|
|
Post by James on Jul 20, 2014 6:08:21 GMT -5
Write a story that ends with... Ice and snow exploding upwards, Dmitri struck the ground hard. He had barely managed to stop himself from stumbling right over the cliff. The whiteness swirling thicker around him no longer felt cold. There was a far deeper chill filling his body. Footsteps managed to break through the wind to reach Dmitri's ears.
Underneath the cliff he was left struck on, the Russian sailor could see the lifeboat left stranded upon the shore. Bouvet Island would preserve it like a freezer. It would stand as a monument upon the icy island for all stray ships. If only those future men would understand its meaning, Dmitri pleaded to his uncaring God. He knew how men thought. They would see it as a puzzle or a cry for help. That could not be any further from the truth. It was a warning sign. Run. Sail away. Don't step foot on Bouvet Island.
Dmitri didn't flinch as the webbed hand closed around his neck. |
|
|
|
Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jul 30, 2014 23:49:58 GMT -5
Waves crashed into the icebreaker with such force that wood splintered and metal twisted. The crew on deck were thrown about like ragdolls in the freezing water. The few with any presence of mind worked desperately to secure the tattered sails and any of the items on deck left rolling about. It was all a useless endeavour though and the ship continued to take on water.
The captain roared his orders over the screaming wind, his great beard laced with sea frost and his face barely peaked out of his huge bear fur coat. Without him the crew would have lost hope hours ago when the storm hit, but he spurred them on. Yet, cutting a heroic figure among his wretched crew, even he saw that they were fighting a losing battle. The Artic storm had caught them by surprise and was showing them no mercy.
Eventually he gave the order they dreaded; to abandon ship and lower the life-rafts. With the sea towering above them, the tips of the wave reaching as high as the crow’s nest; the crew was hesitant about tackling them in the small boats. Another wave smashed down on to the deck and the ship shuddered as the hull cracked; it was their final warning and they rushed to get the life-rafts down.
Dimitri was among the few that remained aboard to lower them into the churning sea, the ship was rapidly sinking as they went about the task. The captain was beside when heard his roar over the wind.
“Jump boy, before it is too late!”
The captain’s words spurred some primal fear in the sailor, an instinct for survival. He lept just as the boat was being lowered and fell among the rest of the crew. Looking back up, he saw the looming figure above them, the storm tossing the man’s cloak around him and creating a ferocious picture. Even as the ship was brought to its knees by the storm, its captain remained to cut the rafts free letting them drift away as he went down with his pride.
…
It could be considered a miracle when the boat washed up on to the rock and ice strewn beach. The surviving thirty crewmen stumbled half frozen and mangled from boat, wading ashore. The night they had spent at sea had taken a harsh toll, and less than half of them remained. They had also lost the second raft to the monstrous waves.
Some of the men had the presence of mind to wade back into the sea and drag their life-raft ashore; Dimitri was not one of them. The exhausted man found himself stumbling towards a small group of the survivors, in a daze. The men, four of them, were the surviving members of the officers from the ship.
“… Yes, I am certain this is Bouvet,” the man speaking was their Navigator and highest ranking survivor, “I was lost after the ship began sinking, but the island is the only land for miles.”
The others mumbled and nodded their heads, a grim expression on them all.
“This rules out anyone coming by and rescuing us. This island isn’t even on half of the maps.”
The gruff voice was the Boatswain. It was met by more hushed mumbling and agreement.
“We need to get shelter up before we worry about being stranded here, the men are half dead and we will all freeze to death soon if we don’t get out of the cold” the Navigator said as he stood up, breaking up the huddle.
The Navigator and Boatswain began to shout out orders to the men, who reluctantly went along with them. Soon they had the boat propped up away from the water line; it was turned into a makeshift shelter where the more injured and weak members of the crew were placed, out of the wind. The rest found themselves either trying to create a fire out of remaining supplies and washed up seaweed, or assembled with the Boatswain. Dimitri was one of these men.
There were only six of them including the Boatswain, but they were given a fairly simple task. They were to split up into two groups and head in opposite directions along the shoreline. With most of the crew working on getting a fire going and ice on the island to melt, they were just left without a food source.
Dimitri did not fancy the idea of trudging through the boulders and ice of an artic island, but he feared starvation even more. One of the Able Seaman led the first team and the Boatswain took the one with Dimitri in it. Setting out, the first team almost immediately ran into a problem; the shoreline to the south was blocked by an ice flow, so they elected to head inland to try and bypass it.
The Boatswain’s team had an easier time, the shore stretched for about a mile along a rock face. The beach itself was mostly just gravel and stones making traversing relatively easy. Dimitri found himself walking beside the Boatswain, both men relatively silent. Eventually the Boatswain broke the silence.
“Why did you join up with the navy?”
Dimitri looked up at him, perplexed at the suddenness of the question.
“I mean, are you from a naval family? Or was it on some whim?” He clarified.
“No, no. I’m from a Baltic family, former serfs. I just wanted to get away from planting potatoes…” Dimitri muttered.
“Fair enough, first honest answer I’ve gotten yet. Most of the boys say they’re looking for adventure, or to serve our Tsar…” The Boatswain didn’t seem impressed by either prospect. Dimitri refrained from commenting.
Truth was that his father had sent him. As the youngest of six sons, his father saw him useful in increasing their families standing by having an officer for a son. Dimitri himself was not interested in either the sea or the potential death it brought; he was a coward as his father affectionately called him. Not like the Captain, who’s image Dimitri failed to get out of his mind.
Scrambling over boulders and trying to ignore the ice cold air, Dimitri cursed his misfortunes and the fate that god had dealt him. He couldn’t believe that of all the ships he would end up assigned to, it was the one sent by the Tsar to claim land in the south Atlantic. To take his mind off of the idea that he would die on the baron rock, he continued to try and spot any seals.
They were lucky. Not long after leaving the camp site, they came across a large colony of seals. The noise the beasts made was the first warning they had before they rounded a rock fall and spotted them. If the group had the energy, they would be shouting in joy, but instead they just enthusiastically mumbled between themselves.
With their job done, they began to turn back; Dimitri however spotted something on the horizon over the ocean. Across the entire north were black rolling clouds; a storm was once again beginning to bear down on them. Dimitri gave a shout to the Boatswain who turned back and saw the threat, he growled at the team to hurry up and they quickly returned to the camp.
…
As they approached their camp site, they noticed there seemed to be something wrong. The occupants were either huddling by the boat or staring off to the southward side of the island. Marching down from the rocks, onto the beach, the Boatswain hurried to the Navigator. When the others saw that their group had arrived, they seemed relieved.
“We found some seals up nor- What’s wrong?” The Boatswain interrupted himself, noting the relief and worry on the other man’s face.
“You didn’t hear it then…” The man noted.
“Huh?” replied the Boatswain, giving his usual grunt.
“There was an ungodly screech from the south of the island, something inhuman or unnatural. We were worried about the away teams… Well, still are for the one that went in that direction.”
The Boatswain raised his eyebrows and turned to look south along with the others. The Island seemed more unforgiving in that direction, with the ice flow forcing anyone going that way to head inland. If something had happened to them, it would be difficult to go and help them, but the crew did not fancy leaving one of their own out there.
“There is a storm approaching. If we are thinking of going to help them, we will need to be fast.”
The men gave a nod to each other and the Boatswain turned on his heels back towards his group. The men saw the fire in their leader’s eyes and they straightened their backs, as if his iron will was instilled in them.
“I don’t know what happened to our brothers, but I’m not leaving them out there to the mercy of the Artic, I know you boys are with me.”
There was no attempt to convince them in his voice, the Boatswain refused to accept anything but their full agreement. He got it, if reluctantly from Dimitri. Once again he heard the echoes of his father calling him a coward.
They left from the camp in the same direction as the team. Behind them the camp quickly faded from view as they climbed up and over the ice flow. Already the wind was picking up, and snow and ice blasted down on to them from the islands higher peaks. Dimitri would have been worried about frostbite if he had the energy to.
Trekking through the wilderness began to take its toll on the group, but the Boatswain kept them marching onwards, at times wading through waist high snow drifts. They had become so exhausted and single minded they almost didn’t notice the grizzly scene they managed to stumble upon. It was Dimitri that almost stepped into the open ribcage of one of the crew.
“Agh!”
His shout of surprise and horror woke the others from their stupor and they all began to cry out as they looked about them. Mixed into the snow were the remains of the other group, limbs and chunks of meat discarded about the red field. The Boatswain seemed to actually go pale at the sight and muttered a curse and prayer.
Dimitri wretched and emptied what little remained of the contents in his stomach, he tried his best not to think about what was stuck on his boot. Meanwhile the Boatswain managed to compose himself and survey the scene.
“Nothing we can do for these poor bastards… Let’s head back to camp and let the others know.”
Everyone quickly agreed. It wasn’t just the grisly scene that made them so quick to abandon their former friend’s remains, but the idea of getting caught by whatever did it. Turning back towards the camp, the storm that had been threatening them all day finally made landfall. Facing towards the coast meant the group ran straight into what seemed like a wall of ice and wind.
There was panic among the group and the Boatswain’s voice was lost in the chaos. Dimitri tried his best to keep his bearings, unable to see the others. Trying to see through the storm, he could make out the fleeting shadows of his companions, but he was unable to reach them or keep track. That was when the howling began.
At first Dimitri thought it was the howl of the storm, but the sound was even more dread inspiring then that. It seemed to rise up from the snow drifts around him, he was sure he heard a scream close by. The whiteout made it impossible to see anything though and in his panic he began to stumble and run in the direction he hoped was the camp.
Materialising out of the snow storm, the Boatswain collapsed against him, his chest ripped to shreds. Blood gurgled from his mouth as he clung to Dimitri’s coat. With barely a whisper in the storm he managed to give Dimitri a warning.
“Run”
And Dimitri did.
…
His breath was ragged when he managed to climb the ice flow that looked down on the camp. His throat felt bad, as if the flesh was frozen from the air and ice he had breathed in. He knew he was probably dying, but some primal fear drove him on, desperately seeking shelter and safety. Looking down on where the rest of the crew should be, he saw that it was a hopeless endeavour. Blood soaked the snow, slowly being covered by the storm.
It was almost calming, he thought. All his life he had walked the path of both least resistance and with the shadow of a coward. Yet here, in Hells ice-box he found himself facing death with no choice but to accept it. It was wrapped in these thoughts that he failed to see the beast as it rose from the snow beneath him.
Ice and snow exploding upwards, Dmitri struck the ground hard. He had barely managed to stop himself from stumbling right over the cliff. The whiteness swirling thicker around him no longer felt cold. There was a far deeper chill filling his body. Footsteps managed to break through the wind to reach Dmitri's ears.
Underneath the cliff he was left struck on, the Russian sailor could see the lifeboat left stranded upon the shore. Bouvet Island would preserve it like a freezer. It would stand as a monument upon the icy island for all stray ships. If only those future men would understand its meaning, Dmitri pleaded to his uncaring God. He knew how men thought. They would see it as a puzzle or a cry for help. That could not be any further from the truth. It was a warning sign. Run. Sail away. Don't step foot on Bouvet Island.
Dmitri didn't flinch as the webbed hand closed around his neck. |
|
