by Akart, Bobby
Chapter 25
Greenland Climate Research Centre
Nuuk, Greenland
Dr. Winding did not accompany Chapman north. A helicopter was chartered for him via Air Greenland. The bright red Eurocopter AS350 awaited him after he changed clothes into his weather gear. Despite the extraordinary warmth surrounding southern Greenland, parts of the north were still quite chilly for August.
He boarded the five-passenger helicopter, which was used for everything from scientific research missions to heliskiing. There were numerous mountains dotting the Greenland landscape that provided adventurous skiers plenty of virgin powder. Instead of using a traditional ski lift found at resorts, these daredevils would bring their skis and snowboards to the mountain peaks via an Air Greenland helicopter.
The two pilots introduced themselves, and Chapman immediately noticed they were carrying sidearms. Next to their seats, rifles with tranquilizers were mounted for easy access.
“You boys expecting trouble?” he asked.
“Standard protocol,” one of them responded. “With the icecap melting this summer, wildlife has access to a much larger domain than normal. They’ve encroached onto settlements, and that’s resulted in a couple of incidents.”
The other pilot finished his cockpit checklist and fired the rotors of the chopper. Chapman was curious about the animal activity, especially since he didn’t have the benefit of a weapon.
“What kind of incidents?”
“Well, it was weird, actually,” the pilot began. “A herd of musk oxen went on a rampage in a village near Disko Island.”
Chapman interrupted him. “Musk oxen?”
“Yes. A musk ox resembles a dark-colored sheep, but it has sharp horns curved like a goat. Some, however, are the size of a cow.”
“We’ve had all of those back on our farm in Indiana throughout the years. They’re not known to cause trouble, especially get violent or out of control, unless they’re startled.”
“There was no explanation for what set them off. They entered the village at full speed, using their curved horns to target anyone they could find. Both the musk ox bulls and the less dominant females rushed and butted anything that moved. Several people died from being gored in vital organs.”
Chapman looked out of the helicopter down to the beautiful landscape of Greenland as the rocky terrain began to change to snow-covered plains. He was told the trip to the research outpost would take an hour and a half, so he popped open his laptop and reviewed the notes he’d made on the work of Dr. Harry Pruitt of the Geological Survey of Canada.
Every year, Dr. Pruitt goes hunting. He dons his gloves, a parka, and a fancy compass, hops on a plane or helicopter, and flies across the Arctic. His prey? The always moving, shifting, and often elusive magnetic north pole.
In the past, Dr. Pruitt would only venture out once every few years. That changed in the last decade. He found himself spending most of his time in the field studying the location of the pole. He published a research paper a year ago on the subject and addressed a conference of the American Geophysical Union on the possibility that the Earth’s magnetic field was collapsing.
His research and data were sound, but the mistake he made, in this era of disagreement and rancor, was to make the outlandish claim that Earth’s changing climate might be related to the Earth’s magnetic field flipping. He’d pointed out, and Chapman confirmed by his own research, that the north and south poles have swapped places many times in the history of the planet.
These reversals, recorded by geologists in the magnetism of ancient rocks, were unpredictable and occurred at irregular intervals averaging three hundred thousand years, but had certainly shifted more often.
Dr. Pruitt attempted to point out to the American Geophysical Union that the last known reversal took place seven hundred eighty thousand years ago. He argued that the planet was long overdue and that the weather anomalies of the last several decades could be a direct result of the shift.
This assertion led to an uproar in the scientific community, and eventually Dr. Pruitt was shouted down. He stopped publishing his data and making public appearances, opting instead to become a full-time resident of the Zackenberg Station.
Using a letter of introduction from his friend at NASA’s JPL, Chapman secured an exclusive interview with Dr. Pruitt under the proviso that he would not appear on camera or be recorded. Chapman’s executive producer allowed him the trip to Zackenberg, but he was expected back the next day to conduct live, on-air reports from Nuuk on the impending climate disaster brought on by the melting ice sheet.
Chapman finished reviewing his notes and closed his laptop to take in the scenery. Northeast Greenland National Park, which encompassed a third of the territory, was considered the world’s largest national park. In fact, the park was larger than all but twenty-nine countries in the world.
It was desolate. There was no permanent human population living in the park except at the smattering of outposts near Daneborg, the headquarters of the park policing agency, and five other communities that handled Danish military activities or scientific research.
The Zackenberg Ecological Research Operation, also known as ZERO, was originally established as a summer-only outpost consisting of ten modular buildings powered by generators. As the winter weather set in, the facility would be abandoned until late spring.
Several years ago, a new, cutting-edge facility was designed to beat the Arctic freeze and allow for year-round inhabitants in one of the most extreme environments on Earth. The chopper touched down, and Chapman marveled at the complex, yet remarkably simple, eight-module structure that sat atop hydraulic legs with skids.
The legs were designed to raise the modules to keep them above the perpetual snow buildup that started falling in September. Also, depending on the circumstances, the modules could be moved to safer locations to avoid avalanches or, in the case of this summer’s unusual heat, a melting of the ice, resulting in it sinking.
The pilot gave the copilot a thumbs-up, and he unstrapped himself from his seat harnesses. He turned to Chapman while the pilot got settled into his seat with his flight charts and a clipboard.
“We’re going to Daneborg to refuel, and we’ll return at nine p.m. local time to pick you up. Dusk is at 10:30, so we’ll have plenty of time to get you back to Nuuk before dark. Is that okay with you?”
Chapman considered that more than enough time. He wasn’t remotely tired after sleeping on the plane, and he relished the opportunity to speak at length with Dr. Pruitt. “Sounds good.”
“Okay, I’ll escort you inside, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“I’m sure I can—” began Chapman before being cut off.
“Yes, sir, but it’s protocol issued by SIRIUS patrol. They’re responsible for policing the Northeast.”
“Understood. I’ll grab my gear.”
Chapman stuffed his backpack and slung it over his right shoulder. The copilot opened the chopper door, and a blast of cold air bit into the exposed skin on Chapman’s face. As he exited the plane, his boots crunched over the tightly compacted ice and snow surrounding the helicopter.
ZERO was located in a valley in which the winds whipped through the mountains at incredible speeds. The flags of Greenland and the Kingdom of Denmark rippled violently. A hundred yards away were the light-blue-colored modules that made up the outpost. Each was adorned with the flags of their host nation. Small porthole windows could be seen, but they were iced over, even in the summer.
“This way, sir,” said the copilot, taking Chapman by the arm.
“No welcoming committee?” he asked with a chuckle.
The copilot laughed. “Are you bringing research grant money?”
“No.”
“There’s your answer,” he said sarcastically. “The building to the far right is their maintenance facility and de facto welcome center. It’s full of snowmobiles and scientific equipment that looks like it belongs on the moon.”
The t
wo men pressed forward, leaning into the gale-force winds carrying Arctic air. Chapman continued to survey his surroundings. He’d been on trips to remote parts of Canada and Alaska where research operations like this one were tucked away. Usually, especially in the summer, there was a flurry of activity around the outpost as scientists went about their business. Thus far, he hadn’t seen evidence of another living soul.
As they got closer and noticed the doors to the maintenance module were wide open, a strange feeling began to roil in his gut. He found himself walking a little slower, allowing the copilot to take the lead. When his escort placed his right hand on his sidearm, Chapman took a deep breath and held it, steeling his nerves for what was to come.
Chapter 26
ZERO
Zackenberg Station
Northeast Greenland
They slowly entered the maintenance module and the copilot drew his weapon. Professionally trained, he carefully entered the darkened space with his head on a swivel, frequently turning his shoulders back and forth as the barrel of his gun led the way.
“Should I go back and get the other pilot?” whispered Chapman, who remained a few paces behind the copilot. He scanned the storage space in search of anything he could use as a weapon, like a shovel or a pickaxe.
“Stay close,” the man whispered as he approached a porthole door that took them into the climate-controlled main module. The lights were on, but there was no sign of movement. He inched the door open and slowly stuck his head inside to announce their arrival.
“Hello? Hello? Anybody here?”
He paused and looked back to Chapman, who’d found an ice auger lying on the seat of a snowmobile. He’d dropped his backpack and picked up the forty-eight-inch device that was typically used for ice fishing. The sharp carbon steel blades could do some damage to an attacker.
Chapman returned his glance and shrugged.
“Shit,” the copilot muttered under his breath. This time he yelled. “Hello! Everybody okay?”
He edged inside the first module. It was spacious and modern. And warm. Chapman immediately welcomed the thaw and the respite from the cold wind.
The copilot raised his left arm, indicating they should stop. He knelt down and picked up two bullet casings. “Be ready and stay behind me.”
Chapman didn’t argue.
The copilot took a few more steps forward and swung his weapon around the room. His wet boots slid on the floor, which was made of diamond-plate steel. At the far end of the space was another hallway that led deeper into the multipronged modular complex. The only light that bled into the hallway came from this entry space.
The interior furnishings appeared to be straight out of an IKEA catalog, with white and light shades of blue dominating the room. There were no electronics in this module, as it was partly storage, partly waiting area as the scientists prepared to conduct research for the day. Several lockers lined the wall, but all the doors were shut.
After clearing this module, the copilot continued through the room and into the hallway. The two men lowered themselves into a crouch as they slowly crept through the twelve-foot-wide fiberglass-encased tube.
The copilot stopped to point out another bullet casing and set his jaw. As they approached the next hatch, tensions were high between the men.
The copilot no longer announced his presence, and he appeared more and more concerned over the lack of human contact. The bright white, sterile environment was not that different from what the inhabitants of ZERO probably experienced during the wintertime. The space appeared clean, yet it smelled musty. Almost metallic and somehow wet at the same time. Chapman’s senses were on high alert as his level of awareness shot through the roof.
The copilot reached the end of the hallway and stepped into the next module. He’d barely entered the much larger space when he gasped. Chapman’s nose wrinkled at a ghastly smell emanating from the module, and he quickly covered his nose and mouth.
“My god.”
“What?” Chapman demanded. He reached the doorway and stuck his head inside. He immediately turned back into the hallway, coughing, retching, and suppressing his flight response.
He’d seen death before, but not slaughter. The normally white module that housed the nerve center of ZERO with its computer stations and research work was covered in dark red, sticky blood and mauled body parts.
“Jesus,” muttered the copilot as he walked around the room, minding his step to avoid slipping in the wet goo or tripping over a disfigured corpse. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Chapman recovered and entered the module. He blinked several times in an effort to clear his brain of the gory scene straight out of a horror movie.
“Their bodies are, um, shredded, and not by a knife,” Chapman added before pointing to the bank of computer consoles. “Look.”
The copilot turned to see the body of a clean-shaven young man draped over a computer desk. The young man couldn’t have been older than twenty. The claw marks that tore open his face and ripped away his back, exposing his spine, made it clear an animal had done this.
“Polar bear,” said the copilot. “Has to be. But inside the building is unheard of.”
“They never had a chance,” said Chapman. “They couldn’t even call for help. It must’ve happened so fast.”
The copilot moved to holster his weapon and Chapman reached out to him. “Wait, what are you doing?”
“This happened a while ago,” he replied, pointing to the blood on the computer desk, which was beginning to harden. “The bear that did this is probably long gone. I think this facility had nine or ten people working in it. I only count five bodies, I think.” He looked around the room and wiped the perspiration off his brow.
“Okay, but maybe we should get the other pilot,” insisted Chapman. “You guys also have rifles. I’d feel better with them around, too.”
“Fine, you do that. I’m gonna go bring the others out of hiding and let them know it’s safe.”
The copilot picked one of the three hallways that led out of this center module, and Chapman quickly retreated toward the exit. He hadn’t gotten ten steps when he heard a bloodcurdling yell coming from within the other module.
He rushed back inside and shouted for the copilot. He didn’t answer. Chapman tried again. “Hey! Can you hear me?”
“In here!” he finally responded. “You’ll never believe this.”
Chapman looked back toward the exit and considered ignoring the copilot. He wanted to be away from the stench of death and the possibility that a vicious polar bear was roaming around ZERO. Nonetheless, his curiosity was strong and he really thought it was a bad idea for the two men to split up.
He hustled through the main pod and made his way down the last hallway, noticing the bloody paw prints of the polar bear as he went. He placed his boot next to a print to gauge their size. They appeared to be at least fourteen inches long and nearly as wide.
He ducked his head and entered the next pod, which was filled with bunk beds. The scene was similar to the main module except for one notable exception—a massive dead polar bear lay on top of a woman in the middle of the floor.
“Is it dead?” Chapman asked hopefully.
“Yeah.”
Gauging from the height of the woman, who was most likely around five foot six, the polar bear was easily eight feet tall and probably weighed eight hundred pounds.
“Look, she shot it while she was being attacked,” the copilot said as he picked up a handgun. He examined it and then dropped the magazine into his other hand. “Sig Sauer P320 in nine millimeter. Standard issue for the Royal Danish Army. Looks like she got off five rounds.”
He jammed the magazine back into the pistol, knelt down next to the dead animal, and grabbed the back of its head by the fur. A gaping bullet wound was revealed under its snout, and the bullet must’ve embedded in its brain, because there was no exit wound.
“We need to call for help,” said Chapman. “There might be
another one.”
“I doubt it,” he said as he stood. He stuffed the woman’s sidearm in his belt. “I’m amazed this one ventured inside the buildings, especially this deep. Polar bears are not stealthy animals. If there was another one, we’d know about it.”
Chapman set the auger on an empty bed and took in the scene. The victims were trapped in the module. Once the bear attacked the central module of ZERO, it moved down the hallway, most likely following the scent or screams of the others. The module revealed the slaughter, and with the lack of moving air, it was nauseating, too.
“Come on,” said the pilot, slapping Chapman on the back. “Let’s get you some fresh air and I’ll alert my partner. He’ll radio SIRIUS and quite possibly Thule Air Base on the far west end of the island. They’re equipped with rescue and recovery teams to handle something like this.”
Chapman picked up the auger, just in case, and the two men made their way back through the modules. When they reached the outside, the copilot asked Chapman to stay there while he quickly crossed through the crunchy snow toward the chopper.
When he was halfway across, the pilot emerged from the helicopter and shouted to him, “What’s the deal? We’re gonna be late for—”
He never finished his sentence. A male polar bear raced around the back of the helicopter and swatted the pilot’s head with its massive paw. His helmet deflected the blow, saving the pilot’s life, for the moment.
Knocked to the snow-packed ground, the pilot attempted to push away from the polar bear, to no avail. Within seconds, the beast pounced on him and began to pound his face. His scalp was ripped open, and the bear sensed a kill.
Right. Left. Right. Left.
Blow after blow, the snow-white creature pummeled the pilot, shredding his face to the bone. Despite the fact he was killed by the second crushing slap to the temple, the polar bear was maniacal in its assault.
Shots rang out as the copilot fired wildly in the direction of the polar bear, their sound muted by the howling Arctic wind.