James Rollins - Ice Hunt

The only time in the past years when she had felt fully connected to the world had been those few moments in Greg’s arms. The warmth of his body, the softness of his touch, the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin…all wore down that wall that separated her from the world.

But he was gone now. She understood he was a captain first, a man second, that he had to leave with the other civilians, had to rescue those he could. Still, it hurt. She wanted him…needed him.

She hugged her arms around herself, trying to squeeze the terror from her own body. The burst of courage she had been riding since seeing a grendel for the first time had waned to a simple will to survive, to continue moving forward.

Tom stirred beside her, petting Bane as he stood watch. Kowalski guarded the opposite side of the hall. The tension kept their faces locked in a stoic expression, eyes staring unblinkingly.

She imagined she appeared the same.

The waiting wore on them all. They kept expecting an attack that never came. The Russians…the grendels…

She followed Tom’s blank stare down the hall. She recalled her earlier discussion with Dr. Ogden.

The biologist had developed a theory about the grendels’ social structure. He imagined that the species spent a good chunk of their life span in frozen hibernation. A good way to conserve energy in an environment so scant on resources. But to protect the frozen pod, one or two sentinels remained awake, guarding their territory. These few hunted the surrounding waters through sea caves connected to the Crawl Space or scoured the surface through natural or man-made egress points. While exploring down here, Ogden had found spots in the Crawl Space that looked like claws had dug a grendel free from its icy slumber. He had his theory: “The guardians must change shift every few years, slipping into slumber themselves to rest and allowing a new member to take over. It’s probably why they’ve remained hidden for so long. Only one or two remain active, while the rest slumber through the centuries. There’s no telling how long these things have been around, occasionally brushing into contact with mankind, leading to myths of dragons and snow monsters.”

“Or Beowulf’s Grendel,” Amanda had added. “But why have they stayed here on this island for so long?”

Ogden had this answer, too. “The island is their nest. I examined some of the smaller caves in the cliff face and found frozen offspring, only a few, but considering the creatures’ longevity, I wager few progeny are necessary to maintain their breeding pool. And as with most species with small litters, the social group as a whole will defend their nest tooth and nail.”

But where are they now? Amanda wondered. Fire would not hold the grendels at bay forever, not if they were defending their nest.

Tom swung around, clearly attracted by some noise.

She turned and looked. The group by the ventilation shaft stirred. She immediately saw why. A length of red rope snaked from the opening, dangling to the floor. Jenny had made it to the top.

The group gathered closer.

Craig faced them with a hand up. His lips were illuminated by his lantern. “To minimize the load on the rope, we should go up in groups of three. I’ll go with the two women.” He pointed to Amanda and Magdalene. “Then Dr. Ogden and his two students. Then the Navy pair with the dog.”

He stared around, waiting to see if there were any objections.

Amanda glanced around herself. No one seemed to be disagreeing. And she surely wasn’t going to. She was with the first group. Without any protests, Craig helped Magdalene up, then offered a hand to her.

She waved for him to go ahead. “I’ve been climbing all my life.”

He nodded and mounted the rope, pulling himself up.

Amanda then followed. The climb was strenuous, but fear drove their party quickly upward, away from the terror below. Amanda had never been happier to see daylight. She scrambled up after the other two, then rolled into open air.

The winds buffeted her as she stood.

Jenny helped steady her. “The blizzard is breaking up,” she said, her eyes on the skies.

Amanda frowned at the blowing snow, blind to the surroundings beyond a few yards. The cold already bit into her exposed cheeks. If this storm was breaking up, how bad had it been before?

Craig bent to the hole, clearly calling to those below, then straightened and faced them. “We’ll have to hurry. If the storm is letting up, we’ll have less cover.”

They waited for the next party — the biology group. It didn’t take too long. Soon three more figures rolled out of the ventilation shaft. Craig bent again to the shaft.

Amanda felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck quiver. Deaf to the storm and the chatter around her, she sensed it first. She swung around in a full circle.

Sonar…

“Stop!” she yelled. “Grendels…!”

Everyone tensed, facing outward.

Craig was still at the hole. He scrambled in his parka for one of the Molotovs. She saw his lips moving. “…screaming down the shaft. The creatures are attacking below, too.”

Henry Ogden struggled to light his own Molotov, but the wind kept snuffing his lighter. “…a coordinated attack. They’re using sonar to communicate with one another.”

Amanda stared into the whiteout. It was an ambush.

From out of the deep snow, shadowy figures crept toward them, slipping like hulking phantoms from the heart of the storm.

Henry finally got his oily rag burning and tossed his bottle outside, toward the group. It sailed through the snow, landed in a snowbank, and sizzled out. The beasts continued toward them.

Amanda caught movement from around another ice peak to the far right. Another grendel…and another.

They were closing in from all sides.

Craig stepped forward, a flaming Molotov in his raised hand.

“Avoid the snow,” Amanda warned. “It’s fresh, wet.”

Craig nodded and threw the fiery charge. It arced through the blowing snow and struck the knifed edge of a pressure ridge. Flame exploded across the path of the largest group.

The beasts flinched, stopping.

Run away, she willed at them.

As answer, Amanda felt the sonar intensify, a grendel roar of frustration. Out in the open, they were less intimidated by the fiery display.

Craig turned to her, to the others. He pointed an arm. “Back down the ventilation shaft!”

Amanda swung around in time to see Bane leap out of the same shaft, snarling and barking, as wild as a full wolf. But Jenny caught her dog, trying to keep him from running at the grendels.

Around them, there was much shouting. Amanda heard none of it. People were too panicked for her to catch what was being said. Why was no one diving into the shaft?

Then she had her answer.

Kowalski scrambled out of the hole, shouting, red-faced. “Get back!” She was able to read his lips as he yelled. “They’re right on our tail!”

Tom appeared next, the left arm of his parka singed and smoldering. He rolled out, shoving his arm into the snow. Smoke billowed from the shaft. “The shaft caved in with that last Molotov. It’s blocked.”

Kowalski stared toward the flames out in the storm, his face sinking. “Shit…”

Amanda turned. The fires from Craig’s Molotov were foundering in the snowmelt. The beasts, obeying some sonar signal, began to march toward the group again, splashing and stamping through the remaining flames.

As Amanda backed, the party pulled tighter together.

There was no escape.

Standing only a yard away with his AK-47, the Russian fired at Matt’s head. Muzzle flash flared from the rifle barrel. Still deafened from the grenade blast, Matt didn’t hear the shot— or the one that took out the shooter .