The Arctic Incident (Artemis Fowl 2)

“What you think?” asked D’Nall, the handsome one, relatively speaking. “Maybe one of you guys should take a spin down there.”

Aymon snorted.“Sure thing. We go down and get sparked by the big one. Just how dumb do you think we are?”

“The big one is out of the picture. I sparked him myself. Sweet shot.”

“My shot set off the avalanche,” objected Nyle. The baby of the gang. “You’re always claimin’ my kills.”

“What kills? The only thing you ever killed was a stink worm. And that was an accident.”

“Rubbish,” sulked Nyle. “I meant to kill that worm. He was buggin’ me.”

Aymon swooped between the two. “All right. Keep your scales on the pair of you. All we gotta do is throw a few rounds into the survivors from up here.”

“Nice plan, genius,” sneered D’Nall. “Except it won’t work.”

“And why not?”

D’Nall pointed below with a manicured nail.

“Because they’re boarding that train.”

Four green carriages were winding in from the north, dragged along by an ancient diesel engine. A maelstrom of snow flurries coiled in its wake. Salvation, thought Holly. Or perhaps not. For some reason the mere sight of the clanking locomotive set her stomach bubbling with acid. Still, she was in no position to be choosy.

“It’s the Mayak Chemical train,” said Artemis.

Holly glanced over her shoulder. Artemis seemed even paler than usual.

“The what?”

“Environmentalists worldwide call it the Green Machine, something of an irony. It transports spent uranium and plutonium assemblies to the Mayak Chemical Combine for recycling. One driver locked up in the engine. No guards. Fully loaded, this thing is hotter than a nuclear submarine.”

“And you know about this because . . .”

Artemis shrugged. “I like to keep track of these things. After all, radiation is the world’s problem.”

Holly could feel it now. Uranium tendrils eating through the rad-gel on her cheeks. That train was poison. But it was her only chance of getting the commander out alive.

“This just keeps getting better and better,” Holly muttered.

The train was closer. Obviously. Motoring along at about ten klicks. No problem for Holly on her own, but with two men down and one next-to-useless Mud Boy, it was going to take quite a feat to get on board that locomotive.

Holly spared a second to check on the goblins. They were holding steady at a thousand feet. Goblins were no good at improvisation. This train was unexpected, it would take them at least a minute to work out a new strategy. The big hole in their fallen comrade might give them further pause for thought.

Holly could feel the radiation emanating from the carriages, burning through the tiniest gap in the radiation gel, prickling her eyeballs. It was only a matter of time before her magic ran out. After that, she was living on borrowed time.

No time to think about that now. Her priority was the commander. She had to get him out of here alive. If the B’wa Kell were brazen enough to mount an operation against the LEP, there was obviously something pretty big going on underground. Whatever it was, Julius Root would be needed to spearhead the counterattack. She turned toward Artemis.

“Okay, Mud Boy. We’ve got one shot at this. Grab onto whatever you can.”

Artemis couldn’t hide an apprehensive shiver.

“Don’t be afraid, Artemis. You can make it.”

Artemis bristled. “It’s cold, fairy. Humans shiver in the cold.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the LEP captain, and she began to run. The piton wire played out behind her like a harpoon cable. Though it had the approximate grade of fishing line, the cable could easily suspend two struggling elephants. Artemis raced after her as fast as his loafered feet could manage.

They ran parallel to the tracks, feet crunching through the snow. Behind them the train grew closer, pushing a buffer of air before it.

Artemis struggled to keep up. This was not for him. Running and sweating. Combat for heaven’s sake. He was no soldier. He was a planner. A mastermind. The hurlyburly of actual conflict was best left to Butler and people like him. But his manservant wasn’t here to take care of the physical tasks this time. And he never would be again, if they didn’t manage to board this train.

Artemis’s breath came short, crystallizing in front of his face, blurring his vision. The train had drawn level now, steel wheels spewing ice and sparks into the air.

“Second carriage,” panted Holly. “There’s a runner. Mind your footing.”

Runner? Artemis glanced behind. The second carriage was coming up fast. But the noise was blurring his vision. Was that possible? It was terrific. Unbearable. There, below the steel doors. A narrow board. Wide enough to stand on. Barely.

Holly alighted easily, flattening herself against the carriage wall. She made it look so effortless. A simple skip, and she was safe from those pulverizing wheels.

“Come on, Fowl,” shouted Holly. “Jump.”

Artemis tried, he really did. But the toe of his loafer snagged on a sleeper. He stumbled forward, pinwheeling for balance. A painful death came rushing up to meet him.

“Two left feet,” muttered Holly, grabbing her least favorite Mud Boy by the collar. Momentum swung Artemis forward, slamming him into the door.

The piton cord was slapping against the carriage. Only seconds left before Holly departed from the train as quickly as she’d arrived. The LEP captain searched for a strongpoint to anchor herself. Root and Butler’s weight may have been reduced, but the jerk, when it came, would be more than sufficient to drag her from the locomotive. And if that happened, it was all over.

Holly hooked one arm through an external rung, wrapping slim fingers around her wrist. She noticed magical sparks playing over a rip in her suit. They were counteracting the radiation damage. How much longer could her magic last under these conditions? Constant healing really took it out of a girl. She needed to complete the power-restoring Ritual. And the sooner the better.

Holly was about to unclip the cable and attach it to one of the rungs when it snapped taut, pulling her legs from beneath her. She held on grimly to the rung, fingernails digging into her own skin. On reflection, this plan needed a bit of work. Time seemed to stretch, elastic as the cord, and for a moment, Holly thought her elbow would pop right out of its socket. Then the ice gave, and Root and Butler were twanged out of their icy tomb like bolts from a crossbow.

They slapped against the side of the train, their reduced weight keeping them aloft, for now. But it was only a matter of time before what little gravity they had pushed them under the steel wheels.

Artemis latched on to the rung beside her.

“What can I do?”

She nodded at a shoulder pocket.

“In there. A small vial. Take it out.”

Artemis ripped open the Velcro flap, pulling out a tiny spray bottle.

“Okay. Got it.”

“Good. It’s up to you now, Fowl. Up and over.”

Artemis’s mouth dropped open. “Up and . . .”

“Yes. It’s our only hope. We have to get this door open to reel in Butler and the Commander. There’s a bend in the track two klicks back. If this train slows down even one revolution, they’re gone.”

Artemis nodded. “The vial?”

“Acid. For the lock. The mechanism is on the inside. Cover your face and squeeze. Give it the whole tube. Don’t get any on yourself.”

It was a long conversation under the circumstances. Especially since every second was a vital one. Artemis did not waste another one on good-byes.

He dragged himself to the next rung, keeping the length of his body pressed close to the carriage. The wind was whipping along the length of the train, tiny motes of ice in every gust. They stung like bees. Nevertheless Artemis pulled his gloves off with chattering teeth. Better frostbite than being crushed beneath the wheels.

Upward. One rung

at a time, until his head poked above the carriage. Every shred of shelter was now gone. The air pounded his forehead, forcing itself down his throat. Artemis squinted through the blizzard, along the carriage’s roof. There! In the center. A skylight. Across a desert of steel, blasted smooth as glass by the elements. Not a handhold within fifteen feet. The strength of a rhino would be of no use here, Artemis decided. At last an opportunity to use his brain. Kinetics and momentum. Simple enough, in theory.

Keeping to the front rim of the carriage, Artemis inched onto the roof. The wind wormed beneath his legs rising them nearly an inch from the deck, threatening to float him off the train.

Artemis curled his fingers around the rim. These were not gripping fingers. Artemis hadn’t gripped anything bigger than his cell phone in several months. If you wanted someone to type Paradise Lost in under twenty minutes, then Artemis was your man. But as for hanging onto carriage roofs in a blizzard, dead loss. Which, fortunately, was all part of the plan.

A millisecond before his finger joints parted company, Artemis let go. The slipstream shot him straight into the skylight’s metal housing.

Perfect, he would have grunted had there been a cubic centimeter of air in his lungs. But even if he had said it, the wind would have snatched away any words before his own ears heard them. He had moments now before the wind dug its fingers beneath his torso flipping him onto the icy steppe. Cannon fodder for the goblins.

Artemis fumbled the acid vial from his pocket, snapping the top between his teeth. A fleck of the acid flew past his eye. No time to worry about that now. No time for anything.

The skylight was secured by a thick padlock. Artemis dribbled two drops into the keyhole. All he could spare. It would have to be enough.