Ice Hunt

Amanda and Greg had flown in, newly married themselves. Captain Perry had been decorated for his heroics up north. Though half the polar ice cap had been destroyed by the Polaris Array, the other half had been preserved through his efforts and Amanda’s timely use of the DeepEye sonar.

As for the cap’s actual damage, it was significant but not irreparable. Each year, over the course of a summer, the cap normally melted in half anyway, yet recovered in winter, proving the earth’s remarkable resilience. The same proved true again. Over the past winter, the cap had re-formed, spreading intact over the northern seas once again.

However, the healing of the two governments—Russia and the United States—was neither as easy, nor as quick. Throughout the halls of power in Washington and Moscow, repercussions and punishments still rattled. Daily hearings, judicial inquiries, and military court-martials continued. But even this turmoil would eventually subside, freeze over.

Matt only hoped that something better came of it all.

As to what happened in the north, there was no sign. The schematics for the Polaris Array were never found, destroyed by Admiral Petkov before he ever left port. And the grendels were gone, too, wiped out in the nuclear blast.

In the end, the war had no lasting result.

Well, almost no result…

Laughter again echoed out from the main room of the family cabin. It was the pure delight that only a child could call forth. It was this merriment that had awakened Matt from his short sleep.

Jenny stirred this time. “It sounds like Maki’s up.”

The clank of pots and pans sounded from the neighboring room, too. Matt pulled the cover back, ready to shout for another couple hours of sleep. Then the aromas reached him. He inhaled deeply, sighing.

“Coffee…that’s not playing fair.”

Jenny rolled against him, sitting. “I guess we should be getting up.”

Matt shifted to one elbow. He stared at his new wife, sunlight streaming through the window, bathing her. He was the luckiest man in the whole damn world.

Childish giggles again drifted to them.

Jenny smiled at the sound. There was not even a hint of old sorrow. Like her, he knew how good it was to hear laughter again in the cabin, if even for only a short time.

Together, they slipped into pajamas and robes, then crossed to the bedroom door. Matt opened the way for her, then followed her out.

Maki was in the middle of the room, playing with Bane. The large wolf mix lay sprawled on his back, his belly exposed to be petted. The boy would scratch it, but when he reached the sweet spot, Bane’s back leg would twitch and scratch reflexively. This triggered another peal of laughter.

Matt smiled at the simple pleasure. A boy and a dog.

“You’re up!” a voice spoke from the kitchen. It was Belinda Haydon.

“Where’s your husband?” he asked.

“Bennie and Jen’s dad headed out with their poles an hour ago.”

Maki climbed to his feet. He crossed to the kitchen. “Mama,” he said in Inuit. “Can I have a Pop-Tart?” This last was in English. He was learning the language quickly.

“After you have your cereal, honey,” Belinda answered firmly.

Maki stuck out his lower lip and headed back to Bane.

Matt followed him with his eyes. After the ordeal a year ago, he and Jenny had considered adopting the boy, but they had too much to heal between themselves first. It was not a time for them to raise such a traumatized child.

Instead, the perfect family had been found for the boy: Bennie and Belinda. Jenny had told Matt about the couple’s miscarriage and infertility. The pair had enough love for ten children. If any two people could help the boy recover and grow, this was the couple.

Matt found himself staring at Jenny. And they could always have more children themselves. It was something they had already tentatively discussed, whispered in the night, sharing their hopes under the covers.

There was still time for all of them.

“Uncle Matt,” Maki called over to him, “Bane wants a Pop-Tart, too.”

Matt laughed.

Jenny smiled at him, at both of them.

He met her bright eyes.

He truly was the luckiest man in the world.

6:55 A.M.

UNDER THE ICE…

The tank rested on the ocean floor, full of water, crushed and cracked. The lone occupant was a frozen lump of bone and hardened tissue. There was no light. No sound.

None could hear the screaming inside the man’s head.

The cryoprotectant had worked, preserving and protecting him. But there was a side effect he had not anticipated. A horrible, monstrous side effect. The figure now understood the years the Russian scientists had spent researching sedatives and soporifics. Sleep drugs. The research was not ancillary, but critical to the suspended animation.

For the state created by the elixir was not sleep.

Consciousness remained—frozen, too, but intact.

Sleep was denied him.

He screamed and screamed, but even he heard nothing.

Deaf, dumb, blind.

Yet his body remained, preserved for all time. Deep in the black depths of the Arctic Ocean, one thought persisted as madness ate at what was left of him.

How long? How long is eternity?