Lincoln Child - Terminal Freeze

“That tale you told me,” he said to the shaman. “About Anataq and the gods of darkness. It was unsettling, even to me, an outsider. I have to ask: If you truly believe we are dealing with a kurrshuq-a devourer of souls-why did you agree to come back with me?”

Usuguk glanced up at him. “My people believe that nothing happens without a reason. The gods had a destiny for me, foreordained from the day I was born. When I was a young man, they led my step away from my people-led me to this place-knowing that in the end it would bring me back, stronger and closer than before. By turning my back on the spirit world, I embraced it.”

Marshall returned the look thoughtfully. And then he understood. All these years, by living-even by the most traditional Tunit values-an ascetic, monastic, spiritual life, Usuguk had been atoning for temporarily betraying his faith. And returning here-the very place of that betrayal-was his final act of atonement.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Marshall said. “I didn’t mean to expose you to such extreme danger.”

The Tunit shook his head. “Let me tell you something. When I was a very young child, back when the hunts still took place, my grandfather would always return with the largest walrus. People wanted to know his secret, but he would never tell. Then, finally, when he was an old, old man, he confided in me. He would take his kayak out past the straits, he explained, into the deep ocean currents, farther than anyone else ever dared go. I asked why he would do such a thing-as you say, expose himself to extreme danger-just for the largest catch. He told me that the hunt itself was danger. If you are going to walk on thin ice, he said, you might as well dance.”

There was a noise from beyond the glass partition and then Faraday entered, loaded down with electrical and mechanical equipment. “Here are the spare oscillators and potentiometers,” he said. He glanced over the apparatus on the cart. “Where are the batteries?”

“Sully went to find some,” Marshall replied.

“Good. Once we have those, we can start the test runs, and-”

At that moment there was a sharp crackling noise from the control room. Marshall looked over. It was the radio Gonzalez had issued them, balanced on the top edge of the mixing board.

The radio crackled again. “Hello?” It was Ekberg’s voice. “Hello?”

Marshall stepped out of the studio and into the control room. He grabbed the radio, pressed the Transmit switch. “Kari? It’s Marshall. Go ahead.”

“Oh, God. Help me!” Her voice was ragged, pitched at the edge of hysteria. “Help me, please! That thing-it got Emilio. It picked him up, it picked him up, and it-”

“Kari. Calm down.” Marshall tried to modulate his voice, keep it reasonable. “Now I want you to tell me: Where are you?”

He heard a series of panicky breaths. “I’m…oh, God…I’m at the entrance plaza. By, by the sentry station.”

As Marshall pressed the Transmit button again, Logan and Faraday came in from the studio and took up positions around the radio. “Okay. Do you have a flashlight?”

“No.”

“Then head down to the stairs to the officers’ mess. Quickly and quietly as you can. You’ll find spare flashlights there. Weapons, too. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. Now go there right away. Once you’re there, radio me again.”

“It’s going to come for me, I know it is. When it’s done with Emilio. It’s going to come, and it’s going to…it’s going to-”

“Kari. I’m coming to get you. I’ll lead you to my position. Just keep your head. And don’t lose that radio.”

There was another crackle, then the radio fell silent.

Marshall turned to Faraday. “Find Sully. Help him with the batteries. Then move the sonic weapon out of here, into the corridors of E Level. We’ll need this science wing as a fallback if it doesn’t work.”

Faraday nodded, then quickly left the control room. Marshall looked over at Logan. “Remember what you said about bait? Looks like it’s going to be me.” And without another word he snugged the radio into his pocket and raced out of the room, heading for the hatch to the central wing.

Kari Ekberg stumbled down the corridor of C Level, the flashlight slick in her sweaty hands. Her shins ached from where she had barked them on protruding ducts and storage crates; her knees were skinned from half a dozen falls onto unforgiving steel and linoleum floors. Thank God the light and radio still worked. Yet again she forced the dreadful images from her mind: Conti screaming as blood flew in all directions like spray from a rotary sprinkler. Yet again she told herself, over and over, like a mantra: Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

It had taken fifteen minutes to descend the two decks from the officers’ mess: fifteen minutes of unadulterated terror. Now she passed the laundry, ancient washers and dryers standing in silent rows below curling posters exhorting cleanliness. Next was the tailoring shop: a nook barely large enough for a desk, a sewing machine, and a tailor’s dummy. Beyond, the hallway divided. She stopped and fumbled with the radio. Her hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to depress the Transmit button.

“I’m at the hallway junction by tailoring,” she said, hearing the quaver in her voice.

Marshall ’s voice crackled back. “I just reached D Level. Hold on, I’ll radio Gonzalez for directions.”

She stood, gasping for breath, in the close darkness. This was the worst time: standing, waiting for instructions-and waiting for that strange full feeling in the ears, the stealthy tread that signaled the approach of nightmare…

“Make a left,” Marshall ’s electrified voice said. “At the end of the hall, make another left. You’ll see a staircase: go down it. I should be waiting there. If not, radio me.”

Ekberg pushed the radio back into the pocket of her jeans. Turning left, she shone the light around briefly, searching for obstacles, then took off at a jog. She passed the food-preparation areas: empty kitchens, huge porcelain sinks gleaming and spectral. A dozen doorways flashed past, yawning onto rooms black and mysterious. Her knees and shins throbbed fiercely, but she pushed the pain to the back of her mind. Ahead, illuminated by a single bulb, she could see the hallway divide again. Go left, he said. Go left, and you’ll see a…

Suddenly, her foot caught against something and she fell headlong to the floor, her radio clattering away down the corridor, the flashlight rolling against the wall and winking out. God, no, no…

Crawling on hands and outraged knees she felt around frantically for the flashlight. One hand closed over it and, heart in her mouth, she pressed the switch. It flickered, went out, then brightened. Thank you. Thank you. Pulling herself to her feet, she shone the light ahead, searching for the radio. There it was: on the ground maybe ten feet ahead. She raced to it, knelt, scooped it up.

“Hello!” she said, fumbling with the Transmit button. “Hello, Evan, are you there?”

Nothing. Not even static in reply.

“Evan, hello!” Her voice spiked sharply with anxiety and dismay. “Hello-!”

Suddenly she stopped. Something had just set off her instinct for self-preservation, five-alarm. Was that the padding of feet from the darkness behind, heavy and yet horribly stealthy? Was that blood rushing through her ears, or some faint, strange-almost unearthly-singing? Terror coursed through her afresh, and with a sob of despair she jammed the broken radio back into her pocket and forced herself to start running once again. The light at the end of the corridor drew closer. And then she was at the intersection, veering left, shining the light wildly ahead, searching for the stairwell.