Nunatak

By Lincoln Reed

Dr. Byron Stoneburner made his camp on the side of the Arctic mountain. He nibbled what jerky remained in his pack and warmed his frostbitten nose next to the fire, calculating his progress by the aged map in his possession. The yellowing pages had turned brittle in the frosty air, but he had memorized enough of its characters and sketches to push on without it if needed.

Stoneburner had spent his entire professorship in pursuit of the mysteries this peak might hold. When his grandfather—a failed explorer—left him a map containing details of an uncharted Arctic mountain, it ignited Stoneburner’s childhood curiosity. Then, as a university professor in 1910, he’d learned of the local legends regarding the area’s topography. It was said the spirits of the ancient dead roamed the uncharted hills, the ice burying an evil that should be left to slumber undisturbed.

Ameer had feared the polar bear was a bad omen. Perhaps it was.

The professor thought of the sled dogs trapped below while he escaped. Their fight with the bear echoed across the ice—deep growling and sharp yaps from the huskies. All had reverberated until the Arctic silence was a taut string of unending gloom. After Stoneburner made it to safety, he hadn’t the courage to look down.

Poor things bought me some time. Best make the most of it.

Stoneburner considered his plan as the fire burned low. He hadn’t much kindling left.

Dr. Stoneburner rappelled through an opening in the glacier wall of the grotto’s opening.

The air grew stale the deeper he traveled into the mountain. His oil-wick headlamp only illuminated a few feet ahead, piercing darkness that hadn’t seen light for millennia.

The shadows flickered and loomed as he walked. But, no, something beyond the shadows. Black markings… depictions of, yes, men and herd animals all along the walls here. Not unlike other artwork discovered in North American caves. But with a strange difference. Stoneburner traced his gloved fingers lightly across the artistic rendering of what could be best described as a giant worm with teeth.

Ah, Ameer, if only you could see this.   

The memory stung. The frigid wind slashing at their faces. The outline of white fur behind them, the bear always in pursuit. The yelps of his dogs as the predator picked them off one by one, night after night, until only three remained. That last night, when Ameer had wandered past the edge of the firelight. Stoneburner hadn’t even time to take aim. One moment, his research assistant was standing next to their sled. The next, he was gone.

Ameer’s shrieks seemed to echo yet.

You won’t have died in vain, my friend. This discovery will make your name immortal.

Stoneburner steadied his resolve and continued his trek. Miles below the surface, his journey halted when he discovered various beings trapped in the ice. The light of his headlamp revealed woolly mammoths, saber-toothed tigers, and other creatures he could not name. His breath plumed the air.

Grandfather, you were right.

Stoneburner’s headlamp flickered. The fuel was running low. Even so, he continued onward until one foot smacked an unyielding wall of ice. Stoneburner squinted, barely able to discern the frame of a creature trapped in the icy prison. The behemoth was covered in what appeared to be fur, or hair of some kind. It had a giant snout that resembled a crocodile, with teeth as large as those of a megalodon. The overall composition reminded Stoneburner of storybook illustrations of dragons and ancient lizards. He tapped the wall with his axe.

Green eyes, as large as his head, blinked. Smoke rose from its snout.

Stoneburner fled the cave. He hoisted up the rope and pulled himself free of the crevasse. Frigid wind cut his eyes and slashed his nose. Tightening the scarf around his face, he waded through the frigid landscape. Gust after gust hammered him like crashing waves.

When he reached his camp, he found it ransacked, the food gone, his supplies ruined.

A roar echoed off the rocky outcroppings of the desolate peak. The polar bear mounted on two feet, at least ten feet tall. Stoneburner reached for the revolver at his belt and cocked the hammer. The bear charged.

With shaking hand, Stoneburner pulled the trigger. A bullet smacked the bear’s chest. It stumbled. Snarled.

Stoneburner fired again. Missed.

The bear stood once more, primal hunger in its gaze. It closed the distance as Stoneburner sprinted, lungs burning, arms pumping, toward the glacier opening. He sprang for the rope, the bear’s claw swiping with a heavy swoosh just inches above his head as he rappelled downward into the glacier.

Now, with the bear huffing and pacing above, Stoneburner searched for another exit. If there was one entrance, surely there would be another?

Stoneburner removed a cigarette from his satchel and struck a match. Its filter bobbed between quivering lips as flame lit paper. A deep drag. Slow exhale.

He had no telegraph office nor mail carrier to send news of his discovery back to the university. He would die here… unless he could record his findings for the next bold explorer to unearth. It was a long shot, but what choice did he have? His grandfather deserved vindication. Ameer’s sacrifice had to be honored.

Slowly, Stoneburner removed a notebook and pencil from his jacket. He sketched the likeness of each unique cave painting and documented the different creatures trapped in the ice, noting their probable genus and characteristics.

When he reached the icy wall, he found it had melted.

The cigarette dropped from his lips and tapped the wet floor at his feet. Ashes fizzled.

The behemoth was gone.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lincoln Reed is an author, screenwriter, and professor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University (OH). More than 40 of his short stories are featured in online publications and print anthologies. His debut novel and short story collection are forthcoming from Springer Mountain Press.

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