Dead of Winter Collection

by Benjamin Knox

  My second stomp completely destroys the icy creature's head, leaving a dark stain on the densely packed snow.

  Lars hacks the arms off the torso, breaking the fingers with his axe for good measure. The rest of the Base Camp is deserted. This pathetic corpse the only thing even resembling a person we've found so far.

  Silje has pressed herself against the windscreen of the snowcat we arrived in to get a better view of us. She doesn't want to be left alone, but Lars and I need to make sure the area is secure before allowing her out. So far our hope for a warm, living, welcome from the scientific team set at the base of Hunter's Peak has been thoroughly dashed.

  There is no sign of life amidst the twin boxy prefabricated structures. Not even the team's snowcat or snowmobiles. They might have been here at one point in time, but there is little doubt they've moved elsewhere. More disturbing is the state of the structures encased in snow. There are dark stains under the frost and signs of damage to the sheet metal of the makeshift buildings. A good sign is the large tent that joins the two the rectangular metal structures, large enough to throw a dinner party in, this will most likely be where the team sleep. And it is intact.

  No tears that I can see in the insulating fabric.

  A good sign among the many bad.

  If anyone was here they surely would have heard our snowcat's arrival – even in this howling wind. So far our only greeting is this writhed, crawling corpse I've just stomped into twitching pieces.

  “We'll need to check the buildings,” Lars says. I know he's right but am loath to leave Silje alone. I glance over my shoulder to catch her pressing her mouth to the glass and puffing it wide with a breath, all while crossing her eyes. The goofy face actually pulls a laugh from me.

  “Been a while since I heard anyone do that,” says Lars with a smile on his face.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “she's one tough little girl.”

  Lars follows my gaze back to Silje and the snowcat. “That she is.”

  It's a pleasant moment – an island of levity in a sea grim desperation and death. We're procrastinating, putting off what we know we'll have to do; explore inside. To venture in to the unknown once again and risk our lives.

  I motion to Silje to stay put with my hands, then mouth we'll be back. I can see she doesn't like that idea. The smile gone from her face, eyes large with worry. I half expect her to push open the snowcat's door and insist on coming with us, but she pulls Rin, her plush bear, to her and makes a stern face, finally saluting both of us.

  I return the brave gesture.

  “We'll be as quick as we can,” Lars assures me. “She knows to press the horn if there's trouble.”

  “I know,” I sigh. I don't like it but it's safer leaving her here than bringing her inside. It'd be different if we'd received the welcome we'd hoped for. A crowd of curious scientists and technicians.

  Living people.

  I grit my teeth and heft a climbing axe, “Let's do this.”

  *

  The interior is dark. I hadn't realised how bright the spectral lights in the sky were until deprived of them. I stand at the entrance we forced open and wait for my eyes to adjust.

  A rapid clicking as Lars flicks a wall switch.

  “We would've heard the generator if it was running; looks like backup battery power is out too,” he says.

  Slowly I begin to be able to make out the long room we're in. Details resolve from the shadows; the edges of desks, a cluster of lab equipment. There are papers stuck to the walls but I can't make them out yet.

  “There any flash-lights in the snowcat? I don't like going in blind,” I whisper, suddenly aware that anyone (or anything) could be hiding inside.

  With a smug smile Lars flicks a switch sending a beam skittering over the interior.

  “Already thought of that,” he says hefting the large flashlight. In his other hand he grips his replica Viking axe. Together we enter...slowly.

  *

  We pass through the long makeshift lab into a large circular tented area. The wind buffets the plastic support struts overhead and gusts send snow in through long diagonal slashes in the thick fabric. It looks like parts of the tent walls are inflatable, with two thick layers to insulate against the elements.

  From the broken plastic furniture is strewn haphazardly about, I can only guess that this area must have been a mess hall cum living area.

  I look down as my boot crunches something—the flashlight revealing the dark patch of a frozen blood pool.

  “I don’t like the look of those,” Lars whispers indicating the tears in the tent.

  “Me either.”

  Our weapons at the ready we step between the broken plastic chairs and overturned tables. We circle a shattered ping-pong table as we make our way to the counter in the corner. Behind it are stacked crates, each stamped in Norwegian.

  “Is that…” I trail off not sure if I should hope.

  Lars clears the plastic trays away and gets closer to inspect them, but I spot a grin hidden behind that brush grey-streaked beard of his.

  “Food? I hope so,” he replies in an eager hush.

  The smile on his face doesn’t last as he pries open a container.

  *

  While Lars sees to sealing us off from the tented area and the ruined lab section, I work on dinner. I find a portable gas cooker, the type you take on camping trips, which makes quick work of the canned mackerel in tomato sauce we uncovered. The tented living area was such a mess, and partially open to the elements that snow had collected inside; and some of the expeditions belongings strewn about outside. There was probably other canned food under the snow, but this is all we could find.

  Two cans for the three of us.

  It'll do.

  I offer Lars a larger portion but he'll have none of it. Says I need it to heal. I can't say he's wrong but it feels unnatural to eat while someone else goes hungry. He humours me by having a few steaming spoonfuls of the heated fish and sauce, then leaves the rest for us ladies.

  Silje is famished. I have to keep stopping her from gulping down her food, telling her she'll make herself ill if she eats too quickly. She tries but is too hungry to be cautious.

  Poor thing probably hasn't eatten in quite some time. I don't know if Brigid back at Pine Lodge fed her before... everything went to shit. Before that, who knows when she last ate; locked in a bathroom with her father lunatic – let's just be honest, he was possessed – torturing and carving up her mother. Only to have her mother's remains get up and attack her while we escaped.

  The poor girl has been through more than a lifetime's worth of terror.

  In spite of all we've been through the mood at dinner is light, pleasant—almost familial.

  Almost.

  We smile and talk, about things we liked before. Each steering away from the undead elephant in the room. You'd think it'd be hard but we manage to keep it light, and before we know it we've finished and the exhaustion sets in.

  *

  With the area secure, we try to get a little sleep. It's tough in what amounts to a large tin can, with the wind blasting and howling, but we manage. Silje is so exhausted from everything that she's out moments after putting her head on the rolled up blankets. She lays curled beside Lars, her hand finding him and resting on his chest. Rin, her bear, clutched tightly. Lars doesn't mind, I can see that in his face when he looks at her. He pulls a blanket over her and stays where he is, sitting against the wall, weapon at hand.

  Minutes later I catch his eyes drooping then flicking open. He doesn't last much longer and is soon asleep. He's big, but we've been through hell. Our bodies need some rest.

  Me?

  I need some rest, but my dreams have been...

  Well, let's just say they've not been conducive to rest.

  I'm worried the apparition of Mark will return to haunt my psyche. Now however I know that he is real, not just my grief and guilt manifesting in dreams but a real entity. The frost-burns on my arm and cheek are pr
oof of that—where he touched me.

  I saw him while we travelled here to the camp, among the snowfields. Is he following me or guiding me?

  Or luring?

  Whether I want to sleep or not is irrelevant, I need it.

  I check my rifle and the single round I have left. I'm not sure what good it'll do but it comforts me to know I have it.

  I keep the electric lantern turned low so as not to disturb the other two, but bright enough to keep an eye out, just in case. It should be enough to read by.

  Putting off sleep, but maybe I'll find something useful.

  I pull out the damaged journal I found and page through it again. Much of it is so damaged by ice and frozen blood that it is illegible, many of the pages frozen or stuck together, yet there are parts that remain intact.

  I flip through until I find something near the beginning and begin to read...

  [pages damaged]

  ... in English due to my familiarity with the language, and for the ease of having these notes typed up by my assistant...

  ...As I had thought, the pictographs in the geothermal caves are a map, and a warning. Some sort of proto-religious or superstitious rendering. It must have been of great importance to the indigenous people of that time for them to have carved it into the stone. A practice uncommon with these Uralic people, whom we now call the Sami.

  The caves themselves seem holy, no that's not the right term...blessed, that's it. The caves with the natural hot springs were seen as blessed. A place of cleansing and of purification. No surprise then that this warning against malevolent forces – of the deep winter and the far-flung northern regions – should be here. A cautionary depiction of the supernatural forces that lurk in the barren and desolate area where men fear to tread.

  Such fears are commonplace in ancient cultures. Much like spirit worship. All around the world from the Far East, to ancient tribes of Africa, and even here it seems, people appeased malevolent spirits. Offerings to slake their dark lusts. Sometimes totems or wards to frighten off such beings from a place.

  It is clear to me now that the geothermal caves, owned by that tacky lodge, is one such place.

  I have written to the department of cultural heritage for aid in having the caves marked as a protected site. I'm sure whatever greedy company that owns the lodge will fight it, however I see little chance of them retaining the rights to such a rare and culturally significant site.

  I digress.

  The pictographs clearly marked the way to Hunter's Peak, where we have currently set up a base camp for further exploration.

  I will say this about the off-season staff of the lodge; they were very helpful in renting us the equipment and supplies we need for our stay here throughout the long winter. In particular a man by the name of Lars caught my attention. He of all of them seemed to have the correct awe and respect for nature out here.

  Pity he couldn't join us. We could use a man like him, but we have our own guide Mr. Erikson.

  It is late autumn now and the snowfall, when it comes, does not stay too long on the ground. That will change all too soon. Then of course Hunter's Peak is perpetually snow covered. Nonetheless, it will be ideal to explore before the real snows set in.

  [several pages are damaged or destroyed]

  I look up from the journal to tell Lars that he's mentioned only to find him fast asleep. Silje nestled next to him also lost to the world. For a moment I can pretend that there isn't something horribly wrong with the world.

  I find the next undamaged section and continue...

  ...Erikson completed the final touches to base-camp and will lead myself and Dr. Risum, along with several of the more experienced interns, up the mountain. The first of our exploratory missions to see if we can locate any sign of this 'holy place' mentioned in the pictographs.

  I must confess I had my concerns about roughing it in these pre-fab tin can units and tents, however my fears were unfounded. The central tent area is very comfortable and the lab units are more than adequate.

  Yes, I could quite happily spend this expedition in these. Which is a very good thing indeed as we've planned for the entire winter season.

  I am itching to climb the mountain though. Erikson keeps reminding all of us just how dangerous the conditions are out here, even at this time of year. He's right of course, but it doesn't quell my excitement. I can't wait to begin the search.

  Who knows what we'll find.

  It could just be a few weather worn markers, but if my theories and information are correct, we could be in for a treat.

  23rd Oct

  Wow! I can't believe it but we found it buried beneath a relatively light snowdrift. So far the entrance appears intact, but it is clear we are not the first ones to find this place.

  Erikson wouldn't let us go inside.

  He's right, again.

  So we set markers to more easily find our way next time. We'll need the proper equipment anyway.

  Later:

  I can barely stand it. The excitement. The discovery. It took everything I had not to dash inside the hole we uncovered. I did get a good look at the exterior carvings though and they are astonishing. Viking without a doubt – and well before the Christian invasion of the Scandinavian region.

  If I had to guess, I'd put it in the late—

  [the following pages are heavily damaged]

  -- remarkable, just remarkable!

  I had worried when we discovered the sealed entrance had been broken. My thoughts turned to grave-robbers or religious desecration.

  Instead we found something altogether stranger. We were not the first to discover the Viking barrow, for all about the central chamber were frozen corpses of 20th century men in dark military uniforms. Nazi uniforms to be precise.

  My working theory is that this small band of German soldiers must have broken in seeking shelter from the elements. Perhaps they were separated from their battalion during the harsh Norwegian winter? Or fled when the allied forced pushed them back. Regardless of the reason here they lie. This may have been a shelter for a short time but it would be their last.

  We now have two tasks; our original project to explore this strange antiquity, as well as to properly document and preserve the bodies of the fallen soldiers. No doubt there are many scholars and scientists who will want to study our find here.

  We've been so careful not to damage anything that we didn't get to look around very much before having to set out back down the mountain to base camp.

  It is my feeling that over the next few days we should begin moving essential equipment up to the barrow. Once the entry chamber is documented, tagged and cleared, it could make a liveable space for a small camp. It would save us time and would allow us to continue our work uninterrupted by the long trek to and from the hidden structure and base camp.

  I'll receive some resistance to the idea of sleeping in an ancient tomb, but I'll just have to remind them that this barrow was not hewn out of the mountain but converted from an existing cave. A more elaborate version of the geothermal caves with the pictographs.

  We'll have to see what the others in the expedition decide in the morning. Though I am so giddy with our discovery I don't know how I could possibly sleep tonight.

  26th Oct

  The last two days we've spent moving equipment up to the barrow, though many of the group refuse to sleep in those caves and will remain at base camp. While I am irked by their resistance it does mean I shall be able to continue undisturbed with my work. Most of those who will stay at base camp are only responsible for properly documenting and storing the things we find here. They can perform tests with the equipment we have on site and then store everything in sealed containers for when we eventually depart and return to the university labs. There we can all engage in further study away from the howling winds of Hunter's Peak.

  I however am finding the prospect of sleeping in the very halls and passages these ancient warrior use as a resting place rather exciting. It's so damn q
uiet. So peaceful. I am free of all the noise and needy chaos of my companions – who all seem more concerned with the coffee rations than our find!

  Am I the only one taking this project seriously?

  Certainly feels like it at times.

  Their superstitions are getting the better of them; it's just a cave. These fierce Vikings can't hurt them. Despite what the Sami legends and the Old Norse runes proclaim, this place is not haunted.

  We're scientists for God's sake.

  [Date obscured]

  Something strange is going on.

  I've been using most of my time inspecting the broken seal that leads deeper into the barrow. I've little doubt now that the German soldiers did this. Also more than one of the corpses we found had the circular swastika lapel pins that mark them as members of the Thule Society – the Nazi's Occult research division.

  This is not the strange I am worried about. The Nazis were famously obsessed with the occult, even the concept of their so-called Aryan ancestry is rooted in their distorted versions of Scandinavian myth. That the legendary home of the Aryan race Thule they believed to be the Scandinavian region.

  I won't even go into some of the First People nonsense I found in some of the Nazi officers possessions.

  While all this is remarkable, and certainly an odd addition to our research here, it is the behaviour of my colleagues back at base camp that has me concerned. Since opening the barrow we've been treated to an unseasonably brilliant display of the Northern Lights. And while they are the most vivid displays I have witnessed, I have in fact seen the lights many times during my research and travels in the region. I know this is also true for many of my colleagues on this expedition, not that you'd know it. I returned for more food provisions and to entrust some of the German soldiers’ gear to my team only to find them all standing out in the cold staring up in awe at the green blaze that swathed the sky.