Below Zero

by Dan Smith

  Sofia checked the tension on the rope. ‘When we get there, I want you to stay behind me.’

  ‘Why? What are you expecting? I should go first, I’m the—’

  Sofia didn’t wait for him to finish. She was fit, strong and skilled at Wing Chun Kung Fu. Peters was smart, but he was short, light and on the wrong side of forty. If they were going to face any kind of physical challenge, she wanted to be the first to deal with it. Sofia knew that if she had to strike, she would strike hard, fast, and without hesitation. Professor Peters, on the other hand . . . well, not so much.

  Sofia set off again, continuing until she came to the guide rope lining the far edge of the landing strip. Without even pausing to catch her breath, she ducked under the rope and trudged on through the blizzard. Another hundred metres and Storage loomed out of the storm.

  When she reached the steps, Sofia secured her rope to the handrail so they could follow it back to The Hub later. Once that was done, she tightened her grip on the rock collection tool, and climbed the metal stairs as quietly as she could. Reaching the top, she wiped ice from her goggles and turned to the camera. ‘OK. We’re going in.’

  ‘Wait,’ Peters said. ‘I should—’

  She hit the button and stepped inside.

  Peters followed her into the darkness, and the door swished shut behind them.

  They stood motionless, listening, but there was nothing more than the muffled howl of the wind.

  The first thing Sofia noticed was how warm and damp it was in there. The place was humid, way hotter than it was supposed to be on the base. There was a strong smell of sweat, like a locker room, with another scent lying underneath it; something sweet and ugly, like overripe fruit.

  As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she scanned the room, making out the silhouettes of the items she expected to see. Shelves laden with equipment, packing crates, spare parts, tools and—

  Something new. Something she didn’t recognize. Something that shouldn’t be there.

  It stood at the far end of the module, large and dark, hidden in shadow.

  Sofia raised her weapon, holding it over her shoulder like a baseball bat ready to swing. ‘It’s hot in here,’ she whispered. ‘There must be power to this part of the base. You know where the light switch is?’

  ‘Yes,’ Peters replied. ‘I’ll turn it on.’

  ‘Not yet. Point the camera at the far end of the room and wait for my count of three. Then I want you to switch it on.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Just do it.’ And without waiting for an answer, Sofia began to count. ‘One . . .

  ‘. . . two . . .

  ‘. . . three. Now!’

  The lights came on as soon as Peters flicked the switch. They flared over the room, illuminating the shape skulking in darkness.

  Except it wasn’t just one shape. It was many shapes. Many people.

  Many monsters.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  NOW

  ‘Is that them?’ Zak asked. ‘Is that the people who are supposed to be here?’

  Mum paused the screen, showing a large group of people standing to attention at the far end of the Storage Bay. Backs straight, arms by their sides, hands balled into fists, they were shoulder to shoulder in three rows of ten, and one row of eight.

  ‘There’s too many of them.’ May cleared her throat. ‘There’s only supposed to be thirty-two people on the base.’

  Zak counted them; thirty-eight. Forty including Sofia and Professor Peters. ‘So, who are the others?’

  He looked at Mum and Dad.

  ‘BioMesa?’ Dad suggested.

  ‘Let’s play the rest.’ Mum tapped ‘play’.

  On-screen, Sofia dropped the collection tool and went straight to a man standing in the front row. ‘Papa!’ Tall and olive-skinned, the man wore a red coat and a grey bobble hat. His eyes were closed, as if he were sleeping; his face was glistening with sweat. When Sofia shook him, he didn’t respond at all.

  ‘Mama!’ Sofia pushed through to a woman in the second row, but again, there was no response. Beside her, Sofia’s brother also remained blank when she shook him. ‘Pablo! Wake up!’

  While Sofia struggled to get a response, Peters put down the camera and rushed forward, trying to wake a girl who was about thirteen years old. The name printed on her chest was ‘Hilda Peters’. Blonde plaits fell from beneath the red and black beanie on her head. Beside her, a short woman, with a slight build, had the name ‘Dr Eva Peters’ printed on her jacket.

  ‘Why are they just standing there?’ May said. ‘They’re like . . . zombies. I mean, literally like zombies.’

  They weren’t rotting corpses, like in The Walking Dead comics May read, but she had a point – they did look a bit like zombies, but . . . ‘They’re breathing.’ Zak leant closer to the screen. ‘You can see them breathing.’ He pointed at a man in the front row. The chest of his jacket was rising and falling with each shallow breath.

  ‘So, what’s wrong with them?’ May whispered.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  22 HOURS AGO

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Peters said. ‘Why won’t they wake up?’

  Sofia moved from her papa to her mama to her brother and back again, trying to get a response – any kind of response – but no matter how she tried, they stayed completely still. Their breathing was the only sign of life.

  ‘What’s wrong with them?’ Peters was on his knees in front of his daughter. ‘What’s wrong with them?’

  Sofia ignored his rising panic. She was too fixated on controlling her own. And beneath that, there was a creeping dread that this might be something to do with the core she had stolen. Core #31.

  ‘Papa. Wake up. Please.’ She stood close to him, watching his face, calling his name and—

  He moved.

  ‘Papa?’

  Sofia’s papa squeezed his eyes tight for a few long seconds, then opened them wide. There was something so alive in the way he looked at her. His eyes moved from side to side, round and round. They bulged and glistened as tears sprang into them. But other than that, he didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  ‘What is it, Papa?’ Sofia spoke quickly. ‘What are you doing? What happened?’

  ‘He’s trying to tell you something.’ Peters came to Sofia’s side and waved a hand in front of her father’s face. ‘Professor Diaz? What’s going on? What happened here?’

  To Sofia’s left, Commander Miller opened her eyes. The man beside her did the same, and within a few seconds, the whole group had woken and were staring ahead.

  ‘You trying to tell me something?’ Sofia ignored the others and concentrated on her papa.

  Peters returned to his wife and daughter, shaking them, waving his hand in their vision, trying to get a reaction.

  As Sofia watched, her papa opened his mouth. A little at first, then wider and wider. His eyes bulged with effort, tears running down his cheeks. A sound came from him like air escaping from a limp balloon. His lips trembled as he tried to move them; tried to form words for his daughter to hear.

  ‘What is it?’ Sofia moved closer. ‘What are you trying to say? What are you—’

  Papa snapped his mouth shut, his teeth coming together with a clack. He squeezed his eyes in pain, then opened them with that creepy, bulging stare as he tried to move his lips and—

  His face dropped as if all the muscles had been paralysed at once. His eyelids drooped, his mouth sagged, and his chin relaxed.

  ‘What just happened?’ Peters looked up at Sofia.

  ‘I don’t know. But I don’t like it. There’s—’

  Then Commander Miller spoke. She opened her mouth and whispered two words.

  ‘Help us.’

  She paused before repeating the words.

  ‘Help us.’

  The third time she said it, Sofia’s papa joined her, speaking the same words. His croaky whisper melting together with Miller’s. Doc Blair, standing to h
er right, joined in too, and Dr Asan beside him. One by one, the others relaxed and began to speak until all thirty-eight of them were standing to attention with blank faces, repeating the same words over and over again.

  ‘Help us. Help us. Help us.’

  ‘Why are they saying that?’ Peters backed away. ‘Are they hypnotized or something?’ The pitch of his voice was growing higher and higher. ‘What the heck is going on?’

  Sofia dared to step closer. She couldn’t run away from this. She had to know. She waved her fingers in front of Papa’s face, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he closed his mouth and stopped speaking. Immediately, the others did the same, and everything fell silent.

  With the sound of her own blood thumping in her ears, Sofia hesitated, leant closer, and looked into Papa’s eyes. Seeing nothing, she pushed through to the second row of zombies and looked into Mama’s eyes, then her brother’s. Her mouth was dry and she trembled despite the heat, but she was trying hard to stay calm. She had every reason to freak out right now, but she was keeping it together. She had to keep it together. ‘Maybe it’s some kind of hypnotism. It’s like they’re . . . I don’t know . . . in some kind of trance.’ She turned and spoke directly to Peters. ‘I don’t know wha—’ she stopped.

  ‘What?’ Peters asked. ‘What is it?’

  Now it was Sofia’s turn to back away. ‘What is that?’ She glanced left and right. ‘What is . . .? Oh my God. They’ve all got one.’

  ‘One what?’ Peters asked. ‘What are you talking about?’ But when he stepped past the front row of zombies and turned to see the back of their heads, he stopped with his mouth open, and stared.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  22 HOURS AGO

  Sofia was afraid, confused and curious all at once. There was a strange device stuck to the back of each person’s neck – right in the centre, along the ridge of their spine. Mama, Papa, Pablo and all the other people she’d been living with for the past two months had one. People she was starting to think of as family. Even the BioMesa guys – including Jennings, whose access card Sofia had used to sneak into the research cavern.

  She wiped sweat from her brow and leant closer to inspect the thing attached to Papa’s neck. It was mechanical, but it looked alive. Like a small, fat spider with six spindly legs. There was a tiny trickle of dried blood where each leg had broken the skin, and as Sofia watched, the thing’s legs shifted with the tiniest movements. Something grey and fleshy glistened in its intricate joints.

  Sofia picked up the rock collection tool and gripped it tight. With the other hand, she reached out towards the spider thing. ‘You think it’ll come off?’

  ‘Careful.’

  She touched the thing with the tip of one gloved finger, withdrawing in a flash. The thing remained where it was.

  Sofia removed her glove and touched it again. When it didn’t react, she gripped it between her forefinger and thumb. ‘It’s warm,’ she said. ‘Feels like . . . I’m not sure . . . metal?’

  ‘Not metal.’ Peters kept his distance. ‘Composite. Like the carbon composite the Spiders use for printing.’

  ‘That grey stuff, though . . . it’s like brain or something. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘It looks organic,’ Peters said. ‘Alive. Like living flesh.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Sofia leant closer. ‘That bug I told you about?’ (There it was again – the feeling this had something to do with what she had stolen from the cavern.) ‘The one that came out of the ice core I took?’ She tried to ignore the rising guilty feeling. ‘Doc Blair cut one open, and its insides looked like this grey stuff.’

  ‘What are you saying? That this is from an insect?’

  ‘I dunno. I’m going to see if it comes off.’

  ‘What if it hurts him?’

  ‘We have to do something.’ Sofia could see how afraid Peters was – probably more afraid than she was. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat, his lips were trembling, and his breathing was heavy.

  ‘I’m going to do it now,’ Sofia said.

  Peters nodded.

  ‘OK.’ She tugged gently on the strange parasite.

  The skin on the nape of Papa’s neck stretched back, as if the thing was going to come off with a wet pop, but its tiny joints flexed and the grey stuff flexed with them like muscle. The thing tensed its legs and gripped tighter, sharp feet digging deeper into Papa’s flesh as it clung on.

  Sofia let go immediately and stepped back. ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘It held on,’ Peters said.

  ‘Yeah. And did you see that needle or whatever it was?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘There’s something coming out of its belly, and it’s stuck into Papa’s neck. Like a mosquito’s needle.’ Sofia shivered. ‘Whatever it is, I reckon it’s making everyone like . . . this. Could someone be doing it? Deliberately, I mean? Could someone be making these things and doing this?’

  ‘You mean some kind of mind control?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe.’

  ‘No.’ Peters shook his head. ‘That’s impossible.’

  Sofia moved to stand in front of Papa and look into his face. ‘We’ll find out what’s going on,’ she said to him. ‘I promise. I’ll get that thing off your neck and—’

  Sofia stepped back and put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s something . . .’ Her skin flushed red hot, bile rose in her throat, and cold washed over her. Every inch of her flesh tightened into goosebumps. In a second her blood went from boiling to freezing, and her insides contracted as if they were shrinking.

  ‘What is it?’ Peters said again as he came to her side.

  Sofia couldn’t take her eyes off the grey . . . thing . . . curled into Papa’s right nostril. It was exactly the same colour and consistency as the sinews on the bug attached to his neck. Grey and glistening and translucent. Sofia had thought it looked like brain tissue but now, in her horror, something else came to mind. An image of shooting cans with her Black Widow catapult while Mama and Papa prepared food on the barbecue. The smell of charcoal burning, of sausages cooking. And lying on a plate beside the barbecue was a plate of raw prawns.

  That’s what it looked like. The thing inside Dad’s nose – like the thing Doc Blair had cut from the black armoured bug – had the colour and consistency of an uncooked prawn.

  The idea of it was ridiculous – raw prawns? That’s madness. But Sofia couldn’t shake the image. It tore her between terror and hysteria.

  And then the thing moved. With one slick, fluid motion, it slid upwards, moving out of sight. Sofia was flooded with a crashing wave of nausea that broke the moment Papa opened his eyes.

  His body loosened, his shoulders relaxed, and he stared right at his daughter.

  Sofia recognized the panic that was building in her. She had seen cavers experience an overload of emotions when they thought they were stuck underground. She had seen them lose control of their thoughts and feelings, even their breathing, as their panic rose. So she fought it hard. She would not panic. She fixed her eyes on Papa’s and forced herself to be calm.

  Papa frowned. ‘Join us.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Peters jumped back, almost dropping the camera.

  The other people in Storage opened their eyes, all of them turning to face Sofia and Peters. They stood relaxed and did something that made Sofia’s scalp tingle.

  They smiled.

  And then spoke again.

  ‘Join us.’

  ‘Papa?’

  ‘Join us.’

  They began to move. All thirty-eight of them shuffled forwards one step as if they had forgotten how to walk. They were hesitant, unstable, but the second step was more confident.

  ‘Join us.’

  Sofia backed away, but the people took another step. And as they did so, Papa raised his hands. When his arms were level with the ground, something slipped out from the narrow gap between his cuff and his glove. A black bug, a beetle-scorpion-earwig t
hing, about the size of her thumb. It scuttled towards Papa’s elbow and circled round under his arm before another appeared. And another. And another.

  ‘Join us,’ Papa said to his daughter. ‘Join us.’

  Sofia retreated further as the people crowded around her, their fingers grasping at her coat, their muscles becoming stronger, their will becoming more determined.

  Insects began to scramble out from the neckline of Papa’s jacket. They scuttled to his shoulder, spread their wings, and took to the air.

  ‘Go!’ Sofia shouted at Peters. ‘Get out!’

  They turned and headed for the door.

  Behind them, the settlers followed.

  The door swished open as soon as Sofia hit the button. Ice and powdery snow blasted them like shrapnel, swirling into Storage. The crowd of zombies steadied themselves against the brute force of the weather, but showed no sign it bothered them. They continued to shamble forwards, reaching out to grasp Sofia and Peters, who had hesitated in the face of the storm.

  ‘Get out!’ Sofia shouted. ‘Out!’ She put both hands in the centre of Peters’ back and shoved him hard into the blizzard.

  She rushed out behind him, slamming her fist on the button, closing the door. As it swished shut, Sofia heard the awkward buzz and clatter of insects.

  She stumbled down the steps, no idea if the settlers would continue to follow, but she had no intention of waiting to find out. ‘Keep going!’ she told Peters. ‘Head for the guide rope.’

  Neither of them dared look back, but they both felt the anticipation of what might come – of the door sliding open again, of the people shambling out into the blizzard.

  But the door didn’t open. The people didn’t follow.

  Something far worse awaited them in the storm.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  22 HOURS AGO

  At the bottom of the steps, Sofia grabbed the guide rope and forged on towards the landing strip. It was impossible to see more than an arm’s length in front of her, so the rope was her lifeline. Without it, she and Peters would lose their way; probably freeze to death a stone’s throw from The Hub.