Текст книги "Ice Hunt"

Автор книги: James Rollins

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15. Storm Warning

APRIL 9, 4:55 P.M.

ICE STATION GRENDEL

From a couple of paces away, Amanda stared toward the ventilation shaft. The sheriff had vanished beyond the reach of the lantern’s light. The other members of the party gathered at the opening, anxious, eyes darting all around.

She felt isolated. She had thought herself accustomed to the lack of auditory stimulation, to the way it cut you off from the world more thoroughly even than blindness. Hearing enveloped you, connected you to your surroundings. And though she could see, it was always like she was watching from afar, a wall between her and the rest of the world.

The only time in the past years when she had felt fully connected to the world had been those few moments in Greg’s arms. The warmth of his body, the softness of his touch, the taste of his lips, the scent of his skin…all wore down that wall that separated her from the world.

But he was gone now. She understood he was a captain first, a man second, that he had to leave with the other civilians, had to rescue those he could. Still, it hurt. She wanted him…needed him.

She hugged her arms around herself, trying to squeeze the terror from her own body. The burst of courage she had been riding since seeing a grendel for the first time had waned to a simple will to survive, to continue moving forward.

Tom stirred beside her, petting Bane as he stood watch. Kowalski guarded the opposite side of the hall. The tension kept their faces locked in a stoic expression, eyes staring unblinkingly.

She imagined she appeared the same.

The waiting wore on them all. They kept expecting an attack that never came. The Russians…the grendels…

She followed Tom’s blank stare down the hall. She recalled her earlier discussion with Dr. Ogden.

The biologist had developed a theory about the grendels’ social structure. He imagined that the species spent a good chunk of their life span in frozen hibernation. A good way to conserve energy in an environment so scant on resources. But to protect the frozen pod, one or two sentinels remained awake, guarding their territory. These few hunted the surrounding waters through sea caves connected to the Crawl Space or scoured the surface through natural or man-made egress points. While exploring down here, Ogden had found spots in the Crawl Space that looked like claws had dug a grendel free from its icy slumber. He had his theory: “The guardians must change shift every few years, slipping into slumber themselves to rest and allowing a new member to take over. It’s probably why they’ve remained hidden for so long. Only one or two remain active, while the rest slumber through the centuries. There’s no telling how long these things have been around, occasionally brushing into contact with mankind, leading to myths of dragons and snow monsters.”

“Or Beowulf’s Grendel,” Amanda had added. “But why have they stayed here on this island for so long?”

Ogden had this answer, too. “The island is their nest. I examined some of the smaller caves in the cliff face and found frozen offspring, only a few, but considering the creatures’ longevity, I wager few progeny are necessary to maintain their breeding pool. And as with most species with small litters, the social group as a whole will defend their nest tooth and nail.”

But where are they now?Amanda wondered. Fire would not hold the grendels at bay forever, not if they were defending their nest.

Tom swung around, clearly attracted by some noise.

She turned and looked. The group by the ventilation shaft stirred. She immediately saw why. A length of red rope snaked from the opening, dangling to the floor. Jenny had made it to the top.

The group gathered closer.

Craig faced them with a hand up. His lips were illuminated by his lantern. “To minimize the load on the rope, we should go up in groups of three. I’ll go with the two women.” He pointed to Amanda and Magdalene. “Then Dr. Ogden and his two students. Then the Navy pair with the dog.”

He stared around, waiting to see if there were any objections.

Amanda glanced around herself. No one seemed to be disagreeing. And she surely wasn’t going to. She was with the first group. Without any protests, Craig helped Magdalene up, then offered a hand to her.

She waved for him to go ahead. “I’ve been climbing all my life.”

He nodded and mounted the rope, pulling himself up.

Amanda then followed. The climb was strenuous, but fear drove their party quickly upward, away from the terror below. Amanda had never been happier to see daylight. She scrambled up after the other two, then rolled into open air.

The winds buffeted her as she stood.

Jenny helped steady her. “The blizzard is breaking up,” she said, her eyes on the skies.

Amanda frowned at the blowing snow, blind to the surroundings beyond a few yards. The cold already bit into her exposed cheeks. If this storm was breaking up, how bad had it been before?

Craig bent to the hole, clearly calling to those below, then straightened and faced them. “We’ll have to hurry. If the storm is letting up, we’ll have less cover.”

They waited for the next party – the biology group. It didn’t take too long. Soon three more figures rolled out of the ventilation shaft. Craig bent again to the shaft.

Amanda felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck quiver. Deaf to the storm and the chatter around her, she sensed it first. She swung around in a full circle.

Sonar…

“Stop!” she yelled. “Grendels…!”

Everyone tensed, facing outward.

Craig was still at the hole. He scrambled in his parka for one of the Molotovs. She saw his lips moving. “…screaming down the shaft. The creatures are attacking below, too.”

Henry Ogden struggled to light his own Molotov, but the wind kept snuffing his lighter. “…a coordinated attack. They’re using sonar to communicate with one another.”

Amanda stared into the whiteout. It was an ambush.

From out of the deep snow, shadowy figures crept toward them, slipping like hulking phantoms from the heart of the storm.

Henry finally got his oily rag burning and tossed his bottle outside, toward the group. It sailed through the snow, landed in a snowbank, and sizzled out. The beasts continued toward them.

Amanda caught movement from around another ice peak to the far right. Another grendel…and another.

They were closing in from all sides.

Craig stepped forward, a flaming Molotov in his raised hand.

“Avoid the snow,” Amanda warned. “It’s fresh, wet.”

Craig nodded and threw the fiery charge. It arced through the blowing snow and struck the knifed edge of a pressure ridge. Flame exploded across the path of the largest group.

The beasts flinched, stopping.

Run away,she willed at them.

As answer, Amanda felt the sonar intensify, a grendel roar of frustration. Out in the open, they were less intimidated by the fiery display.

Craig turned to her, to the others. He pointed an arm. “Back down the ventilation shaft!”

Amanda swung around in time to see Bane leap out of the same shaft, snarling and barking, as wild as a full wolf. But Jenny caught her dog, trying to keep him from running at the grendels.

Around them, there was much shouting. Amanda heard none of it. People were too panicked for her to catch what was being said. Why was no one diving into the shaft?

Then she had her answer.

Kowalski scrambled out of the hole, shouting, red-faced. “Get back!” She was able to read his lips as he yelled. “They’re right on our tail!”

Tom appeared next, the left arm of his parka singed and smoldering. He rolled out, shoving his arm into the snow. Smoke billowed from the shaft. “The shaft caved in with that last Molotov. It’s blocked.”

Kowalski stared toward the flames out in the storm, his face sinking. “Shit…”

Amanda turned. The fires from Craig’s Molotov were foundering in the snowmelt. The beasts, obeying some sonar signal, began to march toward the group again, splashing and stamping through the remaining flames.

As Amanda backed, the party pulled tighter together.

There was no escape.

5:03 P.M.

Standing only a yard away with his AK-47, the Russian fired at Matt’s head. Muzzle flash flared from the rifle barrel. Still deafened from the grenade blast, Matt didn’t hear the shot– or the one that took out the shooter.

Matt fell back, his left ear aflame. He watched, confused, as the right side of the guard’s head exploded out in a shower of bone and brain. It was all done in dead silence. Matt struck the ground, landing on his shoulder. Blood trailed down his neck. The shot had nicked his ear. He saw Bratt, Greer, and Washburn running at him. Bratt’s rifle still smoked.

In the hallway, the second guard tried to react, swinging his weapon, but Greer and Washburn both fired. A bullet struck the Russian’s shoulder, spinning him like a top. Another blasted through the man’s neck, spraying blood over the wall.

Sound began to return to Matt. Mostly the louder noises. Yells, more shots. The double doors to the galley suddenly exploded outward, tearing from hinges and blowing across the room; fire and smoke followed. Another booby trap.

Amid the chaos, Matt struggled to stand as the group reached him. Bratt grabbed him by the hood and hauled him up, yelling in his good ear. “Next time I duct-tape that damn grenade to you!”

As a group, they sprinted toward the Sno-Cat.

“More soldiers…!” Matt gasped, waving ahead, trying to warn.

Shots fired at them – from beyond the Sno-Cat. They dove down, using the wreckage as a shield. Rifle shots rattled the trashed vehicle.

Matt crouched, his back to the Sno-Cat. He stared back into the main room, cloudy with smoke. They were still exposed. They had to move.

Smoke swirled, and movement near the room’s center caught Matt’s eye. A man seemed to be floating up the shaft from below, lit by a couple flashlights. He was tall, white-haired, wearing an open greatcoat. In his arms, he carried a boy wrapped in a blanket. The boy was crying, covering his ears.

It made no sense.

“Get down!” Bratt yelled to Matt, pushing his head lower.

Greer tossed a grenade over the top of the vehicle toward the hidden snipers. Washburn rolled another back toward the main room.

“No!” Matt cried.

The twin explosions snuffed out Matt’s hearing again. The Sno-Cat jolted a foot toward them from the blast. Chunks of ice rained down; steamy smoke filled the hall.

Bratt motioned, pointing an arm. They had no choice but to make a run for it. They leaped as a group, having to trust that the grenade took out all the hostiles ahead of them.

The commander took the lead, followed by Washburn and Matt. Greer ran behind them, firing blindly back toward the main room. The shots sounded far away, more like a toy cap gun.

Then Greer shouldered into Matt, trying to get him to hurry, but succeeded in almost knocking him down. He glanced back angrily as he caught his balance.

Greer was down on one knee. He hadn’t pushed Matt. He had fallen.

Matt stopped, skidding around on the ice-strewn floor, meaning to go to his aid. The man’s face was a mask of fury and pain. He waved Matt onward, shouting soundlessly.

Matt saw why. Blood pooled under Greer, pouring from his leg. The blood pumped in a bright red flow. Arterial. Greer slumped to the floor, rifle across his knees.

Washburn grabbed Matt’s arm, taking in the scene immediately. She yanked him, making him follow her.

Greer met Matt’s gaze, then did the oddest thing. The man simply shrugged, disappointed, like he’d simply lost a bet. He lifted his rifle, pointed it toward the station, and began to fire again.

Pop…pop…pop…

Matt allowed himself to be dragged away. They fled past the Sno-Cat and headed toward the blasted doorway. Bodies lay in crumpled piles; there was no resistance.

Matt spotted a familiar object resting in a severed hand. He snatched it up in midrun and shoved it into his pocket. It could come in handy.

The trio fled to the surface, out into the storm.

Once Matt was free of the station, the wind seemed to dispel his deafness. He heard the blizzard’s howl.

“This way!” Bratt yelled, aiming them toward the parked snow vehicles. They planned to steal a Ski-Doo and head out to the SLOT transmitter, hidden among the peaks.

But first they had to get there.

It was a hundred-yard dash.

Clearing the entrance, they sprinted across the open, heading toward the vehicles half buried in the blowing snow.

It was too much to hope they were unguarded.

Guns fired at them. Ice spat up from the impacts, stinging them.

Bratt and Washburn dropped to their bellies, sheltering behind a shallow ridge of ice. Matt did the same. The snipers were hidden in a valley between two ice peaks. Well protected. Matt spotted orange tents sheltered up there.

“That’s where the corpses from the station are kept,” Washburn hissed. “I know a back way in, and I have one more grenade. Cover me.” She began to crawl away, retreating toward the station’s entrance.

Bratt aimed his gun and fired toward the tents. Matt rolled and hauled his AK-47 around. He aimed, searching for snowy shadows. He fired whenever he saw movement.

Off to the side, Washburn reached a narrow crevasse between two peaks, ready to circle behind the snipers.

Then, as was usual for this day, everything went dreadfully wrong.

5:11 P.M.

By the shaft opening, Jenny readied herself along with the others. She held Bane’s scruff. The storm winds still blew fiercely, but the snowfall had waned to flurries and gusts.

“On my mark!” Kowalski yelled a few steps away. He and Tom stood in front, bearing flaming Molotovs over their heads.

Five grendels massed ahead of them. The beasts’ approach had stopped as explosion after muffled explosion erupted, sounding as if they were coming from just beyond the next peak. The creatures, tuned to vibrations, were disturbed by the concussions.

“It’s the station,” Tom had said. “Someone’s attacking.”

Kowalski had agreed, “Sounds like grenades.”

The momentary confusion of the beasts had bought them time to light a pair of Molotovs and devise a quick plan.

It wasn’t artful. Simply down and dirty.

Kowalski took the lead, stepping toward the nearest grendel and waving his flaming torch at it.

Lips pulled back in response, baring teeth like a dog. The other grendels retreated a step, edgy now, wary. The lead bull kept his spot, not intimidated by the show.

“This one’s well fed,” Ogden whispered at Jenny’s side, crowding her. “It’s surely one of the pod’s sentinels. Its territoriality will be the most fierce.”

That was their hope. Take out the leader and maybe the pack will scatter.

Kowalski took another step. Tom dogged behind him.

In a blur, the grendel suddenly leaped at them, roaring.

“Fuck!” Kowalski screamed, and tossed the Molotov toward the monster’s open jaws. He flew backward, bouncing into Tom. They both fell.

The seaman’s aim, though, proved true. The flaming bottle sailed end over end into the creature’s maw. The result was spectacular.

An explosion of burning oil burst from the creature’s jaws, like some fire-breathing dragon. It howled, spitting and hacking out flaming oil. It spun in agony and blind fury. The others fled from the display, bounding away in all directions.

The smell of burning flesh filled the small ice vale.

“Now!” Kowalski screamed, springing to his feet with Tom.

The young ensign had managed to keep his Molotov out of the snow. He whipped it now with the strength of a major-league ballplayer. It arced past the flailing monster and burst farther down the path, flaming more of the trail ahead, warding away any other grendels.

“Let’s go!” Kowalski yelled, taking the lead.

The wounded beast collapsed to the ice, its lungs burned away. Flames still danced from its lips and the two nostrils high on its head. It didn’t move.

Kowalski gave it a wide berth just in case. Tom waved for the others to follow. Jenny ran alongside Craig and Dr. Reynolds. Free now, Bane raced ahead, joining Kowalski at the front. Behind them, the biology group kept pace with Tom.

The party fled through fire and ice, running full tilt.

Kowalski had their last Molotovs. He kept a fiery path blazing ahead of them. The grendels scattered out of their way.

Then a scream…

Jenny turned and saw Antony down, one leg plunged through a hole in the ice. Tom and Zane helped draw the panicked boy out.

Kowalski had stopped, waiting for them a few yards down. “Sucks, doesn’t it!” They would all have to be careful of such sinkholes. A leg could be easily broken…or a neck.

Zane helped his friend to his feet.

“Shit, that’s cold,” Antony said.

Ice cracked behind him. Up from the hole, a grendel burst forth, battering from below. It lunged and snatched the boy’s leg, biting deep. Zane and Tom were thrown backward as the ice shattered outward. The half-ton beast dropped back into the hole, dragging Antony with it.

He didn’t even have time to scream before he was gone.

Amid cries and shouts, everyone raced forward haltingly. With the snow covering the ice, it was impossible to discern the thinner patches.

“They’re pacing us,” Ogden said, panting. “Tracking us under the ice by our footsteps.”

“We can’t stop,” Kowalski said.

No one wanted to. They continued onward, but more slowly. Kowalski bravely took the point. Everyone kept to his footsteps, not wanting to take any unnecessary chances.

Jenny had seen polar bears hunting seals in such a manner, pouncing up from below to nab their unsuspecting prey. The area must be riddled with iced-over breathing holes, permanent cracks in the ice protected by the pressure ridges around here.

They would have to be careful.

Jenny spotted a mound of snow rise as something heavy pushed up from below. She heard the crinkle of breaking ice from beneath it. The grendels were still following them.

“Around the next ridge!” Tom called from the back. “The station’s parking lot is just ahead!”

They cautiously increased their pace.

Jenny rounded the bend and saw he was right. The jumble of peaks opened into flat ice. They were almost out of the treacherous pressure ridges.

As they made for the opening, gunfire cracked through the whine of winds. Kowalski reached the edge and raised his arm, halting them all while he scanned ahead. More gunfire sounded close by, a real firefight.

Tom pulled up next to them. “Someone’s fighting the Russians.”

“Could it be the Delta team?” Amanda asked Craig.

He shook his head.

Kowalski hissed to them. They all moved forward, gathering together. He pointed an arm. Just ten yards from their hiding place rested a Sno-Cat, with snowmobiles and other vehicles lined up just past it.

Beyond the parking lot, Jenny spotted two figures out on the ice, firing toward the peaks to the left. Gunfire answered them, spattering into the short ridge that sheltered the pair.

It was impossible to tell who was who. Though the snowfall from overhead had died away, the winds continued to blow surface snow in scurfs and eddies, obliterating detail.

Bane suddenly lunged forward, breaking away from the group. He raced between the parked vehicles, heading out toward the open plain.

Jenny made to leap after him, but Kowalski grabbed her elbow and hissed. He pointed an arm.

Beyond the firefight, the glowing entrance to the base shone in the stormy gloom. Figures appeared, limned against the light, pouring out from inside. A major battle was about to begin.

She turned her attention, but Bane was gone, lost among the parked snow craft.

The gunfire grew more intense.

“Now what do we do?” Tom asked.

5:14 P.M.

From his position behind the ice ridge, Matt watched as Washburn was tackled, swamped under three men. She kicked and fought, but it was no use. More soldiers moved out, flanking the entrance. Additional men took up sniping positions within the shelter of the entrance hall.

It wouldn’t be long until Matt and Bratt were outflanked and shot. Matt covered the men near the entrance, trying to keep them from edging into a position from which they could shoot directly at his group. Bratt did the same with the group hiding among the tents.

But they were running low on ammunition.

“I’ll try to draw their fire,” Bratt said. “Make for the vehicles. Try to grab one and head out.”

“What about you?”

Bratt shied from the question. “I’ll do what I can to hold them off you for as long as possible.”

Matt hesitated.

Bratt turned to him, his eyes fierce. “This isn’t your war!”

And it isn’t yours either,Matt wanted to add, but now was not the time for debate. He simply nodded, acquiescing.

Bratt turned his attention, pulling out a grenade from a pocket. He pointed and signaled his plan. “Ready.”

Matt took a deep breath and pushed himself from his belly into a crouch, keeping low. “Go!”

Bratt lobbed the grenade. He didn’t have the arm to reach the group in the tents, not against the winds blowing out from the ice mountains. But he did a damn good job anyway. The explosion of ice obliterated the view.

That was Matt’s cue. He took off at a full sprint. Behind him, Bratt twisted to fire at the men positioned near the station entrance.

The plan might have worked, except that the Russians by the tents had managed to load their rocket launcher. Matt heard the fizzling blast, followed by the telltale whistle.

He dove and twisted, skidding a few yards on his shoulder. The sharp ice shredded his parka. He watched Bratt turn, ready to leap away, but the distances were too short, the rocket too fast.

Matt covered his face, both to protect himself and not to watch.

The rocket struck with a resounding blast. The ice shuddered under Matt. He lowered his arm and pushed up. Their temporary shelter was now a smoking hole of steam.

There was no sign of Bratt.

Then a boot landed beside him, thudding in the snow, sizzling against the ice.

Horrified, Matt rolled away. He shoved to his feet. Not allowing the man’s sacrifice to be in vain, he ran for the vehicles.

5:16 P.M.

Jenny stared at the lone figure running across the ice. He wore a white parka…one of the Russians. Then a gust of snow and steam blanketed over him.

“We have to move out now,” Craig said beside her, drawing her attention. “Use the distraction to grab what vehicles we can.”

“Who can drive a Cat?” Kowalski asked, pointing to the sturdy vehicle. It was only ten yards away. So close…

Ogden raised his hand. “I can.”

Kowalski nodded. “Tom and I’ll grab a couple snowmobiles to act as flankers and decoys. The Cat should hold the rest of you. I’ve got two Molotovs left.” He tossed one to Tom. “We’ll do what we can to keep the Russians off your asses.”

“Let’s do it,” Craig said.

The group bolted toward the nearby Cat. Tom and Kowalski divided and ran for two Ski-Doos.

Henry reached the Sno-Cat first and yanked the door open. Zane and Magdalene clambered into the front seat while Henry tried the engine. It sputtered, then caught. The noise seemed loud, sure to draw the attention of the Russians now that the firefight had stopped. Hopefully the soldiers were still deafened by the rocket explosion. And if not, there was always the perpetually howling wind to cover the sound.

Jenny searched for any sign that they were heard. But the cloud from the rocket attack continued to mask the area. The winds blew the steamy smoke toward the station’s entrance, keeping the view blanketed. But it would not last long.

She heard one Ski-Doo engine wind up, then another. Tom and Kowalski had found their mounts.

“Inside!” Craig urged, pulling open the rear door for Amanda and Jenny.

As Amanda grabbed the edge of the doorframe, sharp barking cut through the engine noise.

Jenny stepped around the rear of the Cat. Bane…

She searched, then spotted movement. A figure lumbered from the snow fifty yards away. The lone Russian in the white parka. She hissed to Craig.

He came over. Amanda paused in the open door.

Jenny pointed to the armed figure, who seemed unaware of them. He had been close to the explosion. Probably dazed and deaf.

“We’ll have to take him out,” Craig said.

Then Jenny spotted another figure, dark and low to the ground. It was Bane. The wolf mix leaped at the man, bringing him down.

Craig saw it, too. “It looks like we won’t have to deal with the man after all. That is some mutt. A real attack dog.”

Jenny watched with a frown. Bane was not that sort of dog.

She watched the man wrestle the dog, then sit up on his knees and hug him, pulling the dog tight. She fell forward two steps. “It’s Matt!”

5:18 P.M.

A sob escaped Matt as he clutched Bane. How had the dog gotten here? All the way from Omega?It seemed a miracle.

He heard a small cry in the wind, but he couldn’t tell from where. He glanced up. Then he heard it again. Someone was calling his name.

Bane dashed a few steps, then turned back to Matt, clearly urging him to follow.

He did, one leg numbly stumbling after the next. He trudged after the dog, not believing his luck.

And he never should have.

Again a characteristic whistling wail pierced the winds.

Another rocket.

The Russians must know his goal. They were going to take out the parking lot, cutting off any means of escape.

Matt stumbled after Bane, meaning to catch the damn dog, drag him down. But the wolf kept running ahead. He raced among the first of the vehicles.

“Bane! No!”

Ever obedient, Bane stopped and spun back to look at him.

Then the rocket hit, blasting Matt back from the force of the concussion. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He felt the wash of heat from the explosion roll over him.

He cried in his heart and aloud. “No!”

He sat up. The parking lot ahead was gone, a blasted ruin of ice and torn vehicles. At the center gaped a hole clear to the ocean below.

Matt covered his face with his hands.

5:19 P.M.

Jenny must have blacked out for a fraction of a second. One moment, she was standing by the Sno-Cat, calling out to Matt – the next she was on her back. She sat up, the world spinning slightly.

Her ears ringing, she lay some twenty feet from the Sno-Cat. She remembered the jolt as ice bucked under her, throwing her high. Across the way, the Cat was crashed on its side, toppled over by the force of the explosion.

Matt…

She flashed back to seeing him just before the attack. The fear drove away her momentary daze.

Jenny struggled to stand. Craig was doing the same ten feet to her right. Surprisingly, Amanda was already up. She stood by the Sno-Cat, seemingly unfazed.

Beyond them, the ice field was obliterated, swirling in steam. A large hole had been blasted through to the ocean below. Wreckage of vehicles lay all around, thrown and scattered like so many toys. There was no sign of Matt or Bane, but steam still misted thickly.

Closer, Jenny saw Tom sprawled in the snow, pinned under his snowmobile. The young ensign was not moving. A trail of crimson flowed from under him.

Oh God…

She spotted Kowalski’s vehicle halfway up the neighboring pressure ridge, on its side, motor still chugging. But there was no sign of the seaman.

“We need to help them,” Amanda said.

Jenny stumbled over to her.

Amanda turned. Her words were slurred more than usual. “The blast…” She shook her head. “It almost fell on top of me.”

Jenny placed a hand on her shoulder. It must be terrifying to see that play out without a single sound.

Craig joined them.

Through the Cat’s windshield, figures moved. Ogden bore a gash on his forehead. He and Magdalene were trying to calm Zane. He was dazed, flailing, half conscious.

“We have to get them out,” Jenny said.

“The door’s jammed,” Amanda said. “I tried…I couldn’t…maybe all of us together.”

Craig stepped away from the toppled Sno-Cat. “We’re not going to have the time.” He stared out beyond the blasted pit in the ice.

As the winds blew the steaming mist from the blast zone, a line of figures in white parkas were setting out across the ice, weapons ready.

Craig turned to them. “The cleanup squad. We have to get away from here before they spot us.”

Jenny stared at the spread of ruined vehicles. “Where?” She pointed to the pressure ridges. “Back into grendel territory.”

Craig shook his head, trying to map out some plan. “The Delta team could be here in twenty minutes…if we could hole up till then.”

Amanda had been following their conversation. “I may know a better way. But we’ll have to hurry. Follow me.” She turned and started away, heading out from the parking lot.

Jenny stared from the figures in the Sno-Cat to Tom’s limp form. She hated abandoning them, but she had no choice. Especially unarmed. Her fingers rested on her empty holster. Frustrated, guilty, she turned away.

As Jenny started after Craig and Amanda, the sound of engines whined into existence behind them. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted a pair of headlamps glowing beyond the fog and mists. They sped off to the side in tandem, circling around the zone of the rocket attack.

Hover-cycles.

She ran faster.

Thirty yards ahead, Amanda vanished around a shelf of ridgeline. Craig followed. As she reached the ridge, Jenny skidded to a stop. She cast one look back at those she was abandoning. Movement drew her eye. Tom, still buried under his bike, weakly lifted an arm.

She gasped, “Tom’s still alive!”

Craig yelled to her from the niche in the ice, a naturally sheltered cove. “We don’t have time to go back! The Russians will be on us any second!”

Jenny spotted their means of escape. Inside the niche stood a single-masted sailing boat, an iceboat, resting on long titanium runners. Amanda was near the prow of the boat, grasping a small hand ax. She chopped through the ropes that secured the boat.

Jenny hovered at the entrance to the niche and glanced back to Tom. His arm fell back to the snow, motionless again.

She gritted her teeth and made a hard choice. They could not risk capture again. She turned her back on Tom and the others and strode to the iceboat.

“One to each side!” Amanda instructed as she worked quickly, hopping around the boat with her ax. “We’ll have to push her out a ways!”

Jenny hurried to obey as the whine of hovercraft echoed over the ice. Craig glanced meaningfully at her. Time had indeed run out. Rescue of the others was truly impossible. They worked faster.

With the boat untethered, Amanda tossed the ax inside, then shoved from the prow. “Back her out ten feet, then I’ll let out the sails.”