Word had spread quickly. People had poured out of the ice tunnels. But with the Russians breathing down their necks, they didn’t have time to do a complete sweep of the Crawl Space on foot.
As such, when the dust settled, people turned up missing — including the head of Omega, Dr. Amanda Reynolds.
With folks unaccounted for, Bratt had felt compelled to stay behind, but he had been surprised when Lieutenant Washburn had
As they continued deeper, Bratt appraised his partner. Washburn was actually a couple of inches taller than him, tall for a woman, but lean and muscular. She looked like a track runner. Her hair was worn in a crew cut, giving her a stark look that somehow didn’t lessen her femininity. Her skin was smooth coffee, her eyes large and deep. But for the moment, she was all business.
And so was he. He switched his focus to the ice tunnels. He had a mission: find any civilian strays and keep them safe.
Lifting the bullhorn to his lips, he squeezed the trigger. His words blasted from the horn, echoing down the tunnels. “This is Lieutenant Commander Bratt! If anyone can hear this, please sound off!”
He lowered the bullhorn. His ears rang. It took a moment for him to be able to listen for any response. He expected no answer. They had been searching and shouting for a half hour without even a whisper of a response. So when someone finally did call out, he wasn’t sure if it was real or not.
Washburn glanced back to him, one eyebrow cocked.
Then the shout repeated, faint, but ringing clear through the ice tunnels: “Over here!”
It came from ahead of them.
Together, they hurried forward. Bratt shrugged his rifle higher on his shoulder. His field jacket and parka were heavy with ammunition, gleaned from his own men as they evacuated back to the sub. Washburn was similarly loaded down, but she sped ahead of him.
The tunnel emptied into a large ice cavern, full of idling generators, lamp poles, and equipment. The air here was noticeably warmer, humid. The back half of the cavern was a wall of pocked volcanic rock.
“Christ,” he swore under his breath.
A short, bald man, bundled in an unzippered parka, came slipping across the ice lake that floored the room. It was one of the base scientists. He was flanked by two younger men.
“Dr. Ogden?” Washburn said, identifying the lead man. “What are you still doing here? Didn’t you hear the call to evacuate?”
“Yes, yes,” he said as he reached them, out of breath, “but my work has nothing to do with politics. This is science. I don’t care who controls the station as long as my specimens are protected. Danger or not, I could not leave them. Especially at this critical juncture. The thawing is near completion.”
“Specimens?” Bratt asked. “Thawing? What the hell are you talking about?”
“They must be protected,” the scientist insisted. “You have to understand. I could not risk the data’s corruption.”
Bratt noted the shifting feet and wringing hands of the man’s younger associates — postgrads by the look of them. They were not so convinced.
“You have to see!” Dr. Ogden said. “We’re picking up EEG activity!” He hurried back the way he had come, back to the volcanic cliff face.
Washburn followed. “Is Dr. Reynolds here, too?”
Bratt dogged after them to hear the answer.
But the doctor’s response dashed such hopes. “Amanda? No, I don’t know where she is.” He glanced back, eyebrows tucked together. “Why?”
“She’s here somewhere,” Washburn answered. “Supposedly off with Dr. MacFerran, looking for a missing colleague.”
Ogden rubbed at his frozen mustache. “I don’t know anything about it. I’ve been here all night with the biology team.”
As they reached the wall, Bratt noted water splashing underfoot, flowing from a crevice in the cliff face. The biologist led the way into the cavern. But after a few steps, a new form came splashing from deeper inside, running headlong into them.
It was another student, a young woman in her early twenties. Bratt caught her as she slipped in her panic.
“Professor! S-something’s happening!” she stammered.
“What?”
She pointed back down the cleft. She tried to speak, but her eyes were wild.
Ogden fled forward. “Is something wrong?”
They all followed after him. In another ten steps, the way opened into a space the size of a two-car garage. It was a bubble in the rock. More lamp poles glowed. Equipment was stacked all around.
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
