The wind was beginning to make itself known again, picking up frozen crystals of snow and twirling them across the ground. Standing still wasn’t a good idea, she could already feel the knife-edge of cold cutting through the thermal armor of the coat, stabbing its way through the other layers of clothing, looking for the warm flesh below.
In the few minutes it took the sub crew to stumble their way to the building, the wind had whipped itself into a fury, gusts roaring between the boxlike buildings, rattling the triple-paned windows and whipping the antenna at the center of the camp back and forth until the guy-lines supporting it twanged and sang. Emily had to lean against the outer wall of the building for shelter or risk being blown over. It wasn’t that the wind was even that strong, it just seemed to switch direction in a heartbeat, as though it too was being pulled and pushed by some unseen force. The particles of snow and ice that flurried through the air only added to Emily’s disorientation.
The first member of the crew appeared out of the wind-whipped snow like a Bedouin nomad emerging from a sandstorm. Emily could not make out whether the form belonged to a man or a woman, their gender hidden beneath the layers of the white parka, their eyes hidden behind a pair of snow goggles, and from their nose down, some kind of facemask covered their lower face.
“Hello!” Emily yelled, but her voice was torn away from her by the wind. Instead, she beckoned the crewman toward the doorway, pulled the door ajar, and leaned into it to stop it being ripped from her hands.
“Inside,” she yelled. “Through the second door.”
The figure dipped his head and stepped through the door, carefully maneuvering the stretcher and its blanket-covered patient through the narrow doorway. The blankets and the injured sailor beneath it had been secured in place by what looked like straps or belts. Rhiannon’s face appeared around the edge of the far door; she opened it wide enough to allow the figures to stagger inside one after the other.
Over the next few blood-freezing minutes, the procession of half-frozen survivors made their way past Emily into the safety of the building, each clad from head-to-foot in the same all-white, military-style parka, facemask, and goggles. By the time the final one yelled into the hood of Emily’s parka that he was the last of them, she had counted all thirty-six survivors, including the injured carried on the stretchers.
Thankful to get out of the cold, she followed the figure through the door and closed it behind her, making sure the airtight door was fixed firmly in place, then followed the figure down into the anteroom off the corridor.
“That’s everyone?” Rhiannon asked as Emily stepped through.
Emily nodded and Rhia closed and secured the secondary door behind them. “I showed them where the beds are already,” the kid said.
Emily gave the girl’s shoulder a squeeze and shot her a smile as she dropped the hood from her parka, her lips still too cold to talk.
The last of the crew were disappearing from the anteroom into the main area she and Rhia had prepared. Emily followed them through into the makeshift hospital area. Thor was still sitting in one corner, his tail wagging slowly back and forth as he watched the procession of newcomers enter the room. His tail beat faster when he saw Emily.
Emily and Rhiannon waited patiently out of the way in the doorway, watching as the crew worked with military efficiency.
The newcomers wasted no time settling in. The injured had already been transferred from the stretchers to the waiting beds and the room was a commotion as the sailors dumped their backpacks and shed their cold-weather clothing. Medical supplies were pulled from packs as commands were shouted back and forth, order slowly being exerted on the chaos.
Bandages covered the injured, some had their chests wrapped; another had both hands covered in thick wadding that made him look like he wore boxing gloves as he was gently helped beneath the sheets of a bed; a woman, one side of her face wrapped up, watched Emily as she waited her turn to be transferred over. The gaunt-faced girl managed a weak smile, which Emily returned. Only six of the beds were occupied. She had counted eight stretchers, which meant two others must have been transferred to the side rooms she had prepped for the more seriously injured.
A tall man with a military crew cut directed the group from the center of the room. He looked to be in his early forties, a little taller than Emily, and with a week’s worth of dark-brown beard shot through with gray covering his lower face. He walked to the bedside of each of the injured, chatting with them briefly, smiling, joking too, judging by the smiles, and reassuringly touching their hands or arms before moving on.
“You must be Emily,” he said when he was finished with the last of his injured crew. He smiled widely and held out a hand, realized it was still gloved, and quickly pulled it from his fingers with his teeth. “I really can’t thank you enough for this.”
“It’s nothing,” said Emily as she shook the proffered hand. “This is Rhiannon.”
“Captain Edward Constantine,” the man replied, “and I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He held his hand out to Rhiannon, who flushed bright red as her tiny hand was swallowed up within his.
“At some point, I’d like to arrange a burial service for the members of my crew who died.”
“Of course,” Emily replied. “I’m sure we can arrange something with Jacob’s help.”
“Jacob? Ah! Of course, he’s one of the scientists here at the station?”
Emily stifled a bitter laugh: “He’s the scientist. He’s also wheelchair-bound, so you’ll have to excuse him not being here to greet you.”
Another man, broad shouldered and obviously fit beneath the layers of his military uniform, approached them.
“Sir,” he announced.
“Jimmy. I’d like you to meet Ms. Emily Baxter. Emily, this is Sergeant James ‘Jimmy’ MacAlister of the SBS, and my head of security.”
“You’re the lass we owe for all of this? Well then I’m doubly pleased to meet you,” MacAlister said through a smile in what Emily guessed was about as thick a Scottish accent as she could imagine. He was only a few inches taller than her, with what could only be described as a craggy face; thick eyebrows sat above a pair of soft brown eyes that hinted at a hidden level of mischievousness.
“What’s an ‘SBS’?” Rhiannon asked curiously.
“Special Boat Service,” the captain explained. “British special forces.”
“We’re like your Navy SEALs,” Jimmy chimed in. “Only better looking,” he added, his face split by a playful grin. “Yeah, much better looking,” he agreed with himself.
Emily smiled politely and coughed, and even Rhiannon giggled.
“What? You don’t agree, young lady?” Jimmy said, directing a ten-megawatt smile at the little girl that caused her to flush an even brighter shade of red and burst into a fit of nervous laughter.
“If you’re quite finished making an impression, Sergeant,” the captain said with a hint of his own smile, “I believe we have some injured who could use your help?”
The soldier’s playful demeanor dropped away and he instantly snapped to attention, followed by a brisk salute. “Sir!” he said, twisted on his heels, and was gone, but not before he gave Rhiannon a playful wink and a farewell, “Ladies.”
“You’ll have to excuse Jimmy, modesty is not his forte. He’s a hell of a soldier but a bit of a charmer, I’m afraid,” the captain said, his voice taking on a tone of obvious affection for the man. He took Emily by the elbow and maneuvered her toward the door. “He left most of his troop back in Nova Scotia. They were a tight-knit bunch and he’s taken it pretty hard.”
Emily nodded. Everyone had lost someone because of the red rain. “Can you spare a few minutes to come and meet Jacob?” she asked.
Captain Constantine scanned the room, which had settled into a less frenetic scene. “Everything seems to be under control,” he said, more to himself th
an Emily. He caught the attention of one of the nearest sailors.
“Sir?”
“Ms. Baxter has asked me to accompany her to the other building. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
“Sir!” the man nodded his understanding.
Emily glanced to the back of the room where Thor still waited patiently. “Thor, come,” Emily said. The big dog was instantly at her side.
“He’s a beautiful dog,” said the captain, admiring the malamute as he joined them, sniffing the captain’s boots and trouser legs.
“I owe him my life,” Emily said matter-of-factly. She reached down and stroked the side of Thor’s head.
“Well I hope we’ll have the time for you to tell me all about your adventures, Ms. Baxter. Please, lead the way.”
Emily zipped her parka shut then made sure Rhiannon’s was also secured, flipping the girl’s hood into place, followed by her own.
“Call me Emily,” she said finally as she turned and headed toward the exit that would take them back out into the storm.
The squall had grown even more furious, whipping between the buildings so violently that it felt like multiple pairs of hands trying to push Emily over. She felt a sense of dread begin to permeate through the layers of clothing and chill her bones. If the red storm, which seemed to have slowed to a stop at the edge of the Arctic Circle, was once again pushing in on this tiny island, then there was nowhere left for them to run to. The effect of the cold on the creatures she had crossed paths with had been obvious: They either died or fell into some kind of hibernation, but she had no idea if the storm would be affected in a similar way. Surrounded on all sides now, she and the other survivors would have to hunker down here and hope that whatever changes the storm brought with it would at least leave them alive when it passed. If it passed.
“Use the guide rope,” Emily yelled to the others, pointing at the thick, red rope strung between the buildings that would ensure they did not stray off track in the blinding snow. Visibility was down to just a few feet. She pulled Rhiannon in front of her and headed in the direction of the main building where Jacob was still waiting, the light from its windows appearing periodically as a faint orange glow through the dense sheets of snow. At least there was no red mixed in with the dove-white flakes.
Even Thor seemed eager to get back inside. He loped on ahead through the storm, pacing impatiently at the entrance to the main building when they finally caught up with him.
Once inside they brushed off the snow and ice that had collected on their shoulders and around the hood of their parkas, allowing the warm air to revitalize their chilled skin.
Jacob was waiting for them in his room.
“Hello Captain,” he said, stretching a hand out in greeting. “I hope you’ll excuse me not getting up.”
Constantine gave a good-hearted chuckle and gripped the man’s hand in his own. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Emily told me a lot about you in our radio conversation.”
Jacob shot Emily a sharp look, but a second later the smile was back. “None of it bad, I hope?”
“All good, I can assure you,” the captain said, giving no indication that he was aware of the tension between them, but he quickly eased the subject away from Jacob. “I was just thanking Ms. Bax…Emily for your help, Jacob. My crew and I are indebted to you, more than you could know.”
“Well, I can assure you that your thanks should go entirely to Emily, Captain. She’s the one in command…apparently,” said Jacob with a smile and no hint of sarcasm. Before anyone could reply, Jacob wheeled himself out of the room. “If you’d follow me, please,” he said politely over his shoulder. He led the way to a larger conference room farther along the corridor, and gestured for them to take a seat.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, holding up a half-full bottle of whisky.
The captain declined politely.
“So, how can we help you?” Jacob said once they had all taken a seat and he had a half-filled glass of whisky in his hand.
“As I explained to Emily, we had originally planned on staying submerged for as long as we could, but the fire has basically scuppered that idea,” said the captain. “What we’d like from you is a place for our injured to rest while they recuperate. Only so long as this damn storm lasts, then we can repair our boat. And of course, we would like to make arrangements to deal with our dead.”
“And after that?” Jacob said abruptly, a smile still fixed disarmingly to his face.
“Well, that rather depends on you and how long that storm holds out for. If you’d like to come with us when we leave, we have more than enough bunk space for all of you.”
“And where exactly do you plan on heading?” Emily asked. She tried to hold back the note of uncertainty she felt edging into her voice.
“As soon as we are able we’ll reestablish communication with the nearest naval base and have them send out a rescue vessel.”
Emily felt her heart sink. “Captain, you said you’d maintained radio silence since the red rain fell, right?” He nodded, a question forming on his lips, but Emily ploughed on. “So you have no idea what caused the deaths or how wide spread the devastation is?”
The captain’s questioning look was replaced by one of uncertainty. “We assumed it was some kind of viral outbreak or maybe a highly organized and effective terrorist attack. You have information that would indicate otherwise?”
Emily sighed. In the confusion of the past six-or-so hours, Emily had not even considered the possibility that the British submarine crew would have no inkling of what was really happening in the world left behind after the red rain. And why would they? They had been submerged since the rain fell and maintaining radio silence. There was no way they could know.
“You’d better have that drink, Captain,” Emily said. “Because I’ve got a hell of a story to tell you.”
Captain Constantine sat in a chair and listened as Emily spoke, his chin resting on the interlaced fingers of his hands, eyes never leaving Emily for an instant, never interrupting her as she recounted the harrowing details of the events leading up to and during her trip. She chose to leave out Jacob’s outright deception (although she was tempted not to) and skipped over the more painful parts of the story after she met Rhiannon and her family; there was no need to stress the poor kid out.
When she was done, Constantine continued to stare at her, a look of wariness behind his steel-gray eyes. Understandable, she supposed as she returned his stare; Emily knew he probably possessed a highly tuned bullshit detector after years of navy service, but he must also be a highly intelligent pragmatist to have achieved the position of Captain of a nuclear submarine. It wasn’t like they handed out those positions to just anyone, after all. Still, his inscrutable gaze made her uneasy.
“You know,” he said, finally unfurling his fingers from beneath his chin. “I think I will have that drink after all.”
Jacob poured two fingers of whisky into a glass and handed it to Constantine. The captain downed the whisky in one go and set the glass aside, smacking his lips in appreciation.
“I hope you will forgive my bluntness, Emily,” the captain said, “but apart from your own eyewitness account, do you have any other proof—not that I am questioning your honesty, of course—but do you have any physical evidence to back up your account. Photos maybe?”
Not for the first time since leaving Manhattan did Emily give herself a mental kick in the ass for not thinking to take her camera. She had left it behind with almost everything else she owned in her apartment, an unforgivable sin for any journalist, but all the more so considering the incredible sights she had witnessed. There had been mitigating circumstances of course; like trying to escape from a city whose population had turned into an alien menace, but still. A couple of pictures of the aliens or even some video footage would have made explaining what had happened so much easier.
Rhiannon had taken the seat next to Emily, sitting quietly while the adults talked. “Emily wouldn’t lie,” she said, suddenly interrupting. “I saw the monsters too. They murdered my daddy…” Her cheeks flushed almost as scarlet as the storm clouds surrounding their tiny island, her bottom lip quivering as she struggled to find the words, “…and my baby brother. They would have killed me too if Emily and Thor hadn’t saved me.”
Rhiannon’s voice trailed off when Emily laid a comforting hand on the girl’s arm. “It’s okay,” Emily said, smiling reassuringly. Rhiannon leaned in closer to Emily, a trickle of tears moist against her cheeks. Emily glanced at Jacob for some support of her story.
“Perhaps if we can get in touch with Commander Mulligan, she could at least tell you what she saw,” Jacob said.
“Commander Mulligan? Is she a member of your military?”
“She’s a Brit, like you,” said Emily.
“Oh!” said the captain, suddenly brightening, “You mean that Commander Mulligan, of the International Space Station fame? You’ve been in contact with her?”
All contact had been lost with the commander of the ISS and her crew, a consequence of the wild electromagnetic activity created by the huge storm that had blanketed North America, and Emily explained this to the captain.
“She’d be able to confirm what she saw on the first day, but not what I saw.” Emily leaned toward the sub commander. “Captain, I’ve gone through this experience once already with Simon, Rhiannon’s father; our lack of knowledge of just how dangerous the world had become cost him and his son their lives. I understand that you have a crew to worry about, but I have nothing to gain by lying to you—this is no longer our planet, and the sooner both you and your crew come to terms with that fact, the longer we all will live.”
Revelations (Extinction Point, Book 3) Page 2
