He'd taken two bullets to the stomach. Now, his breaths came in short, uneven rasps. She didn't want to move him from his spot. But he needed shelter. So, she helped him to his feet. He stirred. Then he slumped in her arms.
She jostled him slightly. "Come on, Jeff. Stay with me."
His eyes opened a fraction of an inch. He tried to speak, but his words were gibberish.
Beverly hauled him into the Sno-Cat. Then she draped some blankets over his shivering body and moved to close the door.
It didn't latch.
She gave it a mighty push. The door clicked. But it refused to stay shut.
Her forehead started to heat up. Perspiration dripped down her face. It was ludicrous. How could she possibly sweat in such frigid weather?
Beverly stared at the sky. Giant snowflakes careened against her face. They felt strangely cool and refreshing.
The wind picked up speed. It tore over the barren landscape, shrieking like a banshee.
Hurriedly, she turned in a small circle. But the snowflakes, an ally during the chase, were now her enemy. They were too large and fell much too fast. She could no longer see hints of the massive mountains. Even the Sno-Cat began to fade from view.
Beverly leaned against the door. Her eyes continued to study the falling snow. The wind wrecked havoc on the icy particles, causing them to whirl and scatter in all directions. They formed intricate, ever-changing patterns. It was mesmerizing.
The situation was far from ideal. But it could've been worse. They had space blankets and plenty of food. If she could get the door shut, they'd be able to block the wind and avoid the snow. That would keep them alive for the time being. But Morin still needed medical attention.
The snowflakes swirled in a large ring. They gathered together and gained substance. A mysterious shape materialized out of the whiteness.
Her eyes opened wide. "What the—?"
The snow swirled around her. Sharp teeth dug into her side. They bit through her many layers, sank into flesh.
Beverly cried out in pain. Her body was lifted up, hurtled through the air. She slammed into the hill.
She grabbed her knife and started to thrust it into the swirling snow. But the snow crashed on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground.
Teeth gnashed at her neck. Tiny trickles of blood dripped down her skin. She fought back, trying to hold whatever it was at bay. But it was stronger than her.
Something shifted above her. Snow fell on her face. She heard ripping flesh.
Her flesh.
Her vision blurred. Her brain grew fuzzy.
In an instant, her entire outlook changed. She'd been wrong prior to the attack. Horribly, horribly wrong. But now she knew the truth.
Now, she believed in ghosts.
Chapter 7
"We're next to the Ekström Ice Shelf. It's a giant cliff, running along the coast for thousands of miles. So, keep your asses in here. I don't want to have to fish your carcasses out of the ocean." Baxter threw open his door as the Sno-Cat skidded to a stop. "It'll look bad on my report."
Graham waited for Baxter to walk away. Then he cracked the door. "Come on."
I followed him out of the Sno-Cat. My feet touched the ice. I took a few cautious steps. The ground was slippery but manageable.
My nostrils detected exhaust and burnt metal. I heard loud splashes and the deep-throated groans of a boat shifting in the water.
The ice extended one hundred feet to the north. Black smoke drifted out from beyond it. It whirled around and I caught a glimpse of a large crane. Then the smoke curled and folded on itself.
I darted toward the cliff and looked down. The shelf was about fifty feet high. Its icy surface plunged into the water, turning a fluorescent blue in the process. A sense of awe formed deep inside me.
I heard crackling flames. My head rotated to the east, following the trail of flotsam and smoke. I saw the hull of a giant cargo ship. It was anchored near the cliff, not far from some ice docks. It was severely damaged. Charred mangled bodies covered what remained of the deck.
The smoke shifted and I got another look at the crane. It sprouted out of the bow and extended out over the cliff. A large basket hung from the crane. It dangled a few feet above the ice. Baxter knelt next to it, peering closely at the snow.
I ran over to him. "What happened?"
He glared at me. "I thought I told you to stay in the Sno-Cat."
"You did. So, what happened?"
He exhaled. "The crew was offloading something when the ship exploded. Other than that, I don't have a clue."
I saw faint footsteps scattered about the area along with several sets of tire tracks. Unfortunately, the heavy winds were in the process of erasing the evidence.
"Help." The shrieking voice was so soft I barely heard it. "Help me."
I raced to the cliff. At the base of the crane, I saw a hand waving in the air. "How do I get down there?"
"You don't." Baxter grabbed a satellite phone from his pocket. "I'll call for a rescue boat."
"There's no time," Graham said. "That ship is sinking fast."
"I suppose you've got a better idea?"
I cupped my hands around my mouth. "Hey, can you get to the cargo winches?"
The hand fell. Its owner, a young man, slumped to the ground.
"Damn it." I jogged back to the Sno-Cat. Quickly, I rooted through my bag and retrieved my satchel and machete. "Looks like I'll have to do this the hard way."
"I don't know what you're thinking, but it won't work," Baxter said. "We can't operate the crane from here."
"I'm not going to operate it. I'm going to climb it."
Chapter 8
"Like hell you are," Baxter said.
"Try and stop me." I grabbed one of the metal cords.
He lunged at me.
I leapt onto the basket. It swung away from him.
Ignoring his shouts, I climbed out of reach. Then I chanced a look down. Nearly twenty feet separated me from the ice.
What the hell are you doing, Cy?
Two thick metal cords and a yellow winch connected the basket to the crane. I tried to climb one of the cords. But I couldn't grip it.
I ripped off my gloves and stuffed them into my satchel. My fingers trembled. I did my best to control them. But it didn't help. They were cold.
So damn cold.
I wrapped my boots around a cord and started to climb. Wind whipped at my body, threatening to seize me in its icy clutches. Smoke curled into my face and crept into my lungs.
I continued to climb. The metal dug into my skin. My fingers turned numb. Then they started to ache. Before long, they screamed in pain.
With one last heave, I pulled myself over the tip of the crane. My hands were so cold they felt like they were on fire.
I thrust my gloves over my aching fingers. They blocked the wind. But my hands felt like frozen pieces of meat. I glanced at the ground. I could no longer see Graham or Baxter.
The crane trembled slightly. I looked down the long shaft. It was angled at about sixty-degrees to the cargo ship. The metal cords, anchored by large rungs, ran parallel to it.
I grabbed another cord and swung my body around. I lowered myself to the first rung. I repeated the process a few more times. Finally, I swung my body away from the crane and let go.
My boots hit the deck. I bent my knees and rolled, absorbing the impact. Then I sprang to my feet. The smell of charred flesh struck my nostrils. Bile rose in my throat and I nearly vomited.
Everywhere I turned, I saw death. Bodies lay on the hatch covers. They were sprawled around the cargo winches. They were splattered against the derricks and wireless mast. They were everywhere.
The boat groaned and tipped to the right.