Ice Hunt

Yesterday evening, with only the single flashlight, the chamber had been spooky and lost in time. But now, under the glare of the halogen spots, the place had a clinical aspect.

As before, the dissected creature lay sprawled and staked across the room’s center. But rather than being frosted in ice, appearing old, it now glistened and dripped. The exposed organs wept in trickles and shone like fresh meat on a butcher’s block. It looked like the dissection had started only yesterday, rather than sixty years ago.

Beyond the carcass, through the sheen and flow of meltwater over their surfaces, the six large blocks of ice had become clear crystal. At the heart of each block lay a curled pale beast, nose tucked in the center, long, sinuous body wrapped around the head, then its thick tail around again.

“Does their sleeping shape remind you of anything?” Dr. Willig asked.

Amanda searched her nightmares and found no answers. She shook her head.

“Maybe it’s because of my Nordic heritage. It reminds me of some of the old Norse carvings of dragons. The great wyrms curled in on themselves. Noses touching tails. A symbol of the eternal circle.”

Amanda ran along the logic track of her friend. “You think some Vikings might have found these frozen beasts before. These…grendels?”

He shrugged. “They were the first polar explorers, crossing the North Atlantic to Iceland and glacier-shrouded Greenland. If there’s a clutch of these creatures here, who’s to say there are not others scattered throughout the frozen northlands.”

“I suppose that’s possible.”

“Just an idle thought.” He stared over at the melting blocks. “But it does raise some misgivings in my mind. Especially with all the death found here in the station.”

She glanced at him. Dr. Willig knew nothing about Level Four.

He continued, clarifying his point: “All those Russian scientists and staff personnel. It’s a tragedy. It makes you wonder what happened sixty years ago. Why the station was lost.”

Amanda sighed. She remembered her first cold steps into the tomb. All the bodies—some skeletal, as if starved; some clear suicides; others had met more violent ends. She could only imagine the madness that must have set in here.

“Remember,” she said, “the base was lost in the forties. Before the time of satellite communication. Before submarines had reached the North Pole, and before the tangle of Arctic currents was ever mapped. All it would’ve taken is a fierce summer storm, or a communication breakdown, or a mechanical failure in the base, or even a single, lost, resupply ship. Any of these mishaps could’ve resulted in the station’s loss. Back in the 1930s, the Arctic reaches were as remote as Mars is today.”

“It’s a tragedy, nonetheless.”

She nodded. “We may have more answers when the Russian delegation arrives in a few more days. If they’re cooperative, we might have a more complete story.” But Amanda knew of one detail the Russians would never be fully forthcoming about. How could they? There was no explanation to justify what had been found on Level Four.

She noted the oceanographer’s eyes focused on the curled grendels and remembered he had never finished his last thought. “You mentioned some misgivings. Something about the old Norse symbol of the curled dragons.”

“Yes.” He rubbed his chin, making it slightly harder to read his lips. When he saw her squinting, he lowered his hand. “Like I was saying, the symbol signifies the circle of eternal life, but it also has a darker, more ominous significance. And with all the tragedy found here…the fate of the base…” He shook his head.

“What else does the symbol represent?”

He faced her fully so she could read his lips. “It means the end of the world.”

7:05 A.M.

Lacy Devlin crouched elsewhere in the Crawl Space. As a junior research assistant with the geology department, her shift under Connor MacFerran did not begin for another two hours. Then again she had already spent most of last night under Connor in his makeshift room here at the base. He had a wife back in California, but that didn’t mean the man didn’t have needs.

She smiled at the memory as she laced her skates.

All set, she stood and stared down the long, slightly curved ice tunnel. She did a few stretches, working loose the knots in her thighs and calves. Her legs were her trademark. Long and smoothly muscular, swelling to powerful hips. She had been a speed skater with the U.S. Olympic team back in 2000, but a torn anterior cruciate ligament in her knee had benched her career. She had eventually finished her undergraduate work and moved to graduate school in Stanford. That was where she had met Connor MacFerran.

Lacy took a few steps in her short-track skates. They were ankle-high, composed of graphite and Kevlar molded to the shape of her feet. When worn, they were as much a part of her body as her own fingers and toes. She also wore an insulated skin suit—striped red, white, and blue—over thermal underwear. And of course a helmet. In this case, not her usual plastic racing headgear, but one of the geologists’ mining helmets, equipped with a light on its brim.

She started down the tunnel. She had skated many times across the surface of the polar ice cap, but the tunnels were more challenging. The swooping water-melt channels were a delight to fly through.

She pushed with her legs, extending fully, still feeling a bit of that deep ache from last night with Connor. It added to her exhilaration and excitement. Last night, for the first time, he had said he loved her, whispering it urgently in her ear, panting each word as he thrust into her. The memory warming her now, she barely felt the cold.

As she began her run, the tunnel slanted in a short decline, increasing her speed. She had a set course that she ran each morning since the discovery of the Crawl Space. It was out of the geology team’s way. There were no interesting inclusions to sample, so the passages in this section were not sanded. Two months ago, she had first walked the course to sight any obstacles and memorize which turns made a complete circuit, ending where she started.

Lacy sped around the first bend, sweeping up the curved ice wall. The wind of her speed whistled in her ears. She crouched as she came around the corner. Ahead lay a series of switchbacks, a crazy S-shaped twist of tunnel. It was her favorite part of the circuit.

Balancing herself, she kept her left arm tucked behind her back and swung her right arm in sync with her stride. Back and forth, she pushed with her legs, accelerating into the switchbacks. She hit the twisted section of tunnel with a shout of glee. With each cutback, she flew high up the walls, momentum keeping her riding in perfect balance.