Apocalypse Weird: Reversal (Polar Wyrd Book 1) (11 page)

A lone figure sat in the cockpit. It was human, thankfully, although she wouldn’t be totally surprised to see a helicopter piloted by an alien, chimpanzee or robot at this point. She followed Soren across the packed and slippery snow of the runway.

A giant of a man with brilliant red hair in black paramilitary outfit vaulted out of the helicopter cockpit with a drawn gun. Soren too had pulled out his weapon, and Sasha felt desperately around in her pocket for hers. She was useless in this kind of situation. The dogs gathered in front of Soren, their bodies humming with low growls.

“Dead or alive?” the man bellowed in question.

Soren skidded to a stop. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you dead or alive?”

“Last time I checked, I was alive, although if this all gets any weirder, I’ll be pretty sure I’ve died and gone to some sort of strange hell,” Soren said.

“Sick or healthy?” the bear of a man returned, his voice deep and loud.

“What are you talking about?” Soren said.

“I mean, have you killed anything today, do you have the urge to eat raw flesh, do you have impulse control problems, are you human? Is there anything going on here other than the fact that the North is now the South or West, the entire landscape is pitted with holes and there’s goddamn smoke and fog everywhere?”

“We’re human,” Soren said by way of response. “We were all blind yesterday, and there are some pretty strange things going on, and as for the rest of it. I have no idea.”

“Blind? Yesterday? You don’t say.” But the man did not make it sound like he was surprised that they were blind. Rather it sounded more like he was surprised that they were blind yesterday.

The man shoved his gun into a holster around his waist. “Okay, I’m going to risk it then. I’m Barry Smith, mist-traveler, in search of uninfected lands. We thought the North or South, not sure which this is to be honest, might be a haven.” The man gave an active shiver. “But I have to say, it’s goddamn cold up here.”

Soren lowered his own gun, but did not pocket it. “I’m Soren Anderson, caretaker of the International Polar Science Station. The Arctic one,” he added with a glance back at the building that had now been branded the Shackleton station. Did the Arctic station even still exist, Sasha wondered.

“So I am north then, in the Arctic? I had headed north, but the GPS and all my flight instruments went off-line as I got close and according to my compass, I’d been heading south.”

“We’ve had the same problem,” Soren said evenly. “What do you mean you’re looking for uninfected lands? What’s a mist-traveler?”

“You probably don’t want to know. Look, is there any place we can talk? I’m freezing.” Barry gave the station a pointed glance.

“’Fraid not. Seems we’ve been locked out.”

The man blinked and furrowed his brow, his eyes swiveling to take in the expanse of ice and snow that surrounded them.

The storm had picked up in intensity since the helicopter landed, and it was getting harder to stand upright in the wind. Large heavy snowflakes started to swirl out of the clouds.

Barry looked up at the sky. “Well, I think I better get out of here. Storm’s picking up. I just came to see where things were at. Any arable land around here?”

“In the Arctic?” Soren said. “You’re kidding, right?”

“So you’re saying there’s no way to live up here without inputs from the rest of the world?”

Soren squinted at the man. What was he asking? “Not really. We need fuel, wood, and food. They get brought in every two weeks.”

“Hmm, pity,” Barry said. He had already turned and was halfway back into the helicopter cockpit.

“Wait,” Soren said. “Can you take us with you? Or take Sasha at least? She needs to get home, and our communications have been cut off. We need to get word to Retort and contact our families.”

The red-headed man tilted his head at Sasha, and gave them a bleak look. “’Fraid that would not be advisable. Ever heard the saying frying pan into the fire? My food supply is limited and you’re probably better off where you are, even if you freeze and starve to death in a few weeks. Trust me.”

Abruptly the man leapt the rest of the way into the cockpit and slammed the door shut. The rotor was spinning before Soren could cross the distance to the helicopter and through the now pelting snow, Sasha could see the man inside shaking his head at them to back off.

“Wait,” Soren yelled. But the rotor achieved sufficient velocity and the chopper rose slowly and uneasily into the air, thrown about by the wind. For a few seconds, it seemed like it might get dashed against the station, but the man righted it, and it lumbered off into the mist, the sound dissipating almost as soon as the helicopter disappeared from sight.

Sasha had just reached Soren where he stood staring off into the mist, when they heard a noise behind them. Sasha and Soren both whirled. This time Sasha managed to lay her hands on her gun. A man had emerged from the station holding a rifle. A dog bounded in front of him with bared teeth. A dog remarkably like Soren’s dogs, but not one that Sasha recognized.

At the sight of their guns, the tall dark-haired man pulled his rifle up into the ready position.

“Who are you? Did you come on the helicopter?” he called.

“I’m Soren Anderson, caretaker of the International Polar Science Station. Who are you? And what is this station?”

“This is the International Polar Science Station, and I am Gregor Posnikoff, the caretaker,” the man said carefully with a faint Russian accent. “Is there another Polar Science Station on Ellesmere? I thought the closest one was on Greenland.”

“It is…or it was,” Soren said. “What does Shackleton have to do with the Arctic?”

The man, who was now close enough for Sasha to see that he was extremely handsome, squinted his eyes. “Everything. Did you sleep through history?”

The sound of an engine cut through the storm and all three of them turned to see a snowmobile roar out of the mist. Robert drove the snowmobile directly at them and they scattered. Sasha slipped and fell onto the packed snow, her gun escaping her hand and flying far out of reach. The sound of the snow machine thundered in her ears as Robert steered the machine directly at her. He veered and reached out at the last second, snatching the strap of her climbing harness and hauling her up into the air. She was dragged along in the snow for a few feet, her feet and legs thumping against the side of the snowmobile and the ground, until he could yank her screaming up onto the seat in front of him.

Sasha heard Soren’s yells, the engine of the station snowmobile, and the barking of the dogs behind her, but they grew ever fainter by the second as she and Robert sped off into the deepening gloom, the headlights of the snowmobile illuminating the wall of dancing snow in front of them. Then they hit the mist, and the sounds ceased altogether.

Robert pushed on through the pounding snow for miles. He skirted the craters at breakneck speed, coming closer than Sasha would like to the gaping holes. She yelled at him to stop, but he ignored her. She tried to turn around to get his attention but arms, stronger than she had expected from a researcher, kept her firmly in place. She considered leaping off into the snow, but what good would that do? If she didn’t land in one of the craters, Robert would simply turn around and collect her, or if he didn’t, she would be alone in a storm in an unknown location in the Arctic.

The acrid smell of fire assaulted her nostrils before she saw the towering wall of flames through the snowstorm. When they neared the inferno, Robert brought the snow machine to a stop, got off, and headed toward the fire licking out of the crater without a backward glance.

Sasha dismounted and marched after him, the heat and glow from the fire startling after a day in the Arctic. She peered about carefully. Snow pummeled out of the sky on all sides of the crater, and a shroud of steam created by the giant flakes hitting the flames mixed with the dense smoke, but she and Robert seemed to be alone. She peeled off her parka hood and called after Robert.

“Robert! What are you doing? Why have you brought me here? Where are we?”

Robert turned and regarded her with an almost sleepy expression, his smooth olive skin and flat features ochre in the firelight. His eyes were bloodshot, and a smear of soot streaked his cheekbone.

“I’m helping to advance climate change. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Not really. It’s hot and bad for the earth.” She glanced back at the snowmobile. Robert had taken the keys. “Why don’t we go back to the station? Amber’s really worried about you. We could have dinner and discuss everything that’s you know…happened.”

Sasha looked behind her again, hoping against all odds to see Soren’s snowmobile blast through the storm. Was this the same fire that they had seen Robert at earlier? If it was, would Soren be able to find her?

Robert shook his head, the brilliance of the fire reflected in his pupils. “I have work to do here.”

“Well great. Fantastic. Maybe you could lend me the keys to the snowmobile and I’ll head back to the station and tell Amber that you’re okay.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stay. There’s someone who would like to speak with you.”

Sasha cast about in all directions. “Who? Robert, are you feeling okay? Did you hit your head or something during the blindness? Aren’t you worried about Amber?” The heat from the fire was nearly blinding itself. Sweat rolled down her face and had started to form in uncomfortable patches between her breasts. She risked undoing her parka a bit. She dared not shed it. Away from the fire, and damp from the sweat, she would freeze and die quickly.

Robert cast her a blank look. “Who? Ah yes, Amber, attractive little thing wasn’t she? Not very cooperative most of the time though. Quite unnecessary at this point in time. I’ll probably blow her brains out when I have a chance.”

Sasha recoiled at his words and took a step backwards. “What? Robert? What are you talking about?”

He flapped his arms and hands at her manically. “Too much talk. I have work to do. This one’s almost done. Then we move on to the next one.”

“What’s almost done?” Sasha asked. But then she realized what Robert was talking about. The fire had diminished in size. Robert walked over to a small snowmobile trailer and withdrew what appeared to be an armful of long thin pieces of wood. When he approached, she saw that they were torches, their tips wrapped in some sort of fabric. The cloying scent of gasoline drifted over her.

“You need to help me with these. I’ll light them and then you stick them upright into the torch holders in the trailer. Then we’ll move on to the next crater.”

“What? Robert, this is insane, I can’t—”

“Just do it,” Robert said. His hand closed around her arm in a painful grip and he thrust his face close to hers, his teeth clenched in a snarl. His breath reeked with the scent of cigarettes. His eyes were wild and disturbed, and he seemed nothing like the mild-mannered researcher with whom she had spent the last three weeks.

He pulled her, fighting, over close to the edge of the crater as if he might push her in, but once there, he stopped. The heat of the fire blistered her face and her eyes stung. Robert thrust the first of the torches into the fire and handed it to Sasha. “Take it to the snowmobile,” he ordered.

She gratefully withdrew from the fire to the snowmobile trailer where she placed the torch into one of the waiting holders. She lingered back away from the fire until Robert gave her another look of utter fury and she returned to get the second torch.

They repeated this process until nine lit torches flickered in the trailer and sweat ran down Sasha’s face in oceans, and it felt like her eyelashes and every hair on her head had been singed and burned away. The fire had diminished considerably in this time and was only a shadow of its former self. Soon it seemed it would expire completely, and the crater would yawn before them cold, deep and black as night.

“It’s almost done,” Robert said as she returned for the tenth and final torch.

“What’s in there?” Sasha asked.

“Methane. The most effective greenhouse gas.”

“Why are you doing this Robert? Why? Aren’t you a scientist? Don’t you know that climate change is bad? Really bad?”

“Well, that’s what we’ve been told of course, isn’t it? By all those self-perpetuating environmental think tank hand wringers. Climate change—the end of humanity. Melting ice caps, floods, rising sea level, massive storms, dying polar bears… Well let me tell you, I’ve seen the polar bears and I’m not a big fan. Is a warmer stormier future a bad thing? I’m not so sure.”

Abruptly, the flames in the crater vanished, and the temperature plummeted. Sasha started to shiver almost immediately and pulled the hood of her parka back up.

“Please, Robert. I just want to go back to the station.”

“I’m afraid that’s not in the cards, babe. We have other craters to burn off, and besides, I told you, someone wants to speak to you.”

“Who?” Sasha could hear the hysteria in her voice and the quiver around the edge of her words that emerged through chattering teeth.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Get on the snowmobile. It’s time to go.”

Dusk had arrived while they lit the torches, and with the icy wind of the storm and the snow that found its way inside her hood, the prospect of lighting another crater was almost inviting. She had looked around for any landmarks, anything to guide her way back to the station. But saw nothing. Perhaps she would be able to see something from the next crater.

Sasha got on the snowmobile behind Robert, and grasped him tightly around the waist hoping to acquire any body heat that he might be giving off. They drove through the falling night for several minutes, the torches flickering in the trailer behind them, until the headlights of the snowmobile fell on another one of the gaping chasms.

Robert got off the snowmobile, and one by one, threw the torches into the pit, until it seemed to reach a critical mass and exploded in a burst of orange flame.

After shivering uncontrollably on the snowmobile, the heat seemed almost a reprieve, and as she sat in the snow watching the fire burn, Sasha felt her eyelids become heavy. She had pulled two of the protein bars from her pack and eaten them, grateful that Soren always insisted on leaving the station fully prepared. Surely he would see the flames and find her, but he had not arrived at the last crater bonfire. Maybe he had been carried off by demons. Maybe he wasn’t even looking for her. Or maybe he was no longer part of this reality.