palm on the keel bar. She felt the winds tugging at the sails, at the boat. She attuned her entire form to match the racer. She extended her senses outward, listening with the boat in a way only someone deaf could. Through her connection, she
She eked out more speed, watching the speedometer climb past
“They’re firing!” Jenny shouted soundlessly at her.
A flash of fire struck to the right; ice shattered skyward. Amanda shifted the boat, turning the sails to catch the blast’s force.
They struck a lip of ice. The boat jumped high in the air, like a Wind-surfer catching the perfect wave. Fire exploded under them, taking out the ridge.
But the boat flew clear and away. Amanda lifted in her seat, but still trimmed her sail to carry them level. They hit the ice again, skating at impossible speeds.
Ice again rained down around them, but they were beyond the worst of the blast area. The boat flew across the ice, one with the storm, one with its pilot.
Craig pointed an arm. “Christ, they’re turning back. You did it!”
Amanda didn’t even bother to glance around. She knew she had succeeded. The racer skated, barely touching the ice now. She let the craft glide, blown by the storm. Only as their speed began to edge downward on its own did she touch the brake.
From the flaccid response of the handle, she immediately recognized the danger. The last jump had shattered the ice brake.
She continued to pump the handle. No response. She tried to reef the sail a bit, but the winds had too tight a grip. The ropes were taut bands of iron, jammed in their racks. The boat was not built for these speeds.
The others saw her struggle, eyes widening.
The winds gusted up. The needle on the speedometer crept up again.
That was as high as the speedometer could read.
They rocketed over the frozen plain. They were at the mercy of the storm winds, flying headlong out into the ice, at speeds at which a single mistake could kill.
There was only one course left to them.
Something Amanda loathed to do.
She yelled to the others. “We need an ax!”
Near to blacking out, Matt faced the rising pod of grendels. They circled up from below, slow, patient. They were in no hurry. Like Matt, they knew he could not escape. He was trapped between the ice above and the teeth below.
He remembered Amanda’s trick of luring the monsters away with her helmet and heating mask. If he could only find a way to bait them away…something hot…something bright…
Then a thought struck him. Something
He pawed into the pocket of his parka, praying it hadn’t fallen loose, an object he had nabbed from the severed hand of a Russian soldier while fleeing the ice station. It was still there.
He pulled out the black pineapple. It was one of the Russians’ incendiary grenades, the same as had killed Pearlson.
As Matt’s vision tunneled from lack of oxygen, he flipped up the trigger guard and pressed the button that glowed beneath it. He stared at the closest grendel, a white shadow spiraling upward, and dropped the grenade toward it, trusting the explosive’s weight to carry it down into the depths.
It dropped quickly, rolling down toward the waiting pod.
Unsure of the timer on the grenade, Matt curled into a tight ball. He covered his ears and exhaled all the stale air out of his chest, leaving his mouth open afterward. Seawater swamped into his throat. He kept one eye toward the rising sea monster.
The grendel nosed the grenade as it rolled past, nudging it.
Matt closed his eyes.
Then the world below blew with blinding fire. Matt saw it through his closed eyelids at the same time as the concussion wave struck him like a Mack truck, driving him upward, collapsing his chest, squeezing his skull in a vise grip. He felt a wash of fiery heat, searing his frozen limbs.
Then his body was blown upward. As the ice roof shattered with the explosion, he flew into open air, limbs flailing. He took one shuddering breath, caught a glimpse of the open ice plains, then fell back toward the sea, now covered in block and brash. Fire danced over the surface in oily patches.
Matt hit the water, sank, then sputtered up, dazed, his head throbbing. He paddled leadenly in the wash.
Ahead, a large form hummocked out of the depths, sluicing ice and flames from its back. It was pale white. Black eyes stared at him.
Matt scrambled away.
Then the bulk rolled…and sank down into the sea.
Shaking from both cold and terror, Matt stared up at the column of steam rising into the air. So much for his clandestine escape. As he searched for a way to climb out, figures appeared at the edge of the pit.
Russians.
Rifles pointed at him.
Matt clung to a chunk of ice. He was out of tricks.
16. Fathers and Sons
Staying low, Jenny freed the ice ax trapped under her body. As she lifted up, she peeked beyond the boat’s rail at the landscape whipping by. They were flying under the full force of the storm. Winds screamed. The hiss of the runners sounded like an angry nest of snakes under the keel. The vibrations through the hull set her skin to itching.
The ax in one hand, Jenny clung to the handrail with the other. She felt like she’d be kited off the shallow deck at any moment. “What do you want me to do?” she yelled into the wind.
Amanda pointed an arm to the boom. “We need to cut the sail loose! Rope’s jammed! It’s the only way to slow down!”
Jenny stared up at the ballooned sail, then back to Amanda so she could read her lips. “Tell me what to do,” she mouthed.
Amanda pointed, leaning forward so she could be understood. “I need the sail to break, but not tear away. We still need to power the boat. To do that, you must chop through some of the ties, get the sail to flutter. Once it’s loosened, I’ll be able to work the ropes. At least, I hope.” She indicated which ties she wanted Jenny to ax.
The first were easy. They were where the sail was secured to the boom. Jenny simply had to lie on her back and hack at them. As each rope was cut, the ties snapped away, popping from the tension. The sail shuddered, but held tight.
The next were trickier. Jenny had to crawl up to her knees, then lean into the wind. With one hand clutched to the mast, she swung up with the ax and sliced ropes that secured the sail to the mast. She worked her way up
