Terminal Freeze

22

Jeremy Logan ventured carefully along the narrow corridors of E Level. It had taken him almost ninety minutes of exploring to reach this, the lowest level of Fear Base’s central section. As he’d penetrated deeper into the base, he’d found the passages cluttered with increasing amounts of shadowy detritus: desks piled atop one another, tools, pieces of ancient electrical equipment, decaying boxes filled with vacuum tubes. It was as if all the unused clutter of the base had literally sunk to the bottom over the years.

C Level had been primarily comprised of support services for the men originally stationed at the base: food-preparation areas, laundry, tailoring. D Level held the quartermaster’s office and countless storage spaces, along with several repair bays. Unlike the suffocatingly warm upper levels, the chill down here was pronounced. The unpleasant smell of the base-inescapable even on the upper levels-was significantly worse. Logan wrinkled his nose at the musky odor.

E Level was a jumbled mélange of secondary spaces and mechanical systems. The ceilings were even lower here than elsewhere, and heavily veined with pipes and cabling. Most lightbulbs had been removed from their fixtures, and those that remained no longer worked. Logan moved slowly from room to room, his flashlight licking right and left, right and left. Many of the objects were covered with old tarps, well preserved in the cold dry air. He wondered when someone had last been this deep inside the base. It was like stepping into a time capsule.

He stopped in what appeared to be an auxiliary control room, a fallback in case the primary systems upstairs became inoperative. The black screens of the monitors and oscilloscopes winked back as his light passed over them. The silence was complete. On a whim, he switched off the flashlight. Instantly, unrelieved blackness engulfed him. He hurriedly switched the light back on. He moved out of the control room and down the corridor, wishing he’d brought along some spare batteries, or preferably a spare flashlight: it wouldn’t do for the one he was using to fail.

He passed several more cramped rooms, their doorways yawning rectangles of black, before the corridor ended at a T intersection. He stopped, trying to get his bearings in this confusing military labyrinth. If he was correct, the passageway to his left was headed more or less south. He turned right and continued on.

Within twenty yards the passage ended in a heavy metal door-hatch, really-windowless and dogged shut by thick cleats. A red bulb in a narrow cage was set into the ceiling above it-unlit, like the rest on E Level-and a sign screwed into the adjacent wall: WARNING. AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY. F-29 CLEARANCE REQUIRED.

Logan read the sign once, then again. Then he let his light play over the metal hatch. Taking a step forward, he put a hand on the nearest cleat, gave it an exploratory tug. It held fast. Looking closer, he saw that even if he could undog the cleats it would make little difference: a heavy padlock had been snugged through a hasp on one side of the hatch.

Suddenly, Logan turned. Back to the hatch, he stabbed his light down the corridor. The base was deathly still. He hadn’t seen anybody for nearly an hour and a half. And yet he was sure-completely and utterly sure-he had just heard something.

“Who’s there?” he called out.

No response.

He stood there, motionless save for the hand probing with the flashlight. Was it one of the film crew, searching for the missing carcass? Nobody would be foolish enough to drag it all the way down here-or to extend the search this far.

“Who is it?” he called. Again, silence.

He might as well head back. He’d found what he’d been searching for, yet could go no farther. The hatch was sealed. Taking a deep breath, he started forward, then stopped again, uncomfortably aware that he was in a dead end. There was no other way to get back to the surface except down this corridor. Where the sound had come from.

Then he heard it again: a tread, the sound of a footfall. Then another. And then a form stepped out into the intersection. Logan ’s light swiveled to it like a magnet. It was Gonzalez, the sergeant in charge of the base detachment.

Logan swallowed, felt limbs that had suddenly grown tense now relax a little. He composed his face into a neutral mask.

Gonzalez came toward him slowly, his own Maglite held loose in a burly hand. “Out for a morning constitutional,” he asked as he approached.

Logan smiled.

Gonzalez let his light drift over Logan ’s features. “You’re Dr. Logan, right?”

“That’s right.”

“What are you doing down here, Doctor? Are you looking for the creature, too?”

“No. Were you following me?”

“Let’s say I was curious why anybody would be down here.”

Logan debated asking how he’d found out. He decided the sergeant probably wouldn’t tell him.

“So what were you looking for?” Gonzalez asked.

Logan aimed a thumb at the hatch behind him.

Gonzalez frowned. “Why?”

“That’s the north wing, right? The science section?”

Gonzalez’s expression grew guarded. “What do you know about it?”

“Not much. That’s why I’m down here.” Logan took a step forward. “You wouldn’t have a key on you, by any chance?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t use it. It’s unauthorized, off-limits. Even to me.”

“But scientific work went on there, right?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to answer that.”

“Look, Sergeant, I came all the way up here just to learn more about what happened beyond that door. I learned about this from sifting through a pile of recently declassified papers. It piqued my interest. I’m not a spy, and I’m not a journalist. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”

Gonzalez didn’t answer.

Logan sighed. “Okay. What if I tell you what I know? In the 1950s this base was used not only as an early warning system. Scientific work was going on here, as well. Whether it was research, or experiments, or what, I don’t know. But something went wrong-something that shut down the work prematurely. Does that jibe with what you’ve been told?”

Gonzalez looked at him from behind the flashlight-a long, appraising look. “All I ever heard was rumors,” he said. “From the guys stationed here before me.”

Logan nodded.

“The northern wing is built deep inside the natural declivity here, basically intended as a support structure for the rest of the base. That hatchway leads to its upper level.”

“The upper level?”

“That’s right. The northern wing is completely underground. I don’t know what was inside except that it was top secret.” Gonzalez hesitated, then-despite their remote location-lowered his voice. “But word was that some strange stuff went on.”

“What kind of strange stuff?”

“No idea. The guys here before me didn’t know, either. One of them heard that a bunch of scientists got mauled by a polar bear.”

“Mauled?” Logan echoed. “In the north wing?”

“That’s what he said.”

“How did a polar bear get down here?”

“Exactly.”

Logan pursed his lips. “You don’t know if anybody talked to these scientists?”

“No idea.”

“Where did they bunk?”

Gonzalez shrugged. “C Level, I think. Anyway, there’s extra berths there that no military ever used.”

There was a brief silence before Logan spoke again. “From the background research I’ve done, it seems neither of the other two early warning bases had any detachments of scientists.”

Instead of replying, Gonzalez pointed at the warning bolted to the wall.

“What’s F-29 clearance?” Logan asked.

“Never heard of it. Now, Doctor, shall we head back upstairs?”

“One last question. How often do you come down here?”

“As little as I can. It’s cold, it’s dark, and it stinks.”

“Then I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble.”

“And I’m sorry you came all the way up here for nothing.”

“That remains to be seen.” And Logan gestured. “After you, Sergeant.”