Ice Rift - Siberia

by Ben Hammott

  “What about Waldemar? He’s still in the infirmary.”

  “Damn, I’d forgotten all about him.” Pondering their options, Luka slowed his pace. “While I head to the security office to explain what’s happened and call for reinforcements, you fetch Waldemar and meet me at the main exit elevator. The guard post down the road is nearest. They’ll get to us the quickest and have weapons to shoot that thing.”

  The two men headed up to Level 1 and split up to carry out their allotted tasks.

  CHAPTER 9

  Checkpoint Siberia 3

  Ice-chilled wind blasted Sven when he stepped from the warmth of the Checkpoint Siberia 3 shelter into the Siberian wilderness. His windblown comrades gathered around the coal burner playing cards shouted and cursed at him to shut the damn door. Ignoring them, Sven zipped up his fleece-lined coat tight to his neck. Sheltered against the draft as much as he was able, he closed the door and headed for the small shack twenty yards distant.

  At twenty years old, Sven was the youngest member of the five-man team stationed at the remote outpost. Having joined them when the abandoned facility they protected was hastily brought back into service, he was still going through the jibing, new boy on the team phase. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. They were a good bunch really.

  He entered the small hut, balked at the stench rising from the latrine pit and tugged the sagging door shut. His glance into the toilet hole revealed, as he suspected, a pyramid of turds resting on the crust of ice formed on the water. Cursing his lazy comrades, Sven grabbed the pole leaning in the corner and hacked at the ice until it broke, releasing a fresh stench of stale urine and feces to assault his nostrils as the turds slid beneath the foul surface like sinking ships. He replaced the pole in the corner, pulled down his trousers and shivered when his bum cheeks touched the cold wooden seat.

  While he waited for nature to run its course, he flicked through the pile of dog-eared porn mags on the floor and pulled out an old edition of Chobix. After dreamily imagining losing his virginity to the large breasted Russian beauty on the cover for a few moments, he flicked through the well-thumbed pages.

  INSIDE THE MAIN HUT warmed by the coal fire in one corner, the other four guards of Checkpoint Siberia 3 had settled into their usual routine of card playing. Zacharov halted his hand reaching to pick up a playing card from the table as, in unison with his three comrades, he turned his head to stare at the ringing phone fixed to the wall across the room. Their surprised expressions were an indication it rarely rung.

  “Are we expecting anyone?” asked Verez, trying to sneak a peek at Jaroslav’s cards while his comrade was distracted.

  “We are not,” stated Zacharov, screeching his chair back noisily when he stood.

  As he crossed the room, Zacharov wondered who was calling. They had already had their monthly delivery of stores when Sven arrived a week ago, which included food, bottled water, and coal, so that couldn’t be it. He glanced at the calendar when he passed, its picture a striking woman dressed in a lowcut camouflage patterned top straining against her ample, braless breasts. Ringed in black was tomorrows date, and above it scrawled in his handwriting, Diesel delivery. It was the delivery of fuel for the facility’s diesel generators; there were no power lines this far out in the tundra. If the diesel hadn’t arrived a day early, which was possible, it had to be a surprise visit connected to the sudden re-opening of the secret base.

  Zacharov reached for the phone and noticed the green light wasn’t glowing. Whoever was calling, it wasn’t one of the other outposts positioned along the road ringing with advance warning of a visitor. He wiped the soot thrown up by the coal fire from the other two lights with a finger. The yellow light glowed weakly. This is a first. Someone from the facility was ringing. He lifted the old receiver and placed it to his ear. “Comrade Zacharov, commander of Checkpoint Siberia 3 speaking.”

  As he listened to the caller, his features formed a cynical frown. “We are on our way.” He hung up. Wearing a puzzled expression he turned to his comrades. “There’s some sort of disturbance at the facility. People have died.”

  “I knew it!” stated Makar. “They’ve been experimenting with germ warfare, and some highly infectious disease has leaked out and killed some of them.”

  “I’m not going in if the plague or something worse is floating around inside,” said Verez, throwing in his hand he now knew Jaroslav could easily beat. “No way am I setting foot in there.”

  “It’s nothing like that,” said Zacharov, stroking his beard worriedly. “Apparently there’s an alien creature running amok and killing off the scientists.”

  “Phew,” uttered Verez, standing up and grabbing his rifle. “Alien monsters I can handle.”

  As the men dressed in warm clothing and gathered their weapons, Jaroslav approached Zacharov. “Is this on the up, sir? There really is an alien in the facility?”

  Zacharov shrugged as he slipped a folded plan of the facility into his pocket. “That’s what the man on the phone indicated. He was obviously distraught, so I believe something’s happened. Whether an alien is involved, I doubt it, but I guess we’ll soon find out.” He glanced around at his men to check they were ready. “Let’s go.”

  As they filed out the door, Verez asked Zacharov, “Did he say what this alien looked like?”

  “Only that it was black and deadly.”

  “I bet it’s some sort of black lizardy thing, reptilian looking,” said Verez. “Snake eyes, fangs, and long, sharp teeth.”

  “Just get on the damn truck,” ordered Zacharov, closing the door behind them.

  WITH HIS TOILET BUSINESS finished, Sven stood and pulled up his trousers. He cocked an ear to the sound of a truck starting. Thinking the mechanic, Maker, was carrying out another check of the vehicle, he paid it no heed; the man started it a couple of times every day to check nothing was frozen. However, when its doors slammed and it roared off along the road, he kicked the door open and ran out buckling his trousers. “Hey, wait for me,” he shouted, waving an arm.

  Maker glanced in the side mirror and smiled. “It seems we’ve caught Sven with his trousers down again.” He glanced at Zacharov. “Shall I stop and pick him up?”

  Zacharov shook his head. “He’s so green, whatever the crisis he’ll be a hindrance. He can remain here and man the guard post.”

  Maker double-clutched and shifted into higher gear, spurting the lumbering truck along the rough road with a burst of dark exhaust fumes.

  Resigned that they weren’t going to stop, Sven stared after the vehicle. They had to be going to the facility, there was nowhere else. Wondering what had happened to stir the men from the comfort of their cozy lethargy, he headed for the hut. It was probably another of their silly games to rile him. Leave the new kid all alone in the middle of nowhere so he gets scared.

  Sven glanced at Makar’s motorbike covered by a thermal blanket in the garage area and briefly considered using it to catch up with the others. He dismissed the idea. Leave them to their childish games. It will make a welcome change to have a little alone time. He entered the warm hut, hung up his coat and crossed to the bookcase and shelf unit along one wall. His gaze wandered over the stack of Russian and English titles he had brought to help pass away the long bouts of inactivity this remote posting offered. He pulled out an English book, Horror Island by Ben Hammott, which looked like an exciting read. Though Sven’s English wasn’t perfect, he could hold a conversation and found reading English books helped improve his vocabulary. He stretched out on the sofa and started reading in the warm glow of the fire.

  CHAPTER 10

  Welcome to Russia

  The lone passenger of the helicopter glanced through the side window at the grassy tundra that stretched out in all directions for as far as the eye could see. It did nothing to offset his beliefs that Siberia was little more than a frozen wasteland of hardship and gulags, though so far, he had glimpsed no evidence of either. In fact, he had seen very little of Russia during
his long, tiring journey from England as it had been dark when he arrived at Irkutsk Airport. A long uncomfortable car ride in a vehicle lacking any decent suspension and a noisy heater that blasted out air barely warmer than the outside temperature had then brought him to a small airfield as dawn approached. After two hours wait, the helicopter pilot arrived, and they had set off for a remote area of the Siberian tundra.

  The passenger turned his gaze ahead. Peering through the cockpit’s bubble, he noticed a road drawing nearer. He followed the anomaly’s straight line into the distance and glimpsed the small cluster of buildings it led to. Though their purpose seemed agricultural in nature, he couldn’t imagine what sort of farming would have been carried out in the middle of nowhere. With his interest piqued, he pulled the mic on the headset he wore nearer his mouth and pointed out the building to the pilot. “What’s that?”

  The pilot briefly turned his head at the distant buildings. “If I was telling you, I would have to kill you and then myself.”

  The passenger rolled his eyes. “I’m not that interested.”

  The pilot laughed. “Welcome to Russia.”

  “I thought the cold war had ended.”

  The pilot shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps it has different name now. I warn you this. It not advisable to be asking questions about such things.” He nodded his head at the distant building. “Better you nothing see.”

  As they flew over the road, the passenger noticed a small group of simple wooden buildings. Smoke curled from the chimney of one, and beneath a roof that jutted from the largest hut, he saw what seemed to be a Russian transport truck. The barrier stretched across the road leading to the mysterious building designated it as a security checkpoint. Suddenly, men slipping on coats and gripping rifles in hand rushed from the hut with the smoking chimney. A few glanced up at the helicopter as they rushed for the truck and clambered aboard. Two soldiers pulled the thick insulation blankets wrapped around the vehicle to protect the engine and the fuel tank from the cold before climbing into the cab. Thick black smoke belched out from the exhaust when the engine roared to life. The truck eased forward, turned onto the road and sped for the distant buildings.

  Wondering what had happened to prompt the soldiers into action, the passenger gazed after the speeding truck.

  “I remember to you, it’s better you nothing see,” warned the pilot.

  Hoping the pilot’s grasp of the helicopter's controls was considerably more proficient than his grasp of English, the passenger sighed and returned to staring out at the landscape that was as desolate as his life had become. Where had it all gone wrong?

  CHAPTER 11

  bedEV1Led

  After finishing off the human, the fragment of Black that had killed Stanislav, now strengthened and larger, changed into a segmented two-meter-long centipede-like creature and scurried along the corridor after more human prey.

  When it failed to find them, it returned to the bones it had found in the room of cages. Though they offered little nourishment, it was something. It was about to melt over the bones to absorb their limited sustenance when its head shifted to faint human voices drifting out of a hole in the wall. Eager to consume more human flesh, it slithered up to the air duct, crawled inside and headed for the voices.

  HAVING FAILED TO FIND the human female, EV1L returned to the Level 4 elevator. It would seek her out after it had disposed of the humans above before they called in other humans who might prove to be more of a threat. It reformed into the image of Stanislav and waited for the Black heading along the corridor to re-join it. EV1L rippled in delight as the burst of energy flowed through it. When the two had become one again, it copied what it had seen the human do earlier. It reached out a hand and pressed the call button. When the elevator arrived, it stepped in, cast a glance over the remains of the large beast it would devour later, and rode the elevator up.

  WALDEMAR WAS TOO HEAVY for Pechka to lift on his own, so desperate to leave the underground complex, he revived Waldemar with an injection. When his patient had recovered from his abrupt awakening, Pechka rapidly explained a condensed version of what had happened. After what he had witnessed, Waldemar had no trouble believing the horrific events that had unfolded during his sleep.

  Still a little groggy from the sedative, Waldemar let Pechka help him to his feet. After the wave of dizziness from being upright subsided, Waldemar assured his comrade he was able to move without support. Pechka anxiously poked his head out the door, and after checking the corridor was clear, he led Waldemar from the infirmary and along the corridor.

  They halted on hearing a slithering around the corner ahead. Pechka placed a finger to his lips to bade Waldemar to silence and crept to the corner. Already stressed and anxious, he almost gasped in fright when he peeked around the corner. Black poured through the grill of an air vent and turned into a huge insect that seemed to have leaped from prehistoric times. It rose on its back segment of legs and turned to look down each corridor of the intersection it had arrived at. Its mouth opened and shut, emitting chattering clicks, as if testing each route. Pechka dodged back when its grotesque prehistoric head turned in his direction.

  “What is it?” whispered Waldemar, uncertain he really wanted to know.

  “A giant alien centipede thing,” mouthed Pechka, his voice barely a whisper.

  When he turned to check if it was gone, the centipede’s terrifying head appeared around the corner level with his own. It hissed foul, corpse-tainted breath in his face. Pechka screamed and dodged back. He stumbled into Waldemar, and both tripped to the floor. The creature scurried around the corner, down the wall and split into two. The back half grew a head, and each headed for their chosen victim.

  Pechka’s attacker opened its mouth to an impossible degree and dived at one of the legs the human kicked at it. To accommodate the limb, it spread its jaws wide and swallowed it up to the knee. Its body bloated like a Halloween horror balloon designed by Lovecraft before dissolving into Black glutinousness tar that oozed over his body. The evil puddle of creeping pain slowly dissolved clothing and flesh.

  The centipede after Waldemar grew two long back legs that propelled it through the air. Waldemar pushed his screaming comrade off him with his good arm and crab-walked backward, away from the approaching monstrosity launching its attack. It landed on his chest and melted. Terrified and trembling, Waldemar watched horrified as the Black he couldn’t stop flowed over him. His screams joined Pechka’s echoing through the corridors.

  LUKA HALTED HIS SPRINT to the exit elevator and stared fearfully back along the corridor as the painfilled screams of his comrades drifted through. He had lingered too long. It was time to leave and let the soldiers already on their way deal with it. At least he wasn’t completely defenseless. He glanced at the alien weapon he had grabbed from Stanislav’s office. He had turned the dials until a tiny light came on, which he hoped indicated it was ready to fire. Eager to reach the exit elevator and get above ground, he was about to turn and run when he noticed movement at the far end of the corridor. It looked like someone was turning the lights off one by one. He then realized the darkness drawing nearer was a wall of Black the width and height of the corridor flowing towards him. Fighting back the fear that threatened to turn him into a trembling wreck, he raised the weapon and fired.

  The green ball of light that shot from the barrel grew and gave Luka hope he might survive the encounter. His hope rapidly diminished when a hole formed in the Black just before the light ball struck, allowing the deadly missile to pass harmlessly through and strike the far wall in a shower of sparks that sent lumps of concrete skidding across the floor. Luka fired off another shot before he fled.

  EV1L easily avoided the second shot and spurted forward.

  Luka shot a glance behind and saw his fear reflected in the greasy Black almost upon him. His agonized screams echoed along the corridor when it latched onto his back and folded around him. He forced the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

 
; AS SOON AS THE TRUCK pulled to a halt inside the compound, Verez and Jaroslav jumped out the back and roamed their weapons over the building and around the compound.

  Zacharov rolled his eyes and climbed out of the cab at a more leisurely pace. On touching firm ground, he stretched and grabbed at his aching back. He was too old for this energetic excitement. In his younger days he had seen his fair share of action, kill or be killed and do as ordered however crazy and suicidal the command. It was a wonder any of them had survived. But that was far behind him, which was why he liked the Siberian guard post detail. Cushy and boring, just what he needed in his twilight years. He gazed out at the surrounding tundra. Desolate and miles from civilization, it wasn’t for everyone, but he liked it. It gave a man time to think, to reflect on life. He had even pondered writing a book. He had a few ideas, but, as yet, the notebook he had bought remained absent of words.

  “We going in or staying here admiring the view?” asked Verez impatiently.

  Zacharov sighed at the impatience and lack of respect shown by today’s youth as he headed for the entrance. When staring at the camera failed to release the electronic lock, he pulled a key card from his pocket and slipped it into the reader fixed to the frame. When the door buzzed, he pushed it open and stepped inside. The men followed him through.

  Though Luka had informed him he and two others, one wounded, would be waiting here for them, Zacharov wasn’t unduly concerned by their absence.

  Makar crossed to the elevator and pressed the call button. The doors slid open, and they piled inside.

  As the doors closed, Zacharov glanced around at his men. “Though I’m not expecting us to be greeted by anything alien, something has happened to cause some fatalities. We have no idea what these scientists have been doing down here, but it’s a secret facility, so it’s likely to be nothing good. They have animals here that I assume were used for testing their experiments, which included primates, so maybe it’s one of these that was infected in some way and went crazy.”