Flight To Pandemonium Read online

  “Right you are… and I’ve had enough. Pappy? In or out? We need to make up the packs. Will it be four… five… or six of ‘em?”

  Finally, the Captain said, “Let me try one more time to reason with them and then I’ll decide.”

  Jack nearly shouted, “Cap, this ain’t the United Nations here… we need to act!” But the Captain left the tent without another word.

  In a moment, they could hear him rapping on the cabin door… four times he tried. When he returned, the Captain looked positively defeated. “Make it six,” he said.

  “Only six?” asked Mac, suddenly thunderstruck. “Wait, Jack. Aren’t we forgetting someone important?”

  “Looks to me like she’s cast her lot, if you mean Judy,” replied Jack.

  “I don’t believe that. Tony? That your thinkin’? Remember Tlingit? He hasn’t been wrong yet and you’re the man he respected. She’s pregnant, Tony. We just can’t leave her to starve.” Tony looked extremely uncomfortable and started to reply, but Jack interrupted, “Mac… just how do you intend to find out, huh? Stare down that gun?”

  “I’m not going to be able to live with myself if I don’t try. A few more minutes can’t hurt. Let me try to talk to them.”

  Jack said, “Shit… ‘nother diplomat. Even if she wanted to leave, do you think that witch would let her? She’d lose face just after she got control.”

  “That witch is exactly why I have to try.”

  Mac first showed his face at a port window, and then gently knocked. Much to his surprise, Ted opened the door wide where the specter of the conniving nun dressed in her full-length white habit filled the doorway, blocking the way. “Ah, the prodigal son has returned. Has he had a change of heart?” she asked.

  “Sister Helena, please allow me to speak to Judy.”

  She paused briefly, looking intently at him. “No… I can see that he hasn’t.”

  The door closed resolutely and there was no response to his knocking. Mac turned away, now fully understanding the Captain’s frustration. His attempt had seemed so decisively futile. He could think of no other plausible strategy to get past the nun… and the gun. Even violence seemed unlikely to rescue Judy unharmed. He grimly returned to the tent.

  The six men were long remaking the packs and breaking camp. Only William had a proper pack frame. The rest made rope pack straps for their luggage. The miners’ shoulder duffels must have weighed a hundred pounds apiece. They carried food for two meals apiece and left behind only the cooking grate, one large steel pot and a few duplicate utensils. Tony topped the gas can with jet fuel and announced that all was ready. The remainder of the moose was left hanging from the head structure.

  They gathered near the tail of the Otter and paused while Jack and Tony helped William and Mac shoulder their heavy loads. Shadowy faces peering from the airplane ports watched preparations.

  As the men took their first steps to leave, the cabin door opened. Ted stepped out with the stolen pistol prominently tucked into his belt. Andrew and Sister Helena joined Ted facing those leaving.

  Jack turned to Tony and said, “Gun!”

  In a loud voice, Sister Helena addressed them, “Your attention, please. The Captain has an announcement.” Surprised, the men looked at Captain Churchill. He shrugged his shoulders, not comprehending.

  “Not Mister Churchill,” the nun sneered, “but our newly elected Captain Andrew. He will give you your instructions.”

  Andrew stepped in front of Sister Helena and said, “Chairman Andrew, actually, of the Otter Community Council.

  “The council,” he continued, “has voted to expel the lot of you. Drop your packs and step away from them. You will be issued the same rations you gave Craig… the clothes on your back and one day’s allowance of food and water.” Andrew’s hands held packages of the disdained emergency crackers from the aircraft.

  No one moved.

  “Drop your packs this instant!” shouted Sister Helena.

  Jack and Tony lowered their huge duffels slowly. They warily watched their two male antagonists, ignoring Sister Helena. Mac lowered his, following their lead.

  “All of you drop everything!” Ted turned to William, the man standing closest to him and said, “Give me that back pack!” holding out his hand for the pack.

  “No, no, you can’t have my film,” cried William, but reluctantly walked toward Andrew and Ted. “I need to sort out my birds first. They can’t mean anything to you.”

  The miners stared, unmoving. William neared Ted, partially blocking Ted’s view of the miners. Jack glanced at Tony and nodded slightly.

  Mac noticed the gesture and realized that the two men were poised for action. Mac was paralyzed with indecision, never having confronted a man with a gun. He stood unmoving, watching Jack and Tony take the lead.

  Seeking only to reason with Ted, William walked closer. “I’ll give you my rucksack if you wish, but please… just allow me to remove my film.”

  Feeling pressed by William’s advance, Ted brandished the pistol.

  “Give me that backpack, now!” he screeched.

  “Wide!” Jack barked. He and Tony each took several steps forward moving to flank their adversaries.

  “Right!” Jack shouted.

  Tony answered, “Left!” Mac noticed his hand was holding a folded camp shovel behind his back, hidden from Ted’s view. Ted was clearly anxious and puzzled by the maneuvers. His eyes darted back and forth from Jack to Tony.

  Sister Helena, unnerved, screamed. “The devil is upon us. Repel them! Repel them!”

  Panicked, Ted shrieked, “Stop! Raise your hands!”

  William complied still holding his walking staff, which looked threatening.

  Ted glanced at the stick he had recently used as a bludgeon. He raised his arm and pointed the gun at William’s head.

  William finally realized his jeopardy with a visible start, and yelled, “No!” Ted fired and William fell face down, clutching his neck.

  Ted stood motionless staring at William, shocked by his own deed.

  “Now!” commanded Jack. Each man leaped toward his chosen adversary.

  Tony swung the shovel savagely hitting Ted’s gun arm. The Colt .45 spun from Ted’s hand into the snow. Ted scrambled for it, but Tony swiftly backhanded the shovel against his head. Ted collapsed, writhing in pain. Tony picked up the pistol.

  Meanwhile, Jack seized Andrew by the neck with one huge work-hardened hand and viciously pummeled his face with the other. Now, Andrew could neither breathe nor call out. Jack hung on, physically choking the life from Andrew until his knees buckled. Jack released him and Andrew fell on the snow. He planted a boot on Andrew’s injured neck, then wheeled around to check on Tony.

  All the while, Sister Helena screamed. “Help us! Help us! Richard! Greg! Help! In the name of God, help us!” People inside the aircraft silently peered out the portholes.

  Forewarned, Tony dropped to one knee, on guard.

  Greg appeared at the door. Tony pointed the huge pistol at him with both hands outstretched. “One more step and you’re next,” he growled venomously.

  Greg disappeared in an instant.

  Sister Helena continued shrieking, calling for Sister Terry’s help,

  Abandoning Andrew, Jack grabbed her garments forcefully and with a thundering yell said, “Shud up, you witch or I’ll put an end to you!”

  Shocked into silence, Sister Helena glowered hatefully.

  Jack turned to Tony and grinned, “Thanks, compadre!”

  “Nothin’ to it,” said Tony, trying to calm his rush of adrenalin. “Nice turnabout, don’t you think? That witch finally made a mistake and got greedy… but poor William paid for it.” The others realized that William still lay motionless in a puddle of blood stained snow.

  Fleei
ng commotion within the Otter, Judy scrambled out with her medical bag rushing to William. He had collapsed beneath the weight of his backpack. Tony and Mac helped pull off the pack and gently rolled William on his back.

  William’s sightless eyes stared at the sky as snow settled on his face. A huge patch of red mush beside him in the snow distressed Mac. William’s jacket was also saturated with blood where the bullet had passed through his neck. The ragged exit wound now only oozed blood.

  Avoiding the bloody patch in the snow, Judy checked William’s wrist for a pulse. After a few moments, she stood up teary eyed and shaken. “He’s dead.”

  She faced Sister Helena and said, “See what you’ve done. The devil is with you, Sister Helena! The blood of an innocent man is on your soul and you will answer for it!”

  A heavy silence enveloped them all standing motionless. Mac looked away. Ted sat in the snow holding his broken wrist staring at the dead Englishman. Andrew lay in the snow on his belly, propped on his elbows, coughing convulsively.

  Judy broke the silence. “I’m coming with you. I’ll get my things… and Jack, please ask Martha to come with us, too.”

  “No you won’t,” shouted Sister Helena.

  Jack grabbed her arm in a steely grip and pulled her around to face him. “So help me, just one more word,” he growled through clenched teeth. He dragged her into the Otter and shoved her into the nearest seat. The other women moved away from Jack.

  “Judy is coming with us,” he announced. “Martha, you come too, if you want. They’ll collect their gear and blankets without interference from any of you or you’ll answer to me.”

  Jack noticed Richard curled up in a fetal position on a bed beside Martha. He called, “Richard… Richard.” Jacks black eyes blazed anew, “More of that goddamn witch!” he bellowed. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Martha trembled. “He’s sick,” she answered faintly.

  Jack ignored Richard. “Greg, fetch the Captain’s binoculars and my box of shells.” Greg just scowled. “Right now, goddammit!” Jack slugged the back of his seat forcefully, convincing Greg.

  But only Judy joined them. Martha and Linda were too frightened of the violence and of Jack’s rage. The nuns comforted them to remain.

  Twenty minutes later, the six were prepared to leave again with Judy wearing William’s pack seated on a bench. Mac now carried the lightest load but was designated to carry the small tent and Judy’s medical bag.

  Before leaving, Judy requested that they bury William’s body. “We can’t leave him sprawled in camp like that. And we have the only shovel.”

  Reluctantly, Jack nodded toward the gravel slope. The miners quickly dug a shallow trench at the foot of the tailings pile and used overburden to cover the body. Judy silently blessed their work.

  The grim task brought Jack’s renewed rage seething on the edge of self-control. Tony said, “Jack… your demons, man. Let’s just go.”

  Ted stood glowering with hatred. Ted sneered contemptuously as Jack passed him. It pushed Jack over the edge. He grabbed Ted’s injured wrist, twisting and squeezing it with his powerful hands, bent on punishing revenge. Ted shrieked pitifully.

  Tony grabbed Jack’s arm and yelled, “It’s done, man, don’t do this!” Jack stopped, blinked several times as he stared at Tony’s face. Reluctantly, he let go. He turned to the perpetrators still barely able to contain himself.

  “You sons ‘a bitches wasted a decent man who never once complained and always pulled his own weight, unlike you. But, here’s the last message I got for ya. I see one of you bastards anywhere near us ever again, I’ll shoot ya on sight… and you’ll never get another warnin’ from me. Ted, in your case, it will be a real pleasure to rid the world of a shit like you.” Jack’s eyes blazed with rage. “I can’t believe I ever called you a friend.”

  Ted whimpered.

  “And Chairman Andrew…” Jack paused breathing deeply. “You’ve just failed the first test of your new life. If you ever look into my eyes again, you’ll know that life’s blood will be flooding away like William’s just did. But I’m going to leave you both to starve as slaves to your devil master… and I hope starvation will be as cruel in coming as you deserve.”

  Andrew cowered under Jack’s vengeful stare as Jack shouldered his heavy duffel and led the way down the airstrip.

  The Captain asked, “Does anyone know whether we have a destination in mind, or just a nice walk?”

  Tony thought it wise to answer since the question had an edge to it. “Supposed to be a good lake west of here about ten miles or so. That’s where we’re headed for the night… then we’ll see from there.”

  “I know the one you mean,” Pappy said, “Rainbow Lake… with a bunch of cabins around it. One’s owned by a wealthy farmer from Palmer. I flew in their friends in my floatplane and stayed over the weekend. Got a boat dock and all the trappings.”

  “Well with a name like that, things are lookin’ up,” replied Tony, “and among friends to boot. We can’t go wrong.”

  “Unless the owner doesn’t want visitors,” retorted Jack.

  18

  Alyeska Pump Station No. 2, afternoon of October 1st. Lazlo thought a Hungarian friend employed by the Alyeska Service Company might be persuaded to join him on his trek. Since they lived in the same neighborhood in Bellingham and often traveled together, Lazlo hoped he might have news of home. Two of them traveling together might improve their chances of reaching Seattle.

  As he turned off the highway, Lazlo was brought up short by the flutter of ravens lifting off the ravaged bodies of two soldiers near the guard shelter. Frozen in death, one still reclined against the shelter, a dark icy mass coating his uniform. The ice was hauntingly similar to that on Sally and her cubs.

  Standing on the snow machine, he took in the panorama of the pump station beyond the fence. The place was silent… no lights burning…no vapor rising… no machinery humming… not a living soul visible. Disappointed, he realized the pump station had been shut down for days.

  In his memory, such an event had occurred only once before following a major earthquake. But then, every hand in the oilfield was rushed to the scene of the oil spill where they searched the length of the pipeline for any sign of trouble and checked elsewhere for the slightest damage. A blitz of men, vehicles, and machinery was deployed to ensure that the spill was contained, all damage repaired and that the oil flowed as soon as possible. The dramatic contrast to the silent station forced Lazlo to conclude that the plague must have infected everyone on the North Slope.

  Lazlo felt an obligation to check on his Hungarian friend. But the military would never callously abandon their troops to the ravages of ravens. Death had likely swept the pump station. Self preservation persuaded him to move on.

  The snowmobile sped up as his head churned, unmindful of the road. He need only follow the tire tracks ahead of him. Lazlo realized that he was fast approaching a snowdrift diagonally across his path. The truck ahead of him had churned through creating deep grooves in the drift. Fearing that his guide skis would be caught up in the ruts, he slowed and avoided them, hoping to forge his own way through the drift.

  Enveloped in a plume of displaced snow, Lazlo momentarily lost sight of the road. He strayed from the center of the road and sailed into the roadside ditch, fracturing the ice cover. Frigid water poured over the windscreen cascading onto his face and welled up around his legs. Lazlo kept the machine running and steered out of the ditch.

  Halting and checking, he concluded the machine was not harmed. But his boots, pants and thermals all absorbed icy water from the cascade.

  Underway, shivering in the frigid wind, the heat from his seat was inadequate to dry his clothing. Stopping at a roadside turnout, he considered unfolding his sled shelter for the night.

  He noticed a roadside sign naming the place Happ
y Valley. If ever it had been, the place was now forlorn and discouraging. Covered with a blanket of ice, a small convoy of military vehicles was parked near the airstrip. If he could start one, the truck could provide enough heat to warm him and dry his clothing. Every cab door of the convoy was frozen shut. Exposed to the frigid air with his pants and boots now frozen, he walked awkwardly with cramped feet.

  He climbed into the canvas-covered bed of a deuce-and-a-half. The truck was filled with duffel bags which Lazlo arranged as a nest; he removed his frozen clothing, wrapped himself in his blanket and climbed inside the cocoon. Numb and shivering violently, he ate the last of his salted Smithfield ham and Snickers bars and drank a few sips of water. Remembering his second bottle, he leaped from the truck in socks, retrieved it and returned to his nest. Slightly restored, and no longer shivering, he slept.

  Morning was grim with ice fog enveloping the camp barely revealing the highway. His breath had frozen inside the deuce as hoar frost and his snowmobile was covered with a thin patina of ice crystals.

  But Lazlo felt better. His cocoon of fabric duffels had worked wonders warming his body. His attitude was better than the weather. The thermal clothes on his back had substantially dried, but his boots and outer pants remained frozen. He had spare pants but not boots. Looking through the duffels hoping to find anything serviceable, he found dozens of elaborate hazmat suits with helmets. He removed one, cut off the integral legs at the knees and put them on. Lined with fabric, they would serve as snow boots.

  He considered trading his snowmobile for one of the rugged military trucks which had the benefit of a heated cab. Still paranoid, he wondered if he would be regarded as a highjacker. And he had no confidence that the deuce would be more suitable in deep snow than his specially designed snowmobile.

  Before departing, Lazlo sliced up a duffel bag, wrapped his water flasks in the canvas and tied them near engine heat.

  Putting distraction from his mind, he calmly eased his machine back on the highway. The hazmat boots worked marvelously to prevent ice from clinging to his legs. Warmed again by the seat heater, Lazlo cruised up the highway until he saw Pump Station No. 3.