James Rollins - Ice Hunt

“The Russians!” Pearlson hissed. “They beat us here!”

Matt noted the polynya through which the submarine surfaced. It was small, too small for the large Russian sub. Little room for more than the conning tower.

“What are we going to do?” Matt asked.

“I’m almost out of gas,” O’Donnell said.

Greer was senior officer here. He didn’t hesitate, thinking quickly. “Make for the station!”

Matt nodded, silently agreeing. They needed cover. It was death to stay out here. Surely the submarine’s hydrophones had heard their Cat trundling over the ice. The Russians would know they were here.

O’Donnell kicked the slowing Sno-Cat back up to full speed. Matt bounced to the ceiling as the vehicle struck a particularly sharp ridge.

“Hang on!” O’Donnell yelled.

Matt rubbed his head and sat back. Now he tells me .

Greer clutched the seat back in front of him. “O’Donnell…”

“I see them, sir!”

Matt glanced over to the sub. Men in white parkas climbed to the top of the sub’s flying bridge. Arms pointed toward them.

The Sno-Cat made a sharp turn, racing toward the base’s opening.

“Slow down!” Craig yelled from the front seat, arms braced against the dashboard.

Matt’s eyes widened as he realized what the driver intended. “You’ve got to be kidding…”

O’Donnell jammed the Sno-Cat forward. It flew straight at the tunnel.

Gunfire suddenly erupted. Slugs tore into the back end of the Cat, sounding as if someone had tossed a flaming bundle of firecrackers into their trunk. The noise deafened. Glass shattered out of the rear window.

Matt might have shouted, but it was hard to tell.

Then the Cat hit the tunnel.

O’Donnell downshifted and slammed the brakes hard. But the Cat’s momentum was unimpressed by his efforts. It shot down the stairs, rear end flying high, bouncing off the ice ceiling. The back of the cabin crumpled under the collision — then the Cat rebounded to the stairs with a squeal of treads.

The passengers became a tangle of flailing limbs. More glass showered upon them.

Matt caught a glimpse of steel doors in the headlamps ahead.

Then they struck with an impact that slammed everyone forward. Matt flew over the front seat, striking the windshield with his shoulder. The window popped from its frame. He rolled out onto the hood, half draped in safety glass. He slid all the way to the floor beyond, landing in a graceless heap in front.

At least they had stopped.

“Are you all right?” Craig asked as Matt pushed to his feet. The reporter leaned forward out the cab. His scalp injury had reopened. Blood trailed over his face.

“Better than you,” Matt answered, testing his limbs to make sure he wasn’t lying.

O’Donnell groaned, cradling his side. He must have hit the steering wheel hard, bruising some ribs. In the backseat, Greer and Pearlson were already up, staring out the shattered back window, watching for the Russians.

Matt surveyed the state of their transportation. The Sno-Cat was jammed in the doorway, a plug in a storm drain. “Nothing like door-to-door service.”

“Everybody out!” Greer ordered from the backseat, retrieving his weapon from the floor. He pointed toward Matt and the station.

The doors were pinned by the station’s frame, but with the windshield gone, they had a ready-made exit. Matt helped them clamber over the hood.

“Move deeper down!” Greer yelled as he climbed through last, waving them ahead. “The Sno-Cat’s wreckage will slow the Russians, but who knows for how long.”

As a group, they hurried down the passage. Greer caught up with Matt. He shoved a 9mm Beretta pistol at him. “Do you know how to use this?”

“I served in the Green Berets.”

Greer glanced harder at him, judging him anew, then slapped the gun into his hand. “Good, then you won’t shoot your goddamn foot off.”

Matt hefted the weapon. “Not unless it would get me out of this mess.”

Within a few more yards, the entrance tunnel emptied into a large circular space with rooms opening off it. Tables and chairs were spread around a central staircase. Half-eaten meals dotted some of the table-tops. They searched the space as they crossed it, weapons ready.

It was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Matt asked.

Running, Greer led them down the stairs. The second level was just as empty.

“They’re gone,” Pearlson said, shocked.

“Evacuated,” Greer corrected. “The Polar Sentinel must have gotten wind of the attack and come directly here. Cleared the base.”

“Great,” Matt said. “We came all the way out here to warn them, and they’ve already rolled up shop.”

“What are we going to do?” Craig asked, half his face bloody, the other half ashen.

Greer continued taking them deeper. “There’s an old weapons locker on the third level. Grenades, old rifles. We’ll grab as much as we can carry.”

“Then what?”

“We hide. We survive.”

“I like the last part of your plan,” Matt said.

As they reached the third level, gunfire suddenly sounded, echoing to them. It didn’t come from above them — but below .

“Someone’s still here,” Craig said, eyes wide.

“It sounds like it came from the level just under us,” Pearlson said.

“Let’s go!” Greer led the way.

As they set off, an explosion blasted from above. Everyone froze again.

“The Russians,” Matt said.

“Hurry!” Greer ordered and continued down the stairs.

Voices called out above them. Orders shouted in Russian. Footsteps echoed, running.

Craig and Matt fled down the steps after Greer. Pearlson and O’Donnell maintained their rear guard. They hit the fourth level. Here, instead of a common open area like the tiers above, the stairs opened onto a long hall.

It was empty, too. But a set of double doors blocked the far end.

“The Crawl Space,” Pearlson said behind them.

“It’s a good place to hide,” Greer said. “A fucking maze. C’mon!”

“But who was shooting?” Craig asked as they ran.

Matt wanted to know, too.

Greer frowned and growled, “Pray it’s our guys.”

Matt took the lieutenant’s suggestion to heart. They needed reinforcements. But this, of course, begged another question.

If it was the good guys, what were they shooting at?

In the gloom of the bone nest, the massive creature crept toward Amanda’s hiding place, hunched, suspicious, unsure. Its maw gaped open, teeth bloody. Claws still trailed shredded bits of Lacy’s racing suit.

Pressing deeper into the crack in the ice, Amanda sensed an ultrasonic wailing from the grendel, which she felt in her jawbone, the roots of her teeth, the hairs on the back of her neck. It kept her frozen, like a rabbit in headlights.

Go away, she begged with all her heart. She had been holding her breath for so long, stars began to glow across her vision. She dared not exhale. Small rivulets of cold sweat ran down her exposed face.

Please…

The grendel approached within a foot of her niche. Silhouetted against the glow from the outer cavern, the beast’s features were shadowed. Only its two eyes still captured some of the light reflected off the ice walls.

Crimson…bloody…emotionless and as cold as the press of ice overhead .

Amanda met that gaze, knowing she would die.

Then the beast whipped its head around, back toward the exit tunnel. The creature’s sudden movement drew a startled breath from Amanda. She couldn’t hold it any longer. She tensed, fearing she had given herself away.