Текст книги "Ice Hunt"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

8. Hunter/Killer

APRIL 9, 11:12 A.M.

USS POLAR SENTINEL

“Skylight ahead!” the chief of the watch yelled. “Forty degrees to port!”

“Thank God,” Perry whispered to the periscope’s optical piece. He walked off the degrees, turning the scope. They had spent five minutes searching for the man-made polynya near the ice island. The storm surge through the area had shifted the surface ice by several degrees. Nothing was constant up here, he thought. Nothing but the danger.

Through the scope, the ceiling of the world was black ice, but off to port, where the chief had indicated, he spotted an unnaturally square opening in the roof. It shone a brilliant aquamarine, lighting the waters under it to the pale blue of a Bahamian sea. He eyed his goal with a tight smile. “It’s the polynya! Port ahead one-third, starboard back one-third, right full rudder. Get us under that skylight!”

The term skylighthad been used by submariners since first venturing under the polar ice cap. An opening in the ice. Somewhere to surface. There was no better sight, especially with the press of time upon them.

His orders were relayed and a slight tremor vibrated the deck plates as the sub hoved around and aimed for their goal. He watched through the scope. “All ahead slow.”

As they neared the opening in the thick ice, he spoke without taking his eyes from the periscope. “Chief, what’s the ice reading above?”

“Looks good. The opening’s frozen over a bit.” The chief peered closer at the video monitor of the top-sounding sonar. “Across the skylight, I read no more than six inches of ice, but no less than three.”

Perry sighed with relief. It should be thin enough to surface through. He studied the dark ice surrounding the aquamarine lake, jagged and menacing, like the teeth of a shark.

“We’re under the skylight,” Bratt reported from the diving station.

“All stop. Rudder amidships.” As his orders were obeyed, he walked the periscope around, checking to make sure there was plenty of room for the sub to surface without brushing against the dragon-toothed walls of the canyon. Once satisfied, he straightened and folded the periscope grips. The stainless-steel pole descended below. “Stand by to surface.” He swung to Bratt. “Bring her up slowly.”

The soft chug of a pump sounded as seawater ballast was forced out of tanks inside the boat. Slowly the sub began to rise.

Bratt turned to him. “That Russian boat will surely hear us blowing ballast.”

“There’s no helping it.” Perry stepped down from the periscope deck. “Is the evac team ready to debark to the station?”

“Aye, sir. They’re suited up. We’ll empty that place in under ten minutes.”

“Make sure you get everyone out of there.” Perry’s thoughts turned to Amanda for the hundredth time.

Bratt seemed to read his mind, staring intently at him. “We won’t miss anyone, sir. That’s for damn certain.”

Perry nodded.

“Ready for ice!” the chief bellowed.

Overhead, the reinforced bridge crashed through the frozen crust, shuddering the boat. A moment later, the bulk of the submarine followed, cracking through to the surface. All around, valves were opened or closed, dials checked. Reports echoed from throughout the boat.

“Open the hatches!” Bratt yelled. “Ready shore team!”

The locking dogs were undone, and men in parkas gathered, rifles shouldered. One held out a blue parka for Bratt.

Bratt yanked into it. “We’ll be right back.”

Perry glanced to his watch. The Russians were surely already under way by now. “Fifteen minutes. No longer.”

“Plenty of time.” Bratt led his men out.

Perry stared as they climbed away. Cold air, fresh and damp, blew down from above. Once the last man was gone, the hatch slammed shut. Perry paced the length of the periscope stand. He wanted to be out there with Bratt, but he knew his place was here.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Chief, you have the conn. I’m going to watch from Cyclops. Patch any communication from the shore team to the intercom there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Perry left the bridge and headed toward the nose of the submarine. He climbed through the hatches and past the empty research suites. He opened the last hatch and entered the naturally illuminated chamber beyond.

He crossed under the arch of clear Lexan. The water sluicing over the glass splintered out in jagged lines of ice, growing visibly into complex fractal designs over the Lexan surface. Beyond the sub, the view was poor. Steam rose off the submarine’s carbon-plate hide, and flurries of snow swirled down in frosted strokes from the heights of the mountainous ice ridges.

Perry stared toward the cavernous opening that led down into the Russian station. He made out the vague shapes of men, trudging, bent against the wind. Bratt’s team. They disappeared into the mouth of the tunnel.

The intercom buzzed. A tinny voice spoke. “Captain, bridge here.”

He crossed and pressed the button. “What is it, Chief?”

“The watch radioman reports no reception from NAVSAT. We’re blanketed under another solar storm, leaving us deaf and dumb for the moment.”

He swore under his breath. With the satellites down, he needed word to reach the outside world. He jabbed the intercom button. “Any ETA on how long we’ll be out of satellite communication?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. Radioman says he expects short bursts of open air, but he can’t say when. Best guess is that the current bevy of solar storms will quit sometime after sunset.” Another long pause. “He’s going to try an ionosphere bounce with the UHF, but there’s no guarantee anyone’ll hear us in this weather. With a bit of luck, we might raise Prudhoe Bay.”

“Roger that, bridge. Have him keep trying as long as we’re surfaced. But I also want a SLOT configured and hidden out on the ice.” A SLOT, or Submarine-Launched One-Way Transmitter, was a communication buoy that could be deployed and set with a time delay to burst a transmitted satellite report. “Set the SLOT to transmit well after sunset.” This should help ensure their message got out after the solar storm passed and reopened satellite communication.

“Aye, sir.”

Perry checked his watch. Five minutes had passed. He stepped back under the Lexan arch. Visibility was mere yards now. He could just make out the line of pressure ridges, but no details. He kept his vigil. After another interminable minute, ghostly shapes pushed through the snow. It was the first of the evacuees.

Through the hollow of the boat, he could hear the outside hatch clang open. He imagined the whistle of wind. More and more shapes appeared out of the squall. He tried to count them, but the swirling snow confounded all efforts to tell one from another, man from woman.

His jaw ached from clenching his teeth.

The intercom buzzed. “Captain, bridge again. Patching through Commander Bratt.”

The next words were scratchy with static. “Captain? We’ve hauled through all the levels. I have two men with bullhorns running the occupied areas of the Crawl Space.”

Perry had to resist interrupting his XO and demanding to know Amanda’s fate.

The answer came anyway. “We learned Dr. Reynolds is still here.”

Perry let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t returned to the drift station and been caught in the attack. She was safe. She was here.

The next words, though, were disquieting. “But, sir, no one has seen her in the last hour or so. She and one of the geologists went searching for an AWOL student in the ice tunnels.”

He hit the button. “Commander, I don’t want anyoneleft behind.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Perry checked his watch. “You have seven minutes.”

Before any acknowledgment could be transmitted, the control station cut in again. “Bridge to Captain. For the past few minutes, we’ve stopped picking up any evidence of weapon fire from the hydrophones. Sonar also reports suspicious echoes that could be a sub diving. Air venting, mechanicals…”

It could only be the Drakon.The Russian hunter/killer was on the move. Time had run out. Perry knew he couldn’t risk the lives here. He spoke into the intercom. “Patch me back to Bratt.”

“Aye, Captain.”

A moment later, his XO’s voice scratched out of the speaker. “Bratt here.”

“Commander, company is on the way. We need everyone out of there now!”

“Sir, we haven’t even cleared all of the Crawl Space yet.”

“You have exactly three minutes to empty that station.”

“Roger that. Out.”

Perry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Glancing over his shoulder, he took one last look out Cyclops, then ducked out of the room. He climbed back through the sub and assumed command of the bridge again.

Men milled in ordered confusion, helping wide-eyed civilians down ladders and into the living spaces beyond the control station. The interior of the sub had already dropped a good twenty degrees, open to the blizzard above.

Dr. Willig suddenly appeared at Perry’s side. “I know you’re busy, Captain,” the Swedish oceanographer said breathlessly, snow melting in his hair.

“What is it, sir?”

“Amanda…she’s still down in the Crawl Space.”

“Yes. We know.” He kept his voice clipped, tight. He couldn’t let his own panic show. He had to be leader here.

“Surely we’re going to make sure everyone is out of there before leaving.”

“We’ll do our best.”

His answer did little to fade the fear in the old man’s eyes. Amanda was like a daughter to him.

The chief waved from his station. “We’ve got Commander Bratt on the line again, Captain.”

Perry checked his watch, then glanced to the open hatch. The ladder was empty. Where was his XO? He crossed to the boat’s radio. “Commander, time’s run out. Get your ass over here now.”

The answer was faint. The entire bridge had hushed. “Still missing a handful of civilians. In the Crawl Space now with Lieutenant Washburn. Request permission to stay behind. To offer protection for those still here. We’ll find them…then find a good hiding place.”

Perry clenched a fist. A new voice spoke at his side. It was Lee Bentley, one of the NASA crew. “I left the commander my schematics of the station. Detailing the access tunnels and old construction shafts.”

Beyond the scientist, all eyes focused on Perry. Dr. Willig had never looked paler. They awaited his decision.

Perry hit the radio’s transmit. “Commander…” He held the button. Fear for Amanda hollowed his heart, but he had a boatload of crew and civilians to protect. “Commander, we can wait no longer.”

“Understood.”

“Find the others…keep them safe.”

“Roger that. Out.”

Perry closed his eyes.

Dr. Willig spoke into the heavy silence, his voice rich with disbelief. “You’re just going to leave them behind?”

With a deep breath, Perry turned and faced the chief of the watch. “Take us down.”

11:22 A.M.

ICE STATION GRENDEL

Blood pounding in her ears, Amanda crouched in the nest of bones. The smell of bowel and blood filled the small space. Lacy’s corpse looked like some broken mannequin, unreal. Something had torn the geology student apart. Something large.

Amanda panted though clenched teeth.

The girl’s body lay on its back, limbs broken, face smashed, like she had been shaken and slammed repeatedly against the ice.

Amanda kept her eyes away from the corpse’s belly. It had been ripped open. Frozen blood trailed from the open cavity. Out in the wild, wolves always ate the soft abdominal organs of their prey, burrowing into the bellies first, feasting on the rich meal inside.

Without a doubt, such a predator was down here now. But what was it? Not a wolf…not so far north. And she saw no evidence of the usual king of the Arctic wilds, the polar bear. No droppings. No piles of white hairs.

So what the hell was down here?

Amanda took a post by the only exit and quickly pieced a few things together in her head. She recalled the movement recorded on the DeepEye sonar she was testing. She knew for certain now it had been no sonar ghost.

Amanda’s mind, panicked, ran along impossible channels. Whatever was down here had sensed the passage of the sonar scan, fled from it, back to its nest in the core of the ice island. But what could do that? What animals could sense sonar? Having studied sonar in depth for her own research with the DeepEye, she knew the common answers: bats, dolphins…and whales.

She glanced fleetingly over to the sprawled, gutted corpse. It reminded her of another body spread and cut open on the ice.

Dr. Ogden’s dissected Ambulocetusspecimen.

According to the biologists, the Ambulocetusspecies were the forefathers of the modern whale. The thought chilled her further.

Could it be possible? Could there be living specimens down here, not just frozen ones?

A terrified shudder passed through her. It seemed ridiculous, but nothing else made sense. Not a wolf, nor a polar bear. And here, alone, nightmares gained flesh and bone. The impossible seemed possible.

She cupped her hand over her flashlight. Beyond the tunnel, the shine of Connor’s helmet lamp still reflected in the outer cavern. She studied as best she could the only way out of here. Everything lay still. There was no sign of movement, no way of knowing if the predator was still out there or if it was returning even now.

She was trapped – not just in the cave, but also in a cocoon of silence. Without her hearing, she was cut off from any telltale sign of approach: a growl, a scrape of claw on ice, the hiss of breath.

She feared going back out.

But how could she stay?

Glancing back, she sought someplace to hide within the nest. The walls had a few cracks and blocky tumbles of icefall. But none was deep enough to nestle away safely.

She turned again to the tunnel.

A heavy shadow shifted past the reflected light.

Startled, she rolled back, scrabbling through bones. She flicked off the flashlight. Now the only illumination came from beyond the nest, flowing down the throat of the slotted tunnel. Something crouched out there at the entrance, like a boulder in a river of light.

Then it began to roll slowly toward her.

She fled to one of the cracks in the wall. Her mind raced, struggling against panic. She flicked her flashlight back on and tossed it near Lacy’s corpse, hoping its brightness would attract the creature’s attention. This last thought sparked others. How did it really see in the dark? Body heat? Vibrations? Echolocation?

She had to assume all.

She pulled up her suit’s hood and jammed herself sideways into the crack, barely able to press her body away. She rubbed the ice walls with one hand, then slathered her face. If it was body heat, her insulated suit should keep her hidden, leaving only her face exposed. She cooled her skin with ice water as best she could.

Crammed into the crack, she hoped she offered no direct silhouette to any possible echolocation. She covered her mouth and held her breath, fearing even her own heated exhalation could give her away.

She willed herself to dead stillness and waited.

It didn’t take long.

Amanda stared in disbelief as the creature crawled into the cave and crouched across from her now.

A livinggrendel.

It shoved its head into the cave first. Hot breath steamed from two slitted nostrils high on its domed head. Its long white muzzle dripped fresh blood and gore.

Connor…

Lips growled back to reveal razored teeth. It shambled into its nest, snout raised, sniffing. It was large, half a ton, slung low to the ground. It measured ten feet from muzzle to the tip of its thick tail.

As it entered its nest, it circled around the cavern’s edge, wary. It moved like an otter, sinuous and lithe, but this creature was white-skinned and hairless, sleek. It looked liked a creature built to move smoothly through water or to slide down tight tunnels. Black eyes narrowed as it shied from the brightness of her discarded flashlight.

It passed by Amanda’s hiding spot, its attention focused on the pool of brightness. Almost at her toes, it stopped and bunched up as it stared into the flashlight’s glare. Shoulders muscled into ridged peaks, haunches rose. Rear claws dug into the ice floor as its tail lashed violently, sweeping the floor of old bones.

Then it leaped as quick as any lion, pouncing at the light. It landed atop Lacy’s corpse, sending the flashlight flying. It tore and ripped, using teeth and claws, blindingly fast. Then it spun away, chasing after the light, batting the metal tool around the cavern. Finally the flashlight smashed against a block of ice and extinguished.

Amanda continued to hold her breath.

The entire attack had transpired in dead silence.

The sudden darkness blinded Amanda for a heartbeat. Then the glow from the outside cavern filtered in. In the dimness, the grendel was a ghostly shadow.

It circled around the cavern. Once, twice. It still seemed oblivious to her presence. It settled to the center of its nest, head craning, checking all walls. For a moment, whether it was her own fright or some ultrasonic sonar, Amanda felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck quiver.

A trickle of sweat rolled down her brow.

The grendel swung back toward her, sniffing, huffing. It seemed to stare right at her.

Amanda tried not to scream.

It didn’t matter.

The grendel rose to its feet, lips curled in menace, and slunk toward her hiding place.

11:35 A.M.

OUT ON THE ICE…

Jenny still lived. Somehow…

She lay with her father atop the ice, but he had long since stopped responding, though his cold arms remained locked around her, holding her. She didn’t have the strength to move, to check on him. Already their clothes had frozen together, fusing father to daughter. The blizzard blew around the pair, isolating them. She had lost sight of the two Navy men: Fernandez and Kowalski.

She tried to shift, but she could no longer feel her limbs. Her shivering had stopped, too, as her body gave up feeding blood to her extremities. Her systems were in pure survival mode, expending all resources to keep the core alive.

Even the cold had vanished, replaced with a deadly sense of calm. She found it hard to stay awake, but in sleep lay only death.

Papa…She could not speak. Her lips would not move. Another name arose, unbidden, unwelcome: Matt…

Her heart ached, thudding leadenly.

She would have cried then, but her tear ducts had frozen over. She didn’t want to die this way. For the past three years, she had trudged through life, going through the motions of living. Now she wanted to live. She cursed the time lost, the half-life she had lived. But nature was immune to wishes and dreams. It simply killed with the determined heart of any predator.

Her eyelids drifted closed. They were too painful to keep open.

As the world faded away, flares bloomed through the swirling snow. One, two, three, four…They were hazy glows through the blizzard, flying back and forth, sailing through the air. Snow angels…

She squinted, struggling to hold her eyes open. They grew brighter, and after another few breaths, a growling whine accompanied them, piercing angrily through the wail of winds.

Not angels…

From the snow, strange vehicles rode forth. They looked like snowmobiles, but they moved too fast, skimming over the ice with a gracefulness and speed that belied ordinary Ski-Doos. They reminded her instead of jet skis, flying over the ice.

But the vehicles here were neither snowmobiles nor jet skis. As they grew from illusion to solid reality, the machines glided over the ice, not deigning to touch the surface of the world. Jenny had seen such craft before, at shows, experimental models.

Hovercraft.

But these were small, no larger than two-man jet skis, open on top, ridden like a motorcycle. The windshield of each bubbled back to protect the driver and passenger. And like jet skis, the underside of each bore ski runners, but the machines seemed only to need them as they banked and slowed. Each craft settled with skill to the ice, landing on their runners and sliding to a stop a few yards away.

Men unmounted. All dressed in white parkas. Rifles were leveled.

Jenny heard Russian being spoken, but the world remained blurry, lit only by the headlamps of the personal hovercraft.

The soldiers wore face masks, storm troopers. They approached with caution, then with a bit of urgency. Some checked the blasted ice pit. Others came forward. One knelt before Jenny. He barked something in Russian.

All she could manage was a groan.

He reached for her. She blacked out a moment. It had taken all her strength to utter even that small sound. When next she awoke, she found herself strapped into a bucket seat, harnessed in place with shoulder and belt straps. The world was a blur around her. She was flying.

Then enough awareness cut through the haze for her to recognize that she rode behind a soldier. He didn’t wear a parka, only a thick gray sweater. She realized she was wearing his coat. The fur-lined hood pulled almost over her head.

They were heading back to the drift station. A fire burned from the cratered ruins of an outbuilding.

It made no sense, so she simply passed out again.

She woke next to a world of pain. It flared over every inch of her body. It was as if someone were flaying her alive, as if acid streamed over every inch of her body, agonizing, stripping away her skin. She screamed, but no sound came out. She thrashed against the arms that held her.

“It’s all right, Miss Aratuk,” a gruff voice said behind her. “You’re safe.” The same voice spoke to someone else holding her. “Turn the water slightly warmer.”

Jenny snapped a bit more fully into awareness. She was naked in a shower, being held under the stream. She managed to free her tongue. “It…it burns.”

“The water’s only lukewarm. Blood is just returning to your skin. You have some patches of mild frostbite.” Something jabbed her arm. “We’ve given you a bit of morphine to dull the pain.”

She finally glanced back to the speaker. It was Lieutenant Commander Sewell. She sat on the fiberglass floor of a communal shower. A handful of Navy men were in the room, busy. Other showers steamed.

After a few moments, her agony dulled to simple torture. Tears flowed down her face, mixing with the shower’s water. Slowly her temperature rose. Her body began to shiver uncontrollably.

“M…mm…my father,” she chattered out.

“He’s being taken care of,” Sewell said. “He’s actually faring better than you. Already into towels. Tough old bastard, that one. Only a little frostbite on his nose. He must be made of ice.”

This raised a smile. Papa…

She allowed her body to shake and quake. Her core body temperature slowly struggled to normalcy. Sensory feeling awakened with a million pinpricks in her hands and feet. It was slow crucifixion.

Finally she was allowed to stand. She even warmed up enough to feel slightly ashamed by her nakedness. There were uniformed men all around. She was led out of the showers, passing by Kowalski, bare-assed and shivering under his own stream of water.

As hot towels were wrapped around her, she asked, “Fernandez?”

Sewell shook his head. “He was dead by the time the Russians reached you.”

Her heart heavy, she was walked over to chairs in front of space heaters. Her father was already there. He sipped from a mug of hot coffee. The morphine wobbled her feet, but she managed to reach the chairs.

“Jen,” her father said. “Welcome back to the living.”

“You call this living?” she asked dourly. As she sat there, she pictured Fernandez’s quirked smile. It was hard to believe someone so alive was now dead. Still, a dull buzz of relief seeped through her, perhaps partly due to the morphine, but mostly rising from her own heart.

She was alive.

As the space heater blew humid air in her face, a mug of coffee was pushed into her trembling hands.

“Drink it,” Sewell said. “We have to warm up your insides as much as your outsides. And caffeine’s a good stimulant, too.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the coffee, Commander.” She took a burning sip. She felt it slide all the way down. A shudder – half pleasure, half pain – shook through her.

With coffee warming her hands and belly, she glanced around. She was in some large dormitory room. Cots lined both walls. Tables and chairs in the center. Most here were civilians, scientists…but a few Navy personnel were mixed in.

She turned back to Sewell. “Tell me what happened.”

He eyed her. “The Russians. They commandeered the base.”

“I sort of figured that on my own. Why?”

He shook his head. “It has something to do with that Russian ice station we found. Something hidden over there. They’ve been systematically interviewing key personnel to see what we know. It was why you were rescued from the ice. They thought you might be escaping with something or someone, so they had you hauled back. I informed them of your noncom status.”

“What are they searching for?”

“I don’t know. Whatever is over at that other base is being kept under wraps. NTK only.”

“NTK?”

“Need-to-know.” His voice hardened. “And apparently I’m not one of those who needs to know.”

“So what now?”

“There’s not much we can do. We only had a small security force.” He waved an arm around the room. “The bastards killed five of my men. We were quickly subdued and corralled in here. So were the civilian personnel. They’re keeping us all under guard. We were told as long as we didn’t make any trouble that we’d be freed in forty-eight hours.”

Her father spoke from his wrap of blankets. “What about the other Sno-Cat? The one with Matt and Craig?”

Jenny found herself tensing, fearing the worst.

“As far as I know, they’re okay. I was able to contact them before being caught. I told them when they reached the ice station to raise the alarm.”

Jenny sipped from her coffee. Her hands trembled worse. For some reason, she had to fight back tears. “Everyone else is here?”

“Everyone still living.”

She glanced around the room, searching for a specific face. She didn’t find him. “Where’s Ensign Pomautuk?”

Sewell shook his head. “Not here. He’s among the missing, along with a handful of civilians. But I can’t say for sure. The Russians took some of the critically injured to the hospital wing. Maybe he’s over there. Details are still sketchy.”

Jenny stared over to her father. The tip of his nose was ashen, frost-nipped. His eyes read her fear. One hand slipped from his wrap and sought her own. She took his fingers. They were rough with old calluses, but still strong. He had faced so many hardships in his life and survived. Absorbing his strength, she faced Sewell again. “This forty-eight-hour deadline? Do you believe they’ll let us go?”

“I don’t know.”

Jenny sighed. “In other words, no.”

He shrugged. “At the moment, it doesn’t matter whether we believe them or not. The occupying force outnumbers us two to one. And they’ve got all the guns.”

“What about your captain and your submarine?”

“The Polar Sentinelmight be out there somewhere, but they have no armaments. Hopefully they’re hauling ass out of here, heading for help. That is, if they’re still alive.”

“What now? Do we simply wait? Trust the Russians’ word about our safety?”

By now, Kowalski had joined them, wrapped head to toe in towels. He plopped down heavily into a chair. “Fuck no,” he answered her question.

Silence followed his assertion. No one argued.

“Then we need a plan,” Jenny said finally.

11:45 A.M.

ICE STATION GRENDEL

Hadn’t they gone this way already?

Lieutenant Commander Roberto Bratt was lost, which didn’t help his temper. He always blamed his short fuse on his heritage: his mother was Mexican, his father Cuban. Both had been loud and volatile, always fighting. But these damn tunnels would have confounded even Gandhi’s patience. Everything looked the same: ice and more ice.

Ahead, his junior lieutenant hurried down another tunnel. He followed, his boots grinding on the sand-covered floors. “Washburn!” he called out. “Do you know where the hell you’re going?”

Lieutenant Serina Washburn slowed her steady trot and pointed her flashlight back to a purple blaze spray-painted on the wall. “Sir, this marks the only place we haven’t searched yet. After this, we’ll need a paint can to trail our way into the unmarked areas.”

He waved her on. Great…just great…

During the chaos of the evacuation, Bratt’s team had used bullhorns to sound the alarm through the tunnels. 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 insistedon joining him. The station had been under her guardianship. She wasn’t about to abandon it until every damn one of her charges was cleared out of here.

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.