“The station’s been evacuated. The Russians attacked Omega.”

“My God…I don’t understand.”

“And they’re now in the process of commandeering the facility here, too. But what about you? Who are you? Why are you down here alone?”

She moved closer, but her eyes flickered between him and the tunnel behind him. “I’m Dr. Amanda Reynolds. Head of Omega Drift Station.” She told him an abbeviated, hurried story of missing scientists and the sudden attack by the giant ice predator.

“You called them grendels over the walkie-talkie,” he said as she finished her bloody tale. “Like you knew about them.”

“We found frozen remains here. Down in some ice cavern. They were supposed to be fifty thousand years old, dating back to the last ice age. Some type of extinct species.”

Extinct, my ass, he thought. Aloud he related his own experiences since the Russian attack, keeping a watch on the tunnels with his flashlight.

“So there’s more than one grendel…” she mumbled, her voice a whisper. “Of course, there must be. But how have they remained hidden for so long?”

“They’re not hiding now. If this is some frozen nest, it’s too dangerous to remain down here. Do you know another trail to the surface? With what was on my scent, maybe we’d better get off this green diamond trail. Try another.”

She pointed forward. “This trail should lead to others. But I’m not that familiar with the Crawl Space. My guess is that they all end eventually at the exit.”

“Let’s hope so. C’mon.” Matt headed out, going slowly now, cautious, backtracking up. “We need to watch for any sign of the grendels: spoor, scratched marks in the ice. Avoid those areas.”

She nodded. He had to respect this woman. She had faced one of these beasts alone and survived. And now she sought to escape with nothing but a walkie-talkie and a small ice ax. All the while deaf to what might be out there.

“With a bit of luck,” she said, “we won’t run into any more of them.”

Matt turned just as a wave of buzzing cut through his skull, rattling the tiny bones in his ears.

He felt a frantic clutch on his elbow. Amanda pulled beside him. Even deaf, she must have felt the reverberation. And from the way her fingers cut into his right biceps, she knew its implication.

Their luck had just run out.

10. Blood on the Ice

After an hour in front of the space heater, Jenny felt almost thawed — and oddly reenergized. Maybe it was the caffeine, maybe it was the morphine, maybe it was the stupidity of their plan.

Moments ago, word had reached them that the Russian submarine had left. This news came from a seaman who had been found hiding in one of the research shacks by the Russian forces and tossed into the barracks to join the rest of the captives. The seaman had witnessed the sub’s departure.

“Do you have any estimate of how many Russians are still here?” Lieutenant Sewell asked him, kneeling beside the newly arrived sailor.

The man shivered in his seat, his hands soaking in a bowl of warm water. His teeth chattered as he answered. “Not for certain, sir. I spotted some ten men, but there have to be more I didn’t see.”

“So, more than ten,” Sewell said, his lips thin with worry.

The seaman glanced to his senior officer, eyes wide. “Th-they shot Jenkins. He tried to bolt across the ice. He was going to bug out to the NASA station. Try to use their crawler to get away. They shot him in the back.”

Sewell patted the man’s shoulder. They had all heard similar reports. It was clear the Russians were under strict orders to lock down this station. One by one, all of the officers and a few of the scientists had been dragged away at gunpoint. But they were returned unharmed, except for one lieutenant who came back with a broken nose.

Interrogation, Sewell had told Jenny. The Russians were clearly searching for something, something that once lay hidden at the lost ice station. They hadn’t found it. Yet.

Jenny had caught a glimpse of their interrogator as he stood in the doorway: a tall, stately Russian with a shock of white hair, and a face even paler.

Sewell began to rise from his knee, but the shivering seaman stopped him again, pulling a wet hand from the bath. “Sir, I also saw two Russians dropping a canister into a hole in the ice. Other holes were being drilled.”

“Describe the canisters.”

“They were the size of minikegs.” The seaman shaped them with his dripping hands. “Solid black with bright orange end caps.”

“Shit.”

Jenny had been leaning over, tying on dry boots. She straightened. “What are they?”

“Russian incendiary charges. V-class explosives.” Sewell closed his eyes as he stood up. “They must be planning on melting this entire base into the ocean.”

To the side, Kowalski had finished dressing and stood in front of the heater. He held his hands toward the warmth. His fingernails were still tinged slightly blue. “So do we go ahead with our plan?”

“We have no choice. It’s becoming clearer and clearer that the Russians’ mission here is a plunder-and-purge. They intend to grab what they can and burn everything behind them. Whatever is over at the Grendel base, the Russians are determined to take it and leave no one to tell the tale.”

Kowalski sighed. “Then, as long as they don’t find what they’re looking for, we live. Once they do, we die.”

Sewell didn’t even bother responding to the man’s statement. He turned instead to Jenny. “Our plan. Still think you can pull off your end?”

Jenny’s father placed a hand on her shoulder. She covered it with her own. He didn’t want her to go. “I’ll make it.”

Sewell stared at her a moment, clearly trying to weigh her resolve. She met his hard gaze. He finally nodded. “Let’s go.”

Kowalski stepped to her side. He towered over her, a gorilla with only slightly less body hair. “You’ll need to keep up with me.”

She rolled her eyes.

Sewell led them both over to where a pair of sailors had pulled away a section of ceiling and cut through the insulation of the Jamesway hut with plastic knives. Their work was hidden out of direct sight of the guarded doorway. Luckily the Russians mostly kept out of the room, confident about their imprisonment — and rightly so. Where could the captives escape to even if they could get out of the barracks? The prison hut was well patrolled, and beyond the camp lay only a prolonged freezing death.

Their parkas had been confiscated. Only a fool would risk the freezing storm with nothing but the shirt on his back.

To escape here meant certain death.

This grim thought plagued Jenny as she watched the pair of sweating sailors labor overhead. They worked within the gap in the fiberglass insulation, unscrewing an exterior plate in the hut’s roof. It was difficult work with only plastic utensils, but they were managing.

A screw fell to the floor from above.

Sewell pointed up. “Normally there’s a skylight installed there. One of three. But in the Arctic, where it’s dark half the year and continually sunny the other, windows were found to be more of a nuisance, especially as a source of heat loss. So they were plated and sealed.”

“One more to go,” one of the men grunted overhead.

“Dim the lights.” Sewell signaled. The lamps around the immediate area were extinguished.

Jenny pulled a spare blanket around her shoulders and knotted it to form a crude hooded poncho. It was too large for her slight frame, but it was better than nothing. Anything to cut the wind.

The last screw fell. A plate dropped next into the waiting hands of one of the workers. It was followed by a blast of cold air.

Wind whistled inside. Much too noisy. Sewell pointed to a petty officer, who turned up his CD player. The band U2 wailed over the howl of the blizzard outside.