BLOOD COLD: Silas Hill Book 2

by Allan Burd

  Fuck this! Splat was scary enough. Ghost and Snowball might also go down with a few well placed bullets. But this is the granddaddy of all grand yetis and I don’t even think a grenade would be enough. I give him the nickname Avalanche and remind myself to stay far out of his path. Then ‘fucked number three’ pops up. They’re smart monsters.

  They immediately assess how their friend perished and look up before I get the chance to duck out of sight. My usual charming smile is replaced by a crooked maw. They’re polite enough to show me their sharp teeth and simultaneously roar how eager they are to eat me. No point standing here slacked jawed. I wave goodbye like the dork at the high school prom then hightail it off the balcony. I can’t allow myself to be at ass end of this one-way street when they inevitably arrive. I race back down the corridor with my guns steady at my fore. If I don’t make it, at least I’ll give them something to remember me by.

  My heart pounds, my feet move heavily. Thankfully, I make it to the main intersection just as I hear the echoes of monstrous footfalls reverberating down the hall to my right. I dart left, hitting a three way split where I choose to go right. It’s a bad choice. Growls bounce off the walls in front of me. I glimpse the top of a stairwell ahead and see a large round shadow indicating one of them is coming up from below. Behind me another savage cry reverberates off the wall. That means backtracking my route isn’t a viable option. Fortunately, I see a crack in the wall, a space big enough for me, but not for them. I swiftly crawl inside, pulling my backpack through the crevice just seconds before one of them speeds by.

  It’s dark in here, the only illumination coming from the slight crack I crawled through. Two larger furry legs run by without stopping. The first was probably Snowball. This one probably Ghost. I wonder if they can track my smell like werewolves, or if they have night vision like vampires, or maybe if they can see into the infrared. Heat tracking would be the best way for monsters living in the cold to hunt their prey and my experience with monsters is they always seem to ideally adapt to be their environment’s most efficient predatory killing machine. Maybe I’m safe. Most likely it’s a temporary reprieve. I take the moment to regroup and reassess my situation. These yeti are no joke. They make my neighborhood werewolves look like cubs. No amount of Kung Fu Feng Shui is going to get me passed them and most likely the weapons I’m carrying aren’t going to be enough to take them down. I need to focus on my original goal… find Kiltrace and go home. I recheck the GPS again. It comes to life with a beep that’s a little too loud.

  Shit!

  Two polar bear like legs quickly appear by the crack. An eye looks in. Then the yeti makes a noise that sounds like a mating call. That can’t be good. I quickly scan the coordinates—which show me again I’m in exactly the right location. The yeti peers inward again. I quietly scurry as far back into the crawlspace as I can. My back presses against something too soft to be a wall. I turn, figure they already know I’m in here, and use my flashlight. Two hollow sockets stare back at me, further accelerating my already quick beating heart. I should be used to shit like this, but running into blood cold corpses in unexpected places is something you’re never fully prepared for.

  It’s a haunting sight; short mangy gray hairs spiraling from the top of a dehydrated frozen face, a tightly shut mouth, a gaunt neck that descends into a greenish-gray leather field blouse, or feldbluse to be more precise. I recognize the double braid sewed into the collar. My hand caresses the material until my fingers reach the strap of a Sturmgewehr 44 assault rifle that hangs loosely from the corpse’s shoulder. I inspect it, the muzzle nut and shape marking it as an earlier model, consistent with the time period it’s from.

  I don’t feel sorry for the poor bastard anymore. He died alone, cowardly hiding while he slowly starved and froze to death over a period of days. A fitting end for a Nazi. The only question I have is what the heck is a dead World War II German soldier doing in a deserted temple in China? I pat down his feldbluse, doubtful I’ll find anything to use against the yeti’s because it’d either be too old or this soldier would have already used it. But maybe I’ll find a clue or something else that can give me an answer. His brittle chest concaves under the pressure of my hand.

  I should have been gentler but the constant scratching of sharp yeti claws against the stone outside is making me nervous. They definitely know I’m here and they won’t quit until they break through that wall. I pull out my Lupara, wait for the right moment, and when one of the large ugly bastards peek in I put a bullet in its eye. Its shriek is music to my ears. He’ll think twice before he looks in again, which grants me a modicum of time.

  I search the Nazi’s pockets. I find a single bullet, probably the one he was contemplating putting in his skull if the yetis ever found him. I tap his pants pocket and find something far more interesting. A map. A quick scan under the GPS light reveals markings in both German and Chinese. I slip it into my pants and continue my patdown until I come upon a broken necklace filled with cold metal that fell to his waistline. I pull it free, finding a chain filled with keys and military issue dogtags. I read the name above the serial number. Erik Roger Kiltrace, the man I’m here to meet.

  Chapter 9

  I’m trapped in a mouse hole with some very large cats at the door and the man Yong sent me to meet has been dead for seventy years. Not my typical day, but nothing I usually do is the norm. Obviously, I was sent here for the map and the keys. Got ‘em. Mission accomplished. Now how do I get out of this winter wonderland alive? Shooting my way out isn’t going to happen. Master Yong armed me with a grenade, but my gut instinct tells me if I simply roll it out the opening, this entire room will collapse on top of me. There has to be another way out of this space, one the Nazi couldn’t access but I can.

  I scan the darkness while the yetis renew their efforts to get in. Their claws scratch at the stone with such ferocity it reminds me of a blacksmith sharpening an axe on a grinder. Then the walls start to pound and crumble. Crap! Avalanche must be out there now as well and I’m pretty certain he’s powerful enough to knock down anything. It has probably been awhile since any of them tasted a good human. They’re snarling like lions moving in for a kill and from the thunderous smashing and the shaking stone, I don’t have a lot of time.

  The crawlspace is an echo chamber reverberating sounds from my worst nightmare. I skitter around as fragments of rubble rain upon me. I find a rotted wooden crate but it’s empty. A fissure forms in the wall, a surprise blessing as the additional light that comes through allows me to find what I seek. In the corner there’s a trap door, chained shut. I rush toward it, crawling through raining stone. There’s a thick padlock attached to a rusty metal circular ring. I pull hard but can’t yank it free. Yet I know this is what I need to open to get a breath of fresh air. I know why Yong gave me the gum, which isn’t gum at all.

  I unwrap the stick, noting for the first time that the wrapping isn’t made of tinfoil but instead a cluster of interwoven copper strands. I remove the small slice of plastique explosive and mold it around the thinnest part of the rusted metal. Now all I need to do is apply some energy to pop the lock. I peel the copper strips, entwining them into one long thin wire and insert one end into the gum. Now I just need to feed it an electric charge. I snap the battery cover off the GPS and see Yong already had the unit pre-prepared. An additional copper wire sticks out that wouldn’t ordinarily be there. I twist the copper wires together and turn the GPS unit back on. There’s an instant flash of intense light, an immediate snap, and the chain and lock clang to floor.

  I yank the door free as the fissures in the wall get pounded into full-fledged holes. A moment later, I drop down to a lower floor as the space I was in implodes. Maybe the yetis will think I’m buried. Maybe they won’t. Either way, I’m getting the heck out of here. I see an exit to my left and don’t hesitate. It leads to a corridor that takes me to a staircase that spirals down. I take that too. Whatever route gets me out of here works. Having seen them up close, I have no
desire to man up against these beasts. Yetis are nature’s ultimate cold climate killing machines. If they ever adapted to the warmer clime and didn’t have to live all the way up here in this high altitude upside-down iceberg, the world would have a new dominant species on its hands. But since they’re stuck up here and I’m not, I’m more than happy to leave them be.

  Hopefully they’ll feel the same. Though, I doubt it. I continue down the stairs post haste racing through whichever corridor I think leads to the nearest exit. Soon, I find one that takes me to the open plaza where I first spotted the trio. I’m as vulnerable out here as Splat. My only hope is to be long gone before the yetis figure out I’m no longer inside. The bitter cold slaps me in the face, a harsh reminder to the fact that the mountaintops don’t belong to mankind. I sink into thick snow that slows my pace as I flee from the temple. Behind me I hear a primal howl even fiercer than the wind.

  I turn my head back and look up. Avalanche is on the balcony. He sees me and roars his disapproval. Snowball and Ghost poke their heads out responding to Avalanche’s verbal cue. As I run, I see they’re all eyeing me hungrily and what I see next truly terrifies me. Avalanche leaps off the balcony onto the nearby temple wall and climbs down like he’s King Kong descending from the Empire State Building. He points at me and issues commands like he’s Caesar from the Planet of the Apes. He’s highly intelligent, and worse, highly agile, and he’ll be on the ground in hot pursuit of me faster than I thought possible.

  I’ve seen how fast they move in the snow. There’s no way I’m outrunning them. My eyes dart everywhere searching for a quicker route down. My heart’s pounding hard. My breathing becomes labored as I strive to maintain my pace at this high an altitude. To my left is a well-worn path leading up. That has to be where they live, a den not that different from the werewolves. I veer in the opposite direction toward a down slope that leads to a seemingly unending cliff face. The snowfall is thinner here, the ground harder. I increase my speed.

  I look back again. The yetis are on the ground running after me, racing through the wet, sloppy terrain like greyhounds around a muddy track. There’s a ledge above me that looks like it’s only narrow enough for one. I quickly grab the pick ax, thrust it into the rock face, and climb. With seconds to spare, I roll myself onto the ledge as Snowball and Ghost snarl at me from below. I think about dropping the grenade—it might take out both of them—but Avalanche thunderously approaches behind them. He’s even bigger up close, a behemoth of a beast even larger than Balzuzu. I’m stunned at the sheer size of him. He thrusts his hand upward and almost makes it to the ledge I’m standing on. His sharp claws stab the mountainside a foot below me.

  Fuck!

  I slide away from them along the narrow ledge, my back pressed up against the mountain as claws swipe wildly beneath me. I’m trapped like a kitten in a tree surrounded by angry bears.

  Chapter 10

  I sidle to my right. The good news is the ridge rises while the ground below slopes down. It means even though the yetis can follow me from below, I get further and further out of their reach. The bad news is the ledge stops at a dead end, a plateau just a few yards wide with no way off. Above me is a flat, wide, snow-filled mountain that’s impossible to climb. Below me the Yeti’s stand on the edge of a chasm that drops a mile down. Maybe this is how Kiltrace felt, pinned down in a place he couldn’t escape from. At least I’m trapped outside. It’s a lonely place to die, but it has a gorgeous view. A sea of pillowy white lined with permafrost that beautifully reflects the glistening sun. Unfortunately, Avalanche isn’t going to give me the chance to enjoy it. He digs a foothold into the solid rock face and starts to climb.

  I pull out my Lupara and fire a round at his head. It tickles him as it bounces off. The beast must have a skull made of genuine granite. I don’t panic. I remember Yong’s lesson. I calmly aim for his hand and place two bullets into the softer skin on the backside of his palm. His grip slips, so I unload the rest of the clip at his arms. He drops back to ground level, shakes off the pain and goes ape, snorting and bouncing wildly around like an enraged gorilla. In a fit of pure rage, he backfists Snowball over the cliff face sending him to his death a mile below. It’s a bittersweet moment. I’m glad that one of them is gone, but the strength and power required to send Snowball flying like an actual snowball is astronomically insane. Then Avalanche returns his attention to me and starts to climb again.

  I need to keep my wits. Yong said I’d have everything I need and I still have the grenade. I palm it, ready to shove it down Avalanche’s throat even if it’s my last act. It’s a ‘lose-lose’ strategy, but I’m not dying without taking my killer with me. Avalanche is coming with— Avalanche—and just like that a plan comes to mind. I’m a genius. A crazy stupid fucking genius but this idea is just dumb enough to give me a chance to survive. Short in stature, big in balls. That’s my tagline and this maneuver will be one of my biggest and ballsiest yet. I rapidly unpack the sleeping bag and send the current coursing through it, hardening the outer shell. I pull the pin on the grenade and toss it as high as I can above me, watching it stick to the thick snow caking the mountainside. In the few seconds I have, I slip inside the shell, tuck myself away as far as I can go, and seal it tight.

  I can feel Avalanche’s looming presence as he stomps down onto the plateau. A loud thud smashes the top of the shell and I elevate knowing I’m in the grip of the monster. A split second later I hear the explosion and the ensuing rumble that feels like an eight point eight on the Richter scale. A lifetime’s worth of snow vibrates loose from the peak and, powered by gravity, the enormous mass of wet white stuff heads south. The immediate drop sends my stomach through my throat. I’m free from Avalanche’s giant paw but I can feel the shell being swallowed by the ecological mess I made. I tuck, pray and try to remain as calm as possible.

  Then the full cavalcade hits. The only thing keeping me from being crushed is the turtle shell I’m cocooned in like a piece of silly putty. For a long while I’m heading straight down, like a skydiver yet to pull his chute. Then the insulated sleeping bag careens off something hard and I’m barreling rolling sideways at breakneck speed. I ricochet off something and the cushioning inside expands, keeping me in place by deploying dozens of mini air bags that prevent my neck from snapping. I’ve freefalled before so I know I can handle the velocity, but this is different. I’m an out of control pinball without a parachute to control my final descent. The shell bumps something else and I’m flipping over and over so fast I can’t breathe. Then it smashes down with an explosive sploosh and I go black.

  I wake up, upside down with no idea how long I’ve been out. I right myself, then try to open the shell. It doesn’t budge. I keep trying, but can’t get any leverage, though I do manage to open it a crack to get some air. The airbags deflate. A sheet of snow spills in like cold sugar. I catch a glimpse of the sun letting me know I’m less than six feet under. But the snow’s too heavy. I’m wedged in too tight and I can’t crack the egg further open. I hope it doesn’t end up being my coffin so I keep pushing. After twenty minutes I’m spent and at the realization that I’m not strong enough to power my way free.

  I’m stuck in here, like a turtle trapped in his shell, which sucks because I really have to fart.

  Chapter 11

  “FUCK!” I yell at the top of my lungs.

  I throw a hissy fit, kicking at the shell with everything I’ve got like a spoiled brat who didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas. The pod shifts backwards and suddenly I’m an astronaut preparing for takeoff. Worse, it dips further into the snow. Nice job. Serves me right for acting like a baby. I let the blood rush to my head and hang upside down like the vampires I hunted in the Chilean forest a few years back while searching for my mother.

  My stomach bubbles. I fart to relieve the pressure, remember I’m trapped in a clam shell, and immediately regret the unfortunate timing of my bodily function. A fart in a spacesuit is much funnier when it happens to the other guy. The smell hits
me and as I try to wash it away with furious waves of my hands I lose my balance and fall on my face. Not a stellar moment, but no one can see me so who gives a fuck. The smell lingers, motivating me to try to pop the top one more time. Once again, I get the same miserable result.

  At least I’m alive. Things could be much worse. Then, as if on cue, things are.

  I hear movement outside, above me, atop the snow, but nothing about it sounds human. The footprints I listen to are thick, heavy. Something snarls and snorts. I make out a scratching sound followed by the sloshing of snow being dug up by claws. As impossible as it seems, Avalanche or Ghost must still be alive. I picture them, angrily searching for me in the snow, eager to get their revenge. I do my best not to make a sound, but my damn stomach keeps making noises beyond my control. I involuntarily pass gas again, a small one that slips out like a baby blowing into a trumpet. Then everything gets quiet again.

  It had to have heard me. All of the monsters I’ve encountered, all of the creatures I outsmarted, and I’m about to be undone by a fart. I hear it, breathing in deep. It slashes the snow above me, again rapidly clearing it away, getting closer and closer with each increasingly loud swipe. Two clawed hands reach through the crack and snap open the shell as easily as prying open a pistachio nut. The good news is those furry paws aren’t white. They’re black. And the hairy face that sticks its head in is one I familiar with.