Team 52 Box Set: Books 1-3

by Anna Hackett

  “These are some of the samples we collected on our first day here.” She pointed at the end of the workbench. “Some I completely thawed and had stored for Dr. Taylor to start analyzing.”

  Amara lifted her dark eyes to Rowan. The botanist was a little older than Rowan, with dark-brown skin, and long, dark hair swept up in a bun. “These plants are five thousand years old.”

  Rowan frowned and leaned forward. Then she gasped. “Oh my God.”

  The plants were sprouting new, green shoots.

  “They’ve come back to life.” Emily’s voice was breathless.

  The clink of silverware and excited conversations filled the rec dome. Rowan stabbed at a clump of meat in her stew, eyeing it with a grimace. She loved food, but hated the stuff that accompanied them on expeditions. She grabbed her mug—sweet, rich hot chocolate. She’d made it from her stash with the perfect amount of cocoa. The best hot chocolate needed no less than sixty percent cocoa but no more than eighty.

  Across from her, Lars and Isabel weren’t even looking at their food or drink.

  “Five thousand years old!” Isabel shook her head, her dark hair falling past her shoulders. “Those plants are millennia old, and they’ve come back to life.”

  “Amazing,” Lars said. “A few years back, a team working south of here on the Teardrop Glacier at Sverdrup Pass brought moss back to life…but it was only four hundred years old.”

  Isabel and Lars high-fived each other.

  Rowan ate some more of her stew. “Russian scientists regenerated seeds found in a squirrel burrow in the Siberian permafrost.”

  “Pfft,” Lars said. “Ours is still cooler.”

  “They got the plant to flower and it was fertile,” Rowan continued, mildly. “The seeds were thirty-two thousand years old.”

  Isabel pulled a face and Lars looked disappointed.

  “And I think they are working on reviving forty-thousand-year-old nematode worms now.”

  Her team members both pouted.

  Rowan smiled and shook her head. “But five-thousand-year-old plant life is nothing to sneeze at, and the Russian flowers required a lot of human intervention to coax them back to life.”

  Lars perked up. “All we did was thaw and water ours.”

  Rowan kept eating, listening to the flow of conversation. The others were wondering what other ancient plant life they might find in the glacial ice.

  “What if we find a frozen mammoth?” Lars suggested.

  “No, a frozen glacier man,” Isabel said.

  “Like the Ötzi man,” Rowan said. “He was over five thousand years old, and found in the Alps. On the border between Italy and Austria.”

  Amara arrived, setting her tray down. “Glaciers are retreating all over the planet. I had a colleague who uncovered several Roman artifacts from a glacier in the Swiss Alps.”

  Isabel sat back in her chair. “Maybe we’ll find the fountain of youth? Maybe something in these plants we’re uncovering could defy aging, or cure cancer.”

  Rowan raised an eyebrow and smothered a smile. She was as excited as the others about the regeneration of the plants. But her mind turned to the now-forgotten mystery object they’d plucked from the ice. She’d taken some photos of it and its markings. She was itching to take a look at them again.

  “I’m going to take another look at the metal object we found,” Lars said, stuffing some stew in his mouth.

  “Going to check for any messages from aliens?” Isabel teased.

  Lars screwed up his nose, then he glanced at Rowan. “Want to join me?”

  She was so tempted, but she had a bunch of work piled on her desk. Most important being the supply lists for their next supply drop. She’d send her photos off to an archeologist friend at Harvard, and then spend the rest of her evening banging through her To-Do list.

  “I can’t tonight. Duty calls.” She pushed her chair back and lifted her tray. “I’m going to eat dessert in my office and do some work.”

  “You mean eat that delicious chocolate of yours that you guard like a hawk,” Isabel said.

  Rowan smiled. “I promise to make something yummy tomorrow.”

  “Your brownies,” Lars said.

  “Chocolate-covered pralines,” Isabel said, almost on top of Lars.

  Rowan shook her head. Her chocolate creations were gaining a reputation. “I’ll surprise you. If anyone needs me, you know where to find me.”

  “Bye, Rowan.”

  “Catch you later.”

  She set the tray on the side table and scraped off her plates. They had a roster for cooking and cleaning duty, and thankfully it wasn’t her night. She ignored the dried-out looking chocolate chip cookies, anticipating the block of milk chocolate in her desk drawer. Yep, she had a weakness for chocolate in any form. Chocolate was the most important food group.

  As she headed through the tunnels to the smaller dome that housed her office, she listened to the wind howling outside. It sounded like the storm had arrived. She sent up a silent thanks that her entire team was safe and sound in the camp. Since she was the expedition leader, she got her own office, rather than having to share space with the other scientists in the labs.

  In her cramped office, she flicked on her lamp and sat down behind her desk. She opened the drawer, pulled out her chocolate, smelled it, and snapped off a piece. She put it in her mouth and savored the flavor.

  The best chocolate was a sensory experience. From how it looked—no cloudy old chocolate, please—to how it smelled and tasted. Right now, she enjoyed the intense flavors on her tongue and the smooth, velvety feel. Her mother had never let her have chocolate or other “unhealthy” foods growing up. Rowan had been forced to sneak her chocolate. She remembered her childhood friend, the intense boy from next door who’d always snuck her candy bars when she’d been outside hiding from her parents.

  Shaking her head, Rowan reached over and plugged in her portable speaker. Soon she had some blood-pumping rock music filling her space. She smiled, nodding her head to the beat. Her love of rock-and-roll was another thing she’d kept well-hidden from her parents as a teenager. Her mother loved Bach, and her father preferred silence. Rowan had hidden all her albums growing up, and snuck out to concerts while pretending to be on study dates.

  Opening her laptop, she scanned her email. Her stomach clenched. Nothing from her parents. She shook her head. Her mother had emailed once…to ask again when Rowan would be finished with her ill-advised jaunt to the Arctic. Her father hadn’t even bothered to check she’d arrived safely.

  Old news, Rowan. Shaking off old heartache, she uploaded the photos she’d taken to her computer. She took a second to study the photos of her mystery object again.

  “What are you?” she murmured.

  The carvings on the object could be natural scratches. She zoomed in. It really looked like some sort of writing to her, but if the object was over five thousand years old, then it wasn’t likely. She knew the Pre-Dorset and Dorset peoples had been known to carve soapstone and driftwood, but this artifact would have been at the early point of Pre-Dorset history. Hell, it predated cuneiform—the earliest form of writing—which was barely getting going in Sumer when this thing had ended up in the ice.

  She searched on her computer and pulled up some images of Sumerian cuneiform. She set the images side by side and studied them, tapped a finger idly against her lip. Some similarities…maybe. She flicked to the next image, chin in hand. She wanted to run a few tests on the object, see exactly what it was made of.

  Not your project, Rowan. Instead, she attached the pictures to an email to send to her archeologist friend.

  God, she hoped her parents never discovered she was here, pondering ancient markings on an unidentified object. They’d be horrified. Rowan pinched the bridge of her nose. She was a grown woman of thirty-two. Why did she still feel this driving need for her parents’ approval?

  With a sigh, she rubbed a fist over her chest, then clicked send on the email. Wishing her fami
ly was normal was a lost cause. She’d learned that long ago, hiding out in her treehouse with the boy from next door—who’d had a bad homelife as well.

  She sank back in her chair and eyed the pile of paperwork on her desk. Right, work to do. This was the reason she was in the middle of the Arctic.

  Rowan lost herself in her tasks. She took notes, updated inventory sheets, and approved requests.

  A vague, unsettling noise echoed through the tunnel. Her music was still pumping, and she lifted her head and frowned, straining to hear.

  She turned off her music and stiffened. Were those screams?

  She bolted upright. The screams got louder, interspersed with the crash of furniture and breaking glass.

  Chapter Two

  Jesus, she hoped one of the domes hadn’t given way. Rowan hurried out of her office and into the tunnel. In the first week of the expedition, one dome hadn’t been secured properly, and it had partially caved in during their first storm. It had made a mess, blowing crap everywhere, not to mention scaring the hell out of them.

  She ran into the rec dome and found it empty. The shouts and screams were coming from the labs. As Rowan jogged into another tunnel, another noise drowned out the screams.

  This sound made her freeze in her tracks.

  The wild roar didn’t sound human. It sounded like a wild beast on the hunt.

  What the fuck? She sprinted forward, almost tripping over her own feet. She stumbled into the first lab.

  It was empty and eerily quiet.

  And completely trashed.

  The workbenches had been tipped over, glassware and lab equipment lay smashed on the floor. She stared at the tiny green plants, that had survived millennia, only to be crushed under running feet.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  She heard another high-pitched scream. Was that Amara? This time, it came from down another tunnel that led toward the sleeping quarters.

  Rowan shivered. The temperature had dropped and goose bumps broke out over her arms. She took a step and her foot bumped something.

  She looked down. “Oh, God!”

  Marc lay prone on the floor, blood dripping down his face. Huge slash wounds covered his chest and neck.

  She knelt and pressed her fingers to his throat. It was then she realized he was freezing cold, his skin coated in a thin layer of ice.

  He was dead.

  Rowan sucked in a few quick breaths. What the hell was going on? Had a rabid polar bear gotten inside? She touched Marc’s face, and noticed his eyes were open. She sucked in another harsh breath. Both his eyes were milky white and covered in a cracked web of ice.

  Something was seriously wrong.

  A noise echoed in the nearest tunnel. She shot to her feet, staring ahead. Her heart was racing, pounding against her ribs. There was another sound, a scrape of something against the hard side of the dome.

  Then slow, heavy footsteps.

  Rowan didn’t stop to think. She needed to get away, she needed somewhere to hide.

  She leaped over Marc’s body. Glass crunched under her feet and she winced. Where could she go? Her gaze swung frantically across the dome.

  Those slow, menacing footsteps got closer. Rowan’s throat closed, and she then spied a small cabinet across the lab. She hurried over and ripped open the doors.

  Two shelves were loaded with various boxes of equipment. She tore them from the shelves and tossed them on the ground. Next, she yanked out the top shelf and set it against the wall.

  She tugged on the bottom shelf, but it wouldn’t budge. “Come on, come on.”

  That inhuman roar came again, chilling her blood.

  Rowan put her foot against the cabinet and yanked. The shelf came loose.

  She almost lost her balance, but caught herself and tossed the shelf onto the floor. She launched herself into the tiny confines of the cabinet. With shaking hands, she pulled the doors closed. She couldn’t quite get the last one shut, so she left it slightly ajar. With a silent prayer, she hoped whatever it was that was tearing up the camp wouldn’t notice.

  Rowan waited, her pulse pounding in her ears. As soon as she could, she needed to get back to her office. She had a pistol and several rifles locked up in there. She also needed to get a mayday call out and, once she was armed, go and help her people.

  Now, the only sound she heard was her own racing heartbeat. It had to be a polar bear. But she didn’t think a bear had killed Marc. Even though his chest had been slashed, he was frozen.

  A shadow moved on the other side of the lab and Rowan stopped breathing.

  Holding her breath, she watched the shadow move across the lab. Then it resolved into a slim figure with a blonde ponytail. Rowan’s shoulders sagged. Emily.

  Rowan was just about to push the cabinet doors open, when Emily spun, gasping.

  “No,” Emily cried.

  A blur of white. The thing moved so fast that Rowan couldn’t tell what it was. It launched itself at Emily.

  There was a crash and Emily screamed. Rowan slammed open the doors and surged out. “Emily!”

  There was a blur again, and the thing raced into a tunnel with Emily over its shoulder.

  It was no polar bear. Whatever this thing was, it walked upright on two legs.

  Chest heaving, Rowan searched for a weapon. She emptied out drawers, trying to stay calm and not let the sob in her chest break free.

  “Dammit.” There was nothing useful in this lab. Her gaze fell on a broom leaning against the wall. She snatched it up and snapped the bristled end off. Hefting the wooden stick, she knew it wasn’t much, but until she reached her office, it would have to do.

  Emily needed her.

  Rowan moved as quietly as she could. She stepped into the tunnel leading to the second lab. The air in the base was frigid now, her breath causing tiny puffs in front of her. The lights were still on, so the power was still functioning, but she wasn’t sure what had happened to the heating system. Maybe the thing had torn a hole in one of the domes.

  She reached the end of the tunnel and peered into the second lab. Benches were lined up in neat rows. Nothing moved. Where was Emily?

  Then Rowan saw the bodies.

  Her stomach rolled and she raced forward. No. Dr. Spencer, Dr. Chan, and Dr. Petrov all lay sprawled on the floor. Amara was hanging over an overturned stool.

  They were all frozen. Rowan touched their skin, her hand shaking. Icy. God. She shuddered, filled with hot panic and welling rage. A layer of ice covered their hair. Amara’s shirt was torn open and Rowan could see the woman’s veins under her skin. They weren’t blue-green, they were blue-white, like her blood was frozen.

  Rowan had to get to her office. She needed to make a mayday call and find a weapon.

  She turned and strode out, the broom handle gripped high. She also needed to find Emily, Isabel, Lars, and the rest of her team.

  Reaching her office dome, Rowan made her way to the comms room. She was shivering now, but she gritted her teeth against the cold. She inched inside the room, searching for any sign of movement.

  Samuel Malu was slumped on the floor by the communications computer. Grief hit her like a tidal wave. The Nigerian scientist had been soft-spoken and smart, with a sense of humor she’d enjoyed. Rowan crouched and closed the man’s eyes. He too, was coated in ice, and the comms equipment was smashed. She prayed that the sweet, smart man had gotten a message out.

  Whether help was coming or not, she was the expedition leader. She straightened. It was her team, and her responsibility to keep them safe.

  She made it to her office and the storage locker on the far wall. She punched in the code on the pad. The doors opened, and Rowan quickly grabbed a pistol. She checked the Glock, loaded it with ammunition, then closed the locker door.

  When she turned, she noted the base heating controls on a wall panel. The lights were all on and a steady green. The system was working. She shivered again. Clearly whatever had attacked them had caused a breach.

 
She left her office, moving stealthily along the wall. She needed to find Emily and the others.

  Moments later, she arrived back in the rec dome. It was still empty, half eaten meals still sitting on the tables and a few chairs overturned. God, had it only been an hour ago that she’d sat here talking with her excited team? She noticed a small circle of something clear and gleaming in the center of one table. With a frown, she touched it. Cold. Water.

  She looked up.

  Her stomach revolted. “Oh, no. Emily.”

  Her young friend hung, suspended from the ceiling of the dome, encased in a web of ice that held her in place. Her eyes were clouded over, her mouth open in a scream. One slender arm was held out and frozen in place, like she was fending someone—or something—off.

  Rowan pressed a hand to her mouth, bile a bitter taste in her throat.

  Emily was dead, too. God, was anyone else left alive, besides her?

  Fear and grief made Rowan’s chest tight. She could barely draw a breath. The entire base was silent now, and a voice in her head murmured that it was likely her entire team was dead.

  Fuck that. Rowan lifted her handgun. She strode down to the final dome—the living quarters.

  She reached the door. The lights were flickering, and when she took a step forward, she saw the bodies lying on the beds.

  Nausea punched through her. She saw Isabel and the rest of her team.

  They were all dead.

  Isabel. No! The woman had fought back against her attacker, and was lying near an overturned bunk. Her dark hair was stark against her icy skin.

  Rowan took a shaky step backward and bumped into a chair. It teetered, before crashing to the floor.

  The sound was so loud. She froze.

  Then she heard that same animal roar reverberate through the domes.

  Shit. Rowan turned and ran. She sprinted blindly through the tunnels and domes. Where to go? If she went out on the ice, she was as good as dead. If she stayed in here, she’d end up like the rest of her team.

  Without conscious thought, Rowan ended up back in the first lab. She looked around frantically.

  Then she heard heavy breathing and the scrape of something on the floor.