James Rollins - Ice Hunt

Craig crossed to the single door, opposite the sea gate. There was a small window in it. Beyond he could see the narrow hall that led back to the station. It had flooded almost to the roof. No Russians would be coming from that direction.

Amanda had to lean in close to read his lips. “What about Matt and the Navy crew?”

Craig bit his lip. He had a hard time meeting her eye. “I don’t know. They’ll have to take care of themselves.”

Earlier, while watching from the electrical room, he had seen Washburn slip and fall, alerting the two Russian guards. The resulting rifle fire had driven him back to the civilian party. Surely Matt and the others were dead or captured. Either way, he couldn’t risk staying around. So he had led their group off — going down rather than up. The gate control room seemed the perfect hiding place.

Dr. Ogden, along with his graduate students, stepped to join them, careful of the icy floor. “So are we just going to hide here, simply wait for the Russians to leave?”

Craig shifted aside a wooden box of empty vodka bottles. The last survivors of Ice Station Grendel must have had a party at the end. The bottles clinked as he moved them. Wishing for a stiff drink himself, he sat on one of the crates. “By now, someone must know what’s going on here. Help has to be on its way. All we have to do is survive until then.”

Amanda continued to stare hard at him, her gaze penetrating. Craig sensed her deep anger. She had not wanted to flee earlier, not without knowing the exact fate of Matt and the Navy crew. But she had been outvoted.

Craig looked away, unable to face that silent accusation. He needed something to distract himself, something to get all their minds off of their current situation. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out one of the three volumes he had looted from the research laboratory. Here was a puzzle to help them bide their time. Perhaps even one of the scientists might have a clue to deciphering this riddle.

Amanda’s eyes widened, recognizing the book. “Did you steal that?”

Craig shrugged. “I took the first volume and the last two.” He slipped the other books from his jacket and passed one to Amanda and one to Ogden. “I figured these were the best. The beginning and the end. Who needs to read the middle?”

Amanda and Dr. Ogden opened their copies. The biologist’s students peered over their professor’s shoulder.

“It’s written in gibberish,” Zane, the youngest of the trio of grad students, commented, his face screwed up.

“No, it’s a code,” Amanda corrected, fanning through the pages.

Craig cracked the third volume that still rested in his lap. He stared at the opening line.

“But what’s this script?” Craig asked. “It’s clearly not Russian Cyrillic.”

Amanda closed her book. “All the journals are like this. It’ll take a team of cryptologists to decipher them.”

“But why code it at all?” Craig asked. “What were they hiding?”

Amanda shrugged. “You may be reading too much into the code. For centuries, scientists have been paranoid about their discoveries, hiding their notes in arcane manners. Even Leonardo da Vinci wrote all his journals so that they could only be read when reflected in a mirror.”

Craig continued to stare at the odd writing, trying to find meaning in the squiggles and marks. But no answer came. He sensed something was missing.

As he sat, a new sound intruded. At first he thought it was his imagination, but the noise grew in volume.

“What is that?” Magdalene asked.

Craig stood up.

Amanda stared around at the others, confused.

Craig followed the noise to its source. It echoed out of the crack, where the broken wheel had shattered through the wall. He crouched, ears cocked.

“I…I think…it’s barking,” Zane said as the others crowded around.

“It’s definitely a dog,” Dr. Ogden said.

Craig corrected the biologist. “No, not dog… wolf !” Craig recognized the characteristic bark. He had heard it often enough over the past few days. But it made no sense. He could not keep the amazement out of his voice. “It’s Bane .”

Crouched at an intersection of tunnels, Jenny signaled Bane to be quiet by raising a clenched fist. At her side, the wolf cross growled deep in his throat, pushing tight to her, protective. Matt had trained the dog to respond to hand commands, an especially useful tool while hunting out in the woods.

But in this case, they were the prey.

Tom Pomautuk stood behind her, flanked by Kowalski. He pointed to the green spray-painted diamond that marked the tunnel to the left. “That way,” he whispered, breathless with terror.

Jenny pointed for Bane to take the lead. The dog trotted ahead, hackles raised, alert. They followed.

For the past half hour, they had caught glimpses of the beasts: massive, sleek, and muscular creatures. But similar to their experience with the first creature, they had found a way to keep them at bay.

Jenny gripped her flare gun. The explosion of light and heat from a flare blast was enough to disorient the creatures and send them scurrying back — but they continued to dog their trail. And now they were down to two charges, loaded already in the double-barreled gun. After that, they were out of ammunition.

The light around them suddenly flickered, going pitch-dark for a long moment. Tom swore, knocking the flashlight against the wall. The light returned.

Kowalski groaned. “Don’t even think about it.”

The flashlight, retrieved from the emergency kit in the Twin Otter, was old, original gear that came with the plane. Jenny had never changed its batteries. She cursed her lax maintenance schedule as the flashlight flickered again.

“C’mon, baby,” Kowalski moaned.

Tom shook the light, throttling it with both hands now. But no amount of rattling could fan the flashlight back to life. It died.

Darkness fell around them, weighing them all down, pressing them together.

“Bane,” Jenny whispered.

She felt the familiar rub on her leg. Her fingers touched fur. She patted the dog’s side. A growl rumbled deep in him, silent but felt through his ribs.

“What now?” Tom asked.

“The flares,” Kowalski answered. “We can strike one of ’em, carry it. It might last till we find somewhere safe to hole up away from these monsters.”

Jenny clutched her flare gun. “I only have two charges left. What’ll we use to chase the creatures off?”

“Right now, we need to see the creatures if we have any hope of surviving down here.”

Jenny couldn’t argue with that logic. She cracked open the weapon and fingered one of the charges.

“Wait,” Tom whisped. “Look over to the right. Is that light?”

Jenny stared, straining to see anything in the darkness. Then she noted a vague spot of brightness. Something glowing through the ice. “Is it the station?”

“Can’t be,” Tom answered. “We should still be a ways off from the base entrance.”

“Well, it’s still a source of light.” Kowalski stirred beside Jenny. “Let’s check it out. Light one of the flares.”

“No,” Jenny said, staring toward the ghostly light. She reseated the flare and closed her gun. “The brightness will blind us to the source.”