Stranded (20 page)

“Connor,” he whispered. “Connor MacAllister?”

“Yep,” the man said. “It's me.” He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. He pointed at the man they'd tried to save. “This is Chris Holden.” He took a deep breath and said, “And you. Are you … Noah Cabot?”

Noah peeled off his mask and watch cap. “He is. I am.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Can't be. It just can't be.” Connor's accent turned “can't” into “cain't,” further cementing the reality of this impossible moment in Noah's mind.

“Why not?”

Connor turned to look at Noah. “Because when I left him two hours ago, Chris Holden was asleep in his bunk. And you're dead. Goin' on more'n a year now.”

Noah felt like he'd been shoved by some invisible presence. He reached out for the edge of the bunk beside him and barely caught on. “I … I'm alive. You're the one…”

“Sittin' here next to you. That's the part I'm havin' a problem with. I was a pallbearer at your damn funeral, Noah.”

The look on Noah's face went from agitated disbelief to horror. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. Unlike in Connor's version of history, Noah hadn't been a pallbearer at Connor's funeral. Since there wasn't anything recognizable of him to put in a box, Connor's girlfriend, Sheila, had him cremated. She set the urn up at the memorial service. He repeated, “Not me. You. You.”

Noah heard shouting from the passageway. “Noah! Noah, where the fuck are you?”

“Is that who it sounds like?” Connor said.

The voice in the passageway snapped Noah back to the present. “It's Kevin Lawless.”

“I guess that means Jack Freeman is here, too.”

Noah took a deep breath and tried to make sense of what was happening. He didn't know whether to run and find Kevin, or stay with this ghost. Wait for him to fade away as Noah came to his senses. But Connor didn't fade. He was as solid as the ship and the body of his friend growing colder beside them.

“Them, Henry Gutierrez, Michael Yeong, Serge Boucher, and … William Brewster are all with me.” He paused before adding, “And Holden. Was.”

“That's quite a roster. That's all?”

“Rest of the crew's back on our ship a couple miles away.”

Connor held his face in a hand, squeezing his temples. Noah noticed a small, pink scar above the dead man's right eyebrow. His fingers drifted up to the dressing covering the same spot on his own face.

“Noah! Where are you?” Kevin sounded panicked. He was out of breath and his voice cracked. His footfalls receded. He was headed in the wrong direction.

Noah pushed himself up off the deck, taking a moment to get his partially numb feet solidly beneath him. “I'd better go get him before he gets lost.”

Connor got to his feet, too, grabbed a dry blanket off the other bunk and draped Holden's body with it. “Anybody else in as bad a shape as he was?”

Noah shook his head. “Not quite. But everybody's sick. Holden … fell in the water.”

“I guess we need to go show 'em the way aboard then, if they haven't already found the ladder.” Connor reached out to put a hand on Noah's shoulder. Noah flinched. He wondered whether the ghost's hand would pass right through him. He didn't get to find out. Connor dropped his arm to his side, not making contact. “They all gonna be as surprised to see me as you?”

“That would be my guess,” Noah said. “Wait a minute. You never shipped out with Jack and Kevin. How do you know them?”

Connor pursed his lips in an expression so familiar Noah felt like he'd traveled through time. Any last doubt he was looking at his friend disappeared. No mistaking it. It made Noah feel at once elated and profoundly sad. It couldn't last, could it? Or maybe, it might last forever. And ever. He pushed the thought out of his head. He couldn't be dead. Not unless they both were. And if they were both dead, that meant this was Hell.

 

22

Kevin jerked away and let out a small, strangled cry as Noah clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Shit, man! You almost gave me a heart attack.” Kevin was pale and sweaty-looking. Frost had formed in his beard and his cheeks were the same bright red Holden's had been. Without his balaclava, he'd be frostbitten before they got halfway back to the
Arctic Promise.
Noah knew he would refuse to take back his hat, however, as soon as he found out about Holden.

“Sorry,” he said. He'd followed Kevin's calls up two decks before finally catching up to him. Fortunately, this PSV was similar enough to their own ship that he had no problem following the echoes through the passageways.

“You were really hauling ass out there. Were you expecting there to be finish line tape at the end?” He panted, out of breath. “We could barely keep up. Where's Holden? How'd you get him up that ladder?”

Noah held up a finger to stem the tide of Kevin's questions. “Where are the others?”

Kevin tilted his head toward the ladder. “I left 'em on the mezzanine deck. They're in the meeting room trying to get warm. Brewster's havin' half a fit since we couldn't find you. Where's Holden?”

Noah shook his head slightly. “I wasn't fast enough.”

“No. You did better than any of us could've.” Kevin's face fell. “I suppose we oughta tell the others.” Noah turned to lay below. Kevin grabbed his elbow, stopping him. “You're the only one he stood a chance with. You know that, right? It took three of us to get Michael up that ladder and I thought I was going to die doing it. It's not your fault. I don't even know how you got Holden aboard.”

“I had help,” Noah said. “Let's go talk to the others.” He patted Kevin's hand and gently pried it off his arm. He started toward the Mezzanine Deck.

“Help? Who the hell was here to help?” Kevin fell into step behind him, continuing to pepper him with questions, until a coughing fit interrupted his interrogation. He hacked up something wet-sounding and spit. Noah didn't look to see what had come up. He'd seen enough of it already.

At D-Deck, he took a turn through a hatch, beckoning Kevin to follow. They crept up the tilted passageway to the first state cabin. Through the open door, they saw Connor sitting in a chair next to the desk. Kevin said, “Holden?” Connor shook his head and pointed at the bunk across the room. Connor had finished dressing the man and lifted him into the bed. A pang of guilt arced through Noah for not staying to help restore Holden's dignity. There would be plenty of time to feel guilt. Perhaps an eternity.

Connor got up from his chair and walked to the door. His face contorted with both surprise and recognition. “Kevin,” he said.

Kevin's brow furrowed. “Who're you?” He turned to Noah. “This is the dude who helped you?”

“Kevin, you really don't know me?” Connor asked. He took a step forward, reaching out. Kevin stepped out of reach. “Why is everybody so afraid of letting me touch them?”

Noah didn't want to tell him why. It had nothing to do with the fact he looked like a shell of the person he'd once been. That should have been apparent from Kevin's response, since the two had never met. But then Connor thought they knew each other. He thought they were on a first-name basis. The moment, as troubling as it was for the other two men, eased Noah's anxiety somewhat. Connor knew Kevin's and Jack's last names despite having never worked with them. He thought Noah was dead when he obviously wasn't. Connor was alive, although he'd died over a year earlier. And the ship. Maybe this wasn't Hell. It wasn't Earth either. At least not the Earth Noah knew.

Noah stepped into the state cabin and pulled the blanket up over Holden's face. “Let's go talk to the others,” Noah said.

*   *   *

In the meeting room, Henry and Michael sat slumped in chairs against the wall while Boucher and Jack stood, each man rubbing his arms trying to keep warm. Brewster stopped pacing the length of the compartment when he saw Noah appear in the doorway. “There you are,” the Old Man said. “Where the hell is Holden? What've you done with him?”

Noah stopped in mid-step.
Done with
? No matter what he did, nothing would ever redeem him in his father-in-law's eyes. Alive, he was beyond salvation. Dead … He looked at Connor standing behind him in the passageway, out of sight of the men. He thought about what he'd said to him only a few minutes ago.
I was a pallbearer at your funeral.
That would have been the happiest day of Brewster's life.

“He's in the engineer's cabin,” Noah said. “He didn't make it.”

The already dim mood in the room darkened. Boucher shouted and grabbed the arms of an empty chair, looking like he wanted to throw it across the room. Instead, he picked it up and slammed it straight down, driving it into the deck again and again as he cursed with each impact. Jack shook his head in apparent disbelief while Henry and Michael sat, their sallow faces taking on fresh expressions of sick fear. They were in worse shape than the rest of their team and both of them knew it. The rest weren't far behind them. All except Noah.

Brewster looked like he wanted to make accusations, to hold Noah accountable for what had happened. But he'd conceived of the trip along with his officers. On top of that, Noah had volunteered to go alone, trying to avoid this exact outcome. Still, it looked to him like the Old Man wanted to lay it at his feet. Instead, Brewster clenched his teeth and fumed quietly. “Well, we came here for a reason. Let's split up and see if there's anything we can use. I'll check on communications. Boucher, you take the Twins and see if there's anything we can cannibalize from the machine room to—”

“All the electronics on the ship stopped functioning months ago.”

Brewster's eyes flashed with anger. “Months, my ass, Cabot! How the fuck would you know this heap has been here for months?”

Connor pushed past Noah. “He didn't say it.
I
did.” He brushed a strand of limp, greasy hair out of his face and looked Brewster up and down, taking measure of the Old Man.

Brewster began to ask, “Who the hell…” but the question died before it escaped his gaping mouth.

“You look good, William.” Connor nodded at Boucher, who almost fell trying to sit in his broken chair. “Henry, Michael, Jack,” he said, acknowledging each man. News of Holden's death had upset the crew, but the sight of a dead man standing in the room with them was more than they could process. Only Jack looked more confused than shocked. Brewster walked up to Connor and reached out with a finger. Connor allowed himself to be touched without flinching or backing away. He reached out and squeezed the Old Man's shoulder. “It's good to see you.”

“Is it really you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Brewster took a step back. “I don't understand.”

When Noah knew him, Connor had been an imposing man. He had a build like a college athlete and an easy smile on a full face. He'd been boisterous, happy to do physical work, and got along with everyone. Almost everyone—he didn't like Boucher better than anyone else did. The man reminded him of all those kids who'd picked on him in school, he'd told Noah one evening over drinks—the reason he started going to the gym and lifting weights. Noah had dismissed his misgivings about the bosun, telling him it was an act.
Serge is playing a role for the deck crew,
he'd said, knowing it was bullshit but wanting peace aboard the ship. He had introduced Connor to Mickle and his secret bottles of scotch. And then one night he asked Connor to fill in for him. And he never knew him again.

“I'm not sure how long it's been. We kept track at first—when we thought we could still fix things—but after a few weeks, I lost track. All I can say is we've been here longer than we ever should've. When the
Promise
was first beset—”

“The
Promise
?” Boucher said. “What do you mean, ‘the
Promise
'?”

“The
Arctic Promise
.” Connor tapped a knuckle against the hull. “You're standing on her.” He waited to see if the bosun had more to say before continuing with his explanation. Boucher blinked with mute incomprehension. “Anyway, when we first got stuck, we tried to dig out because we couldn't—”

“You couldn't call for an icebreaker after the communications array went down?” Noah said. “And then digging out didn't work any better because the engines shit the bed when you tried?”

Connor's eyes narrowed. “Yep. Happened just like that.”

“So, what about the rest of the crew? Where are they?” Boucher asked. His voice wavered with anxiety and his shoulders hunched as if he was waiting to spring at the man once he heard his answer. In the past, the two would have been evenly matched. But even in Boucher's weakened state, Connor didn't look like he would be able to hold his own. He'd lost too much weight, had aged too much since Noah had seen him last. He was recognizable, but barely. He looked like he might blow away if they went back outside in the wind.

“They're on the platform,” Connor said tilting his head toward the door. “When the fog cleared, we caught sight of it. We hiked across to call for an icebreaker to come plow us out. Except, the Niflheim was abandoned before we even got there—powered down and dark. We turned the lights and heat back on, but we had no idea what happened to the men and women stationed there. Figured maybe the company shipped 'em out in anticipation of the big storm that hit us. If that was it though, they'd've been back by now. That was a couple, maybe two and a half months ago.”

“You try calling for a rescue?” Brewster said.

“Aside from lights and life support, ain't nothing working on the rig. Radios, sat phones, radar, nothin'. Just like this wreck. Except it's safer there than here, as you might imagine. This ship is nipped—shifting ice plates are crushin' it. We decamped to the Niflheim as soon as the
Promise
started to list and have been holding out there ever since. We only come back here to collect up more rations as ours over there get thin.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Everything is getting thin though. Not sure any of us got more weight to lose, and we're almost out of the consumable cargo we had aboard. What we can reach, anyway. Got plenty of concrete and fuel, not so much food. We even tried ice fishing, but nothin'.” Connor jerked a thumb toward the rifle slung over his shoulder. “I carry this in case I run into a polar bear or wolf or something. But I haven't seen a living thing other than my crew since we got here. Ain't nothing up here with us.