Behind them, shadowy figures gathered around the Hercules. Some entered it; others milled about. They all vanished in a ball of flame when the satchel charges Masters had tossed around the interior went off and several thousand gallons of jet fuel went up with them.
Slogging through the Alaskan wilderness in temperatures that were barely above freezing reminded Masters of SERE training in more ways than one, but he thanked every favor he’d ever been granted that this time he was only being hunted by zombies, vampires, or whatever the hell these things were.
Better those things than a group of SEAL trainers.
He doubted he’d be able to lose SEAL trainers, especially given the lack of cover they had at their disposal.
“I think we lost them,” said Rankin, who had been watching their back trail. He paused, eyeing the look on Masters’s face with confusion. “Why are you grinning like a loon?”
“Just thinking about how happy I am that we’re being chased by zombies and not Master Chief Brunnig and his team.”
“They’re not zombies, damn it!”
Both men ignored Norton as he ranted about vampires, zombies, and Hollywood.
“Yeah, tell me about it. Brunnig would already have nailed us out here — we’ve got shit for cover, and there’d be no way to evade his team in this tundra bullshit,” Rankin said.
“No, he’d play with us before he caught us.”
Rankin scowled. “He would, wouldn’t he?”
“If you two are quite done.” Norton rolled his eyes. “We need to get to shelter before we freeze to death.”
The other two laughed.
“We’re not going to freeze to death out here, Alex,” Masters said. “Not unless it gets a whole helluva lot colder than this.”
“Uh huh. Well, I want a hot cup of tea, and unless I’ve missed my guess,” Norton said, nodding to the east, “the water is boiling in that direction.”
“You heard the man,” Masters said as he got up and got himself pointed in the right direction. “Onward, for tea and country, right?”
“You don’t have to make it sound so British, boss.” Rankin grinned as he too got moving. “Makes me feel dirty, you know?”
“Idiots,” Norton said, ignoring their chuckles as he started to move.
The trio headed east of town, away from the burning airfield and crawling streets of Barrow.
“So,” Rankin said as they walked, “what are these ass-hat dudes like anyway?”
Norton shot him a glare, and then smiled nastily. “The Asatru have a great sense of humor, so be sure you tell them that joke.”
“That’s a lodge?” Rankin asked as he looked down over the slight hill to the waterfront building they were now approaching.
If not for the lights visible through the slotted windows on the side of the building, they would have missed it in the eternal twilight. The building conformed to the environment — with its sod roof, it looked like just another hill rising out of the tundra. The only thing that gave it away, aside from the light in the windows, were the two towers rising from either side.
“It’s a modern-day Viking longhouse,” Norton said as they approached.
“Who are these people?”
“The Asatru…” Norton hesitated for a moment. “Look, the best way I can describe them for now is that they’re kind of like bikers.”
“Excuse me?” Masters shot him an odd look.
“Most bikers are lawyers, doctors, and respectable professionals, right?” Norton asked rhetorically before going on. “Well, so are most of the Asatru. But it’s the one-percenters who really matter, for our purposes.”
“And the one-percenters here?” Masters asked, understanding.
In the motorcycle community, the one percent were more popularly known as the outlaw bikers. Gang members, smugglers, and generally the bad sort. He was hoping that Norton hadn’t led them into anything like that.
“They’re members of the community.”
Ah. That could be useful, Masters had to admit.
“Follow my lead,” Norton ordered as they got closer. “Don’t piss them off, Eddie.”
“Why are you singling me out?”
“I wonder,” the man in black replied dryly. The door to the lodge opened before they got within a hundred feet of it.
A mountain of a man was standing there in the doorway, bathed in the light, a big wood-chopping ax cradled in his arms. He didn’t move, however — he just stood there in the doorway as they approached.
Norton gave the imposing figure a brief glance, but didn’t pay him any more mind after that. Instead, he stared at the far side of the lodge and nodded into the shadows.
“You are The Black?” a soft spoken voice called, startling the SEALs, who hadn’t spotted any hint of motion from that direction.
They looked up to see a small figure, a slightly built woman or young girl, perched casually on the eaves of the sod-covered roof.
“I am.”
“Welcome, then…Alexander, I believe?”
“Alexander, The Black,” Norton confirmed.
“Welcome to the Northern Vanir Lodge,” she said, hopping down lightly as she walked around to the front door. “Thank you, Will.”
“No problem, Hannah,” the big man rumbled, setting the ax down.
“Bring us refreshments, please,” she said. “I believe this will be an interesting chat.”
“Of course. Should I inform the others?”
“No, I’ll let them know myself.”
The big man nodded and vanished inside as the two SEALs examined the young woman in the light.
She was what would undoubtedly be called a goth, Masters finally decided. Dark clothing, black hair with deep electric-blue highlights and long bangs. He didn’t see any indication that she might have a firearm, but she was carrying at least one knife, which sat comfortably on her hip. He was certain from the comfortable way it sat that she was familiar with the blade and its use, and he thought that she might have another in her boot, judging from the bulge along her calf.
“There is sanctuary here for you and your friends if you need it,” the girl told Alex.
“Thank you,” Norton replied. “Hannah, was it?”
She nodded.
“Then please, call me Alex.”
“Alex, then,” she said, leading them inside. “Welcome, and be warm.”
The inside of the house was hardwood, almost from top to bottom, and Masters had to marvel at how much it must have cost to bring that much wood up this far north. There were certainly no large forests nearby to provide the material, which meant it must have come in by boat or by plane. The room he was in had to have cost tens of thousands of dollars to build, in materials alone.
“Please, sit. Be comfortable,” Hannah told them, gesturing toward the seats that were arrayed around the room. “I can only assume that your presence here has to do with whatever is happening in Barrow?”
“You know about that?” Rankin asked as he sunk into a big sofa chair.
“We’ve…noticed things,” she said calmly, taking a seat across from them, eyes locked on Norton. “I presume you have more information?”
He nodded. “Yes. Vampires.”
“Draugr? Here?” she asked, disbelieving.
“No,” he shook his head. “The Eastern Europe variety.”
Hannah grimaced. “I would have preferred the Draugr.”
She frowned, thinking for a moment. “And I am back to my original question—here?”
“Here.” Norton nodded. “And no, I can’t figure out how either.”
“This is…irritating,” she said finally. “How many?”
“I’d say a good chunk of the town, at least, plus maybe sixty members of the National Guard and Alaskan state troopers,” Norton said tiredly.