Ice Hunt

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 living grendel.

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.