Ice Hunt (34 page)

“What are you thinking?” Matt asked.

She hurried back to the crossroads, eyes scanning for any sign of the hunter. “These creatures hone in on light and heat signatures.” She flipped over her mining helmet and crammed the air-warming mask and its heater—now hot to the touch—inside the helmet.

She lifted her creation higher.

Matt joined her and nodded. “A lure for a false trail.”

“Let’s hope this does the trick.” She slipped past him, ducked low to the ice, and flung the helmet down the main tunnel. The yellow helmet skated and spun atop its crown, light twirling like an ambulance siren. It bounced off a wall and disappeared around the bend, carrying her air-warming unit with it.

Amanda stood and faced Matt. “Light and heat. The grendel will hopefully follow after the lure, heading deeper. Once past here, we can sneak behind its back and head up.”

“Like tossing a stick for a dog.” Matt nodded, eyeing her with more respect. He turned off his flashlight. The only illumination now came from the vanished helmet.

In the darkness, they retreated down the side tunnel and hid behind a tumbled fall of ice blocks. Crouched together, they stared back at the main passage. The glow of the helmet was faint, but it was stable. The helmet must have come to a stop somewhere below. Amanda hoped it rested far enough down the shaft to give them a good lead from the beast.

Now to wait, to see if the grendel took the bait.

1:18 P.M.

Matt knelt on one knee. He spied through a peephole that pierced the tumble of ice. Eyes wide, he strained to soak up every photon of light that illuminated the neighboring passage. He struggled to hear any sign of the beast. All that he could sense was the vague, nagging vibration of the hunting beast’s sonar. It was dull—but growing.

The woman’s fingers in his hand suddenly spasmed tighter.

Matt spotted it, too. Shifting shadows.

A dark bulk pushed into view, soaking up the feeble glow of the abandoned helmet. The creature filled the passage, shouldering up to the crossroads. In the shadows, it looked as black as oil, though Matt knew it was as pale as bleached bone.

It stopped.

Lips rippled back to show the glint of teeth. Its bulky head swayed to either side. The buzz of its sonar swamped over them. It seemed to vibrate the very darkness, searching for prey.

Matt held perfectly still. Though well hidden by the fall of ice, he feared any movement might attract the beast. Could it sense their body heat through the frozen blocks?

He felt the creature’s gaze upon him.

He feared even to blink.
Take the bait, damn you!

The gaze continued to penetrate the tunnel, suspicious, sensing something. It snorted deep in its throat—then it tossed its head around.

It slunk down the passage, slowly but steadily, drawn toward the light and the heat. Whatever it had sensed from them, it ignored and turned toward the stronger lure.

Then it was gone.

Matt waited a full minute, long enough for the beast to move far down the passage and around the bend. Then he carefully stood and moved back to the main corridor. They didn’t dare wait too long. Soon the grendel would learn of their ruse and backtrack here. They needed to put as much distance between the beast and themselves as possible.

Amanda kept beside him. He checked the passage. The shadow of the grendel could be seen sliding around the bend as the beast hunted its false prey.

He signaled Amanda.

They reached the main corridor and headed away into the dark, careful of their steps, feeling with their hands as the distant light of the helmet totally waned away.

After a minute, Matt had to risk using his flashlight, praying that the flare of light didn’t attract the grendel. He flicked on the lamp but held his palm over it, muting the glow. The light streamed faintly between his fingers, but it was enough. They increased their speed.

Neither spoke.

As they half ran and half skated along, moving upward in the passageways, Matt grew concerned about other grendels that might be down here. Yet so far there had been no telltale brush of sonar.

He finally risked his own walkie-talkie. He passed the flashlight to Amanda, then pressed the radio to his lips. He whispered, afraid to let his voice carry too far. “Lieutenant Greer? Can you read me? Over.”

He listened for an answer, racing a step ahead of Amanda.

A voice answered, faint but audible, “This is Lieutenant Commander Bratt. Where are you?”

Matt frowned. “Hell, if I know. Where are you?”

“We’re gathered with the others at the exit to the Crawl Space. Can you reach us?”

“I’ve found Dr. Reynolds. We’ll try our damnedest.”

Matt turned to Amanda. Beyond her, echoing up to them, a roar suddenly sounded.

From his expression, Amanda must have noted his distress. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Little Willy just discovered our ruse.”

Amanda glanced over her shoulder. “It’ll be back this way. Take off your boots.”

“What?”

“You’ll have better traction on the ice.”

Nodding, he bent and unlaced his pair of moccasin boots and yanked off his wool socks. The ice was cold, but she was right. He gripped the ice better. Tucking the moccasins into his jacket, he set off at a dead run with Amanda.

Matt raised the radio again. “Matthew Pike here. Dr. Reynolds and I are heading up. But we’ve got company on our tail.”

The answer was immediate. “Then haul ass as best you can. We’ll do what we can to help, but we have no way of telling where you are.”

Matt noted a splash of paint on the wall as he ran past.
Of course…
He raised the radio again. “We’re following the tunnels marked with green diamonds! Does that mean anything?”

There was a long pause, then the radio squawked again. “Roger that. Green diamonds. Out.”

Matt pocketed the radio in his patched Army jacket, praying they could help. Otherwise, he and Amanda were on their own.

They fled up the tunnels, racing through a series of convoluted passages.

Then Matt felt it: the buzz saw of the beast’s sonar.

The bastard had found them.

As he reached the end of a particularly long, straight chute, Matt glanced behind him. A pair of red eyes blinked into existence. Across twenty yards, they matched gazes: predator and prey.

A rumbled growl flowed from the grendel.

The challenge was given.

The final chase was on.

1:22 P.M.
OMEGA DRIFT STATION

Jenny fled with Kowalski across the snow. They ducked low as they ran, limiting their silhouettes. Wind shoved against their shoulders, trying to force them back. The edges of Jenny’s makeshift woolen poncho flapped and snapped. She used one hand to clutch the hood around her head, pulling the corners up over her mouth and nose, leaving only the goggles exposed.

They trudged on. The winds, the snow, the ice…all made their escape slow and torturous. The exposed inches of her skin already burned. But she dared not let up the fight.

Behind them, the sounds of gunfire cracked and echoed through the blizzard—but the shots weren’t directed at them. As planned, Sewell and the others had feigned a frontal assault, a rush at the barracks doors, intending to draw attention from the fleeing pair. The Russians would be forced to call for reinforcements to the barracks.

Jenny prayed no one was killed, but fear for her father was foremost in her mind.

Especially since their plan was feeble: get aloft, call for help, and ride the winds to the coast.

They rounded another building. The base’s parking lot appeared ahead. Across the ice field, shadowed mounds marked the resting places of various snow machines, a wintry cemetery of abandoned vehicles.

But there was no sign of the plane. With visibility down to a few yards, it lay cloaked somewhere deeper out in the snowstorm.

Crouched in the lee of the hut, Jenny tried to get her bearings. Blinded by the blizzard, they might walk right past the Otter without even seeing it. And they didn’t have the time to wander around and around. If the Russians didn’t kill them, the weather would.

Now that they had stopped, the cold sank through the layers of Jenny’s clothing, seeking the marrow of her bones. Her cheeks felt like they’d been scrubbed with a wire brush. She rubbed circulation into them with her palms. Her fingers felt swollen, like numb sausages.

They waited for the winds to let up for a single breath, hoping for the briefest glimpse of their target out on the ice field. But the winds didn’t cooperate. They continued to blow steady and strong, as sure as any ocean current.

Finally Kowalski’s patience wore thin. “Let’s go!” he hissed in her ear. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Behind them, the gunfire had died away. Sewell’s feigned insurrection had already been shut down. If the Russians performed a head count, they would come up with two short, and a search would start. They had to be gone before that happened.

Kowalski shouldered his way back into the full force of the wind. Jenny followed, using his broad back as a windbreak. They crossed through the parking lot and out into the scoured ice fields.

After ten steps, Jenny glanced over a shoulder.

The base had already vanished into the storm. Even the lights seemed more mirage than real.

They continued into the ice field. Jenny sought any sign of her aircraft. But they moved inside a white bubble, a snow globe continually shaken and swirled. They moved slowly, placing one foot in front of the other, aiming as straight as they could.

Minutes passed. Jenny grew concerned.
Surely we should have reached the Otter by now
.

Then a flickering light appeared. Kowalski swore. It had to be one of the base’s peripheral lamp poles, run off the generators. Disoriented, they had somehow circled back. But it made no sense. The wind was still in their faces.

A shadow suddenly darted through the weak glow. Dark and low to the ground…coming at them.

Jenny and Kowalski froze.

It moved too fast to discern any details.

Out of the storm, the dark beast lunged.

Kowalski bent to take the brunt of the charge, a bear about to take on a lion.

Then in a blink, the snow swirled, transforming shadowy beast into heartfelt companion.

“Bane!” Jenny dove around the Navy seaman and stepped into the wolf’s lunge. The huge canine knocked her back onto her rear. A hot tongue sought her cold skin.

The wolf could not push any closer to her, trying to merge his form with hers, scrambling, whining.

The light, borne aloft, approached. It was not a lamp pole, but a figure bearing a burning flare in hand. The shape, obscured by a thick parka, stepped toward them.

Jenny noted one thing immediately. It was a
blue
parka—not white.

U.S. Navy
.

“I knew it had to be either you or your husband,” the newcomer said. Relief rang in his voice. It was Tom Pomautuk, the ensign left in charge of Bane. “Bane started whining, then suddenly ripped out of his lead.”

Kowalski gained his feet. “Where have you been hiding?”

The young ensign pointed his flare. “Sheriff Aratuk’s airplane. When the first explosion hit, Bane bolted out here.”

Going for the familiar,
Jenny thought,
heading to the only piece of home he knows out here
.

“I had to follow,” Tom continued. “The dog was my responsibility. And once I realized what was happening, I thought I could use the radio to transmit a Mayday.”

“Did you reach anyone?”

Tom shook his head. “I didn’t have much time to try. I had to hide from the patrols, cram myself and the dog into the cargo space. But after the blizzard struck, I doubted anyone would risk coming out here. So I tried again. As a matter of fact, I was outside the plane, burning ice from the antennas with the flare, when Bane started to whine and tug in your direction.”

Jenny gave Bane a final pat. “Let’s get out of this wind.”

“Amen to that,” Kowalski said, a shiver trembling through his frame.

“What’s the plan?” Tom asked, leading them across the ice. The ghostly shape of the Twin Otter grew out of the white background.

Jenny answered, “First let’s pray the engines turn over. Under the cover of the storm, we should be able to start the engines with no one hearing. But it’ll still take a few minutes to warm them up.”

“You want to take off?” Tom asked, turning back to her. “Fly—in this weather?”

“I’ve flown in whiteout conditions before,” Jenny assured him. But this was no ice fog, she added to herself. The blizzard would challenge all her skill.

They reached the plane, undid the storm ties, and yanked away the frozen chocks. Once ready, they climbed inside. Insulated from the wind, the cabin seemed fifty degrees warmer. Jenny climbed over to her pilot’s seat. Kowalski took the copilot’s chair. Tom and Bane shared the row behind them.

The plane’s keys were still where she had left them. She switched on main power and ran a quick systems check. All seemed in order. She flipped toggles, disengaging the engine-block heaters from the auxiliary battery.

“Here goes nothing,” Jenny said, powering up the twin engines. The familiar vibrato of power trembled through her seat cushion.

The engine noise was lost somewhat on the winds, but Jenny could still discern the whine of the twin motors. How far did the sound carry? Were the Russians coming even now?

She glanced to Kowalski. He shrugged as if reading her mind.
What did it matter?

She throttled up slowly, letting the engines warm. Beyond the windows, she could vaguely make out the props stirring up the blowing snow.

After a full minute, she asked, “Ready?”

No one answered.

“Here we go,” she said, barely loud enough to be heard. It sounded, even to her, more like a prayer. She pushed the engines, the props chopped into the winds, and the Twin Otter broke from its spot on the ice. The plane slid on its skids, moving out.

Jenny worked the controls to angle them away from the base. Her plan was to taxi into the wind, using the force of the storm to help her get aloft. It would still be a hell of a ride.