Ice Storm

by David Meyer

  He'd called into Kirby, only to discover most of the residents were out in the field. He'd panicked. The last thing he needed was for another massacre. He'd swiftly placed numerous radio transmissions, ordering everyone to reconvene at Kirby for the night. He'd gotten in touch with some of the residents. But others—namely, Beverly and Morin along with Reed and the Whitlows—remained out of touch.

  Crazy Roy had offered to search for Beverly and Morin. Meanwhile, Baxter had set his sights on Reed and the Whitlows. He'd gathered their tracking data and hurried after them. A small part of him had feared the worst. And yet, their Sno-Cat and the area around it seemed quiet.

  Baxter walked around the vehicle, committing the details of the scene to memory. There was no blood, no signs of violence. It was like God had reached down and plucked them right out of the cab.

  Baxter turned his attention to the satellite image. He couldn't afford to waste time. He had to find Reed and the Whitlows. He had to get them back to Kirby as quickly as possible.

  Their lives depended on it.

  Chapter 37

  Darkness shrouded the area below. But Holly's flashlight illuminated the bodies. They were piled high, stacked unceremoniously on top of one another.

  I quickly realized what had happened. The Nazis had initially dumped deceased test subjects into the mass grave. But over time, they'd grown increasingly nervous about the bacteria. So, they'd sealed the mass grave and started to incinerate the bodies instead.

  I clambered down a ladder, stopping about two feet above the corpses. I wrapped my arms around a rung and turned on my flashlight.

  I saw a middle-aged man. His body, covered in rotten clothes, shows signs of starvation.

  "He's frozen solid," I said. "But his skin looks yellow, jaundiced."

  "Anything else?" Holly asked.

  "Both sides of his neck are swollen." I studied his clothes and saw big holes in his sleeves. "His armpits are swollen too."

  "How swollen?"

  "They look like giant blisters."

  "Must be buboes."

  I extended the flashlight, pointing the beam directly into the crook of the man's arm. "Buboes?"

  "Its a swelling of the lymph nodes," Holly explained. "It's fairly common for certain infections."

  "Like what?"

  "Like tuberculosis and the bubonic plague."

  "Bubonic plague?"

  "Yeah. A lot of people think it caused the Black Death, one of the worst pandemics in history."

  I retracted my flashlight.

  "The bacteria is probably dead," she said. "But just to be safe, don't touch anything."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  "Hang on a second." Holly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small satellite phone. She lifted it to her ear. "Hi Pat. Yeah, I'm sorry I didn't pick up. We've been busy."

  A few seconds passed.

  "You're where?" There was a brief pause. "No, it's just Cy, Rupert, and me. We haven't seen … okay, okay. Hang on, I'll check."

  Holly lowered the phone. "Have either of you heard from Beverly or Jeff?"

  "No," I said.

  Rupert's voice turned curious. "What's this all about?"

  "Just answer the question," Holly said.

  "No, I haven't heard from them."

  Holly lifted the phone again. "No, we haven't talked to them. Why? What's going on?"

  More seconds passed.

  "Are you serious?" Holly waited a moment. "Come on, Pat. Don't you think you're overreacting here?"

  My arm started to ache. I shifted my position on the ladder.

  "Okay." Holly sighed deeply. "I hear you. We'll see you in a few minutes."

  She hung up the phone.

  I wrapped my other arm around the rung to provide some additional support. "What was that all about?" I called out.

  "Pat's here. He wants us to go back to Kirby."

  "Now?"

  "Now."

  "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I." A worried tone crept into her voice. "But something's wrong."

  I stowed my flashlight in my satchel. Then I climbed up the ladder. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know. It was just something in his voice." Holly stared with great reluctance at the pit. "I don't like it. But we're going to have to leave this for another day."

  I frowned. "When can we come back?"

  She shrugged. "That's up to Pat."

  Chapter 38

  Holly and Rupert trudged ahead of me. I hurried to keep up.

  The snow continued to fall at a rapid clip. I found it difficult to see more than a few yards to either side. A feeling of uneasiness spread over me. I twisted my head in a circle. But all I saw was more snow.

  I hiked across the frozen tundra. I was exhausted. My eyelids felt heavy. My muscles ached. My bones felt like they'd spent the last few hours in a meat locker.

  The wind blew harder and more snow kicked into the air. The further I walked, the more my visibility shrank. My other senses tried to make up the difference. But it didn't work. I felt only snow. I heard only wind.

  As I walked, I thought about Graham. Unfortunately, Holly's research couldn't help his father. But maybe Graham could benefit from it. As for me, I considered death unthinkable. I couldn't die, not yet. Not until I'd found the Amber Room. Not until I'd revealed it to the world.

  Not until I'd achieved an immortal legacy.

  I was a good treasure hunter. I'd traveled all over the globe. I'd found many wonderful things. It wasn't all about money. I truly enjoyed bringing the past to light.

  Until now, I'd avoided taking credit for my work. It was a necessity of the job. But unfortunately, my reluctance to talk about it had allowed others to define me. My former colleagues wrote papers lambasting me. Bureaucrats gave speeches denouncing me. The media kept up a barrage of attacks, calling me a threat to history and begging the governments of the world to put people like me behind bars.

  No one cared that I followed strict protocols. No one cared that my digs were superior to those conducted by most archaeologists. All they knew was that I profited from my work. And because of that, they hated me.

  The Whitlows started to fade from view. I walked faster.

  If I died at that exact moment, my legacy would be in jeopardy. I'd be remembered as a greedy treasure hunter who'd never found anything of importance. I'd be remembered as a guy who'd thumbed his nose at history. Locating and excavating the Amber Room would change all of that.

  The snow swirled. I smelled fur. Tasted blood in the air.

  I came to a halt. Crouching down, I stared into the whiteness.

  The snow swirled even faster. My senses vaporized. I couldn't see or hear anything. Couldn't smell or taste anything either.

  The ground trembled. The air rumbled.

  Shielding my eyes from the white glare, I spun to the side. I saw a silhouette. A slinky body. Long, powerful muscles. Thick matted hair. Sharp rows of teeth.

  What the hell?

  It slammed into me. Claws scraped my chest, slicing through my parka with ease. I felt a burning sensation. My body flew backward and I smashed into the snow. My vision fogged over.

  An image crossed my mind. I saw an old man lying on a boat in the middle of a river. Graham cradled him in both arms. The man looked peaceful, sleeping the eternal sleep. I felt a twinge of jealousy. His worries were gone, his concerns lost to time.

  My eyelids grew heavy. My adrenaline faded. Slowly, I sank into the snow. It felt good to lie down, to rest.

  What's the point? We're all going to die anyway.

  I closed my eyes, shutting out the infernal whiteness. My breathing slowed. My mind drifted. One by one my senses vanished.

  Just a few more seconds. Then no more worries.

  An image of the Amber Room formed in my mind. I tried to ignore it, but it refused to go away. Instead, it got brighter. I fought back, clearing it from my head. But it reappeared, brighter than ever.

  I tried to di
m the light, to control it. At the very least, I hoped to keep the image under wraps. But it just grew more vivid, more dazzling.

  Light gathered around the Amber Room. The image intensified to incredible levels. Without warning, it exploded. Colors flew in all directions. They swept through my head, forming strange, intricate patterns. A moment later, they blazed a path straight to my brain.

  My eyes popped open. I rose to my feet. Time was a powerful enemy. Maybe it couldn't be defeated. Maybe my efforts were futile. But I couldn't give up. Not yet.

  Not ever.

  Snow swirled toward me. I hoisted my machete. Lunged forward.

  The snow swirled to the side.

  A second silhouette burst out of the whiteness. It lifted a pistol. I heard a few faint pops. The snow swirled again and dissipated into nothingness.

  "Are you okay?" Baxter ran to my side.

  I touched my chest. I felt sticky blood. "What was that thing?"

  He stared away, into the snow. His right eye twitched. "That was Death."

  Chapter 39

  Graham looked up from his position on the bed. His good eye widened as he studied the bandages wrapped around my torso. "What the hell happened to you?"

  I limped into the room. "Fenrir."

  "Fenrir?"

  "That's what Rupert called it."

  He shook his head. "I don't understand.

  "Apparently, Fenrir was a gigantic wolf in Norse mythology. He was sired by Loki and according to prophecies, was destined to kill Odin. The gods knew he was trouble and bound him up. Fenrir bit off the right hand of one of them."

  "So, it's an ancient legend."

  "A modern one too."

  "Oh?"

  "According to the Whitlows, the locals have whispered about a beast running around these parts for years. They call it Fenrir."

  "Impossible. No land animal could survive out here."

  "And yet, something attacked me."

  His eyes narrowed. "So, this Fenrir thing is a wolf?"

  "No one's ever really seen it. Holly described it as Antarctica's version of Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. It's a … what's the term again? Oh that's right. A cryptid. A year doesn't go by without someone claiming to see it. Usually, they're just hoaxes."

  "We should ask Pat about it."

  "I already did, right after he saved me from it. He just walked away." I noticed the leather book in his lap. "What are you doing?"

  "Translating."

  "But I thought—”

  "You thought wrong." Graham tossed the book to me. "Turn to page six."

  The book contained about one hundred pages, bound by tiny metal rings. I flipped to page six. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced at the top line. "It says das Bernsteinzimmer. If I remember correctly, that stands for …"

  "The Amber Room," Graham said.

  I scanned the rest of the page. But I only understood a few words. "What does the rest of this say?"

  "All sorts of things. There's almost too much information here." He took the book from me. "Here's an inventory of the individual panels. There are lots of calculations about the weight of amber embedded in them. And these other ones appear to be some kind of amber catalogue. They've got tallies based on colors, texture, and size."

  "Interesting. So, it's not about the Amber Room as a whole. It's focused solely on the amber."

  "Sure looks like it." He shuffled a couple of pages. "This part is a history of the Amber Room. And here are some maps of the Baltic region. The Nazis seemed interested in tracking down the exact origin of the amber."

  "The Baltic Sea makes sense," I replied. "It accounts for eighty percent of the world's amber supply."

  He gave me a quizzical look.

  "What'd you expect?" I shrugged. "I'm a treasure hunter."

  "Well, they don't seem convinced it came from the Baltic. They recorded a few other possibilities here. Also, they were interested in more than just geography. They wanted to know the exact date of the amber itself."

  "Why would that matter?"

  "I'm not sure. I've only gotten through a few parts of the book. It seems to be some kind of manual, probably issued to the residents. It's got rules, schedules, and other things."

  "Does it mention anything about Werwolfsschanze?"

  "Give me a second." He flipped forward a few pages. "Okay, here's a general description of construction in the region. According to this, there were three bunkers. The first bunker was a testing facility."

  "That must be the gas chamber."

  "The second bunker looks small, sort of like a vault in the ground."

  "It's a mass grave." I quickly filled him in on the last few hours. "What about the third bunker?"

  "Okay, here we go. The third bunker was known as Werwolfsschanze." He looked up at me. "I just thought of something. We've translated Werwolfsschanze to Wolf's Lair. You don't suppose …"

  "That it has something to do with Fenrir? Yeah, I already thought of that. At this point, I'd say anything is possible."

  He returned to the book. "Taken as a whole, the bunkers seem to be dedicated to the development of some kind of drug. The drug was developed at Werwolfsschanze and tested at the gas chambers. I guess the deceased initially ended up at the mass grave. Later, the Nazis turned to incineration."

  "Forget about the drug. Let's focus on the Amber Room. That's what we came here to find."

  "I wish it were that easy. It seems the Amber Room was very much a part of whatever the Nazis were trying to do here." He flipped a few pages. "Okay, this section looks important. It takes up most of the book."

  He turned the book around and showed me the page. Three words were printed at the top of it. "Fall Garten Eden," I read aloud.

  "Translated literally, it means Case Garden of Eden. A looser interpretation would be Operation Garden of Eden."

  "A biblical reference?"

  "According to the summary, Fall Garten Eden involved the amber being used as a Baum des Lebens." He glanced at me. "Does that mean anything to you?"

  I shook my head.

  His fingers tightened. A page crinkled. "Hang on a second. Baum des Lebens. I think … no, that impossible. That can't be right."

  "What?"

  "Baum des Lebens." He said the words slowly, carefully. "It translates to Tree of Life."

  "Tree of Life? The one from Genesis?"

  "It appears so."

  "Another biblical reference. Who knew the Nazis were so religious?"

  "They weren't. Hitler was their messiah."

  "Then it must be symbolic."

  "Maybe." He skimmed a few lines. "Okay, here's something. The goal of Fall Garten Eden was to create, well, a Garten Eden."

  "The Nazis wanted to create a Garden of Eden?"

  "Figuratively speaking, yes. In other words, they wanted to fulfill Adolf Hitler's dream of purifying the world." Graham's good eye tightened as he read a few more lines. A look of sheer horror appeared on his face. "I know what this is about."

  "What?"

  "Those drugs—the ones the Nazis tested on prisoners—weren't meant to enhance soldiers. They were intended to inoculate them."

  "Inoculate them from what?" I asked slowly.

  "Großen Sterbens." His face turned ashen. "It translates to the Great Dying."

  Chapter 40

  A chill ran down my spine. "That's insane."

  "Actually, it makes perfect sense when you think about it," Graham replied.

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Consider the original Garden of Eden."

  "It was paradise on Earth," I replied. "Adam and Eve lived peacefully within its borders. All their needs were met."

  "Until the serpent arrived. It tricked Eve into eating fruit from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. She gave it to Adam too. So, God cast them out of the Garden. That's the Original Sin."

  "And because of that, they couldn't access the Tree of Life."

  "Correct. The Bible isn't too clear on what happened to
the original Garden of Eden. Regardless, Adam and Eve had been banished. And without the Tree of Life, they became mortal."

  "So, how's that fit into Nazi ideology?" I asked.

  "Genesis isn't a history book. Most scholars agree the Garden of Eden is just an allegory."

  "How so?"

  "It's a primitivist fable," Graham replied. "Similar to the Greek concept of the Golden Age or the more modern notion of the Noble Savage. The general idea is people once lived in an idyllic society. There was no work, no hunger, no pain, and no war. Things were perfect. But then mankind tried to better itself. It ate from the Tree of Knowledge, so to speak. And that caused it to fall from grace."

  "Maybe there's some truth to that." I shrugged. "Ignorance is bliss, right?"

  "I suppose it would be if you were fortunate enough to live in the Garden of Eden. But that Garden never existed. Ancient people had tough lives. Far tougher than the ones we enjoy today. While primitivists long for a past that never existed, futurists have been busy building a real Garden of Eden. They've given us trains, cars, and airplanes. Books, radio, and television. The telegraph, the telephone, and email."

  The words sounded strange coming from an admitted technophobe like Graham. "Primitivism might not help anyone. But it doesn't hurt anyone either."

  "Primitivists don't just long for a nonexistent past. They want everyone else to long for it too. And that brings us to Hitler. Hitler took the allegory in a slightly different direction. As I'm sure you know, he believed in the Aryan race. Its people were of supposedly pure racial stock and lived in the distant past. That was his Garden of Eden."

  "Let me guess. Mixing races was his idea of the Original Sin?"

  "Correct. Hitler believed Aryan descendents had lost their genetic purity by breeding with unfit partners. To his way of thinking, the Nordic race was the purest of all surviving races and thus, the closest fit to the Aryan ideal." Graham's brow furrowed. "That's why the Nazis supported eugenics. They thought they could reverse the genetic decline by sterilizing and killing so-called undesirables. They took it so far they ended up wiping out two-thirds of Europe's Jewish population."

  "That's a pretty fucked-up take on the Garden of Eden."

  "No doubt."

  "So, the Nazis who lived here wanted to fulfill Hitler's dream of a genetic Garden of Eden," I said. "And the Amber Room constituted their Tree of Life. I assume that means the Amber Room was essential to their efforts. But how?"