Exit 9

30

I.D. MINUS 17 HOURS 42 MINUTES

BLUEBIRD TIME 5:18 PM

Ash would never again complain about the cold. Forget fire. The frigid Arctic was the true Hell.

“There it is,” Gagnon said.

Ash peered out the windshield and could just make out the lump of Yanok Island on the horizon through the near perpetual darkness of late afternoon. They were flying low in hopes of keeping their arrival a surprise, the ocean a mere thirty feet below the bottom of the plane.

Before leaving Grise Fiord, Ash and Gagnon had gone over the map and decided their best approach would be from the southwest, the opposite end of the island from where the research station was located. Gagnon felt confident he could get the plane into the small inlet that was located at that point, and bring the team all the way up to the land. Ash was all for that. Anything that ensured solid ground under his feet was a good idea.

The closer they got to the island, the lower Gagnon took the plane, until it finally felt like they were just inches above the surface. As the pilot had warned them, the ice that had been missing from this part of the ocean only a week earlier had started to make its return, and the sea around Yanok was crusting over. The problem was, in some places it was barely an inch thick, while in others it was already over a foot.

“Hold on,” Gagnon said. “This might be rough.”

There was a handle next to Ash just below the window. He wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed tightly. He didn’t look in back to see how Chloe and Red were doing, but he doubted they were any more comfortable with this than he was.

With the island still half a mile away, Gagnon lowered the plane onto the ice. As smooth as it looked from even a height of ten feet above, it wasn’t. The craft jumped and lurched as it whipped across the frozen ocean. At one point, it leaped into the air for several feet before slamming back onto the surface. Still, the plane raced ahead.

“Shouldn’t we be slowing?” Ash asked, his voice raised above the roar coming from outside.

“Working on it,” Gagnon said.

With a bang, the right side of the plane raised into the air, the skid on that side having hit an uneven spot on the ice.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Red called out from the back.

For a second it seemed like the plane was going to right itself, but then a gust of frigid wind caught the underside. The opposite wingtip dug into the ice, pivoting the plane briefly into the air before the craft smashed down on its back.

It skidded forward, twisting around and around.

Ash and the others hung upside down, caught in their seats by their straps and unable to do anything as the plane slid across the ice. He had no idea which direction they were heading. He only hoped it wasn’t toward an area of open sea.

The wind and the engine and screeching of metal on ice blended together in a cacophony of chaos.

Someone yelled from the back, but whatever they were trying to say, Ash couldn’t make it out. He tried to look back, but quickly gave up. The plane was jumping around too much, and all he ended up doing was knocking his head against the seat.

“Just hang on!” he yelled, knowing that wasn’t much help.

A loud bang, then a groan from the right side of the plane. Their speed rapidly decreased and the spin nearly stopped. Ash turned his head enough so he could peer out the window. The wing on his side had apparently hit something and was now at a different angle to the plane than it had been earlier. If the crash itself had not already made the aircraft worthless, the damage done to the wing did. Ash knew it would never fly again.

Their speed continued dropping, until finally their forward motion stopped altogether. The plane turned slowly for several seconds more, eating through the last bit of momentum.

The only noise now was the wind.

Ash caught his breath, and looked over at Gagnon. The pilot hung in his seat, unconscious.

“Anyone hurt?” Ash called to the back.

There was a pause, then Red said, “Just a cut on the side of my head. I think I’m okay.”

“Chloe?”

“What?” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m hanging upside down in a plane in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. No, I’m not all right. I want to get out!”

He had forgotten about her bouts of claustrophobia. “Out is a great idea. Careful when you unhook yourselves. First one out, make sure to check the ice first. I don’t want anyone falling through.”

There were grunts and groans from the back as the other two released themselves from their seats.

Ash used one hand to pull himself as tight to his seat as possible, then unhooked the belt with the other. Freed, he twisted as he fell so that he landed on his back. He flipped around and crawled over to Gagnon.

He felt for a pulse. The man was alive, but Ash didn’t like the way he was breathing. He checked the pilot for any obvious wounds, and found a nasty gash on the man’s leg and at least two broken ribs. Ash couldn’t be certain, but he was willing to bet one of them had punctured a lung.

He tried to wake up Gagnon, but the most he got was a groan.

Cold air suddenly rushed into the cabin as someone opened the door. Ash could hear the person hop out onto the metal underside of the wing.

“Looks pretty thick here,” Chloe called out.

Ash twisted around. “Can you see the island? How far are we?”

“Hold on. Let me check.” Several seconds passed, then, “Can’t make a damn thing out in the dark. Red, can you find me the night vision binoculars?”

“Sure.”

Red rummaged around one of the packs that had fallen onto the roof, and handed the glasses out the door.

“Thanks,” Chloe said.

“Red,” Ash said. “Come up here. I could use your help.”

Together they eased Gagnon out of his seat and laid him down on an open area of the ceiling.

“First-aid kit,” Ash said.

Red quickly retrieved it.

Ash cleaned up Red’s face first and slapped a butterfly bandage across the cut. Then they turned their attention to Gagnon. As they were patching up the pilot, Chloe returned to the doorway.

“Found it,” she said. “The plane’s facing away from it.”

“How far?” Ash asked.

“At least half a mile.”

A half-mile on its own didn’t sound like much, but across the ice of the Arctic Ocean, in the wind and cold and dark? It sounded like forever.

“Okay, you and Red get the gear out. We’ll also need to make a stretcher.”

He finished up with Gagnon while the other two unloaded the plane. For the stretcher, they worked off a loose piece of sheeting from the wing, and attached ropes to it so they could pull it along the ground. To keep Gagnon from freezing against the metal, they lined it with the carpet from the cabin, and one of the spare jackets.

They headed out.

It took them over an hour to reach the cove that had been their initial destination. Ash knew he should feel relieved to have the solid ground of the inlet’s beach underfoot instead of the ocean ice, but they still had to get up the incline that surrounded the small bay, so their work was far from done.

“I think our best bet is right over there,” he said, pointing at a rise along the eastern end of the beach. The slope was slightly less vertical than elsewhere.

Getting Gagnon up the natural ramp was the hardest part. They ended up having to carry him and bring the sled separately.

Once they were finally on top, Ash pulled out the satellite phone and first tried to reach Pax, then the Ranch. As with the few times he’d tried during their journey across the ice, he couldn’t get through.

“Hey, did you see this?” Red called out.

He was back near the slope they’d just taken.

Ash put the phone back in his pack. “What is it?”

“Looks like boot prints. Couldn’t have been made too long ago. They aren’t filled with snow yet.”

Though they’d hit some storms further south in Canada, the weather reports Gagnon had pulled together indicated that Yanok Island, a thousand miles to the north, had not experienced the same. The forecast did predict that was soon to change.

“Which way were they headed?”

“Can’t tell.” Red stopped and leaned down. “What’s this?”

Ash and Chloe moved next to him for a closer look.

There was a five-inch-wide band of puncture marks in the ice that came out from under a pile of snow next to the boot prints and headed north.

“That pile doesn’t look natural to me,” Chloe said.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Ash agreed.

Using the entrenching tool that had been strapped to his pack, Ash broke off some of the looser pieces of the pile and shoved them to the side. The other two joined in. After a few minutes, they stopped.

“What the hell is this doing here?” Chloe asked.

Under the pile of snow was a highly modified motorcycle with metal-studded tires.

“Yellow team’s,” Ash said as way of explanation.

Before leaving the Ranch, he had been fully briefed on all aspects of the missing team’s mission, including what gear they’d brought.

He knelt down and took a closer look at the ground around where the bike had been buried. It was possible that yellow team ditched its cycle and covered it up, but he was sure that wasn’t the case. Yellow team had consisted of only two men. By his count, there were at least five distinct sets of boot prints surrounding the pile.

No, yellow team hadn’t done this. Someone else had. Someone who didn’t want the motorcycle to be seen again.

They followed the tire tracks to a rocky overhang that had been walled off with tarps and snow. What they discovered inside left Ash with zero doubt that Bluebird was located on Yanok Island.

It was the yellow team’s camp, and it had been deserted in a hurry.

They put Gagnon into a sleeping bag on one of the cots first, then did a thorough search. Food and weapons and sleeping bags and spare clothes were all still there.

“No radio,” Red said.

Ash scanned the room again. Red was right.

“If I was trying to get out of here fast,” Chloe said, “that’s the only thing I would grab.”

“The question is, why leave in a hurry?” Ash said.

No response was necessary. They were all thinking the same thing.

“See if there’s any kind of journal or notes anywhere,” Ash said.

He stepped back outside and took another look around. Unlike near the buried motorcycle, there weren’t a lot of boot prints. More likely than not, Bluebird hadn’t even looked for the camp. And why would they? They had everything they wanted-the boat, radio, and codes they’d obviously learned from the yellow team that had allowed them to send the false messages to the Ranch.

Back inside, he found Red and Chloe looking at a map of the island spread across one of the open sleeping bags. Though identical to the one they’d brought with them, it had seen considerably more use.

Ash knelt down beside them.

“This mark right here,” Red said, pointing at a blue circle on the map. “That’s where we are. Which puts us about three miles from them.” He moved his finger to the north end of the island, and tapped on the words BRULE INSTITUTE OUTPOST.

A gust of wind whipped past the opening, blowing in some snow. Chloe walked quickly over and pulled down on the tarp rigged to fully enclose the shelter. Using two rocks on the ground, she anchored the bottom so the covering wouldn’t flap around.

“Not exactly a pleasure walk,” Ash said to Red.

“Hence the motorcycle.”

“We don’t have that option.” Ash stood up. He could see the weariness in the others’ faces, and knew his looked the same. His initial plan had been to get as close to the outpost as possible after Gagnon dropped them off. The crash and subsequent hike threw a wrench in that. “A few hours’ sleep. No more. Then Chloe, you and I pay our Project Eden friends a visit.”