บท 12: Keeyhole
The dim glow of their flickering flashlight cast long, dancing shadows across the wreckage as the three men rummaged through the debris, their hands slick with grime and exhaustion settling deep into their bones. It had been hours—or was it days?—since they started searching, yet no pathway, no escape, had revealed itself.
The narrow corridors of the ship creaked ominously around them, the sounds of its dying structure echoing through the empty spaces like a faint, distant wail. The air was stale, tinged with the metallic scent of rust and decay. Bjorn's breath was shallow, and his muscles burned from endless hours of moving twisted metal and broken cables. But he remained silent, his mind too occupied to complain, too numb to care.
Across the hallway, Arne's voice finally broke the oppressive silence. "Mikkel! There's still nothing here!" His frustration echoed, bouncing off the cracked walls and frayed wires hanging from the ceiling. He was tired, his voice tinged with desperation.
Mikkel's response came back, calm, almost indifferent. "Okay. Keep the search up."
Arne clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath his skin, but he said nothing more. He knew Mikkel's calm was a mask—something to keep them moving, something to keep the doubt at bay. Bjorn remained wordless, his gaze distant as he continued to sift through the rubble, his mind drifting somewhere far away from the broken corridors and crumbling structure of the Altera.
Minutes bled into hours, and the flashlight they carried began to dim, its light wavering on the verge of extinguishing altogether. Fatigue had settled in, their limbs heavy and aching. Bjorn's thoughts felt slow, as if his mind had finally succumbed to the numbing weight of exhaustion.
And then, out of nowhere, Mikkel's voice cut through the silence, sharp and triumphant. "Finally! I found something!"
Arne and Bjorn snapped to attention, their bodies sluggish but propelled by the surge of adrenaline that shot through them. They stumbled through the wreckage, their feet catching on broken cables and shattered fragments of the ship. Arne nearly tripped, his foot snagging on a protruding metal pipe, but he pushed forward, following the sound of Mikkel's voice.
When they reached him, they found him standing inside a room labeled Third Quasipod Department (3QD)—a forgotten corner of the ship, hidden away in the wreckage. The room itself was small and dimly lit, with broken control panels and shattered displays scattered across the floor. But Mikkel wasn't looking at the mess on the ground—his eyes were fixed on something above.
"Look," he said, pointing to a small opening high up in the ceiling, hidden behind a barely functioning lamp. It was a tight kneehole-like space, likely an opening for cables, just large enough for a man to crawl through.
Arne squinted at it, his body sagging from exhaustion. "We'll fit?"
"Just barely," Mikkel replied, a glint of hope in his eyes.
Bjorn let out a slow, tired breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. "It's been a long day," he said, his voice thick with fatigue. "Let's rest a bit before we head in. We can't do this if we're half-dead."
Mikkel nodded in agreement, and so did Arne. The men dropped to the ground, their bodies sinking into the cold metal floor as they tried to settle into the temporary stillness of the room. But rest, as it turned out, was impossible.
The weight of everything hung heavy on them—Lars's death, the endless search, the suffocating reality of their situation.
They lay there, their bodies aching, but sleep refused to come. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion. It was the trauma that lurked in their minds, the mental strain that clawed at them relentlessly, refusing to let them drift into the safety of unconsciousness.
Bjorn stared at the ceiling, the kneehole barely visible in the dim light. His thoughts were scattered, memories of the past hours swirling in his mind. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow.
It was Bjorn who broke the silence first, his voice quiet, almost distant. "Remember the first time we hunted together?" He stared at the dim ceiling of the Third Quasipod Department, his face reflecting both exhaustion and the fleeting comfort of old memories. "That winter. Mikkel, you taught me everything I know about surviving in the wild."
Arne shifted slightly, his back against the cold wall. "Yeah, back when the animals were still plentiful. Before they got smart and started avoiding us."
Mikkel nodded, leaning back against a broken control panel. "Those were hard hunts," he said, his voice low. "But nothing compared to now. You boys learned quick, though. After a few years, you both could track anything that moved, even in the deep snow."
Bjorn let out a small, tired chuckle. "I remember that time we tracked that elk through the valley for three days. Anna was furious when I came back empty-handed, said I wasted time and energy." He shook his head, the memory of his wife's face flickering in his mind. "But it wasn't a waste. We learned."
Arne smiled faintly at the mention of Anna, Bjorn's wife. "Elin was always giving me grief when I came back from a hunt. She'd say I spent more time with the animals than I did with her." He paused, his expression softening as he thought of his wife. "But I'd always bring something home. Not much, sometimes just a hare or a couple of birds, but enough to keep us going."
The mention of their families brought a brief warmth to the cold, lifeless room. They had built their homes in the only way they could—by repurposing the remnants of the Altera, turning the wreckage into a village nestled deep in the snow-covered mountains. The outside world was brutal, the cold relentless. But their little community, with its makeshift huts and scavenged materials, had kept them alive.
"Mikkel," Bjorn said, "you always kept us focused. Every hunt, every tactic... you'd push us just enough. Made us better." His voice wavered slightly. "It was you who taught me how to live out here."
Mikkel's eyes darkened slightly, but he gave a faint nod. "I just wanted to keep you boys alive," he replied. "We all needed each other back then. And we still do."
For a moment, they fell silent again, but this time the silence wasn't as suffocating. It felt almost like a moment of peace, a brief reprieve from the weight they carried.
Arne broke the quiet, his voice softer now, as if he were talking to himself. "I think about the Olander family sometimes... Arvid, Tobias, Magnus, Helene... How they've managed all these years. The boys have grown strong, but they still young for cold world out there."
Bjorn nodded, thinking of the Olanders—the family who had always been like a second home to him. "Arvid always kept everyone's spirits up, even when the hunts were lean. Tobias is practically a man now. And Magnus... that kid has the heart of a warrior. They'll manage. Somehow, they always do."
Mikkel grunted in agreement, rubbing his hands together as if to ward off a cold that wasn't there. "The Thors family is another story, though," he said. "Astrid, Olaf, and their kids. They're struggling. Olaf's got years of experience, but the weight of healing everyone's wounds and beeing the only medic is wearing him down. I can see it every time we speak."
"Yeah," Arne sighed. "Olaf's strong, but he's trying to act like everything is okay. I don't know if any of us are ready for the kind of world we're in now."
Bjorn's gaze softened. "None of us were ready, Arne. But we didn't have a choice, did we?"
The fire in their memories flickered, casting a dim warmth over the cold metal walls. They weren't just surviving; they were living for the people they loved—Anna, Elin, their children, the Olanders, the Thors. Their memories of shared stories around the campfires, of feasts that seemed like distant dreams now, were what kept them going. Those moments had bound them together, had made them family.
Mikkel stared at the ground, his voice a whisper now. "Lars always used to say that those moments... they're the reason we keep pushing forward. Not the hunt. Not survival. It's for the people we care about."
Bjorn nodded. "Yeah, Lars knew that better than any of us."
For a long moment, they sat in silence, their minds wandering back to the stories of the past. People they cared about, it was their only motivation to keep living, to keep pushing forward, even if it meant their end.
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