The man in navy garb, adjusting his cap, spoke up first. "I'm Lieutenant William Turner, and I served in the Royal Navy during the Napoleonic Wars."
Next, the Roman gladiator stepped forward, his armor gleaming even in the dim light. "I am Crixxus, commander of the armies of the North, general of the Felix Legions."
Finally, the high elf gracefully introduced herself. "I am Lady Seraphina Elandriel, a resident of the Elven realm of Wisthaven. I hail from a time long before the present."
Mason nodded, intrigued by the diverse backgrounds of the survivors. "Thank you for sharing. Now, if you can recall, what were you doing or where were you before you found yourselves in the fog enveloping Station Bay?"
Lieutenant Turner cleared his throat. "I was aboard HMS Victory, engaged in battle against the French fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar. One moment I was commanding my ship, and the next, I found myself here."
Crixxus, gripping his gladius tightly, spoke with a hint of frustration. "I was in the Colosseum, fighting for my life in the grand arena of Rome. It was a fierce battle, and then everything went dark. When I woke, I was here."
Lady Seraphina, her eyes reflecting a distant realm, recounted her tale. "I was engaged in a quest to protect the ancient Elven artifacts from falling into the wrong hands. I was in the heart of the enchanted forest when the fog swallowed me whole."
Mason listened intently, scribbling notes as he absorbed the information. "Fascinating. It appears that the fog has the power to bridge the gaps between different times and dimensions, drawing individuals from various points in history and fantastical realms. This confirms our suspicions about the nature of the ether fog and its ability to connect different planes of existence."
One by one, the survivors described the fog's gradual encroachment into the last places they remembered being, before they were lost amidst the haze, seeing swirling shapes and colors overtake each other, scenes of wildly different venues sliding past each other and playing like intersecting film reels woven together. The lands within the fog were transient, see-through like holograms, the solidity of their foundations, stones, and landmarks fading in and out like changing tides. Sometimes, one vision of the world seemed to be truer than another, and that environment began to incarnate, amalgamating the framework that had come before it. The displaced denizens of different worlds and times wandered an opaque no man's land creating countless possibilities, like so many dreamy stage sets. Andrew supposed it went a ways to explain why people centuries removed from their current time and place weren't all that shocked by this point. God alone knew what they had seen before stumbling into the jorogumo's trap. There would be time for medieval peasants to marvel at the witchcraft of light bulbs and automobiles after they had escaped the jaws of death, stalking them at every turn. For Mason's part, his work was vindicated. The ether fog was just as he'd expected. Parallel universes were crashing into each other, linked by the translucent overlay of the collective unconscious.
"The morphic field." he adjusted his sunglasses.
Imagine you're lost. Perhaps you took a wrong turn down a road while out on a holiday weekend camping trip, trading the winding road of seaside coasts for dense, deep forests, your navigation crapping out as you lose signal. Or perhaps you're a young child lost on their way to the park or the library, finding yourself in an unfamiliar stretch of town. Maybe you lost sight of your mommy in the park, stranding you in a sea of strangers. Or, if you'd rather, you're a delirious explorer, tumbling into the dark undercroft of natural caverns, or else a prisoner fading away in a dungeon. Regardless of who you are, where you got lost, and how, your vision becomes fuzzy and indistinct, until the optical illusions of your blurry sight becomes the foundation of the landscape around you. Lost in mist, you walk through a logicless maze, adrift in a cloud bound for parts unknown. These clouds converge, reflecting the gray, depressed sky of a fallen metropolis, where laws have collapsed into disorder, the laws of nature included.
As you step into the metropolitan city of Station Bay, an eerie atmosphere envelops you, unsettling your senses. The air feels unusually thick, as if each breath carries a weighty anticipation. The peculiar mist creeps through the streets, weaving its tendrils around lamp posts and edging its way along the cobblestones. It is a fog unlike any other, for it transcends the boundaries of reality, intertwining the disparate worlds and times within the collective unconscious.
The fog itself is a mesmerizing tapestry of spectral hues, swirling and shifting in ethereal patterns. It undulates with a spectral luminescence, casting an otherworldly glow upon the city. As you approach, the mist beckons you to explore its mystical depths, inviting you to venture into the enigmatic realms it manifests.
Drawing nearer, you begin to perceive glimpses of the confluence of worlds contained within this foggy mirage. Like shards of shattered dreams, fragments of diverse environments materialize before your eyes, shifting and blending in a surreal dance.
Within this surreal spectacle, the city streets transform into a twilight-lit labyrinth, reminiscent of a gaslit Victorian era. The flickering glow of antiquated lampposts casts elongated shadows that dance with a spectral elegance. Cobblestone paths wind and twist, leading to hidden alleys and mysterious doorways, their aged facades adorned with intricate ironwork and weathered plaques.
The scent of burning coal mingles with the distant fragrance of blooming roses, evoking a sense of nostalgia for a time long past.
But that's strange, isn't it? For this 'nostalgia' afflicts you, even if you'd never seen or known of this era before. So too can your nose pick up the scent of long-dried blood, somehow still fresh, lingering in the wastelands of epic war zones long ago. Or perhaps they're wars yet to come.
Peering through the fog's shifting mists, a swampy jungle emerges, a verdant oasis nestled amidst the urban sprawl. Thick vines hang from towering skyscrapers, their emerald leaves rustling in a melodious symphony. The moist earth beneath your feet gives way to the squelch of mud, and the air is saturated with the scent of damp vegetation. Exotic birds with vibrant plumage soar overhead, their songs intermingling with the distant hum of traffic. Humidity that clings to your skin and a chorus of exotic creatures whose calls echo in the distance. The heavy scent of damp foliage mingles with the rich, earthy aroma of decaying leaves.
As you wander deeper, the mist shifts once more, and you find yourself standing at the crumbling threshold of an ancient castle. Moss-covered stones crumble beneath your feet, and gusts of cold wind whistle through the cracks, carrying with them an eerie melody. Shadows dance along the walls, casting fleeting glimpses of forgotten tales and lost secrets. The air is tinged with a sense of melancholy, an echo of the castle's faded grandeur. Turrets rise defiantly, their spires piercing through the mist, while ivy clings tenaciously to the weathered walls. Within its forgotten halls, the whispers of long-lost echoes echo off the cold, flagstone floors, and the air is tinged with the scent of moss and decay.
Emerging from the mist, a bustling bazaar materializes, bustling with vibrant energy and exotic aromas. Stalls adorned with intricate tapestries and jeweled trinkets stretch as far as the eye can see. The air is alive with the tantalizing scents of spices, incense, and freshly brewed tea. Colorful silks flutter in the breeze.
Further into the fog, a crystalline ice palace rises, its towering spires shimmering in an otherworldly glow. The air turns frigid, carrying with it a crisp freshness that stings the cheeks. Intricate ice sculptures adorn the halls, capturing moments frozen in time. Glistening chandeliers of ice drip with suspended droplets, casting a soft, ethereal light upon the glistening floors. Snowflakes twirl gracefully, as if perpetually caught in a delicate dance.
Amidst the ever-shifting mist, an underwater realm emerges, teeming with vibrant coral reefs and mesmerizing marine life. Rays of sunlight filter through the crystal-clear water, casting an ethereal glow upon a myriad of colorful fish darting through the labyrinthine beauty of the deep sea. The gentle sway of seaweed and the distant calls of dolphins create an enchanting symphony, as if time itself slows down in this watery sanctuary.
And yet, saturating it all, is a stubborn unease. As these setpieces ebb and flow, you see dark shapes in the fog, and feel their ferocious compulsion toward violence. Something boils beneath your feet, flowing through the icy, corrupted veins of Station Bay. Warped evolution is in the air, a sweet forbidden fruit for which a pan-dimensional battle royal rages.
There was time yet before the extraction bus was scheduled to depart, while the dragonflies chittered and approximated the safest window of opportunity to navigate the fog without incident. In that time, Andrew saw twisting, gargantuan shadows through the murk, writhing amidst the urban jungle. His nose picked up the collage of contradicting and coexisting smells and sensations permeating the whole of the misty wastes that were once Station Bay. And, amidst the writhing shadows, one silhouette in particular stood out. A humanoid one. Its dimensions were seemingly magnified by the lens of the fog itself, some kind of strange optical illusion giving Andrew a telescope view of someone far off, caught in the causal storm. His nose was tickled with the phantom scent of liquor, and he suddenly had the surging conviction that this was the drunken woman he had released into the fog under the naive assumption she’d be safer there than in the darkened hospital.
“It’s her!” he announced, offering no elaboration to Mason as he vaulted for the bus exit.
The guards tried to halt him there, hands on his chest, cautioning him against going out on his own now that they’d extracted the survivors from within the warped culvert.
“Move!” he demanded, pushing past them.
The guards made a token gesture to try to snag Andrew and make him see reason, but Mason stopped them with a gesture. Andrew began sprinting off into the depths of the fog, certain that he’d happened upon the one survivor whose death would truly be on his conscience in the event she’d gotten herself killed by god knew what lurked in the mist.
Amidst the chaos and uncertainty, his gaze is drawn to a fleeting silhouette amidst the swirling fog. With an unshakable determination, he sets off, his footsteps hastened by the electric tang of ambient creation permeating the air.
Each breath he takes feels charged with raw energy, as if the very essence of existence crackles around him. The fog itself seems alive, swirling and morphing in intricate patterns, revealing microcosms of a vast and enigmatic macrocosm. It's as if the collective unconscious pulses with life, both around and within him, fueling his resolve to uncover the truth hidden within the ethereal haze.
As Andrew darts through the city streets, the pavement beneath his feet seems to shift, the traction betraying him. Suddenly, his footing falters, and he loses control, slipping on the slick surface. A chill permeates the air, seeping into his bones, as the fog transforms into icy vapor, engulfing the world around him in a frigid embrace.
Before his eyes, a misty portal opens, revealing a breathtaking vista of the Arctic. He finds himself standing atop a series of ice flows, their crystalline beauty stretching as far as the eye can see. The air is crisp, biting, and every breath he takes feels as if it could freeze his very lungs. The vast expanse of white, untouched snow blankets the landscape, glistening under the pale light of a distant sun.
The silence is profound, broken only by the distant groaning of shifting ice and the occasional crackle of frozen water. The only movement comes from the dance of snowflakes, carried by an unforgiving arctic wind. The world feels simultaneously serene and treacherous, a place where life clings to fragile existence amidst the unforgiving elements.
As Officer Thompson stands upon the ice flows, he is overwhelmed by the sheer majesty and solitude of this frozen realm. The immensity of the arctic, with its stark beauty and harsh conditions, reminds him of the fragility of life and the relentless power of nature. He realizes that within this misty portal, he is but a small speck, caught in the vast tapestry of the collective unconscious, where worlds and times intertwine.
Danger lurked beneath the ice, waiting for unsuspecting prey.
The shadow-shrouded figure Andrew darted into the fog to recover had disappeared, unceremoniously. He caught sight of it again, circling beneath the ice.
Deep within the frozen abyss, a malevolent presence stirred.
“Miss?” he panned back and forth across the wastes, confused.
A form slithered beneath the expanse of ice, lithe body coated in dark green scales the color of century eggs. Powerful fins and flipper-like feet propelled the aquatic stalker through frigid waters, its movements not dissimilar to circling orca, ready to tip an ice flow and dump their prey of seals into maw’s reach.
Suddenly, a crack echoed through the stillness, snapping Andrew out of his daze. A fissure tore through the ice, widening with every passing second. The thing was beneath him, tearing through the frozen veil, eager to claim its next victim. Andrew felt his body already shivering for warmth, as if anticipating the plunge into the deceptively beautiful crystalline depths, and growing colder in precognitive sympathy.
Then, it burst forth from the ice, exploding out of the frigid water like a torpedo. In a geyser spray of ice water, a humanoid figure leaped toward Andrew, hands outstretched. The scent of fish and cold mud struck Andrew’s nose before he fully registered what he was seeing, and he owed his dodging out of the way as much to his foot losing traction on the ice as he did to his sudden reflexes. He slipped and fell under the passing shadow of the thing that had lunged for him, and saw it sail away, skating across the ice, before darting with impeccable form into a dive through another patch of thin ice, back into the water. It felt like precious few seconds had passed in this time.
“What the?” Andrew tilted his head.
Then, he heard a creak under him. He looked down, and saw thin cracks begin to form beneath his ass where he sat upon the ice. It groaned and shifted under him.
“Aw hell!” he gaped, and rolled away before the ice could give way, and vaulted into an awkward sort of crouched sprint, trying to distribute his weight as evenly as he could with an exaggerated wide stance and long strides. Cracks still seemed to follow in his wake, until he came upon more solid ground where the ice was thicker. Looking back at the trail he had run, he saw several places where the ice had begun to cave in in the shape of his footsteps, the water lapping at the circular edges as if unsettled.
He tried to get his bearings, but then he heard a roar at his back, and turned around to see a violent wave racing toward him across the ice, its crest jagged and turbulent, as though a giant fire hydrant blast was skating across the ice. Andrew fell backward as it roared just past him, leaving deep gouges carved in the ice before it broke through the thinner ice on the other side, and rejoined the main body of the bay. There were more groans and cracks, and then whole sections of the ice sheet, like jigsaw puzzle pieces, began to break apart and away from each other. Two halves of one of these fragmenting flows opened up beneath Andrew, one leg on either side, like a canyon suddenly birthing itself beneath him. Andrew chose a side, and flung himself a bit harder than he needed to, wary of falling into the frigid water. He realized then that he had been herded to an isolated, impromptu iceberg that was now drifting farther away from whatever could be called the ‘mainland’ of the fog-shrouded Station Bay.
Andrew bit his lip, anxious to have boarded this unexpected barge, wondering where it was conveying him, and why. He knew he saw something explode out from beneath the ice to attack him. Failing a direct assault, it took beneath the waves again, and had begun to set up its next strategy, allowing Andrew to fumble across the thin spots in the ice sheet, while it set up a shot. The image Andrew had had of an orca using waves to knock its prey into the water was well-founded, and he felt for certain that was exactly the phenomenon he had dodged, and which had severed the ice flows apart from each other.
The ice chunk was bound for another Arctic ridge, the vista stretching far into the horizon under the rainbow glow of an aurora borealis. The flow lurched, and Andrew sprawled, stomach in his throat, as he realized he was speeding up rapidly, the frigid wind whipping at his face.
Am I caught in a strong current?
No, he realized. There was that same dark shadow beneath the frozen platform, bearing it forward at great speed. Sail-like fins unfurled beneath the waves, the creature soaring through the water at great speed. A ridge of spines along its back had pierced through the fabric of its parka, stabbing into the ice from below, carrying the platform along its back. Andrew pinwheeled his arms and crouched low, struggling not to slip on the treacherous ice.
It was going to crash Andrew into the shore, tossing him along it with breakneck force.
"Oh no…" Andrew whispered, trying to brace himself.
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But then, suddenly, the ice came to a jolting stop, dead in its tracks. The momentum threw Andrew forward, sliding on the ice, flailing toward the chill waters. The bait and switch to plunge Andrew into the Arctic Ocean was nearly successful. Realizing that he couldn't stop his slide, he instead went with the momentum, tucked, and rolled. With a hop, he cleared the gap, and went sprawling across the shore.
"Clever bitch!" he swore under his breath, struggling to stand and shake out the dizziness.
Andrew's heart raced as he regained his footing on solid ground. He looked back at the ice flow that had brought him to this point, seeing it now as a treacherous trap set by the mysterious creature lurking beneath the surface. The adrenaline coursed through his veins, sharpening his senses as he surveyed his surroundings. The Arctic landscape stretched before him, vast and unforgiving. He could still feel the bone-chilling cold seeping into his skin, a constant reminder of the dangers that awaited him. The distant sun cast an ethereal glow over the snow-covered terrain, creating an otherworldly ambiance. Andrew knew he had to stay alert. The creature that had pursued him was still out there, waiting for an opportunity to strike. He couldn't let his guard down for a moment. Every crackle of frozen water, every gust of wind, could be a sign of its presence. As he took a moment to catch his breath, Andrew scanned the shoreline, searching for any signs of life or shelter. The barren landscape offered little in the way of protection, but he had to keep moving. Survival depended on it.
Another pair of figures materialized through the arctic haze, their forms smaller; exposed to the elements, huddled together desperately for warmth, skin pale, breaths turning to icy vapor. They were a pair of children, both boys, Andrew could tell.
Simon and Zeke were none too pleased about having to hug each other for warmth, even as their teeth chattered and frost formed on their eyelashes.
“N-n-n-n-o h-h-h-ho-ho-homo!” Zeke emphasized to Simon as they rubbed their faces together, achieving little.
Andrew steeled himself, and checked his ammo count - nothing.
“Right. Never restocked.” Andrew sighed. “Baton, I choose you.” he said without much enthusiasm, taking his standard issue nightstick from his belt again.
In the ambient causal flow of the amalgam of worlds, Andrew began to intuit knowledge beyond the bounds of his lifetime experience thus far, and passively absorbed everything he needed to know about the fishy entity - the Qallupilluit. It was a being that served a singular purpose - bursting from the water, where the ice was thin, to snatch up children, and take them down to the depths below.
Those kids were sitting ducks right there.
With a surge of adrenaline, Andrew leaped into action. He sprinted towards Simon and Zeke, his footsteps pounding against the frozen expanse. The cracking ice beneath his feet only intensified his urgency. He knew he had to reach the children before the creature emerged from the depths.
As he closed the distance, Andrew shouted to Simon and Zeke, "Run! Get away from the ice!"
The boys looked up, startled, and then comprehension dawned on their faces.
“We can’t!” Simon called out. “It’s too thin, we’ll fall through!”
“We’re stranded, man!” Zeke added.
As Andrew came within a few yards of the boys, he found it to be true. The ice began to creak and groan under his weight, and he stepped back. Focusing his vision, he saw that the perimeter around the spot where the boys sat was akin to a frozen moat, a circle of ice, perhaps 10x10 feet, thin and hazardous to traverse, giving a devious illusion of safety and the possibility of escape.
“Shit…” Andrew gulped, stepping back as he saw thin cracks appear under his foot.
He pieced the situation together pretty quickly. These boys must have gotten themselves stuck in the center of the circle when the fog washed over Station Bay while they were out, no doubt disregarding the city-wide curfew put into effect as of the Checkered Slasher killings. The patch of ice they sat huddled on was a sanctuary of stable ground encircled by a thin ice death trap. It was a fool’s errand to try to cross, even as light as they were.
Andrew paused, wracking his brain to try to figure out how to get them off the virtual island, to safety, if safety could even be defined within this Arctic wasteland. He’d have to shepherd them back to the relative normality of Station Bay proper, but, taking in the boundless immensity of the frozen wilderness around him, he was no longer certain he knew in which direction to prosecute his search. His eyes narrowed again on the lithe shadow beneath the ice, circling the boys, swimming around the virtual island, within the frozen moat.
Damned if they do, damned if they don’t, he realized. In the event the boys tried to extricate themselves from the situation, they would fall through the ice, into the monster’s clutches. But, if they stayed there, they would eventually weaken from exposure, and become easy pickings for the beast to come ashore and take them anyway.
A moment of silence, broken by another roar.
Simon and Zeke looked down at the water, where the shadow of something lurking below was just barely perceptible.
“It’s coming!” Simon shouted, his voice tremulous. “You gotta do something!”
The kids were panicked, eyes wide with terror as they searched Andrew’s face for any kind of answer. Zeke’s grip tightened on Simon’s arm, his fingers gripping hard enough to draw blood as panic and terror threatened to overwhelm him. Simon shook it off with a yelp.
"Now just hang tight, I'm coming for ya!" Andrew called out.
He began doing calisthenics, stretching out and trying to warm up in the icy wind. He couldn't walk, crawl, or sprint across the ice without breaking it, but maybe he could pull off a long jump across. As a precaution, he took a rock in hand, fingers numbed with cold, and chucked it across the frozen moat. It cracked where it landed, a few yards out from the center where the boys huddled.
"That's the gap I have to clear." he told himself.
Another roar echoed across the frigid landscape. The sound of cracking and groaning ice was growing louder, and the ice chunks around the kids were growing visibly smaller, shifting and breaking up.
Simon and Zeke looked up at Andrew, eyes wide with worry. The cold was getting to them, but the fear in their eyes was even stronger. They seemed to be at a loss as to what to do, unsure of how to follow Andrew’s orders. They knew the creature was coming for them, and they knew that their time was about to run out.
Andrew took the leap, rolling onto his shoulder and sprawling on his back. He shook out the daze, taking a knee and standing. The ice around them broke up completely. Andrew snagged the boys by their shirt collars and dashed to the side as the platform began to split in half.
"The fuck is this? Global warming on steroids?!" Zeke shrieked.
"Language!" Andrew chastised, scanning the area for the narrowest gap for what came next.
"Is that really the problem right now?!" Simon tore at his hair as their standing ground fractured and grew smaller.
"Tuck and roll." Andrew told Zeke.
"What?" Zeke tilted his head.
"Tuck," Andrew chucked Zeke overhead.
"Holy-!"
"And roll!" Andrew declared, and chucked Zeke across the gap.
Andrew watched, breath catching in his throat as Zeke went flying through the air. It seemed like he was going to hit the ice, and then he tucked in and rolled, and landed on solid ground.
“Holy crap.” Simon cried out.
“C’mon, kid.” Andrew nodded, grabbing his wrist.
Just then, however, there was an ear-piercing shriek. It jarred and vibrated their bodies, hands clamping to their ears to blot out the insufferable siren. Andrew felt his head spin as his brain rattled in the wake of the Inuit sea monster's call. His foot stumbled backward, and he and Simon both plunged backward into the sea. The water was like knives hitting their bodies all out once, and Andrew felt his breath stolen from him. Looking down, forcing an eyeball that felt like it was crystallizing open, Andrew saw the shadow from before, mirroring them.
The Qallupilluit began to rise up from the depths to meet them, eyes milky, webbed hands with their fingers splayed, curving talons outstretched. Long, silky black hair fanned out behind it, luxurious sheen at odds with the sneering, sickly green face and squat, flaring nose.
Andrew kicked out wildly, trying to stay afloat as the creature loomed closer. He couldn’t stay above the frigid waters for much longer, his body shivering uncontrollably. The creature reached out a clawed hand for him, and he instinctively thrashed away, terrified. This was it. This was how his days would end.
Simon lolled in his grip. He must have smacked the back of his head on the ice when they slipped, because he was knocked out cold. Andrew thrashed at the Qallupilluit, trying to raise Simon overhead and carry him to solid ground. He felt a webbed hand constrict around his ankle and yank him violently down. Taking a sputtering breath before he was submerged, Andrew was pulled under, and felt the beast's other hand close like a slimy, scaly vice around his throat. He dropped Simon, and he watched as the unconscious boy drifted down through the clear blue waters, hair floating gently in the current. He looked oddly peaceful.
Andrew, his lung capacity halved by the cold sapping his strength, instinctively jabbed for the monster's eyes. An inner eyelid closed in, sideways, to shield the monster's vision from Andrew's would-be eye gouge.
Panic was setting in. Andrew couldn’t see anything, the darkness surrounding him overwhelming. The only light seemed to be coming from the Qallupilluit’s piercing eyes, boring into him, trying to bore right into his soul. The creature was much stronger, its vice grip around his throat felt more constricting by the second, its other hand holding him underwater. Andrew’s lungs were burning. He needed air. He needed to get away.
Andrew clawed uselessly at the creature, trying to escape. It was too strong.
His hand fell to his waist, and he plunged his knife into the creature's belly. Bubbles escaped its mouth as it fell open, an expression of shock somehow overtaking those milky cataract eyes. The streak of blood was a vibrant bright red in the cool blue waters, a stark contrast that was serenely beautiful in the midst of an otherwise horrific situation. A streamer of blood, taking on an oily sheen, followed the point of Andrew's knife as he wrenched it free of the scaly belly and concealing sparky. A purple blotchy stained the fabric, and a tremulous screech, amplified by the water, rocked Andrew's brain again as ripples formed across the surface. Kicking free of the wounded monster's grasp, he began kicking down toward the bay floor, after the sinking Simon. He'd heard miraculous stories of people who had nearly drowned in ice water, saved by the fact that the sudden cold had caused them to enter a sort of suspended animation, conserving oxygen. He'd hoped that Simon hadn't taken on too much water.
He caught the sinking boy in outstretched arms, then looked toward the surface. It looked very far away. Andrew could hardly feel his body in this all-consuming cold, not even the the hyping power of adrenaline able to outmuscle his fatigue now. The only part of him that felt anything strongly was his chest, burning for oxygen. He kicked madly for the surface.
Come on, come on!
The Qallupilluit slammed into him like a torpedo, carrying him - and Simon - sideways, out of his mad dash for the surface. He crashed into the submerged bulk of an iceberg, and felt himself knocked breathless, a precious reserve of bubbles forced out of his lungs with the strength of the blow. He had instinctively turned his body to shield Simon from the worst of the blow, as best he could. In doing so, he reopened his shoulder wound, and felt the socket groan and creak like the thin ice.
What could he do?
He felt himself starting to black out. If he wanted to protect others, he had to save himself first. None of his police training had prepared him for trying to extricate himself and a civilian from a freezing water hole with an aquatic boogeyman trying to pass itself off as an Eskimo on their heels. He felt his knife slip from his unfeeling fingers, and sink toward the bay floor, out of reach. His flare gun was useless down here too.
The only thing left was his stun gun, assuming it hadn't been damaged by immersion in water.
Won't I just electrocute us too? Seawater is a conductor, right?
All the same, it was the only other option.
Feeling for the frayed, flaring ridges of the gills along its neck, Andrew pried a flap open with his free hand. He dropped Simon momentarily, and grabbed him with his legs. He thought he could almost hear the Qallupilluit's thoughts - What do you think you're doing?!
Andrew freed his stun gun from his belt and jammed it into the creature's gills. Then he pressed the button.
There was a crackling static sound, like an island of tin foil crumbling in on itself, and the fish creature went rigid, limbs splayed out at right angles, body muttering slightly. A vivid blue spark flashed, a luminous burst of blue to rival the Arctic waters themselves. To Andrew's pleasant surprise, neither he nor Simon were swept up in the electric current. He wrenched the stun gun free of the Qallupilluit's gills, and watched it go lax and limp, floating down and away like an Autumn leaf in the breeze.
Andrew grabbed Simon by the collar again, and kicked to the surface, lungs screaming.
He breached, and gasped in a great pull of air. His panting came in staccato bursts, obstructed by his own violent shivering. Clutching the edge of the ice with one hand, he tried to pull himself and Simon up. His strength failing him, he jetted Simon up instead, and practically heard bells when Zeke slid into frame.
"Gimme!" he reached out a hand, crouching on the ice to take hold of his unconscious friend.
Andrew successfully passed the torch, giving a faint smile as he saw Zeke hook his fingers through Simon's collar and drag him out of the water.
They weren't nearly out of the woods yet, though. They were already exposed, and now they were soaking wet on top of it. They'd freeze in a matter of minutes if they couldn't find shelter and some way to warm themselves up. Panting and trying to work feeling back into his numbed fingers for an attempt at hauling himself ashore, Andrew felt a retroactive light bulb go off above his head.
Ordinarily, that wouldn't have worked. Sea water is essentially brine, and conducts electricity. Its salinity is way higher than the salt content of a human body. We were only ever at a moderate shock risk at best, not quite like a brush with an electric eel in a freshwater river. Bony saltwater fish are bound by the laws of equilibrium, as water constantly flows from an area of higher concentration to one of lower concentration. Bony fish are constantly losing water, and have to drink in excess to compensate. At any given time, the only thing saltier than the sea itself are the bony fish swimming around in it. I don't know if this would have worked on something like a shark or an angry sea cucumber, but as it stands, the faux-Eskimo apparently belongs to that classification of sea critter. Lucky!
Not lucky enough, it seemed.
Andrew threw his head back in shock, his face a twisted rictus of pain, as the Qallupilluit's claws hooked into the meat of his back, snagging muscle. He shouted in agony, as the Qallupilluit dragged him with shocking force below the surface.
It rocketed toward the bay floor in an accelerating pencil dive, holding Andrew above its head. Andrew felt his ears rapidly strain under pressure before one of his ear drums burst, eliciting a muffled cry of agony. The rapid change in pressure began to affect the rest of his body as well. He felt his stomach compress as though a buffalo were sitting on it, as he and the beast clawing him plummeted ever downward toward the sea floor.
The Qallupilluit dragged him deeper and deeper into the abyss, Andrew screaming with every agonizing meter. He felt his chest straining, and an overwhelming sense of vertigo as the pressure of the water threatened to crush him like a soda can.
The plunge terminated in a crash landing that kicked up a cloud of mud and weeds, the beast in a deep crouch, slamming Andrew over its knee in a bid to break his back. Andrew arched, his spinal column groaning, as he felt the crushing pressure of depths simultaneously cause something inside his body to rupture. Clutching his hands clamped over his mouth, eyes bulging, he screamed into his own hands, trying to force himself to hold his breath even as bright blood began flowing from his nose.
Andrew stared into the beast’s murky, milky eyes, watching as it stood up over him. His ears were ringing. His lungs were burning with the need to fill them. His body was in horrible pain, as the Qallupilluit slammed him against the sea floor again and again. His head spun, his vision blurry, as the creature’s assault brought him closer and closer to the brink of death.
His hand sifted through the cold mud, and happened on the handle of his knife. This must be the spot it sank to after Andrew dropped it.
Whether providence or dumb luck - if there was even a difference - Andrew didn't have time or breath to question it. He plunged the knife into the Qallupilluit's stomach.
The creature shrieked, and its vice like grip around Andrew’s back loosened. Andrew stabbed again, his strength waning and his vision going dark. He knew if he did nothing, if he failed to fight off the creature, death would surely follow. Andrew slashed and stabbed at the hideous creature, the weapon tearing into its scaled flesh. The Qallupilluit let out another bloodcurdling scream. Blood and bile spilled from its wound, tainting the muddy water with a sickening yellow hue.
Andrew lunged forward, catching the beast's arm in a joint lock, wrenching it behind the beast's back, wrestling in the icy mud at the bottom of the Arctic bay. He strained, and was rewarded with the snap of the monster's shoulder dislocating.
Andrew kicked and struggled, his strength fading, as the Qallupilluit roared in pain. It clawed at him with its good arm, but its attempts to free itself were in vain, as Andrew kept tight control of the injured shoulder. He kept stabbing with the weapon, tearing into the Qallupilluit’s soft underbelly. Blood spilled out of the creature’s wound, pooling around them and dyeing the sediment a horrifying shade of crimson. The water seemed almost red, the creature’s blood and Andrew’s blood running together into an indiscernible sea of crimson.
Planting his foot in the back of the Qallupilluit's skull, he springboarded upward, kicking and clawing madly for the surface. The vivid blue sky hung overhead, a window into survival. He reached it and felt his heart drop as his hands ran up against a solid surface. He was trapped under a clear pane of thin ice. Either he had drifted off course, or the ice had frozen over again. He banged against the underside, unable to believe his string of shitty luck.
The ice was starting to become more and more solid, threatening to entomb whatever was underneath. What could Andrew do? He couldn’t break through it, not by himself. He could only hope that Zeke and Simon would arrive soon. A roar from the Qallupilluit seemed to confirm that their time was running out. Andrew slammed frantically against the ice, desperate. There had to be something he could do. Something. Anything.
He began beating at the underside of the ice, first with his fists, then with his nightstick. It was no use. He couldn't get any leverage. A shadow grew beneath him. That scaly sonofabitch still wasn't down for the count, after all that punishment.
Then, feet planted themselves over the ice, and slender hands worked a finely-carved bow. A volley of arrows shattered the ice, flying through the sea just past Andrew, and plunging themselves into the Qallupilluit's chest.
Andrew broke the surface, gasping and sputtering, taking in frigid gulps of air that stung his lungs. Silver hair framed the face of Seraphina, the elven woman among the survivors he'd left back on the bus. She gripped his hand in hers, and yanked him out of the sea.
Andrew coughed, gasping for breath. He looked up at Seraphina, his thoughts swimming in his sleep deprived mind. He noticed her silvery hair, so elegant and beautiful. He felt the cold starting to creep back into his bones, as the adrenaline faded and he realized the situation they were in. A chill wind blew over them, rattling his teeth and his soul.
“Thank you,” Andrew whispered, his voice hoarse and dry. “If you hadn’t arrived soon, I don’t know what would’ve…”
He shuddered, his teeth chattering.
"The boys, are they-" he panicked.
"They're alive." she said. "But we need to get to shelter and make a fire."
...