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 dim 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."