Under the Ice

He heaved over the dashboard, wheezing a dry cough as his truck sputtered to life, hacking out thick ghastly fumes of exhaust, the sickening scent of gasoline and cigarettes settling over every surface inside. A camera shook on the seat next to him, threatening to fall as it once more sped along the ravaged asphalt of the town road. The town was a mismatched mess, its residents reusing smashed bits of boxes or barrels to replace missing shingles, covering cracks in their concrete foundations with tape or propping them up with phone books. Cement blocks replaced sinking broken steps. A thick coat of ash and smoke lay over everything, painting the town to match the sky. He grumbled as the houses smeared past his windows, most of them condemned or abandoned by families packed up and headed for Anchorage. Only the tough or the waiting to die stuck it out here. A thin mist drummed lightly on his windshield and dripped down the upturned collars of the people he passed, melting to mush with the dirty Spring snow. He took a sharp right and pulled into the parking lot of a bar, its roof buckled, and its neon sign blazing through the gauzy fog.

Only a few other trucks stood outside, Frank’s easily spotted among them, layered with grime and missing a tail light. A heavy tarp had been thrown over something in the truck bed. Frank leaned casually against it, the glowing tip of his cigarette protruding from his stiff jaw. He squinted at the incoming truck, nodding at the driver. “Jim.”

“Frank,” Jim replied. He slid out of the driver’s seat with a sniff, scratching the white bristles on his chin with feigned disinterest. “You got it?” Without a word, Frank undid the tarp and pulled it back with a flourish. It was a harbor seal. Salt water still slick across its body, glassy doe-like eyes wide and watchful. Jim whistled low in appreciation, stroking its side.

“Ain’t she a beauty,” Frank murmured with pride, “she’ll look mighty fine hung up on a wall.” His eyes slid to Jim but Jim didn’t take the bait, simply handing him the crumpled tens.

“Help me transfer this to my truck.” Jim grabbed the tail and slid it out on the tarp. It hit the pavement with a dull wet thunk. Frank grabbed the head and together they hauled it into the back of Jim’s rusty orange truck.

“What’re you gonna do with her?” Frank asked, his curiosity winning out.

“None of your business.” Jim scowled at him as he slammed the truck bed shut and got back in the driver’s seat, backing out of the parking lot and onto the road without so much as a backwards glance.

The sleazy bar stood at the edge of the road which stretched from the town and across a bridge, into the melting snow on the right. The truck shuddered in protest as Jim cranked the wheel and swerved to the right, growling and wheezing through the mess of slush and grit. He glanced at the dead seal in his rearview and then to the camera, allowing a grim smile to leak out the middle of his face, already imagining what he could do with the money. It took nearly an hour for him to find what he was looking for, a craggy bit of coastline, the slate gray sea beyond. Thick layers of ice stretched out several hundred feet before falling below the waves. He unstrapped the seal and dragged it out across the ice, a heavy loop of rope over his shoulder and the camera banging against his chest with every step. He knelt at the water’s edge and wound the end of the rope around the wide rubber like middle of the seal before pushing it over the edge. Jim braced his feet into the ice, his hands gripping the rope as it hit the water with a loud splash and sunk like a stone. ] He stilled. Minutes passed. An hour.

“Come on, you bastard, come on,” he muttered. Ripples grew across the smooth foil surface of the water. He watched them suspiciously, his eyes widening into shock and fear as the ripples broke into waves. He fumbled for the camera. The waves hit the ice and with a sudden jerk, the rope began to slide through his fingers, cutting through his old gloves. He let go with a yell, scrambling backwards and watching in terror as the rope unraveled and slipped into the sea. He panted roughly, puffs of hot air melting the frozen snow stuck in his beard. The ice was still.

A harsh crack echoed from behind him. Ice and water exploded outward. A large chunk of ice struck Jim’s back and slammed him to the ground. He screamed in pain and rolled to face the source with a whimper. A gaping hole split the ice between him and the shore. The half chewed corpse of the seal lay next to it. He stared uncomprehending at the place where the tail should have been. Deep gashes sunk into the chest of the seal and its skull had splintered on impact, bits of bone poking through skin, and leaking brain matter like pink scrambled eggs across the ice. It had been thrown up from underneath so hard it had smashed through 5 inches of ice. Bubbles rose, popping at the surface of the hole. Jim watched, as thick gray jaws reached through the hole and grasped the seal between two incisors. It’s skin was toughened leather and each tooth was as long as Jim’s arm, sprouting from angry red gums. Jim reached shakily once more for his camera, looking up just in time to see the seal dragged back under the ice with a hollow splash.