“Who knows?” Jerry was opening the door now, reaching in to the cabinet. “Who cares? This is our ticket to easy street. The biggest score we’ve ever had.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, help me, will you?” Jerry handed a tray of vials back to his partner. “Take these and put them in the cooler.”
“Are you sure they are safe?”
“Of course they are. Just be careful.”
“That’s odd.” Boyd was peering at the vials, or rather, the contents within.
“What now?”
“It looks like the stuff inside is still liquid. We’re in a freezer. Shouldn’t it be frozen?”
“Obviously this stuff has a freezing temperature lower than water. They must have stashed it in here to keep it inert.” Jerry reached in and took hold of a second tray of vials. His eyes lingered upon the contents within, a white milky liquid that sloshed up the sides of the glass as he lifted them. “Let’s get these stashed and get out of here.”
“About time. I’ll be glad to get back to somewhere warm.” Boyd was back at the cooler. He placed the vials on the floor and opened the box, and then reached down and picked up the tray, placing it inside. He moved out of the way to allow Jerry to deposit his cargo.
“Go get another tray.” Jerry nodded toward the cabinet. “One more should do it and then we can get the hell out of here. If I have to look at that corpse much longer I’m going to puke.”
“Don’t we have enough?”
“One more.” Jerry wasn’t going to let his partner’s nerves ruin a fat payday. “Go.”
“Fine.” Boyd stomped off toward the cabinet and pulled out a third tray, but as he lifted, the tops of the vials caught on the shelf above, snagging on the lip. For a moment time froze, as if he were being given one last chance to rectify his mistake, but then the tray started to slip, to fall from his hands, despite his best efforts to control it. He let out a curse and hopped backwards, out of the way, as the whole thing slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor.
The vials exploded in a hail of glass, the liquid within spraying up and out across the tiles.
“Dammit, Boyd, what are you doing?” Jerry spun around, his eyes widening with fear when he saw the mess on the floor.
“They slipped.” Boyd was back peddling. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Like hell it wasn’t.” Jerry slammed the lid of the cooler closed. “That’s coming out of your cut.”
“Something is happening.” Boyd was looking at the spilled liquid, a puzzled expression on his face. “Look.”
Jerry looked.
The milky substance was not a liquid anymore. It was rising from the floor, drifting up as smoky wisps of vapor that expanded in the air, creeping toward the men.
“Oh shit. This is bad.” Jerry realized what was happening. “The stuff in the vials, it’s reacting with the air. We have to go. Right now.”
“Suits me.” Boyd ran past the gurney, not concerned about the disfigured corpse anymore. He reached the door of the walk-in freezer, stepped into the lab beyond, and at that moment the siren activated.
“Just great.” Jerry grabbed the cooler and sprinted from the freezer. “If anyone hears that we’re done for.”
Together they crossed the lab toward the glass door that led into the corridor.
Jerry reached out and gripped the handle.
“What are you waiting for? Open the damn door.” Boyd glanced backward, toward the creeping gas that was now curling out of the freezer, filling the lab.
“I can’t,” Jerry tugged on the handle. “The thing won’t budge.”
“Don’t be stupid. Of course it will.” Boyd pushed past his companion and pulled on the door, but it stayed stubbornly closed. He tried again, and then let go, a look of fear on his face. “I don’t get it.”
“I do.” Jerry leaned against the wall, he looked out, beyond the door, into the corridor. “We triggered a failsafe. The lab has gone into lockdown to contain the spill.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.” Jerry said. He looked back into the lab, at the tendrils of white gas that were creeping past the workstations toward them. Soon the whole place would be full of the stuff, and there was nowhere to go. He dropped the cooler to the floor and leaned against the wall, a tight knot of fear writhing in his stomach. He had no idea what the gas would do to them, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.
“Look, there’s someone outside.” Boyd was at the door, his face pressed against it. “They will let us out.”
Jerry turned, his gaze coming to rest on the figure that had appeared on the other side of the door, the burly man who now stared back at them through the glass, a dark expression upon his face. As the gas reached them, curled around them, Jerry knew that the newcomer would be no help.
1
A few days later
Sam Perkins, Chief Ordinance Specialist for Tenby Construction, inspected his work, tracing the red and blue wires that snaked from the string of explosive charges set into the rocks and disappeared into the pitch-black tunnel, making sure the connections were tight. If there was an issue, he would be forced to come back and find the problem, and he didn’t want to be in this tunnel any longer than necessary. He wished he trusted someone else to check the wiring, but he always made the final inspection himself. If anything went wrong it was his ass on the line.
Still, it would have been nice to have another soul to talk to. The rest of the construction crew waited half a mile away at the staging area. Setting explosives was a dangerous game, and there was no point in risking more lives than necessary. But it wasn’t the explosive charges that bothered Sam. It was the darkness, held at bay only by the thin beam of light from his helmet, making him uneasy. Not to mention the strange noises that echoed through the tunnel when the wind blew just right, which, if you didn’t know better, could be mistaken for the anguished cries of a scared child.
The place gave him the creeps.
The rail tunnel had been abandoned for thirty years, ever since an earthquake triggered a cave-in that sealed the only land route between Shackleton, Alaska, and the outside world. Since that time the only way in or out was by boat or seaplane. That would all change soon. In less than three weeks there would be a new road through the mountain, following the line of the old rail tunnel, and finally reconnecting the small community with the rest of the mainland. Most of the blacktop had already been laid, three quarters of a mile of it to be exact, some last year, most in the last few months.
But right now a wall of rock at least six feet thick stood between the construction crew and the other end of the tunnel. This was the third such blockage they had encountered since starting work more than two seasons before, and, if they were lucky, would be the last. The tunnel was in poor shape, with numerous cave-ins over the years clogging the passage. To make matters worse, the harsh Alaskan winters, when temperatures plummeted to fifty degrees below, made work impossible for several months at a stretch. Now they were facing the start of another cruel winter, just over six weeks away. If they didn’t get through this last blockage on schedule and lay the last of the road, connect it to the highway on the other side of the mountain, they would be forced to retreat until the spring, and that would mean losing their bonus for finishing on time, something no one wanted.
Pleased with the wiring job, Sam rubbed his hands and turned back toward the rugged ATV used to navigate the long tunnel. He reached down and unclipped a two-way radio from his belt, raising it as he depressed the button.
“Charges are set and primed. I’m heading back now.”
“Copy that.” The voice of Jarvis Fowler, his supervisor, rose from the speaker. “Make it quick.”
“Roger.” You don’t have to tell me twice, Sam thought, walking the short distance to the ATV. He was about to clip the radio back onto his belt and straddle the vehicle when something caught his attention. It was not much, a s
mall sound, like something moving through the piles of shale and loose rock that littered the ground at the far edges of the tunnel, but it was unusual. After so many months working in the tunnel, he had come to recognize most of the tunnel’s background noise, the way the rocks shifted, water dripped and the wind blew, but this sound was new.
“Hello?” He called out into the darkness, turning his head first one way, then the other, the beam of his lantern slicing the darkness. “Is anybody there?”
Grim silence answered him.
“Dammit,” he grumbled, and walked toward the ATV, hurrying now, eager to get the hell out of the dark, cold tunnel.
Something moved to his left, crunching the loose gravel of the tunnel floor.
Sam froze.
“Jerry? Is that you?” Even as he said the words, he knew that it wasn’t the lanky, longhaired technician who drilled boreholes and performed the grunt work Sam hated. Jerry would be nice and safe hundreds of feet up the tunnel, sitting behind the detonator, waiting. Whoever was in the tunnel with him was not part of the construction crew. There were strict rules about these things. Safety was a top priority, and no one went near the charges without permission. Sam was the only person with the authority to give such an order, and he hadn’t.
The sound came again, closer this time.
Sam looked around, frantic, his helmet light illuminating snatches of tunnel in a narrow circle of white light. He saw nothing out of place. He realized the radio was still in his hand. He raised it and spoke.
“Are we missing anyone up there?” He already knew the answer.
“Hell, no.” Jarvis sounded irritated. “Why aren’t you back here? I have a schedule to keep and you’re screwing it up.”
“There’s someone down here with me.” Sam fought to keep the tremble from his voice. If it turned out to be a stray pet or a rat he would be a laughing stock for months.
“What?” He could hear the disbelief in the foreman’s voice. “That’s impossible.”
“I’m telling you there’s something in the tunnel,” Sam insisted.
“Just get your ass back here, pronto.”
Sam could imagine Jarvis, his face red, the vein in his forehead throbbing the way it always did when he got stressed. It was not a good idea to get on the bad side of the foreman. Besides, he didn’t care what was down here. All he wanted to do was get back to the safety of the staging area. He mounted the ATV, feeling better as soon as he felt the machine under him. He pushed the key into the ignition.
A low groan rose from the blackness.
Sam froze, his breath catching in his throat. A prickle of fear ran up his spine. The hairs on his arms stood straight.
The sound came again, followed by the unmistakable pad of light footfalls.
He pulled up on the ignition lever and pressed his thumb into the gas, relieved when the engine sprang to life. He snapped the headlights on. Twin halogen beams lit the tunnel ahead of him.
Sam let out a sigh of relief. He’d half expected someone, or something, to be standing there, blocking his way, but all he saw were the tight rounded walls of the tunnel disappearing into the distant gloom. He wondered if it had all been his imagination, nothing more than shifting rocks and the sub-arctic wind. The tunnels could get you that way.
He shifted his foot to engage the clutch and revved the vehicle, moving forward, picking up speed. Soon he would be back at the staging area, and then the order would be given to detonate the charges set into the rocks behind him. If there were something skulking around down here, something that should not be in the tunnel, it would have one hell of a headache in about thirty minutes.
A black shape flitted through Sam’s headlights, dangerously close.
It moved so fast that he barely saw it cut through the halogen beams. He slammed on the brakes and turned the handlebars in an attempt to avoid whatever had bolted across his path. The vehicle twisted around, sliding sideways for a moment, kicking up a cloud of dust. He fought to keep upright, turning back into the skid. It almost worked, but not quite. Just when he thought it would stop, he felt the wheels lifting, the ATV tipping. He fell sideways, tumbling from the seat and hit the ground hard. Moments later the ATV did the same thing. Sam let out a howl of pain as the vehicle crashed down on his legs.
He lay there for a moment, stunned. The ATV was heavy on his legs, and he could not feel anything from the waist down. That could not be good. He lifted himself up on his elbows and looked down, but all that did was affirm what he already knew. He was trapped. He reached toward his belt, looking for the radio, but it was gone. He lowered his head to the ground and groaned.
Someone, or something, moved off to his left, disturbing the loose shale on the cavern floor.
Sam craned his neck to look, but trapped as he was, he could not see the cause of the disturbance.
The sound came again, soft, stealthy footfalls, coming up behind him.
“Who’s there?” he called out, knowing he would not get an answer.
Something touched his shoulder.
Sam felt his heart race. He let out a yelp of fear.
Strong hands gripped him, clutching at his shoulders, and now he saw a rugged face loom over him. He felt a wash of relief. This was no animal, but was, instead, a human. Was it one of the residents of the town that had somehow wandered down here and gotten lost? How they had slipped past the construction crew, waiting further up the tunnel, was a mystery, but right now he was just glad to receive some help. He was fairly sure he’d injured his back when he came off the ATV, and even though he could not feel them, his legs must surely be broken. “Help me,” he groaned, his voice rasping.
The face drew closer, and Sam caught a whiff of something putrid, like rotting flesh, and saw, for the first time, the countenance that looked back at him, the milky white eyes set into a face that looked like it was once human, but was now something else, something much worse.
He let out a small whimper of fear.
The creature looked down upon him. It lowered its head and sniffed, a soft rattling sound escaping from between its parted lips, and Sam saw the teeth for the first time, rows and rows of needle sharp daggers. And then, before Sam could even fully comprehend what he was seeing, it pulled him backward with surprising strength. As his crushed, useless legs were ripped from under the ATV, and he was dragged away into the darkness, Sam finally found the will to scream…
2
The Arctic Maiden lurched like a drunken sailor as it rode the large swells of Baldwin Bay, Alaska, the freezing waters rushing up the sides of the boat with each tilt, threatening to swamp the deck.
John Decker sheltered within the cramped vessel’s three-walled cabin, watching the coast grow steadily larger through the spray streaked front window as they inched forward. He took a deep breath to hold back the nausea that threatened to empty his stomach of the breakfast he ate in Anchorage before boarding the boat. The eggs and bacon had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he soon come to regret them. His travel companion in the small vessel, a thin, rakish man who wore spectacles and a dark green parka, huddled on the opposite side of the cabin, as silent now as he had been at the dock when the two boarded the boat. If the lurching ocean was affecting him, he didn’t show it, except to keep his lips pursed tight and stare off into the distance. That was fine with Decker. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk anyway.
“If the weather gets much worse we’ll have to turn back,” said the burly skipper, who had identified himself only as Seth, without looking around. He fought to keep the boat on course. His large, calloused hands gripped the wheel with such force that Decker wondered if he would snap it in two.
“I thought you said this was a routine trip,” Decker replied.
“It is,” Seth said. “Most of the time. Damn squall came in fast. Weather service said it wouldn’t arrive for another six hours.”
“Great.” Decker grimaced. It was bad enough he had just endured a sixteen-hour journey, first traveling
from New Orleans to Los Angeles, then on to Seattle, and then finally a three hour flight to Anchorage. After that he’d checked into a hotel for what remained of the night and slept until a few hours before his noon appointment at the docks with Seth. He felt irritable and exhausted, and there was a nagging pain at the base of his spine from too many hours sitting in the same position. “I really don’t want to turn back. I’ve come so far already.”
“I’ll do my best,” Seth mumbled in a gruff Pacific Northwestern accent. “But if the waves are too high when we reach the dock, that’s it. I’m not having my boat reduced to matchwood on your account.”
“Thanks.” Decker wasn’t sure if the skipper was being helpful or obtuse.
“Don’t mention it.” Seth shot him a glance, then returned his gaze frontward. “What are you doing all the way up here anyway? That’s a Southern accent you’re sporting there if I’m not mistaken. Georgia? Alabama?”
“Louisiana. I grew up outside New Orleans.”
“Big Easy, eh?” The skipper wiped a hand on his orange offshore jacket. “Never been outside Alaska myself, but I had a cousin went down there a few years back. He didn’t care for it. Not one little bit. Said it was too hot and muggy. Thought the whole place smelled like a toilet.”
“Sorry about that,” Decker said, wishing the boat trip would end and he could step foot on dry, stable land once more. He gulped, hoping the action would relieve his discomfort, and leaned against the cabin’s wall.
“His words, not mine.”
“It’s fine.” Decker wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand and closed his eyes for a moment. It made things worse so he opened them again.
“You’re looking a little green around the gills there, buddy.” Seth looked nervous. “You’re not going to up chuck all over my deck are you?”
“I’m doing my best to avoid that outcome.” Decker looked through the front window and was pleased to see that they were nearing the dock. In another few moments he would be on terra firma, and then he could get some relief from the churnings in his stomach. “How do you do this every day?”
Cold Sanctuary (John Decker Series Book 2) Page 2