45 Years Frozen

My first Sci-fi short story. I must have been inspired by Captain America 😂

21 October 2014

I had that nightmare again. The one with the menacingly piercing blue eyes and that wicked scar cutting through the left eyebrow. I awoke with a jolt to find a thin bead of sweat all over my body. When I had dozed off swinging in a rocking chair on my granddaughter’s porch, it had been sunny and bright. Now, the storm clouds were gathering and the icy wind had picked up speed. The cold triggered a distant, forgotten memory.

You could never even imagine the adventures in my life, unless, of course, you are the author of this book. Of that, I am sure!

I am…

Samuel Max Robinson.

Some 80 years ago, armed with a degree in journalism, I set out to change the world. My calling came as an Entry Level Research Writer for ‘The Daily Worldwide’. I had been chosen from amongst 200 applicants. I was only 24 at that time, making me the youngest to be selected. The day was January 24, 2014. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to be given my first assignment. The Editor-in-Chief gave me the task to write an article on the Wandering/ White-winged/ Snowy Albatross. This species wanders the surrounding oceans for months at a time searching for food, sleeps on the ocean surface at night, and drinks seawater. It has the largest wingspan in the bird kingdom - 11 feet! It was endangered because of accidental death caused by hooking onto lines of commercial longline fishing vessels and drowning. I was to leave as soon as possible for Antarctica.

I was told to report to the Managing Editor for further instructions. She gave me a fat envelope with all the necessary documentation for the assignment. When I asked her if I could take an assistant with me, she coldly stated that rookies were not allowed to have assistance and strutted away. But I still kept my eyes on the adventure, excitement and imagined the countless possibilities. But this wasn’t to be TRUE.

Armed with the tickets, itinerary, and documents, I rushed to my apartment and packed every single piece of warm clothing I owned, as fast as I could. I checked the camera bag for my Canon EOS Rebel T3 18.55mm, EF 28-300mm Telephoto Zoom lens, and extra battery packs. On my way out, I grabbed the tripod stand.

I drove for 3 hours in my Dodge t270 from Fort Bragg, California to Santa Rosa. The flight from Santa Rosa, California to Puerto Williams, Chile(via Los Angeles, Lima, Santiago, and Punta Arenas) was a long 31 hours, with 5 stops! My Spanish was rusty but I managed to converse with the locals. They guided me to the ferry. The ride from Puerto Williams to Puerto Toro through Canal Beagle cost me 205 Chilean pesos (only $0.35 US!). I had left my apartment at 7:00 am and reached the town at 11:00 pm the next night.

Puerto Toro (founded 1892) with a population of 100, is a small fishing village on the eastern coast of Navarino Island, Chile. Over a hundred years ago, it was one of the most important towns in the region of the Beagle Channel as a result of the Tierra del Fuego gold rush. Once interest in exploring for gold passed, Puerto Toro's importance diminished. Today, it is known for “Centolla," the prized Southern King Crab.

Excluding research stations in Antarctica, Puerto Toro is the southernmost permanently inhabited community on our Earth, some 2425 miles from the South Pole.

I chartered a seaplane, ‘Kingfisher’, and set off on my adventure to the Southern Command Base Station where I would be bunking with scientists and military personnel. During my flight there, I had the good fortune to see quite a few orca pods in action and a mother blue whale with her calf. I also saw a couple of the elusive Snowy Albatross. I took plenty of pictures.

After my arrival at the Base, I dove straight into my work and collaborated with ornithologists studying the Snowy Albatross. We made short trips to nearby subantarctic islands to view their breeding grounds. We kept our distance taking care not to disturb them. It was interesting to know that pairs of wandering albatrosses mate for life and breed every two years. The nest is a mound of mud and vegetation on an exposed ridge near the sea. During the early stages of the chick's development, the parents take turns. While one sits on the nest, the other searches for food. Later, both hunt for food and visit the chick at irregular intervals.

It was a bright and warm Antarctic day as it could be. It had been a good 2 months since the day I arrived and I had collected all the data and pictures I wanted for my article. Soon, the Sun would set on the antarctic landscape and the South Pole would be plunged into a long dark night until late September. I missed home with all its familiar sounds, smells, and sights. I was so ready to go.

I could see a group of Rockhopper penguins frolicking far away on the horizon. I used my trusty telephoto lens to view and photograph them. As they waddled away, the silhouette of a killer whale caught my eye, or so I thought. A cold shadow blocked the Sun on my back making my hair stand on end. I turned around in alarm only to feel a hard shove from two burly arms. I clawed the air desperately to hold onto something.

My searching fingers felt something fibrous and instantly grabbed it. A sharp ripping sound filled the air around me and I helplessly felt my body falling back. The last thing I remember seeing before the cold, dark numbness enveloped me, was a pair of piercing blue eyes staring menacingly back at me from a face covered by a black ski mask. A wicked scar cutting through the left eyebrow caught my attention.

A warm tingle in my spine woke me and I opened my drowsy eyelids with great effort. It took some time for the blurry ceiling to come into focus. I felt weak and drained of energy, almost like if I was recovering from a sickness.

“That must be it! I am sick and in a hospital.”

When I could muster enough strength, looked around with curiosity, wondering where I was. I felt the radiating warmth from the lights, but the brightness made my eyes ache. My ears picked up little beeping and whirring sounds coming from machinery. Faint smells of disinfectants and lab chemicals entered my nose. When I could finally move my neck, I looked around and saw several machines hooked up to computers and tables full of chemicals, test tubes, flasks, and beakers. My arms and legs began to thaw, and I was finally able to flex my fingers. But, I was still frozen from the waist down.

After a few hours, I could stand with support, but my legs felt wobbly. When I tried to walk, all I could manage were a few tottering steps before I came crashing down to the floor. The stool I used for support, joined me with a loud clatter. Before I realized what had happened, I heard footsteps coming my way. Glass doors flung open, and a group of people in white lab coats came rushing in, stopping short of colliding with me. I searched the crowd for familiar faces but all I could see were twinned expressions of disbelief staring back at me. A few of them helped me up and sat me down in a chair. One straightened the stool. Another wrapped me in a warm blanket and asked me if I would like a cup of hot coffee. I nodded numbly. It started with a murmur and soon the room was abuzz. I could barely hear their voices but I caught a faint whisper here and there.

“It’s impossible!”

“How can it be?”

“I don’t know how long he stayed frozen, but he sure looks worn out.”

“Maybe he just fell in yesterday?”

“Maybe not.”

I politely asked what day it was.

“Wednesday, why do you ask?” replied a lady thrusting a warm cup of coffee in my direction.

I slowly raised my head to see kind eyes looking down at me. My gaze drifted to a point just above her shoulder on the wall behind her. The calendar read ‘December 2059’. The gears in my brain started whirring with great speed calculating.

“45 years…,” I mumbled in disbelief.

“Excuse me?”, asked the woman.

“I slept for 45 years in a block of ice!”

I jumped to my feet screaming at the top of my lungs. My muscles had forgotten their stiffness in all this excitement. It is when I noticed the painfully clenching fist at the end of my left arm. My fingers opened hesitatingly to reveal a torn pocket with “Diablo Oil Co.” embroidered in red. A flash of memory of taking pictures as a shadowy figure shoved me into the lake flooded my brain. I couldn’t shake off the blue-eyed man.

Over a period of several hours, my rescuers recounted the details of how they had discovered me frozen stiff as an icicle in the lake and fished me out. The team of geologists and biologists was here to study the changing environment of the south polar region.

The team was returning to the mainland in a couple of weeks and I intended to leave with them, for I knew all the answers to questions awaited me there. During my journey back home, I had plenty of time to battle the question that bothered me the most. “Why would anyone want me dead or for that matter want to hurt me?”

I was awoken from my train of thought by the taxi screeching to a halt in front of my old apartment. I tipped the cab driver more than generously. I guess I was just happy to be alive. Tired to the bone, I dragged myself upstairs and sunk into my soft bed. My mind was busily trying to connect the dots.

“Diablo Oil Co.”

“America.”

“Blue-eyed man that pushed me into a freezing cold lake.”

“Antarctica.”

“Snowy Albatross.”

“I feel that there's something missing, but what?”

Finally, the sandman won and I fell into a deep slumber.

The morning that greeted me was a welcome contrast from the dark days of Antarctica. A little sparrow was pecking at something on my window sill. I got dressed and drove myself to the local store. I spent hours browsing through the aisles looking for just the right equipment for the assault I planned to unleash. I bought a miner’s headlights, a 4-way angle finder for my camera, a wireless hacking device, and binoculars with X-ray and night-vision amongst other do-dads. Diablo was about to be crushed.

I drove in my trusty ‘Dodge t270’ into an alley behind the Diablo Oil Headquarters. I parked it hidden from view, behind the dumpster. A little above and to the left of the garbage chute was the ventilation vent. I angled my camera at the ‘Diablo Headquarters’ sign. ‘Snap!’ went the camera. Phase 1: Down.

The sticky gloves came in handy as I climbed up the ventilation chute into the belly of the beast. The miner’s headlights lit my way and my X-ray and night-vision binoculars alerted me to traps for the unsuspecting. After barely clearly a minefield of lasers, I used my wireless hacking device to hack the security system. I used my good old screwdriver to loosen the vent plate and gained access into the room with personnel files. I scanned the room for any more traps. None. Phase 2: Over.

I lowered myself slowly into the room. I was wearing a remote-operated full-body levitation suit. I had good reason to be nervous. It was still in the beta version! I hacked into the files with my Surface Flash Drive i9 which instantly bypasses the firewall and reads the list of employees. Amid thousands, I found my villain, Marcus D. Miller. Phase 3: Success.

Deep within his file was the information I had been seeking for so long. One that explained what had happened to me. I discovered that Diablo Oil was illegally mining in an area within the Wildlife Preserve with rich oil reserves. They couldn’t have a nosy photographer taking pictures, asking questions, and poking around. I was making some pretty bad people very nervous. So, they hired Marcus to do away with me. Phase 4: GAME OVER.

I strode energetically to work the next day, stopping momentarily to pick up a newspaper from the stand. It had bold letters printed across its front saying, “Diablo Burnt!”. The wind howled outside but I felt warm and snug inside. I entered the office with a skip in my step wondering about only one thing, “What adventures might come my way now?”

THE END?