Below Zero

by Dan Smith

  ‘That’s enough from you two,’ Mum warned.

  ‘Hello?’ Dad called again as he led the group towards the spiral staircase.

  ‘Hello!’ Zak whispered in return. ‘Who is it?’

  May sniggered, but Dad ignored him.

  ‘Is anyone there?’ As Dad came closer to the stairs, something hard crunched under his boot and he stopped. ‘What’s that?’ He aimed the light at his feet. ‘Is that egg shells?’

  ‘No, it’s more like . . . I don’t know.’ Mum shone her torch at the floor and swept it around to illuminate more of the broken pieces. ‘Insects?’

  ‘Can’t be.’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ Zak said. ‘They’re like crushed insects. All dried up.’ As the torchlight played over them, they shimmered in different colours.

  ‘Nu-uh,’ May said. ‘There aren’t any insects in Antarctica. Nothing but penguins, remember.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’ Dad moved on towards the staircase.

  On the first floor, one side of The Hub had a circular table with four computers on it. The other side was kitted out with a couple of treadmills, some weights, and gym equipment.

  ‘Where is everyone?’ May whispered. ‘This is proper creepy.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’ Mum spoke loudly, trying to break the atmosphere.

  ‘Dr Reeves is right,’ Dima agreed. ‘Everything will be horror show.’

  ‘What does that even mean?’ May asked. ‘You keep saying it, “horror show”, and, honestly, it doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘Hmm? Oh, khorosho?’ Dima chuckled. ‘It is Russian. It means “fine”. Everything is fine.’

  ‘Yeah, well it doesn’t sound like it,’ May muttered.

  ‘What we need is power,’ Mum said. ‘We need light and we need heat. It’s already cold in here, and it’s only going to get colder.

  ‘I’ll second that.’ Dad raised his eyebrows at Dima, waiting for his agreement.

  ‘Da. Sure.’ Dima shrugged. ‘We’ll go and look at the generators, see if we—’

  Screeeeee!

  A screeching, tearing sound came from somewhere outside. Sudden and sharp, it broke through the quiet like a scream.

  ‘Oh my God.’ May was the first to speak. ‘What . . . was that?’

  Screeeeee!

  It was the shriek of metal being twisted and ripped apart. This time it went on for longer. Zak and May stared at each other, both of them with their eyes wide like they were going to pop right out of their heads.

  ‘My plane!’ Dima snapped into action, breaking away and sprinting for the stairs. His torch beam bobbed about, jittering through the darkness in a jerking, confusing flicker of light.

  ‘Wait,’ Dad called after him, but Dima was already thumping down the spiral staircase.

  ‘Come on; stick together,’ Dad said, but before they had taken more than a few steps, they heard a sharp yelp followed by a series of bumps.

  When they found Dima, he was lying on his back at the bottom of the stairs, not moving. His torch had rolled under the table and was shining across the floor in a cone of white light that illuminated him on one side, and threw his shadow across The Hub on the other.

  Mum and Dad went straight to him, but May and Zak stayed at the bottom of the staircase, staring.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Zak wondered.

  ‘Of course not,’ said May. ‘He can’t be. Can he?’

  Mum checked Dima over while Dad shone his torch at him. The pilot’s face was a mask of blood. It was everywhere. Running down his coat, on his hood, on the floor . . . everywhere.

  ‘Where’s it all coming from?’ Dad’s breath was like mist in the torchlight.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t see a thing.’ Mum held out her torch. ‘May, get some paper napkins from the table.’

  May hesitated.

  ‘Quickly!’

  She grabbed Mum’s torch and ran across The Hub, snatching up one of the napkin dispensers. When she returned, Mum pulled out a handful and patted them on Dima’s face to soak up the blood. The napkins were drenched through in seconds, and Mum dropped them on to the floor with a disgusting wet splotch that made Zak’s stomach heave.

  She grabbed another handful. ‘Shine the torch here,’ she said to Dad and May, who stood over her like lampposts. ‘And here . . .’ She worked her way around Dima’s face until she found the large gash on his forehead, then she wadded a pile of napkins together and pressed them hard against the wound.

  As she did it, Dima opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. ‘Moy samolyet,’ he mumbled, before closing his eyes again.

  ‘A wound like that needs stitches,’ Dad said. ‘Or glue, or something. We need a first aid kit.’

  ‘What we need,’ Mum said, ‘is some power. I can’t see a thing and it’s getting colder by the minute. If we don’t get the generators working, this wound won’t matter; we’ll all free—’

  ‘Evelyn.’ Dad cut her short but Zak knew what she had been about to say. We’ll all freeze to death. That was the truth of it. It was minus forty degrees outside, and getting colder inside by the minute. They needed heat and light or they were going to die.

  Zak stared at Dima, caught in the torch beams like he was under lights on an operating table. Beside him, Mum’s hands were covered in blood as if she was in the middle of some kind of crazy surgery. The sight of it made him sick. It made him think of mad doctors (Zak Reeves? Ah yes, it’s time for your operation. Come along, this won’t hurt a bit . . .) and sinister hospitals, and the awful thing growing inside his head. It made him think of the electric bone saw he’d seen on TV when he’d walked in on May watching Re-Animator with her friends. It made him think of pain and dying.

  And as all those things tumbled through his mind, an ache began behind his right eye, and pulsed across the top of his head.

  The ache squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed, growing more intense. Zak put a hand to the side of his head, where a scar was barely visible beneath his short, dark hair. He traced a finger along the ridge of scarred skin, then a sudden, intense pain seared through his mind. In an instant, the world fell away into nothing. He was hanging in the air over an infinite black sea, its surface shimmering like an oil slick. His ears were filled with the clicking and rustling of endless movement.

  This isn’t happening. Zak squeezed his eyes shut. This isn’t happening. He shook his head and opened his eyes to see he was back in The Hub. Mum and Dad were there, Dima was on the floor, and May was standing close by.

  But they weren’t alone.

  The figure was back. The explorer. It stood beyond the reach of the torchlight, head shrouded, face hidden, eyes covered by those creepy goggles. As Zak watched, the figure raised its right hand and extended it towards him. Its mouth moved beneath the balaclava, and in that moment, Zak was certain the shrouded figure was Death.

  Not now, Zak thought. It can’t end here. Not like this. I’m not ready. We need lights and warmth and for everybody to be OK because it’s just supposed to be me and—

  And in a blink the figure was gone. It didn’t fade; it disappeared as if it had never been there. The pain in his head switched off, and there was a flicker of light from the ceiling.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then, in a blaze of light and a blast of warmth, the power came back on across Outpost Zero.

  JANUARY ISLAND, SOUTH CHINA SEA

  17 HOURS AGO

  The Broker sipped his drink and stared out at the trail of reflected sun blazing across the sea beyond the balcony. Ice clinked in his glass, condensation dripped around his fingers, and the cold water soothed his throat. As he took in the view, he ran through the events that had happened in Costa Rica last week, but his thoughts were brought into focus when a large-screened smartphone lit up on the table beside his wicker chair.

  It displayed the word ‘Phoenix’, and began to ring.

  The Broker let the phone ring three times before leaning forward to place his glass on the
coaster beside it. He was careful to line up the bottom of the glass exactly with the circular pattern on the coaster. When it was done, he dried his fingers on a crisp white napkin and touched the green button.

  He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, saying nothing.

  ‘Sir, I have something for you,’ said the woman at the other end of the call.

  ‘Go on.’ The Broker’s voice was deep and pleasant. His tone was neutral and there was no trace of an accent.

  ‘One of your operatives at NASA contacted me with something a few minutes ago. I’ve prepared a package.’

  ‘Send it.’

  With a gentle ping, an icon popped up in the top right-hand corner of The Broker’s smartphone. He opened his eyes and leant forward to touch it. Straight away, an image opened on the screen. ‘Tell me what I’m looking at.’

  ‘Less than an hour ago, a satellite passed over Antarctica and took a series of photographs. The man at NASA who is assigned to monitoring the satellite is one of your operatives, sir, and he called me straight away. He thought you should see the photographs. This is exactly the kind of information that matches your particular interests. And it’s linked to BioMesa, sir, which is high on your watch list.’

  The Broker said nothing. This new information was interesting, but he didn’t want to hope for too much. When he was ready, he reached for the smartphone and picked it up. The image was mostly white, with stormy swirls like an abstract painting. Hidden in the spiralling patterns, though, were the dark shapes of buildings formed into a T-Shape. The Broker could also make out the faint markings of a landing strip and one or two outbuildings.

  On the other end of the line, Phoenix watched a mirror image of what her employer was seeing. ‘Apologies for the image quality, sir, they’re currently experiencing adverse weather conditions over Antarctica, but you’re looking at Outpost Zero. As you know, it’s a training facility for—’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I already know.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Please forgive—’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘In the second image, sir, you’ll see an object in the centre of the landing strip.’

  The Broker flicked to the next image and, sure enough, there was a large oval object visible through the storm.

  ‘We believe that to be one of the Spiders, sir. You’ve seen the blueprints.’

  ‘Yes, I know I have.’ The Broker admired the ingenuity Drs Evelyn and Adam Reeves had shown in the construction of the Spider drones. He had even considered taking control of the project for himself. The drones would fetch a high price. But he had become more interested in what BioMesa was doing in Antarctica. BioMesa had sent a group of researchers to Outpost Zero, and The Broker suspected they were breaking regulations, searching for something beneath the ice. Oil, perhaps. Gas, or some other resource he wasn’t yet aware of. Whatever it was, he wanted to know about it. ‘I hope this is good, Phoenix. I’m afraid you have caught me in a rather dour mood.’

  ‘I’ll get to the point, sir.’

  ‘I wish you would.’

  ‘If you flip through the images, sir, you’ll notice the Spider drones have been rather active. And there’s evidence to suggest they have been building things beyond their usual instructions. It’s as if the drones are acting alone.’

  ‘Alone?’ The Broker leant forward. ‘Are you suggesting some kind of artificial Intelligence?’

  ‘Your man at NASA doesn’t think so. He suspects something else. You’ll see that he’s used thermal imaging to enhance the last few pictures, sir, and . . .’

  The Broker stopped listening. What he saw in those last few photographs made him stand and walk to the edge of the balcony. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air. When he had filled his lungs and calmed his mind, he switched his focus back to the last three pictures displayed on the device he was holding.

  Each image showed him a grey land of ice and snow. In the first, though, the buildings of Outpost Zero were a dull orange, emitting a heat signature lower than he would have expected. There were three red blobs on the landing strip, and he guessed they must be the Spiders – the drones. The blobs were about the right size and shape. In the second image, the buildings had lost heat and were now only a faint orange. The Spiders had moved to the front of the base, but without good video footage it was impossible to tell exactly what they were doing. None of those things concerned him, though. There was something else far more important about the image.

  About a kilometre east of Outpost Zero, there was now a large, bright orange patch. The Broker flicked between the two images again, seeing how the patch appeared as if from nowhere.

  He glanced at the time coding on the pictures and saw they were taken sixty minutes apart. In the short space of an hour, something had appeared beneath the ice. Something warm.

  The Broker flicked to the third, most recent, image and paused to process what he was seeing. ‘Do we know how deep that is?’

  ‘It’s impossible to tell without being on the ground, sir.’

  ‘And how soon can we have men on the ground?’ The Broker knew Phoenix would have an answer. That’s why he paid her so well – because she was smart and efficient.

  ‘We have the two prototype Ospreys you acquired, sir. I know they’re to be sold to your buyers in Russia, but they’re currently at November Island, so I have taken the liberty of ordering them to be fuelled and waiting on the tarmac. Analysis suggests they’re the best-suited aircraft for this operation. I’ve contacted Lazarovich, and instructed her to assemble her team. They will arrive at November Island with all the necessary equipment within the next ten hours. The Ospreys don’t have the range, but the pilots assure me they can refuel mid-air and be on site in eleven hours. We can have our teams at Outpost Zero in just over twenty hours, sir.’

  The Broker raised his eyes to the view beyond the balcony and watched the waves cresting. ‘Good. Make sure Lazarovich gets everything she needs. Does anybody else know about this?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘One hundred per cent, sir.’

  ‘Keep it that way. Make sure my man at NASA buries those images. And I want someone working on all communications coming in and out of Outpost Zero. Take complete control of it. The base needs to be sealed tight.’

  ‘About that, sir . . .’

  ‘Why do I have the feeling you are about to disappoint me, Phoenix?’

  ‘I’m afraid we have been unable to take control of communications at the base, sir. It seems somebody else has already done that.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘We don’t know. Everything has been shut down from inside Outpost Zero. The only thing working is a primitive email system, and even that is only intermittent. Something is happening out there, sir, but we’re not quite sure what.’

  ‘All right. Keep on those communications; I want to know everything that happens.’ The Broker cut off the call but stayed where he was on the balcony, watching the sea. It was particularly calm today. He paused to take in the view and settle his thoughts before once again studying the image on his tablet.

  The snow, the base, the Spiders. And something else.

  The second thermal image had shown the appearance of something warm beneath the ice. The third image showed how much it had grown; like a wide, orange river running towards Outpost Zero. Something was buried deep in the ice and it was either warming up, or it was growing. Whatever it was, The Broker was certain it was the reason why BioMesa was in Antarctica. They were searching for something. They had found something. And, as far as he was concerned, it now belonged to him.

  Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a bad day after all.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  NOW

  Under the glare of the overhead spotlights, Dima sat at one of the tables pressing a wad of napkins to his forehead. Dad rummaged through a first aid kit, but it was obvious he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, and was just t
rying to look busy. Mum had gone to the Medical Station in the East Tunnel – she said it was better to bring what she needed rather than try to move Dima in this state.

  Zak was squatting close to the bottom of the spiral staircase, with his back to the bloodstain on the floor. He was studying the broken pieces of shell that had crunched under their boots earlier.

  ‘What do they look like to you?’ he said to May who was sitting on the stairs.

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘They look like beetle wings.’

  ‘I already told you; there’s no beetles in Antarctica.’

  The shards were as black as death but when he turned his head Zak could see hints of red and green and blue. ‘There’s loads of them. They’re everywhere.’ He gestured at the broken pieces scattered around The Hub.

  ‘Got to be something else,’ May said.

  ‘Like what? What do you think they are, Dad?’

  ‘We’ll ask the Project members when we find them.’ Dad continued to sort through the first aid kit. ‘What’s taking your mum so long? What’s she—’

  The door to the East Tunnel hissed and Mum came back into The Hub. She went straight to where Dima was sitting and opened the small box she’d brought with her. ‘This’ll do the trick.’ She took out a gadget that looked like a chef’s blowtorch, and fiddled with a couple of dials on the side of it. Dima moaned when she moved his hand away from the cut and wiped it clean before switching on the instrument. A dull red glow appeared at its tip.

  ‘What’s that?’ May went over to watch.

  ‘This, my darling, is a very sophisticated Dermal Adhesion Unit.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Basically, it’s a glue gun. It seals the wound.’

  ‘Oh.’ May leant closer, watching how Mum pinched Dima’s cut together with one hand and touched the tip of the instrument against it. ‘You mean it heals him?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Cool.’ Zak risked a peek despite feeling squeamish at the sight of all the gore. ‘How does it work?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue; I just know it does.’ Mum didn’t take her eyes off what she was doing.