lights. “Where the fuck…”

  Des’ lights arced past him.

  “There’s something…alive down here!” Des gasped.

  Mitch played his lights feverishly up and down the rock wall, then he heard a loud pop through his helmet’s speaker.

  “Hans? What the fuck are you doing?”

  “That wasn’t me. Des, did you hear that?”

  When he didn’t reply, Mitch said, “Des? Put your little ears on.”

  He turned the beam of his flashlight to Des and saw his friend swinging away from the wall with his head twisted down and to one side, his headlamp and flashlight carving slow arcs in the dark void below him.

  “Ah, shit, Des, come on, stop fucking around.” Mitch suppressed the thought that this kind of practical joke was totally unlike Des.

  Then he saw something unwrap from around Des’ body: a rope-like form raced toward the granite wall. Mitch followed it with the beam of his light and saw a huge green mass with octopus-like tentacles and two beady eyes lying against the rock wall not twenty meters away from him, steam issuing from its head. A tentacle began to move.

  With a rush of adrenaline, Mitch quickly turned off both his lights and climbed upward and to his left and immediately heard a thud on the wall to his right. He nearly lost control of his bladder, and he did lose his grip on the rock hammer. As the hammer clanged off the walls below, he edged further to his left then looked over his shoulder.

  Des’ lights were swinging below him on the far side. The end of a long tentacle was wrapping and unwrapping around Des’ limbs and waist.

  “Turn off your lights, Des! It can’t see in the dark,” Mitch said quickly.

  He thought Des lifted his head momentarily, but he didn’t otherwise move.

  “Hans, we have a problem,” Mitch said removing an ice axe from his belt. “When I say go, I want you to lift me as fast as you can. Do you copy?”

  “What’s the problem?” Hans replied.

  “No time for details. I have to get Des past the ice outcropping without ramming his head into it. He’s unconscious.”

  “Unconscious? What do you mean?”

  Mitch took a deep breath and tried to remain calm, although he felt like screaming. “Just pull me up fifty meters when I say go.”

  “Stephen, get ready to pull Mitch up fast. Fifty meters,” he heard Hans yell.

  Mitch quickly flashed his light to his right, then pulled another ice axe from his belt. With an axe in each hand and the lit flashlight held between his teeth, he jumped off the wall, trying to hold the beam of his flashlight on the creature.

  “Go, go, go!”

  Mitch started to descend at breakneck speed. He pounded at the red stop switch on his harness and shouted, “I’m going down!”

  Hans yelled, “Stephen, stop!”

  When Mitch was stopped, he saw a tentacle coming right at him. There was nothing he could do, so he dropped his flashlight and prepared to defend himself with both axes.

  Suddenly, he started moving up fast. He switched on his headlamp just in time to see the approaching ice ledge. He swung his axes and caught the rim, pushing himself away as he passed it.

  But the creature was faster.

  Mitch was thirty meters above the ledge when a razor-sharp claw sliced cleanly through his rope five meters above his head. As he fell past the ledge, he swung out with his ice axes and caught the rim. He turned off his light, then grabbed for the embedded axe again and hung by his hands, his feet dangling over the void.

  He managed to pull himself up using the axes, and climbed onto the ledge where his crampons could find a perch. Mitch knew the severed end of the rope was hanging somewhere above his head, but it would be useless without a carabiner on its end.

  As soon as he could summon up enough spit to speak again, he said, “Hans, reel in my cable. I need a new rope.”

  “I don’t know if we have one. I’ll go look,” Hans replied.

  “You better fucking hurry. There’s something down here and it’s pulling Des apart!”

  Hans shrieked, “Get the stake gun!” His voice wavered like he was running. “Mitch, Des’ Buddy is shaking. We need to anchor it more firmly. What’s going on?”

  “The thing is pulling.” Mitch seriously needed this to be a hallucination.

  Hans shouted, “Bearters, not here—over there! Fire two stakes at forty meters and two more at sixty meters, and spread them out.”

  Mitch heard four sharp cracks of the gun through his headset. There was a commotion up above, but he had enough to deal with where he was. He started picking his way around to Des’ side of the chasm using ice axes and crampons.

  He told Hans, “I need that fucking rope!”

  “Ja, I know!”

  There was more yelling from above, but Mitch couldn’t make out specific words. There was a loud crackle in his helmet, followed by a louder boom.

  Hans screamed, “Oh, God! Look out!”

  Mitch looked toward Des, but saw only two lights falling away from him.

  “Des,” he screamed, “open the fucking ‘chute!”

  There was a white puff, then Des was gone.

  At least he opened his ‘chute; I saw it, I know it. Mitch focused on that, repeating it in his head like a mantra.

  He heard clanging against the ice walls above him—clanging and whizzing. He turned on his headlamp and looked up.

  Des’ Climbing Buddy and eight razor-sharp stakes were heading straight towards him.

  Mitch flattened himself against the ice and covered his helmeted head with his arm as the falling Buddy slammed into the wall just above him, then careened towards the opposite side, followed by the first five stakes.

  The sixth stake hit him.

  If Mitch had been wearing Tevlar, the stake would have plunged deeply into his back, but the thick hide of his fur coat proved harder to penetrate. Although the stake ripped his coat almost in half, he was only scratched. However, the seventh stake sank deeply into his calf, tearing away flesh as it was yanked out by the weight of the Buddy. Mitch howled from the pain.

  Hand over hand, crampon over crampon, he began to pull himself up as the eighth stake whizzed past him. He turned off his headlamp and saw only a small gray ellipse above. He heard Hans frantically yelling through his headset, but didn’t know what he was saying. As he felt the cold seep into his back, his mind went as numb as his injured leg. He knew only that he must climb. His hands grew stiffer with each thrust upward.

  When he finally emerged over the lip, gasping, he was pulled out and onto the ice. He groaned with sheer exhaustion.

  “What happened?” Hans demanded. It was he who had pulled Mitch up.

  Stephen hurried over with his doctor’s bag and checked Mitch’s wounded leg, disinfecting and wrapping it snugly with gauze bandages.

  “You’ll need stitches when we get back to camp.”

  Mitch ignored him and limped over to Jack, who was tracking Des’ Finder via computer.

  “Where’s Des?”

  “He’s still in free-fall, for all I know. I lost his beacon at fifty kilometers, traveling at terminal velocity.”

  “But I saw his fucking ‘chute open!” Mitch grabbed Jack’s arm and his laptop clattered to the ice.

  “Don’t you touch me!”

  Jack picked up his computer, carried it to his Glider and left.

  “Des brought a two-way radio on the mission,” Stephen told Mitch.

  “And where would that be?”

  “In the main tent some
where. Jack knows where it is.”

  Mitch limped to his Glider and took off after Jack.

  Jack already had the radio out on his computer desk when Mitch stormed into the main tent.

  “Give me that!”

  Jack handed Mitch the microphone.

  He flipped the switch. “We have a fucking Mayday! We have a fucking Mayday!”

  There was no reply. Mitch fidgeted at random with the dials.

  Jack said, “You’ve got the switch the wrong way; the radio’s still off. Flip it to ‘On.’”

  Mitch toggled the switch, then repeated his call for help.

  He roared, “Who checked the fucking radio?”

  Bearters and Stephen rushed in.

  Stephen said, “It must be dead. Are there any other batteries?”

  “You don’t need fucking batteries for a fucking radio! They’re all fucking SSPS.”

  Jack said, “Well, this radio does, but no, there are no spares.”

  “Fuck!” Mitch slammed the microphone into the edge of the table, shattering it into bits.

  Chapter 8

  LATITUDE 82° 11’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 78° 0’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 69%

  Day 30; 2130 UTC, 3:30 PM LTD

  Des had been unconscious for nearly two days when the swelling in his brain began to subside. He thought he tasted orange marmalade in his dry mouth and felt the sensation of wind around his body, but he still could not see. What had Mitch said? It was “fuck” something, “open the fucking—” what? Eyes? Parachute? Mind? What was he supposed to do?

  The gale surrounding him settled and was replaced with the feeling of being suspended mid-air. He was blown sideways by a gust and fell very slowly topsy-turvy, then landed hard on stone.

  The wind stopped.

  He was bombarded by a constellation of aches and pains. He knew he was badly injured and wondered what bones might be broken. His shoulders ached, his legs were numb, and his chest felt bruised and bloated. He struggled to breathe evenly and thought he was going to die.

  He moved his fingers, then wiggled his toes. His mind was detached, but his body was still connected. His head pounding, he lay motionless, trying to regain some equilibrium. Which way was up? Forget the pain. Think! He had been talking with Mitch—climbing with Mitch. He must have fallen. Why would he fall? Something else in the cave. He heard a slithering sound nearby.

  The lights—turn off the lights.

  Des felt the end of his flashlight and his headlamp—they were both warm. He fumbled with the switch on his headlamp and flicked it off. He groped down the flashlight’s cord until he found its switch and pulled that back as well. He observed no change to the darkness; he had no idea if he could even see. He no longer heard the slithering sound, but he didn’t move until his nausea and pain lessened enough that thirst and hunger began to replace them.

  Painfully, Des removed his climbing harness and parachute. Inside his pack, he fingered the two cans of soda Kathy had packed for him. When he opened one, the sound of the pop-top echoed. Des stood carefully; his head was still swimming. No broken bones, he surmised. He pushed up his visor and drained the can. When he brought his face level again, he could make out a faint light in the distance. Well, at least he wasn’t blind. He dropped the empty can without thinking, swung his pack over his back and stumbled through a cave towards the light.

  He reached the end of the cave and after walking unsteadily for sixty meters discovered a steep climb leading to a small hole with light coming through it, about one hundred meters up.

  Des removed his crampons and started to climb. With thirty meters left, he stopped to rest a moment, his back against rock and his bruised legs swinging below him.

  Almost immediately, something grabbed each of his legs and began to pull him down.

  The lights. Des’ mind raced to reclaim lost thoughts. As tentacles tugged him downward, Des ripped off his helmet, and turned on the headlamp flinging it away from him. It clattered on the rocks as it bounced down into the cave, its light flashing. The tentacles’ grip loosened as the creature chased after the helmet.

  Des clawed upwards as fast as he could. He grabbed for the opening, pulled himself through it, then rolled down a gentle slope into mist.

  When he stopped, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He was in a beautiful, colorful rainforest with huge, gnarled trees reaching skyward. Flowers abounded; he saw a bush bursting with huge purple flowers. The slope he had rolled down was dark green and grassy. There was a cacophony of birdcalls. A fawn bounced away from him. He could hear the chatter of monkeys high in the trees. He was astonished by the beauty and gentleness surrounding him; the air was warm, moist and clean-smelling. He carefully removed his pack and Tevlar coat, then sat and marveled.

  Nothing made any sense to him. His head and limbs throbbed as he tried to piece together the disjointed information in his mind. An expedition to the North Pole had somehow brought him to a tropical garden. An icy abyss had disappeared. He suddenly remembered Mitch calling to him. Des, open your fucking ‘chute! Now Des realized he must have been falling, although he didn’t remember pulling his ripcord.

  Then he remembered removing his parachute in the cave. It had still been packed! So if he hadn’t opened it, he was either hallucinating or dead; there could be no other answer. The pain in his body was proof that he was still alive, so he must be delusional.

  Maybe he hadn’t fallen at all. He closed his eyes to aid his concentration. There had been something else in the chasm…something alive. He had just slipped away from a similar creature—or the same one? The tentacles he had seen with Mitch could have stuffed him into a granite crevice where he now lay; this forest could be an illusion.

  He opened his eyes.

  If this were an illusion, it was a sensational one. The colors were most striking. He had been in a gray world for almost a month, but now he saw color in every direction. He listened to the cacophony and smelled the sweet scent of the flowers, which were everywhere. Some sprouted from the ground, others were on low bushes; even the trees were covered with lavish flowers.

  He remembered that Hans had said to stay put, so Des would do just that until they found him. He opened his pack and retrieved a ham sandwich and washed down the food with water from his canteen.

  “Now, this is a place I could call home,” he said aloud.

  His pain subsided somewhat. Des stood and stretched, now convinced this was a hallucination. He noticed his Timex wristwatch and checked the time and date, shocked to discover that two days had passed since he had been lowered into the chasm.

  He suddenly realized that the team must leave today—they had no choice. There would be no rescue! Wherever Des was, he was stuck here!

  Des heard a whoosh and a wooden club smashed onto his wristwatch, cracking his wrist. He yowled in pain before something hard connected with the back of his head.

  Chapter 9

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 2, Day 1; 1530 UTC, 9:30 AM LTD

  Des jerked awake in a darkened room. He could see the outline of a startled nurse taking his pulse.

  I’m in a hospital. I’ve been rescued!

  He touched his face—his nose was taped, and it ached; in fact, his whole head was bursting with pain. His throbbing wrist was wrapped in some kind of leaves.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  The nurse smiled at him with brilliant white teeth, but said nothing.

  As his eyes adjusted, Des studied her in the pale light. She was very tall, with a shapely figure, and her long yellow hair had magnificent curls. She was apparently wearing makeup, which made her face sparkle. He looked around the room while she took his pulse.

  There were bamboo curtains covering an op
en window. He heard birds chirping outside. There was a strangeness to the window—either his vision or the glass-less opening was distorted. The top and bottom looked parallel, but the sides bulged past the curtains, giving the window opening an ovoid shape. The wall was painted white and patterned with raised, broad strokes of stucco. There were two bamboo chairs at the foot of his bed. The floor was stone, but clean. The doorway leading into an interior corridor was taller than normal and formed oddly, like the window.

  Des saw no recognizable medical equipment: no shining stainless steel, no intravenous fluids flowing through a catheter in his arm, no monitors beeping in his ears. Wherever he was, it was primitive. Maybe the best this nurse could provide was tape for his nose and a check of his pulse.

  He spied a small anteroom with a stone commode and suddenly had need of it.

  “Bathroom,” he said, gesturing frantically at the fixture.

  The nurse nodded and left the room. A few moments later, she returned with two other women, both also tall with long, curly hair. These orderlies, if that’s what they were, helped him out of bed; with one on either side, he began to walk carefully across the room. His head was swimming; he hoped he wouldn’t pass out. They held him up by his armpits and waited patiently for him to make each step. After what seemed like hours to Des, he reached the anteroom. They continued to hold him by his arms as he urinated. He heard water gurgling from somewhere far below the oddly shaped toilet.

  “Thank you. I didn’t think I’d make it,” Des said absently as he urinated, his head pulsing.

  He peered at one orderly and noticed her face was a sparkling, golden green; her arms were green, too. Des turned sideways to get a better look and started peeing on the floor. She pointed down at him; he corrected his aim.

  Des, ol’ buddy, what have you gotten yourself into this time? A primitive hospital, and green people to boot. His head hurt worse.