Remembering the woman’s scream, which could have come from Krisztina or Svetlana, Luka nodded sadly. “I doubt anyone could have a survived an attack from that thing before it separated. Now there’s more than one…”
“Shit!” cursed Pechka. “What do we do now?”
“We save ourselves,” replied Luka. “We’ll call in the troops like they should have been as soon as that thing was first discovered and then get out of here before we become its next victims.”
“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.