Ice Hunt

Bratt gasped at both the sight and the smell. He had worked one summer at a fish plant in Monterey. The heat, the reek of rotting fish guts, the stench of blood. It was the same here—but it was not fish that caused this smell.

Rolled to one side was the flayed and gutted body of some pale white creature. It looked like it might be a beluga whale, but this thing had legs. This creature was not the only one here. Another six specimens, fresher and intact, lay curled on the floor. Crusts and chunks of ice still clung to their pale flesh. Two had colored leads taped to their forms, running to machines with video screens. Small sine waves flowed across the tiny monitors.

Ogden searched around the room. “I don’t understand.” He turned to the panicked postgrad student. “What’s the matter?”

She pointed to one of the curled specimens, the one closest to its gutted brethren. “It…it moved…”

Ogden scowled at her and waved a dismissive hand. “Preposterous. It’s just the shadows in here. One of the light poles simply shifted.”

The girl hugged her arms around her chest. She didn’t look convinced. This was one seriously spooked girl.

Ogden turned back to Bratt and Washburn. “It’s the EEG readings. It’s disturbed some of our less experienced team members.”

“EEG? Like brain waves?” Bratt asked, staring over to the run of electronic waves across the monitoring screen.

“Yes,” Ogden said. “We’ve recorded some activity from the thawing specimens.”

“You’re kidding. These things are alive?”

“No, of course not. They’re fifty thousand years old. But such a phenomenon is seen sometimes when living specimens are frozen rapidly, then warmed again slowly. Though the subject is dead, the chemicals in the brain begin to thaw and flow. And chemistry is chemistry. Certain neurochemical functions will begin anew. But over time, without circulation, the effect fades away. That’s why it was so important that I stay and collect the data before it disappears. We’re looking at activity that hasn’t been seen in fifty thousand years!”

“Whatever,” Bratt said. “As long as these things stay dead.”

As if hearing him, one of the bodies spasmed. A tail lashed out of its curled position and struck a light pole, sending it crashing.

Everyone jumped back—except Dr. Ogden, who stared in disbelief.

The body unrolled further, twisting in savage S-curves. Then it began to flop and jerk on the floor like a hooked marlin. Violent tremors flowed through its frame in waves of convulsions.

The biologist stepped closer, one arm stretching out in amazement, as if he needed to touch it to make it real. “It’s reviving.”

“Doctor…” Bratt warned.

The beast flopped toward Ogden. Its maw split wide, revealing a shark’s jagged dentition. It snapped blindly at the biologist, coming within inches of his fingers. Ogden danced back, cradling his hand as if it had actually been bitten.

Bratt had had enough. He reached forward and yanked Ogden back, then shoved everyone behind him, rifle appearing in his hands.

The doctor stumbled next to him. “It’s amazing!”

Bratt opened his mouth, but he felt a sharp buzzing behind his ears. His jaw vibrated like a tuning fork. It was a familiar feeling. Working on a sub, he had been exposed to intense sonar. He knew what he was feeling.

Others felt it, too, rubbing at their ears.

Ultrasonics…

“Look!” one of the students said, pointing to the EEG machines.

Bratt glanced over. The slow sine waves were now spiking and racing. The two specimens attached to the lead were now beginning to tremble. Another tail whipped from its frozen curl.

They all fled to the crevice opening.

“I can’t believe it,” Ogden said, digging one finger in an ear. “I think the first beast is calling to the others.”

“With sonar,” Bratt said, jaw buzzing.

“Early whale song,” the biologist corrected. “The Ambulocetus is a progenitor of the modern cetacean species. The ultrasonics must act as a biological trigger, waking others of its pod. Perhaps even calling others to it. A defense mechanism. The better to protect each another.”

The thrashings spread. Equipment crashed. The ultrasonic keening grew worse.

Off to the side, the first creature lay panting, gulping air through its gaped jaws. It then rolled to its belly, unstable, shaking, cold.

“Someone shoot the damn things!” the girl urged in a high-pitched voice.

Bratt hefted his weapon up.

The biologist stared from the gun to the wobbly creature. “Are you crazy? This is the discovery of the century…and you want to kill it? We need to protect them!”

Bratt kept his tone civil but firm. “Sir, this ain’t no Free Willy situation going on here. Right now, I’m more worried about protecting us.” He grabbed the smaller doctor by the elbow and shoved him down the cleft. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, these things look more like great whites, than plankton-munching humpbacks. I think they can protect themselves just fine.”

Ogden began to protest, but Bratt turned away and faced Washburn. “Move ’em out, Lieutenant.”

She nodded, one eye on the thrashing monsters.

Bratt herded everyone behind him as they retreated. Once clear of the cliff, they hurried across the ice lake.

“The Russians must have known about this,” Odgen droned. “It must be why they are trying to commandeer the station. They want the glory for themselves.”

Bratt knew the doctor was wrong. He was one of the few who knew what lay hidden within the lab on Level Four. It was not glory the Russians sought, but silence and cover-up.

As they reached the far side, Washburn shouted from a few steps back. “Commander! We’ve got company!”

He swung around.

From the cleft in the cliff face, one of the creatures slid out onto the ice. Another followed it…then another…

They wobbled on their feet, shaky but determined. And after fifty thousand years, they were probably damn hungry, too.

“They’re waking up fast,” Ogden said, respect clear in his voice.

Bratt waved toward the exit. “Out!” he yelled. “Everyone get moving!”

Across the ice lake, three heads swiveled toward the sound of his voice. He again felt the buzzing surge sweep over him. The goddamn things were pinging him with their sonar.

“Shit,” he swore, raising his rifle as he retreated. They were being hunted!