‘If they have found the pit and landed, we must catch them before they leave. Dr Berkeley, where do the runes say we must go?’
Berkeley checked his notes again. ‘Through the vale of Fenrir, then there’s a rock formation they called “the broken finger” pointing up the mountain. We follow that until we get to a plain they called Vigrid — “the place of battle”. If this pit exists, that’s where it is. Just a couple more miles.’
‘Then we must move as fast as we can.’ Kagan restarted his engine.
‘Careful in the fog,’ Eddie warned. ‘If you hit a boulder at fifty miles an hour, you’ll be fucked.’
‘We know what we are doing,’ the Russian told him tersely. He shouted orders to his men, then set off again, considerably faster on the flat than during the climb. The four soldiers followed at equally high speed.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Eddie growled as he restarted his own vehicle. ‘If he flips his snowmobile and breaks open his jar of evil crap…’
‘Try not to drive through the puddle,’ said Nina, cringing at the thought.
They entered the valley. The fog quickly enveloped them, first sapping all colour from the other vehicles and their riders, then leaching away detail to reduce them to nothing more than silhouettes. Even these soon faded — not solely because the fog was getting thicker, but because they were pulling away. ‘They’re going too bloody fast,’ complained Eddie as he eased back the throttle, then made a small but urgent course change to avoid a football-sized rock that materialised in his path. ‘See? If I’d hit that, it might have tipped us over or even ripped off the front ski.’
‘You’ve still got your lightning reactions,’ Nina assured him. ‘Although those Russian guys are probably even faster. I mean, they are about twenty years younger than you…’
‘Tchah!’ He made a rude gesture, then looked at the snow ahead. ‘What the fuck are they doing?’ he said as he saw the weaving skein of treaded ruts split apart into three separate tracks. ‘They’re spreading out. They won’t be able to see each other.’
‘I can hardly see them now.’ Nina squinted into the fog, experiencing an unsettling moment of disorientation as she realised it was now so dense that it had blotted out all points of reference, stranding her inside a featureless grey void. ‘No, wait — I can’t see them now! Damn, I thought it was London that was supposed to have all the pea-soupers?’
‘Nah, London just stinks of diesel,’ said Eddie. He peered ahead, but the other snowmobiles were completely lost to sight, even the rasp of their engines muted. Reducing speed still further, he picked one of the three diverging tracks and followed it. ‘Hope whoever this is has a clue where they’re going…’
They both strained to see through the surrounding nothingness. The ground became indistinct a mere twenty feet away, the blank snow making the effect even worse. Occasionally it seemed that there were dim shapes at the very fringe of visibility, but they vanished the moment they were focused upon.
Nina stiffened in her seat at a dull noise from somewhere ahead. ‘What was that?’
‘What was what?’ Eddie asked.
‘I just heard — I don’t know, a bang or something.’
He brought the snowmobile to a rapid stop, trying to listen over the putter of the idling engine. ‘Can’t hear anything.’
‘It’s gone, but… I can’t hear any of the other snowmobiles either.’
Eddie shut the machine down. Silence fell upon them like a wet cloak. ‘Nor can I,’ he said after a moment, ‘but if we keep following their track, we’ll—’
A scream cut through the empty stillness.
‘Okay, I heard that,’ he said, restarting the engine and revving to full power.
‘What the hell happened?’ Nina shouted.
‘They must’ve crashed. Fucking told ’em not to go too fast in this fog!’
It was not long before he slowed again. The track he was following suddenly veered sharply — but there was no sign of a rock or other obstacle. ‘Where’d they go?’ he asked, turning to follow.
‘There.’ Nina pointed off to one side. A faint shape resolved itself into the overturned snowmobile as they approached. ‘I don’t see either of the guys on it, though.’
Eddie stopped a few yards from the other machine. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘Anyone hear me? Are you okay?’
There was no answer. ‘Maybe they don’t speak English,’ said Nina, concerned.
‘Oi! Vodka, free vodka!’
‘Very funny.’ But she was not smiling as she dismounted, and nor was her husband. ‘Can you see them?’
‘No, but something happened here,’ he replied, crouching. The snowmobile’s track revealed the spot where it had crashed and rolled over; from the sudden change in direction, the driver had obviously been trying to avoid a collision — but again there was nothing except snow in the machine’s path. ‘Go to the snowmobile and see if you can spot ’em. I’ll check if anyone got thrown off over here.’
Nina went to the crashed snowmobile. The engine had stalled, its cargo spilled out across the snow. There was no sign of the case containing Thor’s Hammer. ‘It wasn’t Kagan and Logan,’ she called to Eddie, before turning to check the surrounding area. At first she saw nothing — but then a shift in the drifting fog revealed a faint shape, darker than the surrounding snow and mist. She advanced a few steps, then broke into a jog as she realised it was a person. ‘Eddie! Over here!’
The young man lay on his side, one arm splayed out behind his back. Nina reached him — then jumped back in horror.
The Russian was dead. But he had not been killed by falling from the snowmobile. His throat had been torn open, ragged strands of flesh hanging out into a splattered pool of bright red.
Eddie reached her. ‘Jesus Christ!’ he gasped on seeing the hideous display. ‘What the fuck did that to him?’
Nina had looked away — and in doing so saw something else. ‘Eddie, there are some tracks over here. I think the other guy crawled away.’
‘He didn’t crawl,’ he said, grimly examining the churned snow. ‘He was dragged.’
‘By what?’
An answer came as a new sound reached them: a low growl.
But it was not the mechanical rasp of a snowmobile.
Nina and Eddie turned to find the source of the noise. Something appeared through the fog, advancing on them with a fearless arrogance. A wolf.
But not like any they had ever seen before.
It was huge, at least a foot taller than a normal wolf, its hunched back reaching easily to the height of Eddie’s chest. But it was monstrous in more than just size. As it drew closer, they saw that it was deformed, swollen growths bulging beneath the dense fur. One eye was almost squeezed shut by a tumour on the side of its face.
The deformities had not lessened its abilities as a hunter, though. Its mouth and fangs dripped with blood, the fur down its chest stained a deep crimson where it had ripped out the soldier’s throat.
‘Oh my God,’ Nina whispered. ‘The Vikings were right. It’s Fenrir…’
32
The wolf curled back its gore-stained lips and snarled, advancing on the couple. ‘Get behind me,’ Eddie told Nina, eyes locked on to the predator as he slowly unzipped his coat. ‘Don’t make any sudden moves.’
Nina cautiously sidestepped around her husband — only to turn in fear at a new sound. ‘Shit!’ A second wolf, as large and twisted as the first, faded into view through the fog. It too was smeared with the fresh blood of its latest kill — the second Russian soldier. ‘Eddie, there’s another one!’
Eddie’s hand closed around his Wildey. The first wolf was about twenty feet away, padding closer with a measured, almost mechanical relentlessness. He started to draw the gun, looking away from the approaching animal to check the position of its hunting partner. It was further away, head low as it advanced.