Erebus: An Apocalyptic Thriller

by Steven Bird

  Turning to Brett, Dr. Bentley smiled, and said, ���Young Mr. Thompson here, has lived less than half of my years, yet has lived more than twice the life as I. He doesn���t need prestigious titles, accolades, or peer acceptance. No, he���s been more than that. He���s been happy.���

  Turning to Dr. Graves, he continued, ���And this brilliant scientist and wonderful human being has set out on a quest to single-handedly save the world. Why, I���m in the company of gods, riding along in this bumpy, noisy machine, yet when I was in the halls of Cambridge, I was merely in the presence of unjustified pride and a false sense of superiority.���

  Looking around at everyone, Dr. Bentley said, ���You people have taught me more than I have learned in decades at the university. Whether I live or die on this foolhardy mission we are undertaking, it���s of no consequence. I���ll die having known each of you, and that makes my life truly fulfilled.���

  With a warm smile, Dr. Graves said, ���I���m hardly doing anything single-handedly. Without each and every one of you, I would have died in the airstrikes at Crary Lab, and that���s if I would have even survived that long, which I doubt I would have. We���re a team.���

  Beaming with pride, Dr. Bentley replied, ���And a damn fine team at that.���

  ~~~~

  After a long day of traveling, with the sun now far beyond the horizon, the PistenBully pulled up on a ridge just outside of Scott Base. Turning to the others, Vasily said, ���Scott Base downhill toward ocean. Is on peninsula. We stay here for night. No need for surprises in dark. Too cold to explore, and wind getting dangerous.���

  Feeling the PistenBully continue to rock back and forth after coming to a stop, it was clear to the group that Vasily was right. After a few moments of small talk, everyone shifted around, trying their best to get into position to sleep for the night while the purr of the diesel engine provided them the warmth they would need as it soldiered on, idling into the night.

  ~~~~

  As the sun peeked above the horizon behind them, shining down on the remnants of Scott Base below, Vasily stepped out of the PistenBully, wiped his goggles, and looked down on the tremendous toll the airstrikes had taken on the peaceful Kiwi research station. Hearing a door close behind him, Vasily turned to see Dr. Hunter joining him outside.

  ���Is it a total loss?��� Dr. Hunter asked, stepping up alongside him.

  ���Is not good,��� Vasily replied. ���We can search for anything of use down below, then make our way to Arrival Heights. It should be warmer by then. Make wind at ground station not so bad.���

  Climbing back into the PistenBully, Dr. Hunter relayed the news to the group while Vasily drove the machine down the hill and onto the peninsula where Scott Base now lay in ruin.

  Sifting through the debris, Dr. Graves found a concentration of human remains. Turning to Vasily, she shouted, ���Mr. Fedorov. Can you come here for a moment?���

  Joining her, he said, ���Yes, ma���am. What can I do for you?���

  Lifting up what used to be part of an insulated wall, she said, ���Mason, hold this.��� She then turned to Vasily, and asked, ���Is this what you saw in the berthing buildings?���

  Looking at the bodies that had suffered catastrophic blows during the airstrikes, Vasily could see the web of grayish material stretching from a severed arm to the chest cavity of another corpse. Pointing, he said, ���Yes. Yes, this was stretched all around, like web���no, like cocoon. The bodies in center of mass appeared alive, but wrapped so tight they could not move. Had no chance of escaping web. The ones on outside were still mobile. They would attach and detach after period of time. This one,��� he said, pointing, ���looks like one in middle.���

  ���My guess is the ones in the middle were livestock,��� she said. ���Producing heat to keep the cluster warm, while also serving as a source of nutrients and energy. Look here,��� she said, pointing with her pencil. ���See how the extremities of this one appears to have been dissolved away, yet the core of the body remains intact? It���s as if they wanted to use them for resources while keeping them alive.���

  ���Are you sure that isn���t damage from the attacks?��� Dr. Hunter asked.

  ���No, this is definitely the result of a chemical process and not of trauma,��� she replied. ���I���m going to take some more notes and try to find a jar or container of some type that I can use to take a sample.���

  ���Sample?��� Mason asked, taken aback by her statement. ���You want to take some of those bastards with us?���

  ���It���s necessary for my work,��� she replied. ���I need to study them in all stages of development. What may be a vulnerability in one stage of development may not be so in another,��� she explained.

  Nodding that he understood, Mason went on about the business of searching Scott Base for anything they may find of use.

  ���Do you hear that?��� Tasha said, tugging on Brett���s arm as he was lifting a piece of one of the building���s outer walls.

  Stopping to listen, he turned to see the silhouette of an aircraft coming toward Scott Base with the sun at its back. ���Plane!��� he shouted, pointing at the approaching threat.

  ���Take cover, everyone!��� shouted Dr. Hunter as he took Dr. Graves by the arm, pulling her toward the remnants of a small, green storage building. Lifting up on a sheet of metal siding, he hurried her underneath and followed close behind.

  Watching to see that the aircraft appeared to be heading directly for them, with the morning���s sun still obscuring the view as it approached from the east, Dr. Hunter could see Dr. Bentley frantically searching for a place to hide. ���Damn it, Gerald,��� he said to himself as the aircraft got within range.

  ���Wait, that���s not military,��� he said. ���It sounds like a turbo-prop.��� As the full silhouette of the plane became clear, he said with excitement in his voice, ���That���s a Twin Otter! That���s the Brits! It���s one of the Otters from the British Antarctic Survey!���

  Scurrying out from underneath the debris, Dr. Hunter began waving his arms and was soon joined by the others as the De Havilland Twin Otter, with skis mounted to its landing gear, banked to the right, circling around for another pass. Watching as the aircraft slowed and lowered a notch of its flaps, it made a low pass, rocking its wings and blinking its landing lights.

  Arcing to the left, the aircraft made its way toward nearby Williams Field, the snow-covered, ice runway that served both McMurdo Station and Scott Base.

  ���He���s going to land! Everyone, get in the PistenBully!��� Dr. Hunter shouted.

  Rushing to their trusty, red tracked snow vehicle, Vasily ensured everyone was inside, then shoved the throttle forward, hurrying toward Williams Field and their potential rescuer.

  ���It���s coming back,��� Mason said with his head pressed against the side window of the PistenBully, struggling to see the aircraft ahead and above them.

  Making another low pass and circling overhead, the aircraft once again rocked its wings and blinked its landing lights.

  ���He definitely wants us to follow him,��� Brett said with excitement in his voice.

  Pulling just out of sight, unable to match the slow speed of the PistenBully, the twin-engine turbo-prop disappeared from view as it descended toward Williams Field.

  Arriving at Williams Field a short time later, Vasily brought the heavy PistenBully to a stop as they saw a lone pilot standing alongside the aircraft, wearing British Antarctic Survey gear.

  Dr. Hunter anxiously stepped out of the PistenBully, waved at the man, and said, ���Well, hello, there!���

  ���Good morning,���
� the pilot replied. Holding his hand up, seeming to urge the group to stop, he asked, ���Is anyone sick or infected?���

  ���No, none of us,��� Dr. Hunter replied. ���I���m Dr. Nathan Hunter. I���m the Principle Investigator for the Mount Erebus Volcanic Observatory.��� Turning to his group, he gestured and said, ���This is Dr. Linda Graves, Dr. Gerald Bentley, Dr. Walter Perkins, Mr. Brett Thompson, Mr. Derrick Mason, Mr. Vasily Fedorov, and Ms. Tasha… uh, what���s your last name, Tasha?��� he asked, embarrassed that he didn���t know.

  ���Roark,��� she replied. ���I���m Tasha Roark. Nice to meet you, sir.���

  ���How nice to meet you all,��� he replied. ���What took you to Scott Base if you���re from MEVO?���

  ���It���s a long story,��� Dr. Hunter replied. ���We���ve been through quite a bit.���

  ���I���d imagine so,��� the pilot replied.

  ���And your name is?��� Dr. Hunter asked.

  ���Of course,��� the pilot replied. ���How rude of me. My name is Mark Robinson. I���m a pilot with the British Antarctic Survey. We managed to get most of our personnel off the continent before��� How do you Yanks say it? The shit hit the fan? Anyway, we���d managed to evacuate a large portion of our personnel when most of the chaos began. I stuck around to retrieve several of our researchers who were working on joint research missions with other nations at other research stations. I was on my way to Concordia when the airstrikes began. Concordia was destroyed before I was even halfway there. I put her down on the plateau to wait things out. I didn���t want to get shot down. This has all been madness, and I didn���t know what else to do.

  ���When it all seemed calm and the radios were quiet, I took off again and headed back this way. Luckily for me, we carry an engine heater or I would have never gotten her started again. I nearly froze to death sleeping in the plane.

  ���I overflew McMurdo before I came here, hoping to find other survivors, but saw none. I then flew toward Scott Base, and there you were.���

  ���We were on our way to Black Island when the airstrikes began. We���ve been hoping to find a way out of here,��� Dr. Hunter said, pausing for a moment to feel the pilot out. ���Might you be that way out of here?��� he asked.

  ���Certainly. If we can find fuel, that is. If I would have made it all the way to Concordia, my fuel would have been completely exhausted, as I had planned to fuel up there before returning. Stopping halfway and then flying back put me on fumes. I was getting ready to call it quits when I saw you. I���m afraid I don���t have enough fuel to get us anywhere at the moment, and the fuel-storage facilities at both McMurdo and Scott seem to have been destroyed.���

  Vasily nodded to the pilot and asked, ���Do you have way to heat fuel?���

  Looking at Vasily with a semi-confused expression, Mark replied, ���If you mean heat-exchangers in our fuel system, yes. In fact, due to the nature of our operations, we have retrofitted an auxiliary heat-exchanger for good measure.���

  ���Are you willing to run kerosene?��� Vasily asked.

  ���Kerosene?��� Mark replied. ���Well, I suppose. I mean, it���s basically the same thing as JET A and the JP5 we generally use down here.

  ���If survived bombs, I have kerosene,��� Vasily replied.

  ���How much?��� Mark asked.

  ���Three thousand liters,��� Vasily replied.

  A look of shock and amazement swept through the group.

  ���But how could it have possibly survived the bombardment?��� Mark asked with skepticism in his voice.

  Dr. Hunter smiled and said, ���Vasily here, is a very resourceful man. He never ceases to amaze and surprise us.���

  With a smile, Mark reached out his hand and said, ���Well, then, I do believe we have entered into a mutually beneficial relationship.���

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Williams Field

  After an in-depth discussion, sharing the plights of each of their groups during the crisis they all had faced, as well as details of Dr. Graves��� work and her potential for a breakthrough that could lead to a turning point for humanity, British Antarctic Survey pilot Mark Robinson thought deeply about what was said. After considering what he had been told, he said, ���As part of our evacuation, we relocated several of our scientists and researchers to a secure location on the Falkland Islands. They have laboratory facilities there. It has been used as both a jumping off point and a fall-back research facility during winter months when a departure from our Antarctic Peninsula locations was required due to severe winter conditions.

  ���Several of the researchers that have been evacuated to our site there are in fields similar to yours and may be able to lend a hand in your research. Dr. Simon Kelly is a brilliant microbiologist, Dr. Winston Harrison is, I believe, a biochemist and Dr. Samantha Gibson is a molecular biologist. There may be a marine biologist or two on hand as well. It was such a frantic scene I couldn���t take note of it all. All three of the aforementioned are quite terrific people, and with the global travel ban in place, will more than likely not be able to leave the Falklands anytime soon.���

  ���Global travel ban?��� Dr. Hunter asked.

  ���Yes, well, after my final departure from the Falklands en route to the Rothera Research Facility on Adelaide Island, we were informed that a global travel ban had been put in place to help prevent further spread of the outbreak.���

  ���That won���t do a damn bit of good,��� Dr. Hunter replied. ���Borders are just a make-believe line drawn on a map. Governments can���t stop the spread of this by mere executive action and mandates.���

  ���I imagine they want to at least limit the spread of the outbreak via mass transit or air travel,��� Mark replied.

  ���I suppose,��� Dr. Hunter begrudgingly agreed.

  ���So, as I was saying,��� Mark continued. ���We received word that all international travel had been restricted as a result of a meeting of the United Nations and a consortium of nations around the world, formally not part of the UN, and that the ban would remain in place until further notice.���

  ���How rapidly had it been spreading?��� Mason asked.

  ���My only exposure to the outside world was in the Falklands,��� Mark replied. ���Most media sources, as well as the Internet, were down. Most communication had reverted to ground-based radio and some limited satellite communications. Whether or not those other methods of mass communication have been physically compromised, or if they were simply left unstaffed, I do not know. The people in the Falklands were basically on lockdown, only receiving information as disseminated by the British Government.���

  Pausing for a moment, Mark looked at the group and said, ���The situation was changing so rapidly, I really don���t know what the conditions are like at this point. It seemed each day that the world had changed to a state that was unrecognizable from the previous day. I could have never expected the world to begin crumbling so fast.���

  ���This is unlike anything we���ve ever dealt with,��� Dr. Hunter replied. ���It���s going to take a lot of hard work, and perhaps a miracle, to put the genie back in the bottle.���

  ���That���s the perfect analogy,��� Brett said as he thought about the magnitude of what they were being told. ���The bottle being Mount Erebus. It���s as if God put those microbial demons in the most remote place on Earth, deep underground, inside the walls of a gigantic volcano whose lava shafts reach to the center of the Earth, and then, we unwittingly uncorked the bottle. It���s as if we freed the demons from the fiery dept
hs of Hell.���

  Changing the subject, Mark said, ���So, tell me about this kerosene you fellows have stashed away.���

  ���We travel to McMurdo,��� Vasily said. ���I show you. We bring back with PistenBully, pull on sled or trailer. Without front-end-loader, we will not be able to put on top on rack. Barrels too heavy to lift high up.���

  Looking around, Mark said, ���It will be far too cold in the Otter for anyone to stay behind without the engines running to provide heat. Everyone will have to travel to McMurdo to retrieve the fuel.���

  ���Let���s get to it, then,��� said Dr. Hunter as the group began to mentally prepare themselves for a return to McMurdo Station.

  ~~~~

  Approaching McMurdo Station, the PistenBully chugged on as the occupants surveyed the devastation of the airstrikes. A thick, black cloud of smoke still filled the air, emanating from what remained of the above-ground fuel storage tanks.

  ���Damn,��� Mason said. ���They really hit this place hard.���

  ���It was the root of the evil,��� Brett replied.

  ���They didn���t leave a building untouched,��� Dr. Perkins noted.

  Scanning the area for threats, the groups saw that several of the buildings were partially burned and had collapsed, yet still maintained some form of their previous structure.

  Driving past the remains of the above-ground fuel storage tanks, the smoke was so thick, several in the group began coughing as they each tried to cover their mouths with their scarves or parkas.

  ���There,��� Vasily said, pointing to the remains of an unheated storage shed that now lay nearly flat, its walls having been blown over by the devastating explosion from the fuel storage tanks. ���Is not burned, just damaged,��� he said, pulling the PistenBully to a stop.