Ice Storm (15 page)

"Yeah, but maintaining metabolism is a different story," I replied. "For all you know, those people entered eternal oblivion the moment they died."

"I don't believe that."

My face screwed up into a frown. "Isn't cryonics, I don't know, messing with nature?"

"Sure. But any sort of medical treatment can be viewed as altering nature."

"That's not what I mean. What if you revive someone but their soul has already departed their body?"

"Then we've got a zombie apocalypse on our hands." Her eyes flitted back to the GPS device. "We're real close. We should probably walk from here."

I took my foot off the accelerator. Carefully, I pushed the brake pedal. The Sno-Cat slid to a halt. I opened the door and stepped away from the vehicle. Holly, GPS in hand, took the lead and we trudged northeast for several minutes.

The snow was thick as a sheet. I took a quick glance behind me. The Sno-Cat was invisible. "How are we doing?" I asked.

"We're close," Holly replied. "Very close."

"Where do we go from here?"

She pointed. "See that ridge? The one that kind of pops out of the ground? We found the tardigrades on the other side of it."

Peering through the whirling powder, I spotted a peculiar snow bank. It rose about a foot into the air. Then it ran straight for a bit before dipping back to ground level.

I fingered the handle of my machete. Maybe this was the true
Werwolfsschanze
. If so, that meant the Amber Room—or whatever was left of it—was finally within my reach.

I stopped in front of the snow bank. Kneeling down, I brushed away some powder. Then I thrust my fingers into the snow and started to dig.

Holly's eyes grew wide. "Is that concrete?"

I began pulling away larger sections of snow. Particles danced in the air. "Sure is."

"You knew about this, didn't you?"

I kept my head down and continued to attack the snow. Holly joined me. Rupert retreated to the Sno-Cat and returned with a couple of shovels.

We worked the edges, digging around the sides. The concrete was laid out in a rectangular shape, roughly ten feet long by twenty feet wide. It was too small to be a laboratory. But it was the perfect size for a vault.

My excitement surged. I moved to the center of the object. I stabbed my shovel into the snow a few times. It banged against metal.

"What was that?" Rupert asked.

I scooped away some snow. A curved piece of metal, covered with ice, appeared. "It looks like a door."

"Where's it go?" Holly asked.

I shrugged.

"I think you know more than you're telling us."

"I wish I did." Slowly, I reached for the handle.

"Hold it."

I paused. A gust of cold air slashed against my cheeks.

"We found the tardigrades close to here," she said. "Whatever killed them might be down there."

Rupert nodded. "We should see about getting our hands on some HAZMAT suits."

"Did you experience any ill effects when you found the colony?" I asked.

"No."

"And the bacteria that killed the tardigrades … it was dead right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then we'll be fine." I gripped the handle and pulled. The metal groaned. Smoky, rancid air flowed into my nostrils as I swung the door into an upright position.

"Do you see anything?" Holly asked.

I shifted a support bar into place. Then I pointed my flashlight beam into the space. It was at least ten feet deep. I couldn't tell for sure though because the ground was covered. "I see dead bodies," I said. "This is a grave. A mass grave."

Chapter 36

Baxter jumped out of the Sno-Cat. A strange feeling chilled his spine as he stared at the second Sno-Cat. A thin layer of ice covered it. But otherwise, it looked abandoned.

He trudged forward, staying low to the ground. He kept a watchful eye on the landscape. Soon, he reached a small plain. The snow dipped a few inches in height. It felt softer under his feet.

He zigzagged across a series of rifts. His boots sank deeper into the snow. Flurries soared into the air.

He reached the second Sno-Cat. His eyes narrowed to slits. Again, he felt iciness creep down his spine. He stopped and turned in an arc. He didn't see anyone watching him. He only saw snow. Majestic, falling snow.

He studied the powder around the vehicle. He didn't see any of Fenrir's pawprints. Then again, he didn't see any footprints either.

He yanked the door open and examined the cab. What he saw surprised him. Or rather, what he didn't see. Save for a wad of paper on the seat, the cab was empty and surprisingly clean. Baxter picked up the paper. He unfolded it to reveal a satellite image of the region. Several locations were marked and numbered.

He took a quick look at the cargo area. It was well stocked with food, space blankets, and the usual survival gear. Everything was in its correct place. Nothing was missing.

Slowly, he closed the door. The whole situation reminded him of those old ghost ship stories. A crewed ship would happen upon a boat in the middle of the ocean. They'd hail it, only to find it had been abandoned without a trace.

His heart beat a little faster. He'd spent most of the day searching for more pawprints. He'd worked well into the night with no luck whatsoever. Eventually, he'd been forced to abandon his search.

He'd called into Kirby, only to discover most of the residents were out in the field. He'd panicked. The last thing he needed was for another massacre. He'd swiftly placed numerous radio transmissions, ordering everyone to reconvene at Kirby for the night. He'd gotten in touch with some of the residents. But others—namely, Beverly and Morin along with Reed and the Whitlows—remained out of touch.

Crazy Roy had offered to search for Beverly and Morin. Meanwhile, Baxter had set his sights on Reed and the Whitlows. He'd gathered their tracking data and hurried after them. A small part of him had feared the worst. And yet, their Sno-Cat and the area around it seemed quiet.

Baxter walked around the vehicle, committing the details of the scene to memory. There was no blood, no signs of violence. It was like God had reached down and plucked them right out of the cab.

Baxter turned his attention to the satellite image. He couldn't afford to waste time. He had to find Reed and the Whitlows. He had to get them back to Kirby as quickly as possible.

Their lives depended on it.

Chapter 37

Darkness shrouded the area below. But Holly's flashlight illuminated the bodies. They were piled high, stacked unceremoniously on top of one another.

I quickly realized what had happened. The Nazis had initially dumped deceased test subjects into the mass grave. But over time, they'd grown increasingly nervous about the bacteria. So, they'd sealed the mass grave and started to incinerate the bodies instead.

I clambered down a ladder, stopping about two feet above the corpses. I wrapped my arms around a rung and turned on my flashlight.

I saw a middle-aged man. His body, covered in rotten clothes, shows signs of starvation.

"He's frozen solid," I said. "But his skin looks yellow, jaundiced."

"Anything else?" Holly asked.

"Both sides of his neck are swollen." I studied his clothes and saw big holes in his sleeves. "His armpits are swollen too."

"How swollen?"

"They look like giant blisters."

"Must be buboes."

I extended the flashlight, pointing the beam directly into the crook of the man's arm. "Buboes?"

"Its a swelling of the lymph nodes," Holly explained. "It's fairly common for certain infections."

"Like what?"

"Like tuberculosis and the bubonic plague."

"Bubonic plague?"

"Yeah. A lot of people think it caused the Black Death, one of the worst pandemics in history."

I retracted my flashlight.

"The bacteria is probably dead," she said. "But just to be safe, don't touch anything."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Hang on a second." Holly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small satellite phone. She lifted it to her ear. "Hi Pat. Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't pick up. We've been busy."

A few seconds passed.

"You're where?" There was a brief pause. "No, it's just Cy, Rupert, and me. We haven't seen … okay, okay. Hang on, I'll check."

Holly lowered the phone. "Have either of you heard from Beverly or Jeff?"

"No," I said.

Rupert's voice turned curious. "What's this all about?"

"Just answer the question," Holly said.

"No, I haven't heard from them."

Holly lifted the phone again. "No, we haven't talked to them. Why? What's going on?"

More seconds passed.

"Are you serious?" Holly waited a moment. "Come on, Pat. Don't you think you're overreacting here?"

My arm started to ache. I shifted my position on the ladder.

"Okay." Holly sighed deeply. "I hear you. We'll see you in a few minutes."

She hung up the phone.

I wrapped my other arm around the rung to provide some additional support. "What was that all about?" I called out.

"Pat's here. He wants us to go back to Kirby."

"Now?"

"Now."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I." A worried tone crept into her voice. "But something's wrong."

I stowed my flashlight in my satchel. Then I climbed up the ladder. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It was just something in his voice." Holly stared with great reluctance at the pit. "I don't like it. But we're going to have to leave this for another day."

I frowned. "When can we come back?"

She shrugged. "That's up to Pat."

Chapter 38

Holly and Rupert trudged ahead of me. I hurried to keep up.

The snow continued to fall at a rapid clip. I found it difficult to see more than a few yards to either side. A feeling of uneasiness spread over me. I twisted my head in a circle. But all I saw was more snow.

I hiked across the frozen tundra. I was exhausted. My eyelids felt heavy. My muscles ached. My bones felt like they'd spent the last few hours in a meat locker.

The wind blew harder and more snow kicked into the air. The further I walked, the more my visibility shrank. My other senses tried to make up the difference. But it didn't work. I felt only snow. I heard only wind.

As I walked, I thought about Graham. Unfortunately, Holly's research couldn't help his father. But maybe Graham could benefit from it. As for me, I considered death unthinkable. I couldn't die, not yet. Not until I'd found the Amber Room. Not until I'd revealed it to the world.

Not until I'd achieved an immortal legacy.

I was a good treasure hunter. I'd traveled all over the globe. I'd found many wonderful things. It wasn't all about money. I truly enjoyed bringing the past to light.

Until now, I'd avoided taking credit for my work. It was a necessity of the job. But unfortunately, my reluctance to talk about it had allowed others to define me. My former colleagues wrote papers lambasting me. Bureaucrats gave speeches denouncing me. The media kept up a barrage of attacks, calling me a threat to history and begging the governments of the world to put people like me behind bars.

No one cared that I followed strict protocols. No one cared that my digs were superior to those conducted by most archaeologists. All they knew was that I profited from my work. And because of that, they hated me.

The Whitlows started to fade from view. I walked faster.

If I died at that exact moment, my legacy would be in jeopardy. I'd be remembered as a greedy treasure hunter who'd never found anything of importance. I'd be remembered as a guy who'd thumbed his nose at history. Locating and excavating the Amber Room would change all of that.

The snow swirled. I smelled fur. Tasted blood in the air.

I came to a halt. Crouching down, I stared into the whiteness.

The snow swirled even faster. My senses vaporized. I couldn't see or hear anything. Couldn't smell or taste anything either.

The ground trembled. The air rumbled.

Shielding my eyes from the white glare, I spun to the side. I saw a silhouette. A slinky body. Long, powerful muscles. Thick matted hair. Sharp rows of teeth.

What the hell?

It slammed into me. Claws scraped my chest, slicing through my parka with ease. I felt a burning sensation. My body flew backward and I smashed into the snow. My vision fogged over.

An image crossed my mind. I saw an old man lying on a boat in the middle of a river. Graham cradled him in both arms. The man looked peaceful, sleeping the eternal sleep. I felt a twinge of jealousy. His worries were gone, his concerns lost to time.

My eyelids grew heavy. My adrenaline faded. Slowly, I sank into the snow. It felt good to lie down, to rest.

What's the point? We're all going to die anyway.

I closed my eyes, shutting out the infernal whiteness. My breathing slowed. My mind drifted. One by one my senses vanished.

Just a few more seconds. Then no more worries.

An image of the Amber Room formed in my mind. I tried to ignore it, but it refused to go away. Instead, it got brighter. I fought back, clearing it from my head. But it reappeared, brighter than ever.

I tried to dim the light, to control it. At the very least, I hoped to keep the image under wraps. But it just grew more vivid, more dazzling.

Light gathered around the Amber Room. The image intensified to incredible levels. Without warning, it exploded. Colors flew in all directions. They swept through my head, forming strange, intricate patterns. A moment later, they blazed a path straight to my brain.

My eyes popped open. I rose to my feet. Time was a powerful enemy. Maybe it couldn't be defeated. Maybe my efforts were futile. But I couldn't give up. Not yet.

Not ever.

Snow swirled toward me. I hoisted my machete. Lunged forward.

The snow swirled to the side.

A second silhouette burst out of the whiteness. It lifted a pistol. I heard a few faint pops. The snow swirled again and dissipated into nothingness.