It’s A Long Walk To Nunavut

“Put your safety glasses on,” Dr. Carter Eubanks cautions.

“We’re seventy miles away from the blast site. There’s still a possibility of going blind?” researcher Hugh Hansen asks.

“We don’t know yet. That’s one of the reasons we’re here,” Carter replies.

Brenda Byrd puts on her protective glasses. “How did you get through research training without reading any source materials?”

“CliffsNotes.”

“Well, there’s no cheat sheet for a bomb that can generate heat twenty thousand times hotter than the surface of the sun.”

Hugh looks at the row of NEST (Nuclear Explosion Support Team) researchers perched in the makeshift bunker waiting for the bomb’s blast. With their dark crewcuts and wiry physiques, thirty-ish Gage LeMay and Norman Knight look like staid versions of Tom Cruise. The leader of the team, sixty-eight-year-old Dr. Carter Eubanks, is the embodiment of a rumpled, bushy-haired genius. Despite her ambiguous NEST jumper, forty-one-year-old Brenda Byrd looks like an intellectual blonde from a James Bond movie. With a gym rat’s physique and a scholarly beard and mustache, forty-four-year-old Hugh’s serious appearance belies his playful personality.

Hugh dons his safety glasses. “Well, at least the explosion will light up the sky for a while. How many more days of darkness do we have?”

“Twenty-five,” Brenda replies. “You really…”

“I know, I need to read the background material. But I’m just the guy who picks up samples of flowers and fish, and I drive the rover. Anything outside of that is beyond my pay grade. You know, this is the second time I’ve been picked for a mission at the North Pole.”

“This is my third, and last,” Carter comments. “Last time I spent six months in constant sunlight. The most annoying part was that the sun was blinding but the temperature never got above freezing. The first thing I did when I got home was take my grandson to a Dodger game and enjoy the heat.”

“I took my boy to the zoo. He loves the lions,” Brenda says. “How about you, Hansen?”

“My wife wanted to go camping. I nearly started divorce proceedings. Then we both got COVID, and we nearly got divorced again.”

“…Ten seconds…,” Norman announces, counting down.

The inky darkness briefly turns white, making the team squint. A mushroom cloud forms, slowly dissipating as the world around them returns to complete darkness.

“I guess it’s time to collect some samples,” Hugh says.

The massive rover’s treads tear through the snow as Hugh checks the navigation system.

“A successful mission. I was able to collect a lemming and six types of fish. How did your readings turn out?”

“Surprisingly well,” Brenda replies. “There was negligible radiation in the area where we took our readings.”

“And how much radiation was there where the bomb exploded?

Hugh looks in the rearview mirror at Brenda, who pretends to be preoccupied with their inky surroundings.

“We should see the Fortune’s lights by now,” Gage LeMay says, his slight French accent in evidence.

Seated in the passenger’s seat next to Hugh, Carter leans forward, peering into the darkness.

“There, ahead. I think I see a pair of lights.”

“That ship should be lit up like a Christmas tree,” Hugh notes.

The research vessel Fortune appears as an elongated shadow on the opaque horizon.

“Is it my eyes or has our ship developed a significant tilt to port?” Hugh asks.

The others gaze out of the windows, a look of concern crossing their features.

“I don’t mind stating the obvious,” Hugh says. “Something bad has happened.”

Turning on his flashlight, Carter cautiously leads the team on board the Fortune, calling out the crew’s names.

“Gage, Norman, search the crew’s quarters and the galley. Try to get some lights on, then meet us on the bridge.”

Carter’s flashlight illuminates streaks of blood on the deck.

The emergency lights come on as the three researchers enter the radio room.

Looking at the overturned and wrecked equipment, Hugh utters, “Some party.”

“The communication system is gutted,” Brenda concludes. “There’s no radio, no way to send out a distress signal.”

“NEST will send help when we don’t report within forty-eight hours,” Hugh says. Looking at Carter and Brenda’s worried expressions, Hugh adds, “Won’t they?”

“This is a covert mission. Only a few departments have been briefed,” Carter replies.

“Great. We set off a powerful bomb that a kid in Kansas can see, and there’s no rescue plan.”

“…They figured the Fortune was unsinkable…,” Brenda mutters.

“What, the bigwigs at NEST have never heard of the Titanic? How’d that voyage turn out?” Hugh raves.

“Relax. We’re far from finished,” Cater declares. “Let’s check the bridge.”

The trio follows the streaks of blood on the wall to the bridge.

They are greeted by the sight of equipment torn from the walls and wires strewn across the floor. The ship’s heavy steering wheel lies crumpled on its side, useless.

“Looks like we need a new boat,” Hugh comments.

Gage and Norman enter the bridge. Looking despondently at the carnage, Cage says, “Mon Dieu! It’s no better below. The engine’s torn apart. The galley looks like there was a food fight to the death in there.”

“Did you find anyone?” Carter asks.

“Do you see anyone with us?” a shaken Norman replies.

“All right. Let’s address the elephant on board…,” Carter says solemnly.

“I wish there was one. I’d ride it out of here,” Hugh quips.

“We’ve all seen the streaks of blood on the walls and the deck. I think it's safe to assume the Fortune was attacked and the crew was forced to abandon ship.”

“Speaking of which,” Norman says, “Did I forget to report that the ship is sinking? We’ve got two, maybe three hours before she’s underwater.”

“Go below again and collect everything usable, especially any food, flashlights, and flares,” Carter says. “Then join Hugh and search the perimeter for the crew.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Brenda asks.

“Our base at Nunavut is two hundred miles away. But there’s a settlement in Petrarik fifty miles from here. Does the rover have enough gas to get us there, Hugh?”

“Yeah. Otherwise, it’s a long walk to Nunavut.”

Carter and Brenda pack flares, extra parkas, blankets, and guns into the rover.

“Do you know how to use one of these?” Brenda asks, handing Carter a lightweight automatic machine gun.

“Oh, yeah. I won the Iron Grove Annual Turkey Shoot three years in a row when I was a kid,” he says, placing it back in the rover.

“You mowed down helpless turkeys with a machine gun?”

“No, a rifle. And the turkeys were made of wood. You were in the Marines, weren’t you?” Carter asks.

“Semper Fidelis… Always faithful.”

“You’ve gotten to know, Hansen,” Carter whispers. “He worries me. He’s a bit too flippant about our situation.”

“When he’s not wising off, he’s an expert on the effect radiation can have on the animals and the native flora and fauna. He used to be in Special Ops. He once told me his sense of humor disguises his memories of killing innocent civilians in the name of democracy. He hasn’t lost his skills or his heart. If anyone can get us out of here in one piece, it’s Hugh. What about Gage and Norman? They seem like Boy Scouts.”

“They helped me design the bomb. Gage is serious, while Norman needs a push now and again. They’re not really outdoorsmen.”

Gage runs up to the rover. He rambles in French before spurting out, “You’re going to want to see this, Doctor Eubanks.”

Gage follows the trail of blood back to where Hugh is standing over a body seated in the snow.

Carter looks down at the body’s shriveled, ashen features.

“Isn’t that Reece Blyleven, the ship’s navigator?”

“Maybe you can tell us why a twenty-eight-year-old man looks like an eighty-year-old prune,” Hugh says.

Carter kneels in front of the body, touching Blyleven’s brittle shoulder. It makes a crunching sound, the bones under his parka practically disintegrating.

Blyleven’s head falls off, dropping in his lap.

“That trail of blood is his,” Carter says. “But it looks like the rest of his blood was drained once he collapsed here from his injuries.”

“Was it the Innuits?” Hugh asks.

“They’re not violent people, they’re not nearby, and they’re certainly not cannibals,” Brenda responds.

A gunshot echoes in the darkness.

“It’s Norman,” Hugh says. “I told him to stay close.”

The snow crunches under their boots as the team follows the sound of a second shot. As they draw closer, they can see Norman frantically waving his flashlight.

They stop, gasping in revulsion.

The bodies of the missing crew members of the Fortune lay stacked on top of one another like cords of wood.

Carter examines the bodies.

“Just like Blyleven. The blood’s been sucked right out of them.”

“By what?” Hugh asks.

“By whatever went thataway,” Norman replies, shining his flashlight at a set of tracks leading east.

“Looks like whoever or whatever it was walked a few feet then disappeared,” Hugh says. “How’s that possible? And what kind of tracks are these?”

“Their stride is longer and wider than ours,” Brenda observes.

“Not to mention they have four toes instead of five,” Hugh notes. “And what man in his right mind goes walking barefoot at the North Pole?”

“Yeah, there’s that too,” Brenda replies. “It’s funny, I remember joking with Captain Lynch about the Seraphim just yesterday.”

“The what?”

“Don’t distract them with fairy tales, Brenda,” Carter breaks in.

“They’re a native legend. The Seraphims were creatures who protected the Arctic wilderness. They were supposed to have lived thousands of years ago. They were angels that were part bird and part man, with wingspans that reached thirty feet or more. It was said a human couldn’t look at them without going mad. One of them is said to have caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror and was so frightened by what he saw that his reaction started an earthquake that buried all of the Seraphims beneath the ice.”

“An atomic explosion could unearth just about anything, even a freeze-dried angel.”

“Stop trying to be funny, Hugh.”

“I’m not laughing, Doc. Are you a betting man, Carter?”

“Only on sure things, like the Dodgers coming in first place.”

“Well, I’ll bet you front-row tickets to a Dodgers game that I’m right.”

“Nonsense, and you’re on. No man could walk around in this terrain without developing frostbite in a matter of minutes. Those tracks were probably made by a bear with mangled or malformed toes,” Carter says, pausing to look at the bodies. “The ground’s too hard, We can’t bury Captain Lynch and his crew, but we can’t leave them like this.”

“Captain Lynch was part Irish,” Brenda notes. “He’d appreciate an old-fashioned funeral pyre.”

Hugh lights a flair, tossing it on the bodies. The oppressive darkness around the mourners brightens, and each of them takes that moment to survey the black sky above them.

“I never noticed how bleak and soulless this place is until now,” Carter says.

“And cold,” Hugh adds, tightening the fur collar on his parka.

An agonized scream interrupts their sky-gazing.

“It’s Gage!” Norman shouts. The team runs toward the rover, which the agnostic researcher had volunteered to guard during the funeral ceremony.

Standing on its hind legs, a polar bear pulls Gage into its massive grasp. Gage lets out a muffled, pained scream as the bear crushes him.

The team runs to the rover, grabbing the closest firearms.

Pulling out the gun tucked away in his parka, Gage presses it against the bear’s belly, firing.

The bear releases Gage, who fires again, hitting the bear in the shoulder. Roaring with fury, the bear swats at Gage, slashing him across the face. A second powerful blow tears open Gage’s throat. Staggering sideways, he falls to the ground, his blood blackening the snow.

The bear lets out a challenging roar, bounding toward the team.

Hugh and Norman fire their machine guns, while Carter and Brenda pepper the bear with shots from their pistols.

Letting out a defeated huff, the bear lists sideways, dropping into the snow.

Hugh and Brenda shine their flashlights on Hugh. Norman kicks at the bear’s steaming carcass with his foot.

“Never poke the bear,” Hugh quips.

Carter checks Gage’s body for a pulse. “And we were worried about encountering a folk tale.”

A large shadow circles overhead. An ear-piercing shriek reverberates around them.

The night erupts in blinding light, causing the team to back away, covering their eyes.

A winged creature drops from the sky, circling the researchers. It has the benign face and body of a young man with blonde, curly hair, but its eyes are blood red. In place of its hands and feet are the large, sharp claws of a predatory bird. Shrieking angrily, it displays its pointed teeth.

“Anybody still think the Seraphim is a folk tale?” Hugh remarks.

The Seraphim hovers above Carter, slashing at him with its razor-sharp talons. Carter drops to his knees, clutching at the blood spilling from the side of his neck.

Firing her gun, Brennda dives into the snow, rolling out of range of the creature’s claws.

Squinting at the blinding specter of the Seraphim, Hugh, and Norman fire their machine guns. It quickly turns, slashing angrily at the two men.

Hugh kneels, firing at the creature’s stomach. It momentarily retreats, then charges at Norman, who drops his machine gun, wailing as blood spurts from his chest.

His screams fade as the Seraphim lifts him from the ground, disappearing into the murky sky.

Brenda and Hugh fire at the creature’s fading bright trail.

“That thing should be dead. It was hard to see through the blinding light, but Norman and I hit it with enough bullets to stop three hundred Spartans.”

“Do you think it took Norman to its nest? Do you think he’s still alive?”

“Yes, and in answer to question two, for his sake, I hope not.”

The pair squint at the pitch-black sky, flinching when Norman’s distant scream disturbs the silence.

They jump when an object hits a mound of snow in front of them.

Brenda shines her flashlight on the object.

“It’s Norman’s head.”

A low moan draws their attention.

The pair rush to Carter’s side.

“You tough old bird, we thought you were dead,” Hugh says, as Brenda examines his neck.

“I want to take my grandson to another Dodger game,” Carter gasps. “And besides, I owe you front-row seats.”

Brenda cranes her neck, looking at Carter in the back seat.

Clutching a machine gun, Carter gives her a thumbs up.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” she asks.

“This is like driving a giant tractor. Also, I can’t see but a few feet ahead, and everything looks the same…Black. To top it off, it’s twenty-five below. I don’t want to crash and…”

“Yes, I know. Have to walk.”

Hugh slams on the brakes. The treads lock up and the bulky vehicle nearly swerves sideways.

A blazing wall of light illuminates the road ahead.

Hugh turns on the rover's high beams, frantically banging his hand off the horn. The Seraphim’s red eyes glow hungrily.

Spreading its wings, it jets straight upward.

“Looks like we scared it away,” Hugh says.

“Something that big doesn’t scare.”

Hugh puts the rover in gear, quickly coaxing its speed up to fifty.

From the corner of his eye, Hugh senses a bright light growing in intensity and moving toward them.

Brenda screams as the creature slams into the rover’s side, turning it over.

Carter can feel the soothing heat of the sunshine at Dodger Stadium. He looks over at his grandson, whose smiling face disappears into the blinding rays of the sun.

Carter regains consciousness, realizing he’s numb from the waist down and trapped in the back seat of the rover.

Using its sharp claws like a can opener, the wounded Seraphim tears at the side of the rover, its salivating maw drawing closer.

Its angelic features gather into a smile, its burning red stare promising madness and a painful death.

Carter reaches for the machine gun.

The piercing pain in Hugh’s head brings him around. He touches the gash on his forehead, relieved that it’s stopped bleeding. He realizes that if the cut has stopped bleeding, then he’s been unconscious for quite some time.

He turns to Brenda, who is pressed against the passenger door, moaning softly.

“Brenda… Can you hear me?”

“Shoulder… Broken… Ribs caved in… It tried to get at us…Carter shot at it.”

Hugh looks in the back seat.

Carter’s torn and shriveled body lies crumpled on the floor.

Above Carter, hanging in the hole it managed to tear open, is the dead Seraphim.

Hugh exhales, watching his breath nearly crystallize in midair.

“Petarik and survival is just over the hill,” he says to himself.

He looks at the bright crimson streak painted across the dark sky, thinking it could be an aurora borealis.

“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.”

Brenda dreams she is holding her son’s hand, and he is pulling her toward the lion’s den at the zoo.

“You all right, Brenda?” he asks in a man’s voice.

Smiling, Brenda licks her dry lips, slowly opening her eyes.

Sitting up, Brenda sees Hugh pulling her on a sled.

“Lay back and enjoy the ride,” Hugh says.

Hugh drags the sled to the crest of the hill overlooking Petarik.

He quickly realizes why the sky is such an unusual color.

Petarik is on fire.

Three Seraphims are circling the settlement.

“Looks like there was more than one.”

“Now what?” Brenda asks.

“It’s a long walk to Nunavut.”