* * *
Tarleton came to with the sound of screams and then more rifle fire in the distance. Then a bellow from some inhuman throat, a bellow that reverberated from the storm clouds. He felt dazed and confused for a minute. Surely the events since he'd gone out to check on the huskies had been a nightmare? A combination of cold and stress in this inhospitable wilderness?
Using the rifle as a crutch, Tarleton stood. Even in that short space of time, the exposed parts of his face and ungloved hand felt chilled with frost-numb. If he'd lain out much longer, he might have lost his fingers or even if his life if his core body temperature dipped too low. More shouts and screams snapped Tarleton back to reality. Then some more gunshots. Then a flare, red as a dying sun shot up into the clouds casting a bloody glare over the ice. Another inhuman roar of rage sounded over the blasts of wind.
Snapping back to immediate reality, Tarleton limped back towards the mess tent. As his muscles warmed, his gait became easier. The mess tent loomed up out of the blizzard. Its roof had been slit and canvas flogged itself into ribbons as the gale caught it. In the middle of the tent stood that ice monster. Even as he ran towards the ruined base, he saw a man, indistinguishable in his furs, lifted kicking and screaming towards the monster's mouth.
The long icicle fangs sank into the man sucking the life and soul from him as rapidly as it had the dogs' before hurling the shell out into the blizzard. Another man met the same fate a second later. This man screamed out his terror, his eyes bulging with abandoned terror. Struggling, the man's hood slipped off. Tarleton saw that it was his friend, Greavey. A man he had messed with, a man he had joked with, a man who had discussed geology with him. A man who would die a horrible death.
The ice-figure had changed. No longer was it on the extremities of starvation, now it had put on weight and, although still thin, it looked stronger and more powerful than before. From what Tarleton could see through the thick driving snow, its colour had improved and was now a hideous pink, a ghastly parody of flesh and blood.
Casually, it slung the dried out body of Greavey away before plucking another man from the ruins of the camp. Greavey's body plummeted onto the ice a few yards ahead of Tarleton who ran up to it and turned his late friend over. The body felt weightless, only skin and bone and teeth. Its skull grinned up at him. Yet another red flare hit the monster high on its thorax before passing straight through and bursting in the sky. More snow swirled around, masking the terrible scene from Tarleton's eyes.
Swallowing his fear, he ran forward. The shattered tent loomed up before him. He stumbled over another body, face down in the snow, tripped but carried on. He passed the snow block wall protecting the tent's sides and in through what remained of the entrance. There was no security for him inside the shambles of the tent.
The ice-monster stood in the centre, the epicentre of the chaos. Dr. Welham crouched before it, his pistol blazing uselessly, the only effect to dull the creature's bloody glow. And then the monster swept Dr. Welham up in its arms, up in the air the scientist fighting and struggling to the last like his Viking ancestors. Like them, Dr. Welham died with his metaphorical sword in his hand.
As the ice-dæmon bit down Dr. Welham fired two shots into its mouth. The creature screamed with rage, the snow-storm emanating from its body declined slightly. But the end was the same. Those terribly sharp icicles bit down and a minute later Dr. Welham's dried out husk was flung away.
The creature's huge dark eyes searched the ruins of the tent. The trestle table was overturned, scientific equipment lay scattered about. Papers and journals swirled about in the icy vortex. Then its eyes fastened on Tarleton. Its arm, now more muscular than before, swept down towards him.
Acting solely on instinct, Tarleton dodged the out flung limb. He jumped over a pile of discarded boots and snowshoes and fetched up against a storage cupboard. Tarleton wrenched open a door. His heart leaped within his chest. Yes, there it was. He pulled out a bundle wrapped in a blanket from the shelf. The object felt heavier and bulkier than he remembered.
A shadow fell over him. Screaming, still clutching that bundle Tarleton rolled away. The talons missed him by inches, gouging the cupboard's surface. He fetched up on his back, his numb fingers tearing at the blanket. The ice-dæmon bulked over him; its maddening eyes filled with the insanity of the Aurora Borealis staring at him from its great height. Tarleton ripped off the blanket. The wind snatched the cover, whirling it away.
In his hands lay that hideous idol. But no longer was it of an emaciated humanoid. Now the statue had taken on a hideous life. It had filled out, swollen with the men's and dogs' life-force. It even had a rotund belly and felt warm in his hands. Gripping the monstrous thing Tarleton lifted it up as an offering to the ice-dæmon. The monster leaned forwards. Its cavernous mouth opened wide, armed with those dagger teeth. A blast of frigid air bellowed out, a jet stream of sub-zero air with the screams of the devoured souls carried on it.
Tarleton half raised the statue like a protective shield. Then his mind caved in under the unearthly horror and stress and he fainted clean away.
The Horror From The Blizzard Page 11