Apocalypse Weird: Reversal (Polar Wyrd Book 1) (4 page)

“If that even was Robert,” Sasha murmured. The person, or thing—she was not sure why she had already gone to thinking it was a thing—who had passed her had seemed so cold.

“I’ll go,” Kyle said, to Sasha’s surprise.

“Be careful,” Soren said. “Don’t leave the bay. If he’s out there, try to calm him down.”

“Roger,” Kyle said. Sasha experienced an odd twinge. It was unlike Kyle to be so helpful. He was usually sulky and antagonistic. She squelched her uncharitable thoughts. This was an emergency and everyone rose to the occasion in an emergency.

The sounds of Kyle’s footsteps heading in the direction of the main door to the station faded, and she and Soren continued to grope toward the lab. After the station door opened and closed, Soren paused for a second, and Sasha bumped into him. His keys jingled again as he fumbled with something along the wall. The sound of another key in a lock came next, and then she smelled the now familiar scent of gunpowder and wood. Soren removed one of the firearms from his gun locker and slid some cartridges into the barrel. Then he closed the locker and relocked it. Sasha didn’t say anything. She was glad Soren had a gun. She wondered if perhaps she should ask for a gun, too. But Soren probably did not want anyone other than himself firing without the benefit of sight.

His voice came from closer than she expected and didn’t sound nearly as terrible as before. Fingertips grazed hers. “Okay, so let’s hope we can get the radio going. You take the left seat.”

They jostled against each other a couple of times as they tried to find their way into chairs. The solidity of the old oak desk chair was oddly comforting. Timber sat beside Sasha, while Soren felt and flipped switches on the radio panel. She twigged at every rustle and click, and tensed with every wild and eerie shriek of the storm, imagining that it was only minutes before it would shatter the glass of the window just above the desk. In this sightless world, every sound was a data point.

Sasha felt something cool and rectangular placed in her lap. The first aid kit. She opened the kit, felt for antiseptic wipes, disinfected her own hands, and then started cleaning Timber’s wound.

“Retort, Retort, this is Northern Ellesmere, come in Retort. We have an emergency situation up here.”

Static came back over the radio. Sasha traced the edges of Timber’s laceration. It was long, but not deep. It should be stitched, but she did not have time now.

“Retort. Please come in. This is Soren Anderson at the International Polar Science Station. Please come in. I repeat, we have an emergency situation here.”

More static, and then voices. Voices speaking a different language. A language that sounded like Russian. Then more static.

“I don’t get it,” Soren said. “I only use two channels on this panel. Retort and Grise Ford. Unless someone bumped the dial.”

More voices came over the radio. This time agitated Russian.

“Should I change the channel? Maybe it’s just one or two off,” Sasha said. If it was more then one or two channels off of Retort, they would have a hard time finding the right one blind.

“I’m going to try the sat phone,” Soren said. He rose and Sasha heard him move off in the direction of the filing cabinets next to the desk and slide one of the drawers open. Sasha pressed a length of gauze against Timber’s wound and wrapped a pressure bandage around his torso to hold it in place.

Soren made an exasperated sound. “I just realized I have no idea what the bloody emergency numbers are. I have them written down on the wall there, but fat lot of good that’s going to do. I usually use the radio.”

“Just call someone whose number you do know. Call your mother, or your brother, or sister, if you have one.” Sasha left out girlfriend. Would a man who spent forty-eight weeks a year in the Arctic have a girlfriend in the real world? “They can find the number for you.”

Soren made a noncommittal noise in his throat, and it sounded like he was punching some numbers into the phone. “It’s not ringing. I don’t think it has a signal.”

“Keep trying. Maybe you didn’t enter the number correctly.”

While Soren continued to push buttons on the phone, Sasha reached up and traced her fingers along the radio panel in search of the channel dial. She turned the dial one click, and then repeated Soren’s emergency message into the radio. Nothing came back to her except static. She tried another click and the message again. This time she heard voices. English-speaking voices. “Retort. Retort. This is the International Polar Science Station. We have an emergency,” she said.

A woman’s voice responded. “Well, sweetie, get in line. We’ve got emergencies just about everywhere.”

“Who are you? Is this Retort Air Force Base?”

“Who are you? I’ve never heard of Retort.”

“Look, can you get word to Retort for us? We have some researchers missing and there’s a huge storm up here, and none of us can see.” She sensed Soren in the chair next to her, his fingers grasping for the radio. She gave it to him.

“It seems to be a common problem this fine evening,” the woman replied.

“Look we don’t have time to chitty chat,” Soren said “We need help up here immediately. Can you call the nearest military base? Say you need to get a message to Captain Durango at Retort Air Force Base. Say that you received a distress signal from Soren Anderson.”

“You act as if you do not wish to meet the dragon, Soren Anderson.”

“Dragon? What? I don’t know what you’re talking about. We need help. Is there anyone else there that I can talk to?”

The woman’s voice had taken on an almost sing-song quality. “On eve of the end of the world, the master will come. Only those who are worthy will qualify. Are you worthy, Soren Anderson? You and your dogs?”

“Try another channel,” Soren said to Sasha.

Dogs? How would the woman know that Soren had dogs? A frisson of sick fear descended her spine.

“But…”

“Do it,” Soren ordered.

The station door flew open with the clang of metal on metal, bringing in a gusty squeal of frigid air.

“The bay door is open and all the dogs are out of their kennels,” Kyle yelled.

Soren launched to his feet at Kyle’s words and Timber skittered into action on the hard laminate floor next to him. Based on the sound of his footsteps, Soren was halfway across the room before he remembered Sasha.

“You coming?” he called.

“On my way,” she replied.

She rose in slow motion and started to inch her way toward the main door, the layout of the common room not as imprinted in her mind as in Soren’s. Her shins made hard contact with the sharp edge of the 50s coffee table and she suppressed a yelp, her fingers reaching for the rough textured fabric that covered the brown industrial-grade couch.

She was only a few seconds behind him, but it felt like an eternity. “I’m almost there,” she called. “Are you still there?”

“Yup,” said Soren. “I’m waiting.” Sasha relaxed fractionally. He was waiting. She was not alone in the station with flipped out Amber, and potentially Robert, for company. She tried not to think about what else might be in the station.

When she neared the door, she reached out her hand for her parka and encountered warm skin and the silk of hair. The back of Soren’s neck. She had wanted to touch him in this very spot for weeks. She pulled her hand away quickly. It grazed the cool barrel of the gun he must have strapped to his back. The smooth puffy fabric of a down parka was pushed into her arms. She hastily pulled the jacket on and zipped it up as Soren opened the door to the cargo bay.

“Leave Timber inside,” Soren said, guiding her out the door and closing it in the dog’s face.

In the absence of sight, the cargo bay was an untamed melee of dogs, wind, and snow. Snowflakes pelted Sasha’s face while the wind seemed able to rip her out of the bay and fling her far to the east onto the floes and into the ocean. All about her, Sasha could feel and hear the swirling bodies of disturbed dogs yipping and howling. Some crowded around them and Soren uttered reassurances as they both reached out their hands to pat the heads of the agitated beasts.

“Kyle,” Soren yelled. “Kyle. We need to get that bay door closed.”

Kyle’s voice materialized out of nowhere right next to them, making Sasha jump. “I couldn’t agree more. But I have no idea where the controls are.”

“They’re just at the end of this wall,” Soren said. “Never mind, I’ll go.”

Sasha felt the sea of dogs move in the same direction as Soren, and heard him order them to sit and stay. She tried to move until she had an arm pressed against the reassuring hardness of the station wall. Blind and in this storm, if she, or anyone, left the station, they’d be turned around, lost and dead in no time.

“Help… Help!” The tinny words were carried in on the wind. It sounded like a woman. Edie? Had she and Cal found their way back?

“Help us. Help!” It came again.

“Soren, did you hear that?” she called.

His voice came from about twenty feet away. “I did. I just have no idea what to do to help them.”

Sasha cupped her hands around her mouth. “Edie! Is that you? Is that you and Cal? We’re here. Sasha and Soren. And Kyle,” she added as an afterthought. “You’re almost at the station. Can you see it?” Maybe Edie and Cal could still see. Why wouldn’t they be able to see? Why would they be affected by this crazy blindness that had clearly affected everyone who had remained behind at the station?

“Help! We can’t see. It’s Gil and Kacy.” The names were whipped away and stretched on the wind. Gil and Kacy. It must be Cal and Edie.

“They sound like they’re just outside the bay,” Kyle said.

“We need to go out and find them,” Sasha said. “Maybe the dogs can help.” The dogs would be able to smell them, wouldn’t they? “Soren,” she called again. The wind threw her own words back against her face.

“We aren’t going out there without taking some safety precautions first.” Soren’s deep voice right next to her ear startled her, and she felt his hands feeling for her hips and arms. “I’m going to tie this rope around your waist, and then the next length of it around Kyle’s waist, and then my own. Then I’m going to tie you to something just inside the door, Sasha. You’re going to be our anchor, so we can find our way back…or you can pull us back in, if need be.”

With the ropes around their waists, the three of them moved along the bay wall. The closer they got to the edge of the bay, the more the wind pulled at Sasha’s body and screamed through her hair. She had already started to shiver uncontrollably. Soren called Tundra, the lead sled dog, over to him and Sasha heard the click of a leash. Then he ordered the other dogs to stay.

At the edge of the cargo bay, Soren took the unused bit of rope that dangled from Sasha’s waist and lashed her firmly to one of the metal handrails that ran around the inside of the bay, handrails installed to help with safety in windstorms like these. Probably not intended for use by the blind, Sasha thought grimly, as she wrapped her icy fingers around the rope.

The calls for help had become more intermittent, but still seemed to be coming from just outside the bay.

“Okay, we’re going out,” Soren said. “If there’s a problem, this is the button that closes the bay.” He guided her hand to the bay control panel and placed it on top of the round red button that closed the hatch. Then wordlessly he pressed something into her other hand. Keys—the station keys.

He wasn’t sure if he would be coming back.

“Soren,” she said. But the howl of the wind drowned out her words, and it seemed that she was alone anyway, not that in her current state she could know for sure.

She put the keys around her neck and pulled her hands up as far as she could inside her sleeves and then reached for the rail. After a few minutes, she felt a few faint tugs on the rope around her waist, suggesting that Soren and Kyle had reached the end. Her teeth chattered together as shudders of cold wracked her body. She was in her pajamas without a toque or the heavy mittens they always wore outside. Soon, she would be incoherent with hypothermia.

Occasionally, between blasts of wind, she could hear the nervous yips of the dogs, and the cries for help continued to invade her senses, like a siren luring her in. Sasha shook herself awake. She had drifted off to sleep imagining Edie and Cal as possessed beings enticing them out of the station. And then there was Robert. Where was he? And who had attacked Robert and Amber? Timber wouldn’t have done it. And why were they all blind? With Soren gone, Sasha found herself starting to tremble from more than just the cold.

A snarling rose up in the pack of dogs behind her, and Sasha shrank against the wall. What did they see or smell that she couldn’t?

The snarling turned into savage barks, and then a squealing growling fight broke out that all of the dogs seemed to be engaged in. Sasha had heard dogs fight before. But there was a hideous seriousness to this conflict that made her light-headed. Maybe it was one of the rogue polar bears, or more than one. Whatever the dogs were fighting was letting loose its own shrieks and grunts—high-pitched, determined, guttural sounds that she had never before heard from the dogs…or any animal. She had to get Soren. She tugged on the rope around her waist and then heaved on it. The sharp yelps and growls of the dogs escalated, and it sounded like someone, or something, was being rended to bits.

She yanked on the rope again. This time there was slack. Maybe they were coming back. She started to haul the rope back through her hands, feeding it onto the floor beside her, while the wild conflict in the bay continued.

Length after length, she pulled in the rope, expecting at any second for it to go taut, held fast by Kyle and Soren’s bodies. But as she pulled one more length in, she realized the she held the end in her hands. Kyle and Soren were not longer attached to it.

They were somewhere outside the bay in the storm, while something raged against the dogs inside.

She risked calling “Soren!” and then “Kyle!” once. But there was no response, and she did not want to draw attention to herself.

Blind, freezing, and alone with some sort of unnamable predator, Sasha started to break down. Tears pooled in her eyes and streamed down her face. She groped at the rope around her waist with her stiff uncooperative fingers. She needed to untie herself and get inside the station, and hope that whatever it was that was fighting with the dogs didn’t notice her… and couldn’t turn door handles. Soren had given her the keys to the gun locker. She would go and get a gun, and shoot sightless into the night, and hope to hit the right thing. The din in the bay had somehow become slightly more subdued, not because the conflict had ceased, but because there seemed to be fewer dogs contributing to the noise. Did that mean some of them were already dead?