[Story] Adrift (2090 words)
Fraser
submission in mind, but couldn't get it down to size no matter how vicious I
was, so decided to just let it stand. Hope you enjoy it.
ADRIFT
Fraser Thomson
The long, rumbling boom was clearly audible beneath the shrieking of the
wind. I
raised my head. Scott - barely visible through the blizzard although not
twenty yards ahead of
me - turned to search for the source of the sound. My collar was buttoned
high and I had
wrapped scarves so thickly about my face that I could see only through a
narrow, ice-obscured
slit. But I could see Scott, and his sudden frantic waving and pointing
caused me to halt in my tracks
and pull the frozen woolen layers from my face.
The crack was narrow, no more than a hand's breadth. It lay like a dark vein
in the white
flesh of the ice ahead of me, widening even as I watched. I was not unduly
concerned. We had seen
many crevasses open in similar fashion during the course of our hellish
journey, and I
knew that I would be able to walk around it in safety once the ice ceased
its shifting.
The crack had widened to over a sled-length when I realised what was
happening. It was no
crevasse. I looked left and right, but the crack ran on until it disappeared
into the swirling
snow on either side of me. A glint of light reflected from the black depths
and I knew
that it could only come from water. The ice-shelf had split, and in my
weariness I had failed to
grasp my plight in time.
Scott dropped the traces of his sled and stumbled across the ice towards the
gap. He
stopped on the very edge, and for a moment we simply gazed at each other
across the
water. There was little enough to say, even if our words could have been
heard. I lifted a hand
in farewell and he did likewise. We moved apart and he faded into the
whirling clouds of ice.
Fear rose in me like a sickness, robbing my limbs of what little strength
they
retained. And worse than fear was guilt. My sled contained the bulk of our
rations for the
final push towards One Ton Depot, where stored provisions awaited us. I felt
that by
my failure to react in time I might have doomed my friends - the men with
whom I had suffered
so greatly, achieved so much.
I realised then that there was a choice to be made. I could succumb to my
terrors and
simply give up the struggle, or I could pull myself together and act like a
man should act.
Unlike poor, brave Oates, who had known himself to be a drain on the team's
resources, I
had all the food I could eat and more. His final walk out into the snow had
been an act of
unimaginable courage, whereas mine would be one of cowardice. There was no
reason to give in to my fears. I would live with my guilt, but by God I
would live. I
pulled canvas from my sled and set about making a bivouac to shelter from
the blizzard.
It provided meager shelter, but when I crawled in exhaustion must
have claimed me instantly, for I recall no more of that first night.
When I awoke, the storm had abated. It was still inside my little tent, and
the air felt
noticeably warmer. Snow had built up against the canvas side and I struggled
to extricate
myself from the cocoon. The sight that greeted me almost caused my
heart to stop from a mixture of awe and terror. From horizon to blue
horizon, broken
slabs of ice floated on a web of inky sea. Huge bergs towered in the
distance like frozen
cathedrals, and the low sun lent a fiery aura to all it touched. The silence
was near
absolute, save for my breathing and the distant grind and crackle of ice
meeting ice. I was
alone. Alone as any man has ever been.
My own floe was roughly rectangular in shape - perhaps sixty feet by forty.
It was
dwarfed by some of the nearby massifs, a vulnerable speck in the huge,
ever-shifting
seascape.
I managed to stop gawping at my surroundings in time to snatch my sextant
from my kit bag
and take a shot of the fast-sinking sun. I thought I had made a hash of it:
according to my calculations
I was a full degree north of my last shot, taken roughly an hour before the
ice had cracked beneath
me. I had slept for nearly twelve hours according to my timepiece, and that
meant the
floe was moving northward at nearly five knots. I dismissed the idea as
ridiculous and
vowed to take a more careful sighting when the sun made its next brief
appearance.
As I chewed on a meal of frozen mutton in my bivouac, my thoughts turned to
the men I'd left
behind. I felt in my heart that they could make it to the Depot. Scott had
immense mental
strength - enough to pull the other three along with him if required.
What awful hell it had been! The moment when we realised that Amundsen had
won the race,
that eight hundred miles of brutal toil had been for nothing, was a moment I
would take
to my grave. Scott must have felt it worse, but he bucked the lot of us up
and had us pose
for the photograph in front of a proud Union Jack. Yes, I thought, if the
blizzard ended for him
as it had for me,.he would make it. I fell asleep, clinging to the warmth of
that thought.
When I next awoke, the sun was just clearing the horizon. I took a series of
shots, being
as careful as I possibly could. I knew that I had slept a further eight
hours, and there was
no arguing with the results this time. I was moving steadily north at five
knots, covering
nearly two hundred statute miles per day. On the ice, we had been fortunate
to cover ten.
For the first time since Scott had disappeared into the blizzard I allowed
myself to feel a
pinch of hope. If I continued to travel in the same direction, at the same
speed, I would
reach the Southern Ocean trade route within a week. Perhaps.. No. I crushed
the
thought. As had been a constant on the journey, there was a cloud attached
to every silver
lining. The closer I got to possible human contact, the warmer it would get.
The warmer
it got, the smaller my floe would become. The cruel irony brought tears of
anger to my
eyes, and I found myself ready to curse God for his casual, indifferent
malice.
Soon, however, I calmed.. Acceptance settled peacefully upon me, and I felt
ready
to face whatever might come. I would live as long as He saw fit, and there
was nothing in
the world I could do to change a single detail of His plan. I thought of
Margaret at home
in Devon, and of Joy, an infant when I left, nearly a toddler now. I prayed
that they would
be taken care of by the others, and that they would remember me fondly, if
only from the
single photograph Mags kept above the fire.
And so it went. Day followed day and my speed and course remained constant.
Each
morning the floe was smaller, less stable; each day was warmer than the one
before. I
existed in a state of peace I can only describe as monastic - I had finally
leaned the power
of acceptance, and only in my weakest moments would an ironic voice in my
ear whisper
what a shame it was that I had only learnt how to live just as I was about
to die.
I had no doubt about my fate by that time. The floe was shrinking at an
astonishing rate -
far quicker than I had expected. When the sea grew rough, green humps of
water would
surge up onto the ice, causing it to stagger and dip alarmingly. A pod of
three Killer
Whales had taken it upon themselves to provide an escort, patiently
following in my
wake, waiting for the inevitable.
I awoke on the morning of my fifth day adrift to the realisation that it
would be my last.
The wind had risen, and the sea was bending to its will. My floe had shrunk
to a mere
twenty feet by ten, and it was no more than a matter of time before a larger
wave would sweep
across the surface, sending me tumbling into the dark green waters.
I ate a hearty breakfast - as much as I could stomach - then pushed the sled
over
the edge of the floe so that I would not be knocked off by it later in the
day. It sank
slowly in the clear water, only to be struck by a huge black shadow with a
speed and
force that made me shudder. I prayed that the cold would have me senseless
before those
same jaws closed around me.
I sat down in the centre of the floe and waited to die.
Roald Amundsen and his team had beaten us to the Pole by more than a month.
They had
used dogs instead of our useless ponies, and had taken a different route. We
had found
their tent and a note addressed to Scott on our arrival at the Pole, but we
never saw them at
all, heading south or north. It was as if they were ghosts, flitting in from
nowhere, leaving
their message and disappearing again. They had departed the frozen continent
on board
their ship 'Fram', with all of the glory and none of the losses.
It was the 'Fram' that I saw when I woke from a short sleep, just before
midday. She had
all sails set and was tearing Westward towards New Zealand in great clouds
of spray. For
a moment, I considered just sitting still. So resigned had I become to my
solitude and my
fate that the evidence of other human life seemed a rude intrusion. But
self-preservation
is the strongest of instincts, and before I knew it I was on my feet, waving
and shouting
for all I was worth.
She sailed on. I stood on my heaving platform, too devastated by hope raised
and dashed
to do more than stare after her. I could not help but wonder what I had done
to deserve
the punishments that were being heaped upon me, each new torment endowed
with fresh
hooks of cruelty.
Then, as a larger wave sent freezing water swirling around my ankles, I saw
the 'Fram'
heel to Port. Had they seen me? I waited, refusing to believe. She rolled
heavily, beam-on
to the sea as she came about. I saw canvas furling and unfurling. By God,
she had seen me.
I cannot adequately describe the emotions I endured during the hour that
passed while the 'Fram' beat
against the wind towards me. Fear is never so keen as when salvation is near
at hand,
hope never so strong nor so fragile. Every second or third wave was washing
over the
floe by the time they were close enough to launch a longboat, and the Killer
Whales had
moved in so near that I could hear their strange, clicking language above
the sounds of
the wind and the sea.
Up until the moment that strong hands grasped my forearms and pulled me from
the
knee-deep water, I felt certain I would die. Even lying under the heap of
rough blankets
in the bottom of the longboat I was convinced that some fresh disaster would
strike before we could
get safely aboard the Fram.
Now I sit at my desk, and through my window I can see Joy playing on the
lawn in the
Devon sunshine. It all seems a dream to me, a nightmare experienced by
another man.
And there is truth in that; the man who writes here today is not the man who
joined the
'Terra Nova' at London all those months ago. The deaths that ended the dream
weigh on
my conscience, but I retain the strength I found when things were at their
bleakest and I
find that I can think back on it all, if not with pleasure, then at least
with hard-won
acceptance.
It is these rough notes that must serve as my attempt to carry out Scott's
last wish, written
as he lay freezing and near death, only eleven miles from One Ton Depot:
'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance
and courage of
my companions which would have stirred the heart.'
R. Westermeyer
>
>ADRIFT
>
>Fraser Thomson
>
Excellent. Thrilling. Froze my ass off!
You need to send this puppy out. There is definitely a market for this
very well-written man against nature/man against himself piece.
Most intrigued by your knowledge of the terrain. Did you research
this, or have you actually trudged though this terrible and beautiful
landscape?
This is a psychological tale more than an adventure piece. You portray
the regret/desire to sink away from the shame versus
perseverance/devotion to his friends' memories very well. Any paring
down would ruin it.
A very cool read.
--Robert
Fraser
"R. Westermeyer" <wst...@cts.com> wrote in message
news:dkr5cuki6om9pro6l...@4ax.com...
> Excellent. Thrilling. Froze my ass off!
Heh. Very glad you enjoyed it.
>
> You need to send this puppy out. There is definitely a market for this
> very well-written man against nature/man against himself piece.
>
> Most intrigued by your knowledge of the terrain. Did you research
> this, or have you actually trudged though this terrible and beautiful
> landscape?
It's an environment that has always fascinated me. I've read a book or two
about Scott's final expedition (amazing, horrific tale - you should try one
if you haven't), and a good friend of mine spent 14 months down at the SANAE
research base, but that's about as far as any research went. I haven't been
down there myself. Yet.
>
> This is a psychological tale more than an adventure piece. You portray
> the regret/desire to sink away from the shame versus
> perseverance/devotion to his friends' memories very well. Any paring
> down would ruin it.
>
> A very cool read.
>
Thank you, Robert. I was a bit worried it would read like a Boys Own
Adventure story, so I'm glad it went beyond that.
> --Robert
Patrick Null
>20, 2002, 1:56pm (EDT+11) From:
>fra...@hotmail.com (Fraser)
Wow! All I can say is wow, Fraser! Ok, that's not ALL I can say. If
it was, this would be a pretty boring response. This was a gripping
story. So gripping that I wish you would write sequels to it. I want
to know the adventures of Scott. I want to know how the other members
died. And, how did they get in that mess? This is the stuff that good
fiction is made out of. And, I'm glad it had a happy ending. The last
paragraph was the perfect paragraph to end the story. I wouldn't change
a thing, Fraser. Not a gosh-darn thing. I certainly wouldn't cut
anything out. To do so would be a great injustice to the story. In
fact, I want to know more. I want to know how they ended up separated,
how many members of the team there were, how they each perished. I'm
hungry, Fraser! Don't leave me hanging lol. Like you, this is a topic
that has always fascinated me, man(or woman) against nature and the
strength of the human spirit. Anyway, I have a couple of comments
below.
>The long, rumbling boom was clearly
>audible beneath the shrieking of the wind.
>I raised my head. Scott - barely visible
>through the blizzard although not twenty
>yards ahead of
>me - turned to search for the source of the >sound.
This is just a personal thing-I would take out the dashes. "Scott, who
was barely visible through the blizzard, although not twenty yards ahead
of me, turned to search for the source of the sound." Like I said, it's
a personal thing and probably doesn't make any difference.
>The crack was narrow, no more than a
>hand's breadth. It lay like a dark vein in
>the white
>flesh of the ice ahead of me, widening
>even as I watched.
VERY nice image.
> I would live with my guilt, but by God I
>would live.
I don't know why, but I love this line.
>From horizon to blue horizon, broken
>slabs of ice floated on a web of inky sea.
>Huge bergs towered in the distance like
>frozen
>cathedrals, and the low sun lent a fiery
>aura to all it touched. The silence was
>near
>absolute, save for my breathing and the
>distant grind and crackle of ice meeting
>ice.
Nice description.
>I was
>alone. Alone as any man has ever been.
I love the last line.
>I existed in a state of peace I can only
>describe as monastic - I had finally leaned >the power
>of acceptance, and only in my weakest
>moments would an ironic voice in my ear
>whisper
>what a shame it was that I had only learnt >how to live just as I was
about to die.
I love this paragraph and especially the last line. Great thought
processes from a man who has resigned himself to death and has no hope
left. Now, let's look at the next line.
>I had no doubt about my fate by that time.
It seems like he has been sure of his fate for a while. It's almost
redundant when you just stated up above he knew he was going to die.
BTW, this is the ONLY problem I saw in the entire story. This is
excellent, Fraser, just excellent.
>A pod of three Killer
>Whales had taken it upon themselves to
>provide an escort, patiently following in
>my
>wake, waiting for the inevitable.
Yikes! Great device to add tension to an already tense situation.
>But self-preservation
>is the strongest of instincts, and before I
>knew it I was on my feet, waving and
>shouting for all I was worth.
The "self-preservation" line is a great line. You have a way with
words, Fraser, and I'm honored to read your stories.
>'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to
>tell of the hardihood, endurance and
>courage of
>my companions which would have stirred
>the heart.'
Like I said up above, this is the perfect line to end it. A story of
human survival WILL find a way to be told, won't it? Great job, Fraser!
grizzellda
"Fraser" <fra...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:a9r39j$5ipl8$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de...
> The idea for this came from the Challenge. I wrote it with a second
> submission in mind, but couldn't get it down to size no matter how vicious
I
> was, so decided to just let it stand. Hope you enjoy it.
>
>
> ADRIFT
>
> Fraser Thomson
>
>
Fraser, I honestly don't know what to say. I was with this guy to the end,
wondering if he would make it. My heart was actually pounding as you
describe the Fram turning and the rescue (those whales just a few feet from
him.) Incredible story. Too incredible? It was a huge coincidence that the
Fram passed, but I think it was plausible.
Great story, man.
grizzellda
Fraser
"grizzellda" <griz...@sofnet.com> wrote in message
news:ucc8gq6...@corp.supernews.com...
>
> "Fraser" <fra...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
> news:a9r39j$5ipl8$1...@ID-116198.news.dfncis.de...
> > The idea for this came from the Challenge. I wrote it with a second
> > submission in mind, but couldn't get it down to size no matter how
vicious
> I
> > was, so decided to just let it stand. Hope you enjoy it.
> >
> >
> > ADRIFT
> >
> > Fraser Thomson
> >
> >
>
> Fraser, I honestly don't know what to say. I was with this guy to the end,
> wondering if he would make it. My heart was actually pounding as you
> describe the Fram turning and the rescue (those whales just a few feet
from
> him.) Incredible story. Too incredible? It was a huge coincidence that the
> Fram passed, but I think it was plausible.
> Great story, man.
Heh! Stranger things have happened, I guess. Grizz, thanks very much -
really pleased you enjoyed it.
Fraser
Fraser
Thanks for reading and taking the time to comment. You were too kind by
half, but it's always nice to know that someone has enjoyed a story. A
couple of comments below:
"Patrick Null" <Nul...@webtv.net> wrote in message
news:26865-3C...@storefull-2293.public.lawson.webtv.net...
> >Group: alt.fiction.original Date: Sat, Apr
> >20, 2002, 1:56pm (EDT+11) From:
> This is just a personal thing-I would take out the dashes. "Scott, who
> was barely visible through the blizzard, although not twenty yards ahead
> of me, turned to search for the source of the sound." Like I said, it's
> a personal thing and probably doesn't make any difference.
No, I think your right. The dashes were a hangover from starting this as a
challenge entry. Since it didn't end up that way, I could've afforded the
extra two words.
>
> I love this paragraph and especially the last line. Great thought
> processes from a man who has resigned himself to death and has no hope
> left. Now, let's look at the next line.
>
> >I had no doubt about my fate by that time.
>
> It seems like he has been sure of his fate for a while. It's almost
> redundant when you just stated up above he knew he was going to die.
> BTW, this is the ONLY problem I saw in the entire story. This is
> excellent, Fraser, just excellent.
>
I'll take another look at that one - was trying to link into a description
of how small his floe was becoming, but there's probably another way to do
that.
Thanks again, Patrick
Fraser.