Ice Storm (3 page)

"And why would we do that?"

"Because I'm Fitzgerald Station's Area Director. In other words, this is my show. Hell, I'm the damn poster child for this region."

"Poster child?" Graham said. "I hope you're talking figuratively."

The man's face twisted with anger.

"How do you two know each other?" I asked.

"Remember how I told you I spent a few summers at McMurdo?" Graham nodded at the man. "Well, he was there too."

"I'm glad to see you guys still get along." I chuckled and offered my hand to the man. "Cy Reed."

He didn't shake it. "I know."

"His name is Pat Baxter," Graham said.

Slowly, I lowered my hand. "Quite a place you've got here."

Baxter smiled. "Enjoy it while you've got it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Graham asked.

"Just this." Baxter poked a finger into Graham's chest. "The next flight out of here leaves tomorrow. And the two of you are going to be on it."

Chapter 4

"I've got a spot in the brig all picked out for you." Baxter turned the ignition. The engine sputtered to life. The odor of diesel exhaust permeated the cabin. "I think you'll find it nice and comfy."

"Forget it." Graham slung his backpack into the cargo area. It thumped as it landed on top of my duffel bag. "You've got no authority over us."

Baxter spun the steering wheel, directing the vehicle to the southwest. "Actually, I do. I've been deputized by the U.S. Marshals Service."

"Yeah? Where's your badge? Still in the cereal box?"

"In my room. Along with my gun." He eyed Graham. "Yes, I have a gun. It's the only one allowed at Fitzgerald Station."

"Damn it, Pat. This is stupid."

"No, you coming here was stupid." Baxter flicked a switch. The tiniest fraction of warm air blew out of the vents. But a distinct chill remained in the cab.

"What's this all about anyway?" I asked.

Their heads swiveled toward me. I sensed their annoyance, their resentment. But I didn't care. Old grudges were like old wounds. Left untended, they festered. And in this particular case, gangrene had settled in long ago.

Baxter grunted. "Doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

"Just forget it."

I glanced at Graham. "Well?"

"A girl," he finally said. "It's about a girl."

I wasn't surprised. I knew what it was like to pine after someone. To think about her, to dream about her. To want her so badly it hurt inside. And I knew what it felt like to lose that person. It wasn't easy. But you had to suck it up and move on, find something else to live for.

An image popped into my head. I saw her tanned facial features and her wavy chestnut brown hair. I gazed at her hourglass-shaped body, her sexy curves, and her long, shapely legs. Her dazzling violet eyes blinked enticingly at me.

Beverly Ginger was a classic beauty. But she was far more than the sum of her physical features. She possessed something unique, something intangible. She had that rare ability to turn heads, to leave both men and women tongue-tied in her wake. But not me.

Not anymore.

Harsh static burst out of the radio. "You there, Pat?"

Baxter pushed a button on the dashboard. "Sure am."

"Jim Peterson is here from Kirby. He needs to talk to you."

"About what?"

The voice hesitated. "They had a power outage."

Baxter clenched the steering wheel. "Another one?"

"I guess so."

"I'll see him when I get back. Thanks Cindy."

I waited for the static to dissipate. "What was that about?"

"None of your business," he replied.

"I just—"

The air rumbled.

The ground trembled.

The sound of screeching metal filled my ears.

I twisted my neck to the north. A blinding fireball appeared on the horizon. It expanded and rose into the sky. Thick columns of smoke trailed after it. "What the hell was that?"

"Damned if I know," Baxter said numbly. "There's nothing in that direction. Just ocean. Ocean and …”

"And what?"

His face turned white. "And the docks."

Chapter 5

Baxter swung the wheel. In less than a minute, we were motoring toward the fireball.

"How many ships are anchored there?" I asked.

"Just one," he replied. "The
Desolation
. It's a cargo ship. It comes here every quarter."

"How large is the crew?"

"I don't know for sure. Maybe twenty people?"

With a loud boom, the fireball tore itself apart in mid-air. Embers dropped from the sky. More black smoke appeared.

Graham shielded his eyes. "You put them up at Fitzgerald right? Please tell me they're not living on that ship."

Baxter didn't answer. Instead, he leaned closer to the window.

And pressed down on the accelerator.

Chapter 6

Beverly Ginger didn't believe in ghosts. She believed in miracles and horrible twists of fate. She believed in the goodness of mankind as well as the existence of evil. She was even able to square dual beliefs in destiny and free will. But she didn't believe in ghosts.

The ground quaked again. As she fell to her knees, a howl rang out in the distance. She knew it was just wind. But it sounded disturbingly lifelike.

She grabbed the plastic floor mats and closed the door. Then she shoved the mats under the tires.

She hurried over to a small snow bank. "How're you feeling?" she asked.

Jeff Morin's lips trembled. He was tough. But those wounds in his stomach didn't look good. Without shelter and proper care, he wouldn't last long.

Beverly trudged to the top of the hill. She leaned her back against her vehicle's rear end and started to push.

She could scarcely believe everything that had happened to her in the last hour. The mysterious excavation. The sudden gunfire. Morin's screams. Racing across the icy tundra.

She'd shaken their pursuers after a short chase. But her luck didn't improve. Instead, the ground had rumbled, causing her vehicle to sail up a small hill. Seconds later, the front tires crashed back to the snow. The rear tires stuck fast on the hill, leaving her Sno-Cat positioned at an awkward angle.

Beverly pushed harder. The Sno-Cat started to move. She dug her boots into the ice and pushed with all her strength.

The vehicle inched forward. The rear tires slipped off the hill and crashed into the snow. The vehicle jolted and slid a short distance away from her.

Another howl, closer this time, filled the air. Beverly looked over her shoulder. But she saw nothing.

She climbed down the hill and made her way to the vehicle. Its heater wasn't all that powerful. Prior to the crash, the temperature inside the cabin had hovered around ten degrees Fahrenheit. But it was far better than the alternative. Holding her breath, she turned the ignition.

The engine didn't even sputter. Beverly cursed silently. Lifting a gloved finger, she pushed a button on the dashboard.

The transponder, a large orange beacon, didn't light up. She pushed the button again. Again, the transponder remained unlit.

Beverly slapped her hands against the wheel. Then she exited the cab and trudged over toward Morin.

He'd taken two bullets to the stomach. Now, his breaths came in short, uneven rasps. She didn't want to move him from his spot. But he needed shelter. So, she helped him to his feet. He stirred. Then he slumped in her arms.

She jostled him slightly. "Come on, Jeff. Stay with me."

His eyes opened a fraction of an inch. He tried to speak, but his words were gibberish.

Beverly hauled him into the Sno-Cat. Then she draped some blankets over his shivering body and moved to close the door.

It didn't latch.

She gave it a mighty push. The door clicked. But it refused to stay shut.

Her forehead started to heat up. Perspiration dripped down her face. It was ludicrous. How could she possibly sweat in such frigid weather?

Beverly stared at the sky. Giant snowflakes careened against her face. They felt strangely cool and refreshing.

The wind picked up speed. It tore over the barren landscape, shrieking like a banshee.

Hurriedly, she turned in a small circle. But the snowflakes, an ally during the chase, were now her enemy. They were too large and fell much too fast. She could no longer see hints of the massive mountains. Even the Sno-Cat began to fade from view.

Beverly leaned against the door. Her eyes continued to study the falling snow. The wind wrecked havoc on the icy particles, causing them to whirl and scatter in all directions. They formed intricate, ever-changing patterns. It was mesmerizing.

The situation was far from ideal. But it could've been worse. They had space blankets and plenty of food. If she could get the door shut, they'd be able to block the wind and avoid the snow. That would keep them alive for the time being. But Morin still needed medical attention.

The snowflakes swirled in a large ring. They gathered together and gained substance. A mysterious shape materialized out of the whiteness.

Her eyes opened wide. "What the—?"

The snow swirled around her. Sharp teeth dug into her side. They bit through her many layers, sank into flesh.

Beverly cried out in pain. Her body was lifted up, hurtled through the air. She slammed into the hill.

She grabbed her knife and started to thrust it into the swirling snow. But the snow crashed on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground.

Teeth gnashed at her neck. Tiny trickles of blood dripped down her skin. She fought back, trying to hold whatever it was at bay. But it was stronger than her.

Something shifted above her. Snow fell on her face. She heard ripping flesh.

Her flesh.

Her vision blurred. Her brain grew fuzzy.

In an instant, her entire outlook changed. She'd been wrong prior to the attack. Horribly, horribly wrong. But now she knew the truth.

Now, she believed in ghosts.

Chapter 7

"We're next to the Ekström Ice Shelf. It's a giant cliff, running along the coast for thousands of miles. So, keep your asses in here. I don't want to have to fish your carcasses out of the ocean." Baxter threw open his door as the Sno-Cat skidded to a stop. "It'll look bad on my report."

Graham waited for Baxter to walk away. Then he cracked the door. "Come on."

I followed him out of the Sno-Cat. My feet touched the ice. I took a few cautious steps. The ground was slippery but manageable.

My nostrils detected exhaust and burnt metal. I heard loud splashes and the deep-throated groans of a boat shifting in the water.

The ice extended one hundred feet to the north. Black smoke drifted out from beyond it. It whirled around and I caught a glimpse of a large crane. Then the smoke curled and folded on itself.

I darted toward the cliff and looked down. The shelf was about fifty feet high. Its icy surface plunged into the water, turning a fluorescent blue in the process. A sense of awe formed deep inside me.

I heard crackling flames. My head rotated to the east, following the trail of flotsam and smoke. I saw the hull of a giant cargo ship. It was anchored near the cliff, not far from some ice docks. It was severely damaged. Charred mangled bodies covered what remained of the deck.

The smoke shifted and I got another look at the crane. It sprouted out of the bow and extended out over the cliff. A large basket hung from the crane. It dangled a few feet above the ice. Baxter knelt next to it, peering closely at the snow.

I ran over to him. "What happened?"

He glared at me. "I thought I told you to stay in the Sno-Cat."

"You did. So, what happened?"

He exhaled. "The crew was offloading something when the ship exploded. Other than that, I don't have a clue."

I saw faint footsteps scattered about the area along with several sets of tire tracks. Unfortunately, the heavy winds were in the process of erasing the evidence.

"Help." The shrieking voice was so soft I barely heard it. "Help me."

I raced to the cliff. At the base of the crane, I saw a hand waving in the air. "How do I get down there?"

"You don't." Baxter grabbed a satellite phone from his pocket. "I'll call for a rescue boat."

"There's no time," Graham said. "That ship is sinking fast."

"I suppose you've got a better idea?"

I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Hey, can you get to the cargo winches?"

The hand fell. Its owner, a young man, slumped to the ground.

"Damn it." I jogged back to the Sno-Cat. Quickly, I rooted through my bag and retrieved my satchel and machete. "Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way."

"I don't know what you're thinking, but it won't work," Baxter said. "We can't operate the crane from here."

"I'm not going to operate it. I'm going to climb it."

Chapter 8

"Like hell you are," Baxter said.

"Try and stop me." I grabbed one of the metal cords.

He lunged at me.

I leapt onto the basket. It swung away from him.

Ignoring his shouts, I climbed out of reach. Then I chanced a look down. Nearly twenty feet separated me from the ice.

What the hell are you doing, Cy?

Two thick metal cords and a yellow winch connected the basket to the crane. I tried to climb one of the cords. But I couldn't grip it.

I ripped off my gloves and stuffed them into my satchel. My fingers trembled. I did my best to control them. But it didn't help. They were cold.

So damn cold.

I wrapped my boots around a cord and started to climb. Wind whipped at my body, threatening to seize me in its icy clutches. Smoke curled into my face and crept into my lungs.

I continued to climb. The metal dug into my skin. My fingers turned numb. Then they started to ache. Before long, they screamed in pain.

With one last heave, I pulled myself over the tip of the crane. My hands were so cold they felt like they were on fire.

I thrust my gloves over my aching fingers. They blocked the wind. But my hands felt like frozen pieces of meat. I glanced at the ground. I could no longer see Graham or Baxter.