Siberius (24 page)

             
“It isn’t luck.” A sharp pain dug into her side, but she clenched her fists and jaw and rode it out. In a moment, it was gone.

             
“You sure you’re okay?” Nick said, and she nodded. “Maybe we should rest.”

             
“When that torch goes out,” she said. “So do our hopes of getting out of here.”

             
They continued walking, accompanied by the echoing drip of forming stalactites. The damp smell, like an old cellar, was growing stronger, and the temperature was dropping. Nick wondered if that meant they were going deeper under ground. Claustrophobia began to creep in.

             
“You don’t think we encouraged it, do you?” he said.

             
“Not intentionally. I mean, in theory, this is how we thought they would react to us.”

             
Nick was dumbstruck. “It
is
?”

“
Which is why we went to such great lengths to hide our presence.”

             
“You’re telling me this is
normal
for them?” he said in disbelief. “Hunting us down like dogs?”

             
“I don’t know what
normal
behavior is for this species. No one does. How they’re reacting to us isn’t the important issue, though. Not in the grand scheme of things.
Why
is the real question. Look at the attack on the cabin. I’ve been in Siberia nine years and not once did they venture as far south as the cabin.”

             
“You said I snored,” said Nick half-joking.

             
“They attacked because they could hear you, but they were already in the area,” said Talia. “They also never traveled as far as the Chukchi village. Obviously, they’re expanding their territory.”

             
“Sounds like the states right now,” Nick said. “Everyone’s heading west for sunshine and business opportunities.”

Talia froze.
Of course!

It was so obvious, she hadn’t seen it before.
I have been alone too long
she thought.
I was so wrapped up in the novelty of Nick’s company, I didn’t think about the meaning of his presence.
In a supreme epiphany, she understood.

As he turned to face her, Nick’s eyes instead focused on something just behind her. “Talia, do you-” he barely got the words out before the Smilodon attacked.

              They had no time to react as it leaped from the shadows and slammed into Talia, knocking her into a stand of stalagmites. Six-foot columns of pointed stone that took thousands of years to create toppled like bowling pins. Talia tumbled through the air, then hit the floor on her back. The Smilodon leaped at her, landing directly over her with its forelegs on either side of her shoulders. Talia looked up to see the beast’s mouth stretch to deliver the fatal bite.

Nick didn’t hesitate as he grabbed one of the pointed stalagmite pieces and, holding it over his head, charged the cat. The tip of the stalactite slid into the rump of the great cat, spouting gouts of blood. The beast twisted around, swiping a claw and catching Nick’s arm. His screams of pain were cut short as the cat’s body mass collided with Nick, sending him crashing into the far wall. The Smilodon flailed, tried to dislodge the spear. Talia got up, dodging the beast as she ran to Nick’s side.

His blond hair had gone bloody red. He wasn’t moving.

             
A whirlwind of teeth and claws, the cat smashed against the cavern walls, then into a cluster of stalactites Geological checks and balances crumbled under the force of the animal’s body, and with a thunderous crash, the ceiling collapsed, separating the cat from its human quarry.

             
Talia threw her body over Nick as the deafening rumble spilled billowing clouds of dust and rubble toward them. She closed her eyes, hoping the falling rock would miss them.

28

As the torch fire weakened, Talia tore a strip from the tail of her shirt and wrapped it around the flame head. With the extra brightness, she turned her attention to Nick’s motionless body. His coat sleeve had born the brunt of the cat’s swiping claw, and the wound on his arm was shallow. Next, she focused on his head, lifted it and found a gash. Easing him back down, she turned him over and reached into the backpack for the canteen. Despite the head injury and what must be a concussion, he was lucky. The pack acted as a cushion when he hit the cavern wall, preventing more serious injuries. In a minute, Talia had cleaned the wound and applied pressure. The blood was clotting. He would not need stitches.

She looked around the cavern. Pebbles and dirt streamed in from new cracks in the ceiling. A packed-tight wall of rubble blocked the tunnel from which they had come. There was no way to go now but forward. The option of returning to the mummy room was no more.

              For the next three hours she sat, cleaning Nick’s face of dust as it sprinkled from the ceiling. There was no sign of the Smilodon, and Talia wondered if it had been buried in the rubble. Despite everything, despite the terror the beast had invited, she still felt sorry for it. She hadn’t wanted to hurt it. She hadn’t wanted to be its victim, either.

             
Lost in thought, she at first didn’t hear the mechanical rumbling of engines. As they grew closer, though, the clatter was unmistakable, and Talia searched the cavern for the source. She stood up and listened, walking the room as the noise grew louder. It was coming from above. She considered her options, but decided she had none. A moment went by before she smelled the exhaust of diesel fuel. They were closer to an exit than she had thought.

The Maultier passed a bald clutch of rock, the tank-like tracks kicking up cakes of snow as it began its descent into a barren valley. Not far behind, the GMC Jimmie 6x6 belched black smoke and rumbled over the uneven road.

In the cargo bed, Private Nierbanski sat on the cold wood bench bundled to the chin. With glazed eyes, he cleaned his rifle and smoked while the rest of the soldiers tried to sleep. Nierbanski turned to spit out the back, then noticed that they were being chased.

In the distance, a woman in a heavy coat ran down the road, waving her arms. Nierbanski yawned, allowing his eyes to flood with tears before shutting them. When he opened them again, he saw that she was still there. This time, despite the clatter from the engine, he could also hear her. With one quick motion, he set the gun on the floor and clambered over the sleeping soldiers, too excited to holler out. When he got to the cab, he could contain himself no further. Pounding on the little glass window, he yelled out, “Stop the fucking truck!”

              Nick regained consciousness and fought nausea as his eyes tried to focus on a shaky world. Seconds passed before he realized it wasn’t the world that was shaking, it was him. His body bounced along on what he recognized as the rigid suspension of a truck.

             
“Talia?” he said, then lifted his head. She stroked Nick’s hair.

             
“Nick,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Nick looked beyond her, and at first saw nothing but blurred ghosts. Soon, they formed into solid shapes: soldiers in Soviet uniforms. One of them stood up and pulled Talia away, pushing her down between two other soldiers. Her wrists were cuffed, her face sad.

             
Even if he hadn’t been injured, he still couldn’t have defended her. For the second time in a week, he was tied down and immobilized. He glanced around the covered truck bed. The soldiers surrounding him were in bad shape, too. How did they find him? He couldn’t remember, but he knew from that point on, he wouldn’t have to deal with Talia’s Smilodons any more.

             
Comforted in the fact, Nick again slipped into unconsciousness.

             
The two-truck convoy reached the valley floor and rumbled on for several more hours. Rounding a peninsula of jagged rock and scrubby raspberry bushes, they came upon the 12-foot gate of Angara Labor Camp. The Maultier and lone Jimmy came to a stop, brakes squeaking in high-pitched objection.

             
Radchek climbed out of the driver’s seat, leaving Barkov alone in the cab. The colonel sat motionless with an eerie dead smile on his face. “Hello?” Radchek called out. He studied the chained gate. The wire fencing was rusted and full of holes. Above and inside the perimeter, a weathered guard tower stood watch over nothing. Inside the compound, a double row of gray concrete buildings bisected the camp. There were smaller outbuildings scattered around as well, some with caved-in roofs. A shell of snow wrapped everything up, granting the compound uniformity while hiding its insidious purpose.

             
“Hello?” Radchek called out again.

             
Vukarin climbed out of the Jimmy’s cab and stood on its running board. “It’s abandoned,” he hollered. Radchek’s tired eyes twitched. Just then, the door of what resembled a two-story shack opened up, revealing a large, bearded man in a black coat.

             
“Yes?” he said as if answering a neighbor’s call.

             
The man’s casual tone infuriated Radchek. “Open this gate,” he screamed. “Now!”

29

              A blast of cold shocked him awake, and Nick found himself lying on a clammy concrete floor, soaking wet and half naked. His head throbbed, the cold was painful. He focused on the first available image and for whatever reason, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw. A blurry wall of steel bars separated him from an equally blurry man on the other side.

             
“Awake, comrade?” the figure asked in Russian. Nick got to his knees, embraced his own shivering body for warmth. The figure turned away, addressed someone Nick couldn’t see. “Get this man a blanket.” Another figure appeared, opened the cell door and tossed Nick a blanket that smelled like a barn. Nick took it anyway, wrapped himself up. Added warmth brought with it a clearer picture and within seconds, Nick Somerset saw who was speaking to him.

             
It was the same man he had run into at the radar installation. He was a colonel, a fact that Nick had recalled from there meeting earlier in the week. Standing there, the colonel watched Nick with a grotesque smile and bloodshot eyes. He barely looked human.

“
You are comfortable, yes?” the colonel asked.

Nick was still too shocked to answer.

“Good, quite good. You’re fortunate we happened along when we did.” The colonel entered the cell while private Nierbanski stood with a rifle near the opened door. “Here, we can do better.” He took Nick by the shoulders and helped him to a simple wood bed with a straw-filled mattress. “Careful, careful,” he said, “That’s right.” The mattress smelled even worse than the blanket.

             
“Where am I?” Nick asked.

The colonel raised an eyebrow at how clean Nick’s Russian was. “Your Russian is quite good.” He paced the cell. “You even have a slight Ukrainian accent. But I’m being rude. My name is Aleksei Barkov. I’m a colonel in the People’s Army.” There was a long pause as Barkov waited for Nick to talk. “You don’t care to introduce yourself?”

              Despite the odd compassion of his host, Nick was in deep trouble and he knew it. Yet his own safety wasn’t his primary concern. Where was Talia? More important, was she safe?

             
“I have nothing to say,” said Nick.

             
Barkov nodded, expecting nothing more. “Of course not,” he said. “Of course not. You don’t have to say anything.” Barkov turned to private Nierbanski. “Leave us.”

             
Confused, the soldier said, “Colonel?”

             
In a calm voice, Barkov answered with a curt, “Get the fuck out.” The soldier saluted and left.

             
“Now, where were we?” Barkov said. “Ah, yes, introductions.” He waited.

             
Nick swallowed, his throat stuck together, dried by from the frosty November air. “Agent Porky Pig,” he said in a stoic,
what’s the point
voice. “Serial number Kiss My Sweet Ass. I have nothing to say to you, colonel.”

             
“Fine,” Barkov said. “I wanted to do all the talking anyway. There are some things I would like to share with you. You are not in any way obliged to respond. In fact, please don’t, it will break my train of thought.” Barkov removed his cap and placed it under his arm. His head jerked twice, a strange sort of tick that left Nick feeling vulnerable.

             
“First, let me say that I like Americans. Very resourceful.” Barkov found a wooden stool in a corner, set it close to the bed and sat. “Nevertheless, you are a spy. You will not be going back home.” The colonel’s frankness and the manner in which it was delivered drained Nick. “For that, I am sorry. I, on the other hand,
will
be going home.”