Initially, Graham had tried to goad Baxter into talking about Fenrir. But Baxter kept his lips sealed. So, Graham had changed subjects. A lively multi-faceted argument had erupted, covering everything from science to history to geography. They didn't agree on anything.
I listened as their conversation changed to politics. Then it turned to welfare. And then it somehow segued into a debate over charity.
"Charity is evil," Graham said. "If God had half a brain, He would've made it a sin."
"Damn, you're cold," Baxter replied.
"Charities are no different then welfare. Both of them encourage sloth and mediocrity."
"They also help people. Or would you rather poor kids starve to death?"
"Shut up," I said. "Both of you."
They turned to look at me. I saw surprise etched across their faces.
"You can argue later," I said tightly. "Right now, Beverly should be the only thing on your minds."
Their eyes turned apologetic and they shot me quick nods. Then they turned their gazes to the tundra.
The snow fell faster. I shot a quick glance in the general direction of the Mühlig-Hofmann Mountains. I still couldn't see them amidst the white flurries.
For the last few weeks, I'd imagined what it would be like to see Beverly again, to stare at her face, to get lost in her eyes. I'd pictured the moment a thousand times in my head. I still didn't know if I would yell at her or kiss her. She was that frustrating, that intoxicating.
I slowly inhaled as a heavy drift came into view. Then I exhaled. The drift was small, too small to hide a Sno-Cat.
My heart thumped against my chest. From the moment I'd set foot on Antarctica's ice, I'd sensed her presence. I hadn't always recognized it. But it had always been there, filling me with energy and strength. She meant a lot to me. I didn't know what that meant, but hell, it had to mean something.
The powerful winds picked up speed. White powder blew into the air. It became difficult to distinguish the falling snow from the ground.
We drove further. A silhouette came into view. I could just make it out through the blowing snow. It was small and boxy.
Baxter steered the vehicle over a hump. A moment later, we banged softly onto a lower plain. The landscape rose up to meet the sky, forming a bare and bleak picture of white nothingness. Beside the object, I could see nothing else. Hell, even the object itself was barely visible.
We crossed more ice. The object grew larger. The edges materialized and it took the shape of an ice-covered rock.
A gust of wind blew snow out of my field of vision. I blinked and leaned closer to the windshield.
That's no rock.
Baxter's jaw tightened. We pulled to a stop.
I stared at the Sno-Cat. It was partially buried under a thick layer of powder and ice. I shifted my gaze to the surrounding area. I noticed a single lump, covered in snow. It was a few feet south of the vehicle.
My breath caught in my throat.
No. Please God, no.
Chapter 55
Gloomy silence hung over the cab. I followed Graham out the door and hiked over the ice. I stopped by the Beverly-sized lump. I didn't want to look at it. But I didn't have much of a choice.
I knelt down and brushed snow away from the lump. My heart beat a little faster.
I shoved my arms into the pile and felt around.
Just snow.
A tiny bit of hope sprouted up inside me. I stood up and walked to the snow-covered vehicle. I swept my arm across the bottom part of it. Powder blew into my face. Triangle-shaped treads materialized.
My arms worked fast, sweeping away large amounts of powder. Gradually, the rest of the Sno-Cat materialized. Long scratches ran the length of its chassis. One of its treads was crushed and had been ripped away from the vehicle. The driver's side door was heavily dented. The windshield was shattered.
I wrenched open the door. Large piles of snow greeted me. They nearly filled the cab.
I smelled blood in the air. Holding my breath, I scooped some powder out of the cab. I saw the seats. Claw marks covered them. Blood was splattered across the fabric.
"Fenrir?" Graham asked.
"Yes," Baxter replied.
"That's great. So, we're stuck between a monster out here and a murderer back at Kirby." Graham rubbed his forehead. "Has Fenrir ever killed anyone before?"
"Once," he said after a few seconds.
"Recently?"
"Decades ago."
"Are you serious?"
Baxter nodded.
"Decades, huh?" Graham looked thoughtful. "So, why is it attacking people now?"
"Maybe it's been in hibernation. When the
Desolation
exploded, it could've woken up again."
I ignored their conversation. Instead, I shut the door and walked around the Sno-Cat, looking for signs of Beverly. I saw plenty of blood splattered on the vehicle. But I saw no sign of her body.
I took a step backward. The Sno-Cat looked still, lonely, dead. I felt a touch of sadness as I stared at it. But mostly, I felt numb, inside and out.
"Fenrir is deadly," Graham said. "We need hunters out here as soon as possible."
"The last thing I need is a bunch of reckless jerks going on a polar safari," Baxter retorted. "Anyway I told you it's my responsibility."
"Why is it such a big deal to you?"
"Because it killed some friends of mine." Baxter clenched his fists. "I don't expect you to understand. But I've spent the last thirty years looking for it. I turned down jobs. I stayed on this godforsaken wasteland. I even moved to Fitzgerald to be closer to it."
"You wanted revenge."
"Damn straight."
"That's why you pretended it didn't exist." Graham shook his head. "Jeff had a right to know. You should've told him. Maybe he'd still be alive."
"It's not my fault. How was I supposed to know Fenrir would suddenly reappear?" Baxter pursed his lips. "Once I realized what was going on, I put the travel ban in place."
"Shut the hell up," I said. "Both of you. I'm sick of your goddamn accusations and excuses. Beverly's still alive. She's got to be. So, I don't want to hear another word until we've found her."
They glared at each other for another few seconds. Then they separated and began to search the area.
An idea occurred to me. I strode back to the vehicle. I opened the door and climbed into the cab. I leaned over the seat. A thick layer of snow—at least two feet deep—covered the cargo area. I rooted around it. My hand struck something hard yet soft.
I pushed away the snow. A space blanket lay underneath it. It appeared to be covering something.
Holding my breath, I removed the blanket. Another blanket lay directly underneath it. It was wrapped tightly around a body. I pulled it down. A face appeared.
Beverly's face.
Air exited my lungs. Carefully, I pulled off my gloves. My hand touched her blue cheek. Her skin felt icy. Tiny specks of blood covered her face.
Her parka was intact. So were her clothes. But I saw plenty of claw marks and the snow around her was drenched with blood.
I reached into her hood, felt her pulse. My heart thumped rapidly. A barrage of emotions struck me as I gathered her into my arms.
Hang in there, Beverly. Please. Just hang in there.
P
ART
IV
The Amber Room
Chapter 56
"Her pulse is getting weaker." I hoisted Beverly's blanket-covered body into the air. "We've got to hurry."
Baxter hopped out of the Sno-Cat and raced toward Kirby. Graham, hobbling on his artificial leg, was close behind him. Together, they propped open the doors. I sprinted through them and entered the common room. Candles provided dim light to the large space.
"Where to?" I shouted.
Baxter ran into the
Work
hallway. "Follow me."
I glanced at Beverly's blood-splattered face. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were chapped. Her cheeks looked pale and sunken.
Gritting my teeth, I followed Baxter into the corridor. I could feel Beverly's chest rising and falling, rising and falling. Every breath she took seemed shallower than the last one.
He slid to a stop in front of some thick metal doors. He grabbed a knob and tried to twist it. It didn't move. Swearing under his breath, he made a fist and pounded on the metal. "Open up, damn it. We need your help."
A few moments passed. The floor creaked inside the room. Faint shuffling noises moved toward us.
The door opened wide. Holly appeared. Her eyes were unfocused. Her face appeared flushed. Her hair was a mess. "What's wrong?"
Baxter jerked his thumb at Beverly. "She's been outside for a long time. She took refuge under some space blankets but she was exposed to a lot of cold air."
Holly's eyes widened. "We need to get her to Fitzgerald."
"We can't risk the drive. Like it or not, your lab is the closest thing we've got to a clinic."
Holly blinked. Her eyes focused. Her confused, helpless demeanor melted away. "Right. Bring her inside."
She glided over to a long table. Quickly, she swept her arm across the surface, pushing small instruments, books, notepads, and other items to one end. "Set her down here."
Gently, I placed Beverly on the table. She didn't stir. Instead, her head drooped to the side. Her cheeks seem to sink further into her face. She continued to breathe, but her breaths were eerily soft.
"Her name is Beverly Ginger, right?"
I nodded.
"Are you aware of any medical conditions or allergies?"
I shook my head.
Holly touched Beverly's forehead. "What happened to her?"
"I don't know for sure. She was unconscious when we found her." I took a deep breath. "But there was evidence of an animal attack."
"Fenrir?"
I nodded. "It spared her but killed Jeff Morin."
Holly's eyes grew wide. She started to ask me a question. But thinking better of it, she shifted her focus to Beverly. "Do you know how long she was exposed to the elements?"
"Almost forty-eight hours."
Holly shifted her hands, gently touching Beverly's body in various places. "Did you see any injuries?"
"She has some scratches and cuts on her torso. A few on her legs too."
"I'm not a doctor. But she's clearly suffering from hypothermia. It happens from time to time out here. Basically, her body can't generate enough heat to make up for the heat she's already lost."
"How do we treat her?"
Holly glanced at Baxter. "Go to my room. Get clothes and blankets."
He frowned.
"Now."
With a quick nod, Baxter disappeared.
"What can I do?" Graham asked. He looked lost, out of sorts. I knew exactly how he felt.
"Nothing yet." Holly pulled off the wet space blankets enveloping Beverly's body. "How's the storm?"
I took the blankets and tossed them onto another table. "Bad going on worse."
She unzipped Beverly's parka and pulled it off. Then she picked up a pair of scissors. "I guess Pat's right. We're on our own."
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"We've got to warm her up. She's inside now, away from the cold temperature and the wind. That's a good start, but it's not enough."
"So, you're cutting off her clothing?"
"Not all at once. I'm going to cut off a piece at a time and replace it with dry cloth. Meanwhile, I'll use fresh blankets to keep her warm." She inhaled a worried breath. "I'll have to get some water into her body too. She looks dehydrated."
Baxter ran into the laboratory. Blankets and clothes were piled high in his arms. "Where do you want this stuff?"
"Over here," Holly called out.
Baxter dumped the pile on the far end of the table.
Reaching into it, I grabbed a shirt. "We're ready," I said. "Start cutting."
"Get out," Holly replied. "All of you."
"But—”
"No boys allowed." Holly took the shirt from me. "She deserves her modesty. Anyway I can handle it from here."
I took a deep breath. "Is she going to be …?"
"Honestly, I don't know."
Graham grabbed my arm. "Come on."
My heart felt heavy as I walked to the door. Just before I left, I took one last look over my shoulder.
Beverly lay on the table. She was so stiff, so quiet.
I left the room, closing the door behind me. There was nothing more I could do.
It was up to Beverly now.
Chapter 57
Why?
I clenched my knees to my chest. Lowered my head. Shut my eyes. Silently, I replayed the last two days in my head.
Why didn't you look for her earlier?
I opened my eyes. Slowly, I straightened my back until it was pressed up against the wall. I sat in the hallway, directly across from the Whitlow laboratory. I'd occupied the space ever since Holly had ordered us to leave, over two hours in total. I kept waiting for her to open one of the doors, to extend her head into the hallway, to give me news. I dreaded it and desired it at the same time. But so far, I'd heard nothing.
Voices drifted into my ears. They came from the direction of the common room. It was Baxter and Graham, still arguing over the merits of charity. I felt a surge of anger. How could they talk about something so trivial after everything that had happened over the last forty-eight hours? The
Desolation
had exploded. Johnny Richards had died. Jim Peterson had disappeared. Ted Ayers and Jeff Morin had perished. And now, Beverly was hovering between life and death.
I fought hard to suppress my anger. People reacted differently to life-or-death situations. Some people cried. Others wanted solitude. And still others preferred to distract themselves with endless conversation.
"And here's another difference," Baxter's tone suggested frustration. "Welfare is forced. But charity comes from the heart."
"Bullshit," Graham retorted. "People donate out of guilt or to feel good about themselves. They don't care one bit about the people they're supposedly helping."