Attacked Beneath Antarctica (Doc Vandal Adventures Book 3)

by Dave Robinson

  Hand drawn on onionskin paper, it was a map of the Antarctic coastline. That wasn't surprising, until he realized that other lines on the map showed the true coastline, the one below the ice. It even showed most of the major features underneath the ice, including several subglacial lakes. A faint X marked out the largest of the lakes, hundreds of miles inland on the Antarctic Plateau.

  “Ahh!” A faint cry echoed through the ship.

  Doc quickly stuffed the map inside his coat and leaped to his feet. The voice came from somewhere forward, so he ran to the nearest ladder and slid down to the lower deck. The voice echoed through the hold, and now that he was closer he could recognize it as Kehla's. A roar a moment later told Doc that Gus had joined his wife.

  Gus's roars were loud enough that Doc could follow them straight to the couple.

  He charged through the hatch to find the two gorillas holding off half a dozen of the creatures that Vic had found in the boat. Two flashlights rolled around the deck plates, throwing shadows everywhere.

  The creatures were all unarmed, while Gus was fending them off with an axe. Kehla was behind her husband, stabbing at her opponents with a marlinspike. Casting his eyes around the compartment, Doc looked for a weapon of his own. There was a pile of broken crates up against the port bulkhead, so he grabbed a couple of lengths to use as makeshift clubs.

  One of the creatures broke off from the others and leaped onto the bulkhead, its suckers spread against the steel. These ones seemed to have more energy than the one in the boat. They were faster and moved more fluidly. The one charging Doc had a wand of some sort in its upper left tentacle, holding it like a weapon.

  Doc ducked to his left, raising his right club to parry. The creature leaned out, twisting its body as it lashed out with the wand. It just brushed the club with the crystal tip of its wand, sending a shock up Doc's arm.

  His whole arm spasmed, going rigid with shock. The club bounced off his knee. Doc would have dropped it if his fingers hadn't locked.

  The thing hissed, drawing itself back for another strike.

  Doc backpedaled, juggling the club in his left hand.

  Sensing its advantage, the creature pressed forwards, leaping off the bulkhead and flipping its body up so that both leg tentacles and its right arm tentacles clung to the overhead. It struck forward again, hissing in triumph.

  Letting his right arm hang beside him, Doc lunged. He caught the creature right between the eyes with the broken end of the slat, driving the wood through its rubbery skin. Bright blue blood spurted around the slat as the creature's eyes went wide. It slumped to the deck.

  Doc turned to see Gus and Kehla mopping up the remaining creatures, which seemed to have lost heart with the death of their leader.

  Leaving Gus and Kehla behind for the moment, Doc returned to the nearest cabin and gathered up some blankets. His right arm ached, but he could move it again. By the time he had returned, they had the five creatures they had killed stacked against the starboard bulkhead and were looking around the compartment. Wrapping the blankets around his left hand, he bent down to pick up the wand. Luckily the creature had relaxed its suckers in death, so he was able to wrap the wand up and put it away.

  “Where were they?” He asked the gorillas.

  “Through that hatch.” Gus pointed forwards. “I believe that would have been the crew quarters; before the mast and all of that.”

  Doc nodded. “Let's take a look.”

  Doc was first through the hatch, a makeshift club in one hand and the flashlight in the other. The creatures had made some kind of nest structure inside the forecastle. A dozen hexagonal cells lined one bulkhead, each about six feet deep. Most were open at the end, though two at the far end had a glistening membrane sealing off the interior. The cells themselves were made from a weird cement of everything from clothing to hardtack, all held together with a layer of ice.

  A strangely shaped icon filled the center of the compartment. Layers of color assaulted Doc's eye, blue against yellow, and orange mixed with red. It drew his attention inward, following the curves on its surface in directions that shouldn't or couldn't exist. Doc shook his head, blinking his eyes to clear his head.

  “Don't look at the icon.”

  “We won't,” Kehla replied.

  “But...”

  “Now Gus,” she told him. “There is more than enough for you to look at without worrying about this.”

  Gus grumbled, but complied.

  Within an hour, they had scouted out the ship, and the lights were growing dim. Kehla had found a couple of oil lanterns that still had fuel, so they could save the flashlights. Finally, they gathered in the wardroom.

  Gus and Kehla huddled together on one of the benches, which groaned audibly under their combined weight. This compartment was lined with wood paneling, which gave it some insulation so it wasn't quite as cold as the rest of the ship.

  “So, what have we got?” Doc asked.

  Gus sighed. “In the vernacular, I think the word would be bupkis.”

  Kehla swatted him. “What does that mean in English?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing. It has to have a meaning.”

  “I think he means that the word means the same as the English word 'nothing,' not that it has no meaning.” Doc interjected.

  “Exactly,” Gus replied, smiling into Kehla's withering glare.

  “Back to business.” Doc shook his head.

  Gus spread his arms wide, almost knocking Kehla off the bench. “Apart from these lanterns, there is almost nothing usable on this ship. It has some bedding, a handful of kitchen utensils, and a few barrels of gasoline.” He pointed towards the galley. “There might be another week or two's worth of food in various cans, but not much more.”

  Doc took a moment to look around the compartment. Gus's analysis matched his own. There might be a month or five weeks’ food all told, but there was no way that would get them through the winter.

  #

  Vic glared at Ming, who simply raised her head and smiled sweetly back at her. “What is taking them so long?”

  “They're searching a ship,” Ming replied. “It takes time.”

  Vic kicked at the floor, and then returned to her pacing. “Everything takes time, and I'm sitting here doing nothing.”

  “You're not doing nothing,” Ming told her, “you're acting like a child.” She returned to her sewing.

  Vic looked around the hut. She and Ming had organized it as best they could, putting an oil lamp to work so they didn't have to run down their flashlights any more. Vic had actually done most of the work once they had the light going. Even with one hand she had helped Ming bring things back from the supply hut to help make the place feel a little homier. They had food in the cupboards and a good supply of coal for the stove. The worst part had been the cold, with the rip in her coat, Vic had to limit her exposure to the weather outside.

  “Here you go.” Ming held out Vic's coat. “Easier than sutures; I did an inner and outer seam. It should hold up almost as well against the cold as it did before.”

  Vic hugged the coat awkwardly to her chest. “Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

  Ming smiled. “I can always hear it again.”

  Vic dropped the coat and gathered Ming in her arms. “You will, Ming, you will.”

  “And how many other people have you told that, you hussy?” Ming's voice was harsh, but the softness in her eyes belied the tone.

  “I may be a hussy, but I'm your hussy,” Vic told her.

  Ming wagged a finger. “And don't you forget it.” She knelt down and picked up the coat. “Now try it on, I want to make sure it doesn't bind anywhere.”

  “Yes, dear.” Vic held out her arms so that Ming could help her into her coat.

  Her left arm was stiff, and moved slowly, but that was the wound more than the coat. There was a bite on the inside of her arm, but not enough to do more than make her wince. She could already tell that sh
e would keep her full range of mobility.

  Vic windmilled her arms a couple of times, barely missing Ming's head as the smaller woman donned her own outerwear.

  “We may not be able to join them on the ship,” Ming said. “But as your physician I feel compelled to prescribe some exercise, and there is no room for that in here. We'll take a short walk, but you have to come in when I tell you. I'm going to need to check your arm afterwards.”

  Vic nodded vigorously, as she pulled her outer pants on over her slacks, glad that she hadn't worn jodhpurs. “All right, just let me get out of here for a bit.”

  The wind had risen by the time they got outside and away from the huts, and Vic found herself shivering. She gripped her flashlight tightly, trying to keep it from wavering. The light had already dimmed, and she found herself turning it down a little more to preserve the battery.

  Even at a low level, there was more than enough for the snow to throw back the beam, lighting up the ground around her. Vic glanced over her shoulder towards the shore, watching Hansen's barque lying peacefully at anchor. Grimacing, she turned back toward their landing place and started trudging inland.

  The wind bit into her coat, but she kept moving, stamping each step into the snow. Ming followed behind, her lighter steps rustling in the drifts.

  Vic had got about a hundred yards past the huts, when the wind picked up sending ice crystals stinging against her face. She wrapped her scarf tighter, but the crystals still bit through the cloth.

  “Slow down,” Ming's voice carried from behind. “I told you not to overdo it.”

  Vic stopped, and began to slowly wave her flashlight around in a circle, keeping the beam on the ground so it didn't hit Ming's eyes. Something flashed yellow in the snow, so she swung the beam back to cover it. At first it was hard to make out, but then she saw the shine of chrome, and knew what was in front of her. Gilly had left the tractor behind.

  Ignoring Ming's protest, she ran for the tractor, pulling herself upwards onto the running board over the rear track. Pain shot through her left arm, but Vic powered through it, pulling herself up to the door handle. “Don't be frozen, don't be frozen.”

  The door stuck for just a moment, then swung wide. Leaving it to flap in the wind, she dropped into the seat and looked around. The cabin was surprisingly large, with two seats in front and a wide bench across the back. A bank of gauges covered the dashboard in front of her, with a thermometer right in the middle. Vic blinked the ice off her lashes, and looked again; it read three degrees.

  A moment later, Ming was blocking the snow from the door. “I told you not to overdo it.”

  “I'm not.” Vic moved aside to let Ming squeeze in. The smaller woman climbed over the seat and took a perch on the one opposite.

  “So, what are you doing?”

  “I walked out here, but I thought you'd be happier if I drove back.”

  “I'd be happier if you had walked instead of ran.” Ming looked stern for a moment, but then her expression broke and she grinned. “But you're right. I would be happier if you drove back.”

  Vic smiled back, and then turned her attention to the dashboard and controls. A wide truck-style steering wheel rose from the floor in front of her. In addition to the standard three pedals and gearshift, two other control levers rose one on each side of her seat. Leaning forward, she took a closer look at the instrument cluster until she found the start button.

  She reached out and stabbed it with a finger. Nothing happened.

  Vic ground her teeth, then forced herself to take another look over the panel. It took a moment to find what she was looking for, but she succeeded. Vic flipped up the switch cover she hadn't noticed before, and toggled the switch. With a triumphant grin, she stabbed the button again.

  Nothing. Not even the sound of a solenoid.

  “No way I'm going to crank it by hand,” she muttered, glaring at the dashboard as if to will it to start. Vic scanned the dashboard once again, checking all the gauges. Then the voltmeter caught her eye. The needle was barely off the peg. The cold must have drained the batteries.

  “Dammit!”

  “What's the matter?”

  Vic waved her arm across the dash. “Damn thing won't start. Not enough juice in the batteries to crank it.”

  Ming nodded, twisting in her seat to get up. “What's that?”

  Vic followed Ming's pointing finger to a pull cord handle rising from the floor between the seats. A neatly printed label said “cold weather start; push bulb to prime.”

  Vic leaned down between the seats and pushed the black rubber bulb behind the handle. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped a gloved hand around the grip. One, two, she pulled up as hard as she could. A small engine stuttered, but didn't catch. Leaning forward, she grabbed it in both hands, and put her back into it.

  The engine sputtered, backfired, and then caught, filling the cabin with the unmistakable pop of a single-cylinder four-stroke. It ran rough to start, but quickly smoothed out.

  “That doesn't sound like much of an engine.” Ming looked around the cabin.

  “It's not,” Vic replied. “Just a little Briggs & Stratton under the floor.”

  Ming wrinkled her brow. “So what's the point of it then?”

  Vic swiveled around to the dashboard, where the voltmeter was beginning to climb off the peg. All the dials illuminated, and the thermometer began inching upwards. Now that she had more light, Vic shut off her flashlight and gave the dials a closer examination. Most were self-explanatory, like the tachometer still sitting in the dead position, but a few caught her eye. The big one was a start line on the thermometer, sitting at ten degrees.

  “Like the label says, it's a cold weather start. Batteries don't work very well in extreme cold, so Doc must have installed this instead. It's a nice way around the problem.” She reached out and clasped Ming's gloved hand. “We just have to wait for the tractor to warm up.”

  Ten minutes later the mercury had hit the green line and Vic hit the start button.

  This time the big engine turned over. It didn't catch the first time, but with a second press, it rumbled to life. Vic flipped switches, bringing up the front headlight and the two spots on the sides of the cab. After watching the gauges for a moment, she reached down and found the kill switch for the little Briggs & Stratton. Once she was sure everything was warmed up and running, she put it into gear and gently fed it the gas.

  The tractor lurched forwards as the rear tracks dug into the snow. Vic twisted the wheel to turn left but the tractor barely budged from its course. As she leaned into the wheel, she bumped one of the side levers with her elbow, and the left tread slowed.

  “Damn thing's a tank.”

  She let go of the wheel, and turned her attention to the two levers. Each had a cable leading up to a bicycle style brake grip at the top, and also moved forward and back. The smaller lever could either sit back or lock against the main control. A little experimentation told her the levers gave direct control of the tracks, shifting them into forward or reverse so the tractor could almost spin on its axis. The smaller levers were brakes, which could slow each track individually. Locking them all the way back connected them to the steering wheel, so the front wheels and tracks worked in concert.

  Throwing a madcap grin at Ming, she spun it on its tracks and then barreled towards the huts at a full twenty miles per hour.

  #

  Doc jumped sideways as the tractor careened out of the darkness. Vic grinned at him through the windshield as it slid to a stop less than ten feet from the supply hut. He waited patiently while the lights and engine shut down. Vic bounced her way around the rear of the tractor, and reached up to help Ming down.

  Gus just grinned at Doc as he and Kehla slipped past him toward the hut they were living in. Doc just shook his head. This was not the time for Vic to be playing around. They were stuck in the Antarctic and the last thing he needed was to get run over by the tractor.

  “What was the point of that?” Doc aske
d Vic as soon as she turned around. Ming took one look at his expression, and stepped up beside her.

  “Moving the tractor closer to the huts gives us more options,” Vic said seriously, before breaking back into a grin. “Besides, it was fun to drive.”

  “You could have seriously hurt someone,” Doc told her. “Gilly was the only one I'd shown how to drive the tractor.”

  “Then it's a good thing I figured it out myself,” Vic told him brightly. “I bet I could get it going faster, but I didn't want to push it too hard the first time. “

  “It's your own fault,” Ming interjected, stepping in between Vic and Doc. “You know what she's like, and you left her behind with nothing to do but clean.” She gave Vic an affectionate one-armed hug. “I've only known her a couple of months and I knew better than that.”

  Doc raised an eyebrow. “So are you saying it's my fault?”

  Vic raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes twinkling, but didn't say a word.

  “I'm saying you should have known she would have done something after you left her behind while you went off to explore the ship.”

  “Something, yes,” Doc said. “I didn't think she'd try to run me down with the tractor.”

  “I missed you by at least ten feet.”

  “Only because I jumped...” Doc closed his mouth in the middle of his sentence. Nothing he could say would change Vic's behavior in the slightest. She needed the thrills, and couldn't leave well enough alone. He sighed. “Come on, let's go inside.”

  #

  Doc pushed his mug away as Gus cleared the table. The gorilla was a very good cook, even given the limitations of their current situation. Kehla seemed to enjoy the food, but the others had only picked at their meals. Doc himself, of course, had finished his plate but he would have done that regardless of the quality of the food.