Operation: Siberia

- 12 -

Galloway and Waterston were quick enough to react, and went in opposite directions to either side. But Smithson had been standing with his back to the window and never even saw death coming. A rock the size and shape of a rugby ball hit him between the shoulders at the base of his neck, and Banks heard his spine break like a crack of a whip. The scientist was dead before he fell.

The momentum of the rock barely slowed; it careened on and slammed hard into the far wall of the room, taking out a three-feet-wide hole before landing with a loud thud on the floor of the corridor beyond.

“Fucking hell, what’s this now?” Banks heard Wiggins say somewhere outside, but by then he had his weapon unslung and was moving toward the smashed window. McCally was already by his side. Banks chanced a look round the edge of the window. A tall, hairy figure stood out on the tundra, well past the edge of the runway.

It was man-shaped, almost—thicker and sturdier around the belly and thighs, and longer armed. Matted red hair covered most of the body, and was longer below the waist, making it look like it wore a pair of hairy trousers. It had obviously been the thrower of the rock, for it had another in its hand, but the distance seemed too far, almost impossibly so for the strength with which the first rock had hit the room. But it looked like they were about to see proof, for the creature drew back an arm, looking more like an Olympic discus-thrower than any kind of ape, and was ready to launch a second cannonball. Banks sent three quick rounds at it, but he’d hurried and his aim was off. He succeeded in stopping the throw though, for the beast dropped the stone at the sound of the shots, and seemed puzzled by this new noise in its environment.

“That’s right, big guy,” Banks whispered as he took aim. “Just stand there for a second longer.”

He didn’t get the time he needed—the beast turned and ran, a long, loping stride eating up the ground and taking it out of range even as McCally sent three shots of his own after it.

Thin fog rolled in to obscure the view. The mammoths trumpeted loudly amid the gray and somewhere out in the boggy land, the alma responded with a roar.

A second roar, distant and muffled but recognizably from a similar throat, came from deeper in the fog.

There’s at least two of the bastards.

“Watch at the window, Cally,” he said to the other man. “And if you get a clear shot, take it and don’t wait for orders.”

He turned back to the room. Hynd was bent over the fallen scientist, but everybody had heard his spine snap, and saw the twisted angle his head made at the neck. Hynd only confirmed what they knew already when he rose from beside the body.

“He’s gone, Cap. Was it a big orange bugger?”

“Aye,” Banks replied. “And there’s more than one of them. Get Wiggo from wherever he is; we stay together, and we stay sharp from now on. I want you and Wiggo in the corridor here; Cally and I will watch at the window. Hopefully, we don’t have long to wait until they send a rescue team.”

He went over to Waterston and Galloway. The two scientists stared down at the body of their friend, and Banks saw the shock start to hit them. Waterston still clutched the bottle of Scotch, and Banks made them each take a hefty slug from the neck of it, more to give them something to think about than anything else.

“These Alma of yours,” he said to Galloway. “How big did they grow?”

He had to ask twice to get the man’s attention.

“They were supposed to be regular sized,” the scientist said finally. “Unlike Yeti, the stories never said anything about them being giants.”

“And yet that one out there was eight feet if it was an inch. Volkov fucked with these as well as lion and wolves?”

“It looks that way.”

Hynd was over by the door. He had the rock in both hands.

“I can hardly lift this fucker. How did he manage to throw it all the way up here?”

“Pumped up with as many growth hormones as he could get into it I would imagine,” Galloway said. “And those long arms we saw will make great levers.”

Talking had at least diverted Galloway from the dead man on the floor, but Waterston still couldn’t tear his gaze from the body, and kept drinking from the neck of the bottle. Banks took it away from him, and got an angry look in reply, but no backchat.

“No more booze,” Banks said, addressing everybody in the room. “Not until we get home, then the first round is on me.”

He had Hynd and Wiggins move the dead man through to another of the rooms—Waterston had fixated on it, and wouldn’t be ready for any thinking while it was still in his view.

And I need these scientists thinking. They might know something that’ll give us an advantage.

He checked his watch, and saw it was time to check for a response. Waterston’s phone was getting dangerously low on battery by now, but there was just enough to pick up the Wi-Fi connection and check his email. There was a terse reply.

PICK UP AT YOUR LOCATION IN FOUR HOURS FROM THIS MARK.

It was time-stamped just five minutes ago. They had until three o’clock in the afternoon to survive.

He joined McCally at the window.

“We’ve got backup incoming,” he said. “Four hours. Anything going on out there?”

“All quiet, Cap. I think we put the frighteners on it.”

“Let’s hope so. Either that or yon big cat will keep it busy. As long as it stays outside throwing rocks, it’s not in here causing mayhem, so let’s keep it that way. Keep an eye open, and I’ll spell you in an hour.”

McCally gave a small salute, and went back to looking out over the tundra. Banks saw that much of the view was obscured by fog, and wondered what might be going on in the damp grayness beyond the runway, where animals were meeting each other for the first time since the last ice age. It was hard not to think of these beasts as revenants, hard to remember that they had been grown downstairs in the lab, for once they had been seen in their natural environment, it looked like the only place they had ever been.

Apart from the big orange fuckers; they don’t feel like they belong here at all.

Banks turned away and went back to join the scientists again. At least they had now eschewed the whisky, and were making serious headway in the coffee.

“Four hours, and we’ll be getting out of here,” he said, and Galloway managed a tight smile.

“Well, that’s the best news we’ve had in a while. What’s the plan?”

“Stay cooped-up as long as we can, and then when backup arrives, we get the fuck out of here and home.”

“And the beasts?”

“That’s your domain now. I’m guessing there’ll need to be a round-up and cull, but that’s not my call.”

“No,” the older man, Waterston said grimly. “That’ll be mine. Or rather, the people I report to. But for now, home seems like a great idea.”