"Hey Ted," Trotter called out softly. "See anything?"
The wind gusted. If Ayers responded, I couldn't hear it.
Quietly, I took my machete out of its sheath. I wasn't sure what to make of Trotter. But he'd attacked me twice already. Now, it was my turn.
I thrust the blade at him. It sank into his thigh.
He screamed.
The pressure on my neck released. Quickly, I snaked out from under his grip and leapt to my feet.
Trotter stood up. Clutching his knife, he stalked toward me.
I swung my machete in a wide arc, aiming the butt at his head.
Lifting his arm, he blocked the blow. Then he lunged at me.
I sidestepped him.
He dug his boots into the snow, tried to stop his momentum.
But before he could get a grip, I'd wrapped my arm around his throat and swung behind him. I stuck my blade against his neck. "Stop moving."
He complied.
"Drop the knife."
He hesitated for a split-second. Then his knife tumbled to the ground, embedding itself deep into the snow. "You can kill me. I don't care. Just tell me one thing. What'd you do to Pete?"
"Who is Pete?"
"Pete Cook. But you already knew that."
I spun him around so he faced me. I stared into his eyes. An old expression came to mind.
Eyes are the windows to the soul.
It sounded good, romantic too. But eyes could be deceiving. I'd known people with dead eyes—serial killer eyes—who would've risked their lives to save complete strangers. And I'd known individuals with bright, hopeful eyes who'd just as soon hack you to pieces as talk to you.
So, I focused on other attributes. His body language for one. The timbre of his voice for another.
I lowered my machete. Then I shoved him. "I've never met your friend."
Trotter staggered backward and fell into the snow. He stared at me for a few seconds. "You're letting me go?"
I shoved the machete back into its sheath. "On one condition."
"What's that?"
"That you start talking."
"What do you want to know?"
I crossed my arms. "Everything."
Chapter 45
"Kirby Station is like an old apple," Trotter said. "It looks fine from the outside. But take one bite and you'll taste the rottenness."
I rolled my eyes. "Forget the metaphors. Just start at the beginning."
"Pete, Ted, and I grew up together. We played together, studied together. We spent every waking moment of our childhood together."
"I get it. You were best friends."
"Yeah, at least until we finished school. Then Ted and I grew up. Pete didn't. He became a roustabout, usually an unemployed one. His proudest achievement was being able to drink beer through his nostrils. Over the years, Ted and I drifted away from him."
I nodded.
"I tried to call him. I urged him to get his shit together. But he didn't see it my way. Eventually, we stopped talking. That's why I didn't notice when he went missing."
"Keep going."
"About a year ago, he called me out of the blue. He was panicked, could barely get his words out. He told me he'd taken a job in Antarctica. But something had gone horribly wrong and people were trying to experiment on him, maybe even kill him."
"And you believed him?"
"Not at first. His words were slurred. You know, like he was drunk. I figured he was playing an angle, trying to squeeze some dough out of me. So, I hung up on him." Trotter's face crumbled. "Can you believe that? My best friend was in trouble and I hung up on him."
I grabbed his shoulder, gave it a hard shake. "Stay focused. What happened next?"
"He didn't call back." Trotter wiped his eyes. "A few weeks passed. Eventually, I started to wonder what had happened to him. When I went back to check the call log, I realized he'd been telling the truth.
"You traced the call here?"
He nodded.
"Did you try calling him back?"
"Several times. It turned out he'd been working for Jim Peterson. But Peterson had no clue what had happened to him. Evidently, Pete just disappeared one day. He left a note behind saying he'd gone home."
"Maybe that's what happened."
"No one remembered seeming him leave. Plus, I got my hands on that so-called note. I don't know who wrote it, but it definitely wasn't Pete. Well, I kept pushing for answers. I spoke to Holly, Roy, some seasonal workers. I even talked to Pat for a few minutes. He treated me like a nutcase."
"That doesn't surprise me."
"I couldn't let it go. But I couldn't just hop on a plane either. The bureaucrats keep a tight lid on this place. So, Ted and I went through the application process. We were already climatologists, so we just had to fake an interest in ice coring. We pulled some strings and fabricated a bunch of records detailing our work at other stations."
"That explains how you got here," I said. "But what were you doing in that storage room? Looking for Pete's paperwork?"
"Yeah, we figured it might contain a clue about what had happened to him. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your eye. When you barged into the room, all I could think about was getting away without being spotted." Trotter looked around. "Have you seen Ted?"
I glanced at the tundra. The wind blew at a fast pace, causing snowflakes to dance in the air.
"Ted?" Trotter called out.
An eerie feeling came over me, like I was being watched. My eyes scanned the area, searching for signs of life. But I saw nothing.
A loud scream sounded out. It was chilling, familiar. And yet it was unlike anything I'd ever heard in my entire life. My heart pounded against my chest. Clenching my machete, I spun toward the noise.
My ears popped and I cringed in pain. The earth rumbled. My feet left the ground. I felt myself hurtle through the air. Seconds later, I crashed face first into a pile of snow.
My vision faded.
Then all went black.
Chapter 46
I'm alive …
I opened my eyes. Saw darkness.
I think.
I tried to inhale through my nose, but my nostrils were blocked. I attempted to shout but my mouth was stretched open and plugged with ice.
I struggled to move my arms. Then I worked my legs. But I couldn't shift a single muscle. A terrifying realization came over me.
I'm trapped.
I was buried under a veritable mountain of snow and ice. It was everywhere. It pinned me down, restricted my movements, and hampered my breathing.
Move!
I thrashed violently, hoping to gain a little wiggle room. A couple of inches would do the trick. Hell, even just one inch. Something.
Anything.
But my body remained firmly encased in the icy tomb. My breath grew short. Cobwebs spun their way across my foggy brain.
I forced myself to lie still. Then I started to count.
One. Two. Three.
My breathing ceased completely.
Four. Five. Six.
My lungs started to burn.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
My brain reached through the cobwebs, screaming for oxygen.
Ten. Eleven. Twelve.
A tiny bit of strength gathered inside me. I harnessed it and redirected it to my jaw. Slowly, I worked the muscles. They moved, but only an imperceptible amount.
I maneuvered my jaws again. Saliva formed in my mouth. I continued to move my muscles. Unfortunately, my progress proved slow and my energy started to fade.
I could no longer think or concentrate. But I kept my jaws moving. Then my tongue shifted, breaking free from the ice. More saliva formed in my mouth. The ice started to melt.
More cobwebs appeared. They spun an intricate pattern over my brain, wrapping it completely. My mind started to shut down.
I moved my jaws one last time. The ice shifted. Then it broke apart. Air flooded my lungs.
I gnashed my teeth. The ice broke again and I managed to swallow it down.
I breathed rapidly, filling my lungs to full capacity. The burning sensation stopped. The cobwebs retreated from my brain.
Energy coursed through my body. I focused the newfound strength on my fingers, attempting to shift them back and forth. At first, the ice refused to budge. But eventually, I was able to gain a little maneuvering room.
I clawed at the snow. Small pockets formed around my hands.
More strength returned to my body. I scraped harder. The ice continued to melt and shift. The pockets grew larger.
What time is it? How long have I been here?
Wind swept over my icy tomb. I couldn't feel it. But it sounded loud, angry.
I stabbed my gloves into the ice over and over again. My muscles ached. My brain begged for sleep.
Damn, it's cold.
My pace slowed. Coldness crept its way across my body. My core temperature started to drop. Snow was an excellent insulator. But without some kind of heat source, I wouldn't last long.
Must go faster.
My muscles stopped working. I tried to rest, to gather more strength. But it didn't help.
I shifted my body, freeing my legs. With great difficulty, I managed to roll onto my stomach. Summoning the last of my strength, I pushed up. My back slammed into the ice. It refused to give way. Undaunted, I kept pushing.
Shift, damn it, shift!
My back burst through the ice. Wind rushed at my body, pushing it with incredible force.
My body sagged and I sank back into the hole. As I rested, my other senses went to work. My ears listened for voices. But all I heard was blustery weather. My nostrils sniffed, hoping to catch a familiar scent. But I smelled nothing. My tongue tasted the air, testing for salt or sweat. But it was just fresh snow.
My chest started to hurt. I tried to ignore it, but it only worsened. Through bleary eyes, I saw the long tear marks in my parka.
I unzipped it. Thanks to the
Desolation
as well as the Fenrir attack, my chest was heavily bandaged. I touched the bandages and winced as pain shot through my body.
Slowly, I crawled out of the hole. My head felt odd, as if it were detached from my body. A loud ringing noise filled my ears. The scent of burnt metal invaded my nostrils.
Powder swept into my face. Each snowflake felt like a tiny needle pricking my skin. At the same time, cold air spun around me like a tornado, attacking me on all sides.
I lifted my head. Nearly passed out from the pain. I sank to my knees. Somehow I managed to rotate my neck.
I found myself staring at a completely blank landscape. There was no sun, no horizon, no shadows, and no mountains. All I saw was smooth whiteness, punctuated by massive amounts of whirling snow. I didn't see anyone. Hell, I didn't see anything.
Not even Kirby.
I stood up. The wind crashed into me. I wobbled but managed to keep my balance.
Heavy snow stung my cheeks and got into my eyes. I rubbed them. Then I took another look around the area. About one hundred yards away, I saw tiny orange flames licking the air. Black smoke, barely visible, curled high into the sky.
The wind picked up speed. My cheeks throbbed. My core temperature sank even further. I wiggled my fingers. They barely moved. I'd been exposed to the cold temperature for far too long. Any longer and I'd be a permanent part of the landscape.
I turned in a circle. I saw no signs of life. I turned around again. I still didn't see anything. Gritting my teeth, I rotated again, this time moving much slower.
I stopped. Peered into the snow. A bit of relief came over me as I saw Kirby's dim outline.
I heard a loud pop. Even with the ringing in my ears, it nearly deafened me. Abruptly, the lights outside of Kirby vanished.
I heard another pop.
All of Kirby's interior lights vanished as well.
I rotated my body in another slow circle. Kirby and the vehicle shed were now invisible. I could still see hints of the flames. But I couldn't see the horizon or the distant mountains. And yet, it wasn't dark out. Far from it. It was a whiteout.
An endless whiteout.
Chapter 47
I couldn't stop shivering. I steeled my body. Held my breath. Folded my arms over my torn parka. But nothing helped.
With my eyes fixed on the flames, I slogged through another section of snow. The wind shrieked in my ears. My shivering turned into quaking.
"Cy?" A parka-clad figure burst out of the white landscape. "Is that you?"
I didn't break stride.
The figure drew closer. "It is you. Thank God."
I recognized Jenner's voice. "What happened?"
"The power plant exploded."
I frowned. "Dan was out here with me. Ted too."
"We found Dan, barely conscious. He's getting first-aid back at Kirby."
"And Ted?"
"We're still looking for him."
Through the blowing snow, I saw flames tickling the air. "Is that the power plant?"
Jenner nodded.
"Last I saw, Ted was heading in that direction."
"I was afraid of that," Jenner said. "Unfortunately, we can't go that way."
I halted. "Why not?"
"Pat doesn't want anyone near the power plant. He's worried about another explosion."
"But Ted might be over there."
Jenner shrugged.
I recalled Kirby's long history of electrical failures and power outages. Then I started forward again, favoring my right leg.
Jenner hurried to catch up to me. "Did you hear what I said?"
I nodded.
"Then we should be going in a different direction."
"You go wherever you want. But I'm going to search the power plant. Ted might be in there." A frown creased my face. "Plus, I'm not convinced Pat's worried about another explosion. I think he's hiding something. And I want to know what it is."
Chapter 48
The power plant materialized in front of my eyes. It was a small building, constructed from brick red materials. A series of tripod-mounted circular fans stood nearby, forming an ultra-modern wind farm. The tripods rose four feet off the ground. The circular fans added another six feet in height.