MELT: A Psychological Thriller (22 page)

He asked, ‘Victoria, you said you were a teacher, right?’

Victoria nodded.

‘What did you teach?’

‘Social studies and history. My degree was in ancient history, but I couldn’t teach ancient history to grammar school students.’

Carl realized Victoria had just become the most important person in the room.

‘That can’t be a coincidence,’ said Alex, waving at the artifacts. ‘They’ve put Victoria in here to figure this stuff out.’

Chrissie clapped her hands to her forehead as though too much information was coming at once.

‘This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,’ she said. ‘Why would anybody do this?’

'We’re being tested,' said Alex.

‘Tested for what?’

No one had an answer to that.

Megan said. 'This is bad news too.'

'How?' asked Carl, scratching the skin between his fingers. 'We can avoid the traps now. How is that bad?'

'The Chernobyl lock,' replied Megan, almost apologetically.

'Oh, God help us,' realized Chrissie.

'Nuclear power is way out of order,' Victoria said.

'It’s a trap,' said Alex quietly. ‘It must be lethally radioactive.’

 

 

#

 

 

The news hit Carl like a punch in the stomach. They'd all crowded around the lock, but Carl had touched it the most.

'Maybe we buried it fast enough,' said Megan.

'The ice we used is already half gone,' cried Chrissie. 'It melted while we rested. Now we're absorbing twice as much radiation. We shouldn’t have rested. We should have kept working!'

'I don't want to die from radiation poisoning,' said Victoria. 'That's a horrific way to die.'

Carl's palms itched insanely.
I handled that lock. I carried it with my bare hands. I held it against my body. Why didn't I wear the gloves? Who was I trying to impress?

He said, 'I've got really itchy palms where I carried the lock. Is that a sign of radiation poisoning?'

'An itchy rash is an early symptom,' confirmed Victoria. ‘Where else do you itch?’

Carl lifted his shirt.

An angry red rash covered his hips and stomach.

'Oh, fuck.'

Carl needed to sit down.

Megan rushed to help steady him.

Chrissie took a few cautious steps away from him.

'I'm not radioactive,' he barked. 'It's not an infection.'

'Well, what the hell is it?' she said. 'What should we do?'

'Bury it,' said Alex. 'We keep the lock covered in ice. The more ice the better.'

Megan nodded.

Chrissie pointed at the ice dome. 'We can't dig out more ice. That thing is full of traps! That's where the lock came from in the first place. And the bomb. And the Trojan horse.'

'And all our food,' added Megan.

Chrissie put her hands on her head and glared at the ice. She looked like she'd just reached another dead-end in a complicated labyrinth.

‘What do you think, Victoria?’ Carl asked.

‘We never should have interfered with the ice,’ said Victoria. ‘I’ve said that from the start. I still feel the same way.’

‘But you’ve been drinking the ice water,’ said Alex.

‘Not a drop,’ said Victoria. ‘I’ve been drinking melt water.’

'We don't have any choice,' said Megan. 'We have to keep going now.'

Alex nodded. '
Whoever put us in here is challenging us to survive. We won’t be rewarded for doing nothing. We have to fight for every extra hour we want to live.'

'I'm ready to fight,' said Chrissie.

'Me too,' said Carl, scratching his wrist. 'Now Megan has figured out the rules.'

Alex looked around the group. 'This is like the worst history test
ever
. If you get an answer wrong, the teacher kills you.'

 

 

#

 

 

Carl just wanted to lie down. Every few minutes the entire chamber spun around him. He itched all over. The one small mercy was his reduced hunger.

Nausea had replaced his hunger.

'What about the toy steam train?' asked Chrissie.

‘Steam power is very old,’ said Victoria, ‘but it was perfected in the seventeenth and eighteenth century.’

‘I know it’s a trap,’ snapped Chrissie. ‘I meant what will we do about it?’

'We let it
fall,’ said Megan. ‘No one touches it. Not even the ice around it. After it falls we'll push it around to the burial mound with the umbrella. Everything dangerous gets buried. The other artifacts get arranged in order.
The abacus is sticking out further than the plate, so we put the abacus before the plate.'

'And we dig ice non-stop to block the radiation,' finished Alex.

Carl took the umbrella around the ice to check his rash.

Pants down and shirt up, he saw the rash hadn’t spread.

Maybe that's a good sign.

He began the butt-freezing process of peeing down the drain without making a mess.

He couldn’t pee.

I’m dehydrated. Maybe that’s why I’m so dizzy. Maybe it’s not the radiation at all.

His damaged teeth made drinking painful, but he needed to deal with it. After all, without Glen’s gum it would be much worse.

As he stood, dizziness threatened his balance. He grabbed the wall.

Shit, that felt weird. I hope that's from dehydration and not from radiation poisoning.

He took a few steps. The dizzy feeling surged back. He staggered into the ice, bracing himself. The feeling subsided and Carl felt normal again.

Whoa, that one was intense. Wait, what's this?

He hadn't grabbed ice to balance himself. He'd grabbed glass.

A glass bottle.

Carl rubbed the glass.

There's paper inside. Another secret? Is this what Alex meant? More bottles?

He pulled at it.

It didn’t budge.

I need a tool.

He had nothing tool-like. Chrissie and Victoria still enforced their 'no tools for Carl’ policy.

I wouldn’t need a tool to hurt them, but I need one to get this bottle out.

He pulled out his necklace and scratched the ice with the metal tag.

Useless.

He carried the umbrella back, searching the floor for a tool.

Nothing on the floor, but maybe in Megan's bag?

Chrissie stood near Megan's bag, checking the pockets in her fatigues. She checked the same pocket three times.

'Lost something, Chrissie?'

Chrissie glared at Carl.

'I haven't taken anything,' said Carl.

Not yet anyway.

Chrissie called out, '
Megan, can I check your bag? I've lost something.'

'What have you lost?'

'Can I check it or not?' Chrissie yelled.

‘Yes.'

She needs a cigarette
, thought Carl.
I bet she's lost her lighter.

Alex turned from working the ice. 'You can't lose anything in here. There's nowhere for it to go.'

'Exactly,' said Chrissie, rummaging through Megan's bag. She tossed out Glen's Rubik’s cube. 'Why is this stupid thing in here?'

Carl stooped for the cube and gave it a few twists. He hated puzzles, but he was stalling to see if Chrissie's search turned up anything he could use as a tool.

'Just tip it out,' mumbled Carl, twisting the cube.

Chrissie up-ended the bag, scattering Megan's belongings.

'Hey!' yelled Megan. 'What are you doing?'

'Who took them?' Chrissie yelled.

'Took what?' asked Alex.

'My cigarettes,' spat Chrissie.

She slapped her cargo pocket. 'Last night I had three cigarettes in this pocket. Now they're gone.'

Victoria returned from dumping ice. 'Maybe they fell out during the night.'

'But who picked them up?' said Chrissie.

Megan stalked over and angrily repacked her bag. 'Well, you've already searched me.'

Carl helped Megan, returning the Rubik’s cube. 'I woke up last. I didn't see them on the floor where we rested.'

Alex shrugged. 'I'm glad they're gone.'

Christ, Alex,
thought Carl.
Don't provoke a starving nicotine addict.

'None of us smoke,' said Megan. 'You have the only lighter. We couldn't even smoke them. Why would anyone want to take them?’

Chrissie glared around the group. The ice around her seemed to melt faster.

'You've just misplaced them,' said Alex. 'How could someone steal them? You check your pockets a hundred times a day. You probably check your pockets in your sleep.'

Chrissie spun on Alex. 'Turn out
your
pockets.'

Alex crossed his arms.

'I'm not doing anything with my pockets.'

She's going to explode
, thought Carl.
Here it comes.

Chrissie surprised him.

She composed herself.

She even sounded friendly as she held up her cigarette lighter.

'Look, Alex, I know teenagers like to smoke. I felt the same at sixteen.'

'I'm seventeen.'

Chrissie’s hand shook, revealing her suppressed emotions.

‘I'm sorry I didn't offer you one before. Let's share them. Let's split one now. We'll both feel better.'

‘I don’t have your filthy lung-darts, Chrissie.’