“We have to get to the landing strip,” Colding said. “If it’s Bobby coming in, he’ll be in the Sikorski. That’s twelve seats. We can use that to get everyone off the island.”
“The landing strip is two miles away. The ancestors are out there.”
Colding threw on his coat. “So is Sara, Doc. And if we can get that helicopter, we can use it to search for her.”
“Is this the part where you tell me I can stay here if I don’t like it?”
“No. This is the part where I tell you I will beat your ass until you get on that snowmobile.”
Rhumkorrf shook his head and put on his coat.
Colding ran to the door and peeked out—still no sign of the ancestors. Beretta held firm with both hands, he walked off the porch and started the Arctic Cat’s engine.
6:22 A.M.
A NEW NOISE.
Magnus had spent the last seven hours listening to breathing, the rustling of movement and the most disturbing noise of all—the growing rumble of the creatures’ stomachs. So many, blending together, sounded almost like the purr of a huge cat.
The new noise was faint, a far-off sound, something constant that he couldn’t quite make out. The creatures apparently heard it as well, for their hidden rustling sounds increased, faded away, then disappeared.
He waited for five long minutes, but heard nothing other than that far-off drone. He flicked on the flashlight—nothing in the tunnel. Nothing he could see, anyway.
Magnus slowly worked his big body out of the hole, trying to be as quiet as possible. After seven hours mashed into that freezing, confined space, his cramped and sore muscles didn’t want to cooperate. He slid out and almost fell, catching himself clumsily. Crouched low, he aimed the MP5 and the flashlight beam up the tunnel, waiting for the rush of creatures to come tearing around the corner.
No attack came.
Magnus walked quietly to the bend and peeked around it.
Empty.
They had finally given up on him. MP5 still at the ready, he trotted up the shaft. When he reached the entrance, he finally recognized the sound—an air-raid siren.
Oh, no. No-no-no. Bobby Valentine was coming in, and Danté would be with him.
Magnus looked outside. Still dark, although the light of dawn filtered through the woods from over the horizon. Nothing outside the shaft save for trees, and fifty meters away, the Bv206.
He had to warn his brother. Magnus sprinted to the zebra-striped vehicle. His eyes scanned the woods on all sides, but he saw no movement. He jumped in and slammed the door.
An armored vehicle. A defensible position. That gave him a second to think.
He couldn’t call the heli. No radio in the Bv, thanks to his own goddamn security rules. The helicopter would come in, and it would be loud. That noise would probably draw the creatures.
He pulled out Clayton’s keys to start the Bv, then paused. Clayton had keys for every building on the island, including those in the old town.
Magnus turned on the flashlight and set it on the seat. He held the keys in front of the beam and examined them one at a time. Black Manitou Lodge key—tarnished all over. Sven’s hunting shop key, the same. The church key…
…the flashlight beam played off fresh scratches.
Soon, he would deal with them all, with Clayton, with Sara, with Tim, but first he had to get to the landing strip and protect his brother.
6:24 A.M.
SARA POPPED OPEN the trapdoor and climbed out onto the turret, then helped the limping Tim up top. Stars flickered above, slow in relinquishing their place to the oncoming dawn. The noise that had been faint inside the thick church rang loud and clear in the open air.
“An air-raid siren?” Tim said. “What’s up with that?”
“Not sure. But obviously whoever is in that tower wants to let everyone know something’s coming.”
“Or he’s trying to call for help.”
Sara shivered from the cold. “Well, if those monsters aren’t there already, they’ll sure come running. They seem to go after noise. I hope whoever it is moves fast.”
“Unless it’s Magnus,” Tim said quietly.
Sara nodded. If only they could be that lucky.
6:28 A.M.
GUNTHER HELD HIS gloved hands over his ears, but it didn’t do much to stop the ear-piercing siren blaring underneath the small shack. Amazingly, he’d found a way to make his shitty situation even worse.
He forced himself to lower his hands so he could scan the horizon through his binoculars. Far off, he saw a tiny black speck. Bobby’s Sikorski. Bobby didn’t need any help bringing that thing in. Gunther had done his job. Time to head back to the lodge. Time to get warm.
He hung the binoculars around his neck, turned off the heater, walked out of the tiny cabin onto the wooden catwalk and started down the tall ladder. He was three meters from the ground when his eye caught movement from his left. Instinctively, he stopped and looked.
A flashing yellow color, but it wasn’t a light… more like a flag or something, like triangular fabric, lifting up and down in an irregular pattern. It was about fifty meters away, just at the edge of the tower’s cone of light, centered in an odd-looking patch of snow spotted with black rocks.
Holding the ladder with one hand, he lifted his binoculars, leaned out and looked.
Even in the dim illumination cast off by the tower’s floodlights, he saw it. A spear of fear stabbed through his chest. Not a flag in a patch of snow, an animal… a huge, strange-looking, dangerous animal. But what was it? And why was it just sitting there?
He heard movement to his right. Gunther lowered the binoculars and turned.
Another creature running full-tilt in an odd crouch-waddle, like a half-upright Komodo dragon. It gathered and leaped, huge mouth opening wide to reveal rows of long white teeth.
Gunther grabbed a rung with both hands and lifted his legs high.
The creature slammed into the ladder where Gunther’s feet had just been. Wide jaws snapped down just before momentum carried the big body through the ladder, shattering the cold dry wood into a hundred splintery shards. The remaining upper part of the ladder shook from the impact, so hard that it almost flung Gunther free.
The creature fell clumsily into the snow, its monstrous mouth working the ladder’s remnants in short, vicious bites.
Gunther’s legs desperately kicked open air as he tried to pull himself up. The ladder wobbled wildly, accompanied by the sound of grinding, splintering wood. He looked above—the right ladder post had snapped. Only the left one remained fixed to the tower.
More motion from below. The creature seemed to realize it had missed its meal. It violently shook away a mouthful of bloody splinters, then turned and gathered for another jump.
Gunther pulled hard, lifting himself enough to plant his foot on the wobbling ladder’s bottom rung. He scrambled up just before the leaping creature’s jaws snapped on open air.
He climbed, the wood wobbling with each step. His hands grabbed the platform just as the left post snapped loose and the ladder fell away. Feet dangling free again, he kicked them under the cabin, then pulled himself up when his body rocked back. He had to get to the phone.
Down below, the creature roared in frustration, a lonely, deep, guttural sound that echoed off the trees, clearly audible despite the blaring Klaxon. Gunther realized that it wasn’t just one roar. He stopped on the catwalk and looked around.