Protocol 7

Two miles to the north, the Spector stood frozen. Lucas and the other men tried to find their balance in the tilted vessel as it sat in the pitch black, silent and dark, in shutdown mode.

“Let’s go,” Lucas said as he appeared on the bridge, trying to balance his body. “Grab whatever you can; we leave now. I am walking out of this f*cking hell on foot if I have to. I won’t sink down farther into the ice.”

“But…” Rolfe interjected.

“But what?” said Lucas “I’m not turning this thing on and sinking again!”

The faces of the men looked ghostly in the light that emanated from Lucas’ helmet. “Let’s go,” he said, repeating himself. There was fear and apprehension in the eyes of the scientists.

“Pack light,” Rolfe said. “Just rations, no weapons. Take whatever you can that can sustain us for a few days,” he said to the other man.

They started scrambling in the dark and gathering as much as they could in the emergency light of the vessel. Lucas went straight for the hatch; he found the manual crank mechanism and worked relentlessly to pry the door open.

They were minutes away from the Gorge and kilometers from their freedom.

The hatch cracked open. The cold outside air blew in instantly, but the chill was different than the tunnels they were used to. There was a draft in the Gorge because of its sheer size and the air that entered was from the top of the ice shelf.

Within moments, the hatch was halfway open into the blackness beyond.

The Spector had spun slightly as it had fallen. The hatch door now faced the thirty-degree pitch in the same direction as the icy Gorge below.

“Give me those,” Lucas said, violently grabbing a few ration packs and quickly throwing them over his shoulder. He was determined to jump. The black void below him represented freedom. Whatever it will take, he thought. The Gorge is just below.

The others huddled close behind him, ready to make the five-foot jump and the slide down toward what they thought would be the Gorge. One of the scientists stood directly behind Rolfe, carrying more than he could, including Nastasia’s med pack. He moved closer behind Rolfe and asked, “Lucas, are you sure the Gorge is just below us?”

Lucas turned back immediately looking past Rolfe through the dark interior of the vessel. “Yes, I’m—what the hell is that?” he asked, noticing the black med pack in the scientist’s hand.

“I don’t know,” the scientist said, shrugging. “They left it behind. I thought maybe instruments? Comm gear? Maybe even money. Figured it might come in handy.”

Lucas almost spat at him. “Give me that,” he demanded. In one swift motion, he lunged at the man and grabbed the bag.

The timer inside the case continued. 1:16…1:15…1:14…

Two seconds later, he was back at the opening. Without another word, he jumped out.

Rolfe was the next man to follow after only a single moment of hesitation. The last scientist followed close behind.

Less than six feet below him, Lucas hit the icy floor. The slippery impact immediately terrified him. He started to slide uncontrollably, even as Rolfe thumped down less than six feet behind.

The ice felt like glass. Lucas couldn’t gain control as he desperately forced himself to gain friction, but it was impossible. He was sliding faster and faster and faster.

His body spun violently. He was now on his stomach; his head was facing downward. Trying desperately to hold his head above the ice, he watched the frozen ground race by, inches from his eyes.

His helmet banged against the glowing ice as he shook violently from the vibration. The light from his helmet caught glimpses of the glass-like shards that scraped his body. “Please god,” he begged. “I don’t want to die like this.” He was still holding on to the bag, though he had no idea why—reflex more than greed at this point.

0:18 seconds…

The world around Lucas sped by at an impossible pace, and the slope increased without warning.

The others twisted and scraped against the ice, losing control of their belongings as the incline grew even steeper. Thirty-eight degrees…forty-two degrees…fifty-eight degrees and still increasing.

I’m dying, Lucas thought. This is dying. One second later he lost contact with the ice and realized it instantly: he was falling. He was in horrifying free-fall, plunging into the blackness below.

He still held onto the bag as his body went into shock. Then he was plummeting to the bottom of the fissure toward the blackness almost five thousand feet below.

Four seconds…

Two seconds…

One…

The black bag exploded.

Lucas’ body and the men that fell with him were pulverized in an instant—so quickly that they didn’t feel a thing.

The gigantic fissure lit up as if it were illuminated by a single massive flame. The explosion expanded outward in all directions.

In less than a second, it moved the Spector a few inches, almost two thousand feet above.

Down below, the generators that sat at the base of Central Command instantly shut down from the static shock. A third of the entire Vector5 network blacked out.

All in a single flash of light.

* * *

Blackburn’s finger was on the trigger. He was still counting down.

“Three,” he said, careful to hold the tip of the rifle barrel directly against Oliver’s skull. “Two…”

Click. Everything shut down. Blackburn was suddenly, inexplicably, standing in the dark.

“What the f*ck…?”

Zero time, Simon thought. It’s my only chance.

“Hold tight,” Blackburn said to the man standing at the door—less than three feet directly below Simon. Blackburn sped down the hall cursing.

Simon gauged the distance between himself and his opponent like a fighter in combat. He quickly pressed his body forward by another eight inches, and his legs dropped as he held onto the hanging ceiling.

The man below him looked up for just a brief second—just before Simon’s legs wrapped around his neck. Simon locked his legs around the soldier’s head and twisted his torso hard, instantly separating the man’s skull from his spine. Then he fell on top of the soldier he had just killed.

The floor of the cell was only slightly illuminated by the lights on the soldier’s mask, but it was enough. Simon stood up in the dark room and turned toward the shadow of the man that lay in the bed less than three feet away from him.

Oliver had no strength to fight for his vision.

Simon’s heart started pounding uncontrollably. He heard commotion outside, but it didn’t matter—his whole world was right in front of him.

He moved closer until he was standing above his father’s head, even as Oliver struggled to identify the shadowy figure that hovered over him. Then Simon grabbed his father’s right arm and removed his mask with his left hand, inches away from Oliver’s eyes.

His father quivered in pain as he squinted, trying to identify Simon. I must be dying, Oliver thought as he saw that wonderful, familiar face just inches away. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that the strong grip on his shoulder was actually Simon’s—his son’s. His son.

Simon searched for the words, lost in a world of emotion. “Father, it’s me,” he said softly.

Just the sound of that unmistakable voice changed the old, broken man. Oliver felt as if he had been injected with a calming serum—a high dose of morphine that instantly took his pain away.

He forced his eyelids open. “It’s impossible,” he whispered. “It can’t be. I’m hallucinating.”

“Dad it’s me. I’m here. It’s me.” Simon told him. Then he felt his father’s body tremble.

“Simon?” he asked, shaking. “Is that you?”

The words cut through Simon as he remembered the voice of his father calling out his name a thousand times as a child. They locked eyes for a brief moment. Oliver wept as his only son held his frail body.

* * *

Nastasia had brought two explosive devices with her to Antarctica. She had assembled one on the Spector and left it there; she assembled and left the other in the scientist’s encampment. And they both had been set to explode at the same, special moment.

But Hayden was over a mile from either one when he pulled himself to a halt, confused and frustrated.

Why haven’t I gotten there already? he asked himself, an equal mixture of annoyance and dread. He looked at the glassy ice and well-traveled permafrost beneath his feet, unaware he was a scant hundred yards from the point where the Spector had sunk into the ice. “Where’s Sam?” he asked the cold, empty air. “Where’s Ryan?” In his disorientation and anger, he had completely forgotten about the communicator strapped to his wrist. Samantha followed relentlessly two miles behind. She was exhausted and confused as she stopped for a moment and contemplated the unthinkable: going back without him.

Where could he be? she asked herself, nearly breaking. There is nowhere to go! With all the strength she had left in her body, she screamed. “Hayden! Hayden, where are you?” Then she remembered it herself, for the first time. “Damn it,” she said, cursing herself for a fool. She put the watch close to her face, touched the edges as she’d been told to.

“Hayden!”

This time, Hayden heard the voice quite clearly, but he had no idea where it was coming from. He stopped instantly and turned back. “Samantha?” he shouted. The pressure from the sound caused excruciating pain in his head. He realized he had not fully recovered.

Samantha heard him—thin but clear, coming from the wrist communicator. He’s alive, she thought. Alive! With newfound energy, she started running back the way she had come. Just around that bend…

She had taken no more than ten steps when the timer set off the spot of gunpowder and broke the inhaler’s canister. In a fraction of a second, the gas hit the powder in the disguised protein bags, and the encampment exploded with a deafening sound that almost blew out her eardrums.

The force of the explosion that followed pushed through the tunnel like a bullet from the barrel of a shotgun. Between one step and the next, Samantha found herself airborne, her body lifted ten feet into the air and thrown against an ice wall over fifteen feet away.

The shock wave threw Hayden to the ground as well, but he was farther away—safer. He was back on his feet, unsteady as before, in mere moments.

There was nothing left of the encampment. Bodies and equipment, food and clothing, the drones in search of the scientist, even the ice itself had been turned to dust and driven deep into the ancient ice.

The scientists were dead. The camp was destroyed. And Ryan…

Samantha pulled herself to her feet, more bruised than before but still alive, still able to move. She looked back in the direction of the explosion and somehow knew where it had come from—what it meant.

Another friend was dead.

Ryan…she thought. And then she screamed out loud, “Ryan!”





THE NEST

11:32 AM

Gunshots and the sound of agony echoed in the dark hallway where Simon stood, but he barely heard it. He held his father’s frail and tortured body, thinking of nothing but this moment. He wanted it to last forever. It felt as if time itself had stopped for him; he was lost in his own world, with no regard for his own life.

The dark interior of the room was lit only by splinters of light reflecting from the dead soldier’s helmet. He felt his father stir feebly in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, struggling to form the words.

“Please, Father,” Simon whispered. “There is nothing you need to be sorry for.” He tightened his grip around Oliver’s narrow, shaking shoulders, filled with longing and remorse.

“No,” his father said. “There is much to be sorry for, my son. There is too much I need to explain.” Oliver’s voice was thin as paper.

“We’ve got to get out of this hell first,” Simon insisted. “I don’t care what it takes, I will take you back home, back to the surface. Then you can explain anything you want to me.”

“I can’t move, Simon.”

“Why?” Simon was confused. His father’s body was thin to the point of emaciation, but nothing was broken. There were no obvious signs of injury, just tremendous weakness.

“I’m paralyzed,” his father rasped. “Too much radioactive exposure.”

Simon’s heart sank. “Radioactivity? From what?”

Oliver paused for a moment, gathering what little breath he could find. “I’m sorry, Simon,” he said again quietly. Then he coughed shallowly and swallowed hard before he continued. “I haven’t been honest with you all my life.”

Simon pulled back, locking eyes with his father. “But—”

“You don’t have much time. You need to listen to me carefully.” His hand stirred, but he couldn’t lift it to communicate the true importance of every whispered word. “Simon,” he grated, “first you need to get to the surface; if you have gotten that far you will be rescued.” He cleared his throat and struggled for the strength, just to express himself with a few more words. “Once you are rescued you need to hurry—you need to find—”

The sound of gunshots was just outside—far too close—and it startled both men. Simon slipped into the doorway just in time to see soldiers running toward them; the sound of their footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder and louder.

I have no weapons, Simon thought. Then he remembered the soldier lying on the ground. He turned the man over with a quick snap and found the holster strapped to the dead man’s side.

Simon started to feel the vibration of the men running toward him. They were just outside the room. Several men, he told himself.

He gripped the gun in the soldier’s holster and pulled it free with all his strength. He had no time to detach the buckle; the strap on the holster ripped from the force and suddenly Simon was holding the gun in his shaking hand.

Three men, he realized. They were only seconds from Oliver’s cell. Have to think fast.

He slammed the door shut, barely missing the soldier’s head where it lay twisted on the floor. That’s only going to delay them by a few seconds. Where the hell is Max?

Oliver stirred, struggling to move, to regain the feeling in his limbs. He wanted to help—Simon could see that—but the effort was futile. Simon bent to push the soldier’s lifeless body closer to the cell door, leaning it like a doorstop against the aluminum in a vain attempt to delay the soldiers, if only for an instant longer.

The soldiers were right outside the door. He was trapped, trapped like a—

The ceiling, he thought in a sudden, jarring inspiration. Without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped up, high as he could, and grabbed the metal bars over his head, trying to push his body through.

The soldiers were pounding on the door, and the sound of it sent a chill through Simon. The thin walls of the cell’s modular structure trembled and bowed under their blows.

Oliver watched his son pull himself into hiding with a deep sense of desperation. I have so little time, he thought, too weak to speak. I won’t live long enough to tell him…tell him everything…

The power outage had provided the precious few seconds that Simon needed. Once shut, and with the electric motors disconnected, the door could not be opened from the outside, and as the guards shouted and cursed, he used every ounce of his strength to pull himself high up into to the lattice work, holding himself tight against the ceiling itself. He spotted pinpoints of light reflected from the soldiers’ helmets into the darkness of the grid work, over their heads and directly on the other side of the wall. He only had to move slowly, silently to the right and over the wall.

Eight more inches and he was above them. He looked straight down and watched the three soldiers as they pounded relentlessly at the door to the cell.

He heard the chatter of automatic gunfire off in the distance, too many shots to count. Fifty, a hundred—he simply couldn’t tell. Something is happening to Max, he thought, and suddenly he was overcome by an unfamiliar strength, outraged by the torture of his father, driven by the will to survive.

He held the gun in front of him as tightly as he could, both arms extended, pointing straight down. He gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger, and the sound almost shattered his eardrum.

One of the soldiers flew away from the others and slammed against the wall opposite the door. The shot entered through the man’s collarbone and exited through his stomach; blood splattered on all three of them from the force of the exploding bullet.

For a few brief seconds, panic rose inside him, filled his mind. It was almost a state of delirium. Too fast, he thought. There was no time to ponder what he had done. And it had been so easy, so—

No, he told himself. It’s too horrible to think about. But something had changed in him—changed who he was. He didn’t feel like a calm and comfortable scientist from Oxford. He didn’t feel angry or afraid.

He felt no remorse.

The two other soldiers had no clue what had struck their companion. Simon didn’t waste time; he didn’t hesitate. He fired again, and the second bullet hit the next soldier the instant Simon pulled the trigger. The helmeted man fell instantly to his knees as the third soldier, panicking, started firing frantically in all directions. The automatic rifle exploded in a barrage of bullets that lit up the hallway and filled it with a deafening sound. Wild shots hit all four walls, pounded into the floor—and pierced the ceiling.

Simon pulled back desperately, as fast as he could. He felt an ice-cold shock in his right shoulder as one of the bullets cut through his deltoid, and pain turned from ice to fire in a heartbeat. He bit off a groan, pushed himself back to the right, away from the gunfire. In mere seconds his arm failed him, and he lost his grip, falling heavily, slamming to the floor of the cell hard enough to knock the last of the air out of him.

The sound of gunfire outside the room intensified as the frenzied soldier shot aimlessly, fearing for his life. Several of the bullets penetrated the door and the wall around it, cutting through the room, barely missing Oliver and Simon.

And then it stopped. Suddenly. Completely. Silence assaulted them, somehow more solid and more terrifying than the gunfire had been.

Simon, still on the ground, gripped his throbbing shoulder and felt the blood well up between his fingers. He looked up at his father and saw the horror on the old man’s face.

His son was right in front of him, lying on the floor, obviously in pain, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Simon,” he whispered, deathly afraid that whoever was outside could hear him.

“I’m all right,” Simon said under his breath, struggling to fight the pain. He forced himself to stand, still half-blinded by pain, and tried to make a casual, comforting gesture to Oliver, using only his left hand. I’m fine, he wanted to tell him. Don’t worry. But he knew it was useless.

He stood there for a moment feeling his arm shake, trying to control the adrenaline that surged through his body. Neither man spoke. There was a moment of silence that stretched on endlessly, though he knew it could have been no more than a few seconds.

“Simon,” Oliver said, weak but clear. “You need to get out of here. You are in grave danger and there is no time. Leave me. Esca—”

Simon cut him off with an angry, awkward, one-armed gesture. “What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t risk my life, I didn’t come halfway around the world just to leave you in this hell.”

“You must,” Oliver said.

“What? Why?”

“I’m in no condition to leave. I will not make it.”

“I don’t care! You’re coming with me.”

Amazingly, Oliver’s tone grew stronger, more certain. “Listen to me, Simon,” he said. Simon had heard that tone many times before as a child, but it didn’t have the same effect on him now. He was a man—a desperate, weary man, a man in pain—and the power of his father’s commanding voice did not sway him. He watched Oliver’s shadowy form, a shadow against a shadow, visible only from the meek light that reflected through the ceiling.

“There are many, many things I never shared with you, Simon,” he said, his voice trembling and weak. “They did not kidnap me from the surface. I decided to come here.”

Simon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You knew all along?” Simon’s stomach tightened as he locked eyes with his father, and in the silence that grew between them he felt a new and awful separation. A great void opened, black and full of secrets, and it did not dissipate even when his father finally began to speak again.

“There is too much to tell you and not enough time, Simon. The fate of mankind now rests on your shoulders. You must escape this continent immediately and do as I say.”

Simon opened his eyes instantly. He could not believe what his father was telling him. This is not real.

“The fate of mankind?” he repeated. “What the hell are you talking about father? Your medication—”

“Stop,” Oliver cut him off. “I am perfectly coherent, Simon. I must be. They have made sure of that.”

“‘They?’”

“Vector5.”

Simon shook his head stubbornly. “Father, none of this can be happening.”

The old man almost smiled. “Believe me, Simon, it’s more real than you can imagine. This continent is being robbed of its resources.”

Quickly, grimly, Oliver outlined the massive, multi-billion-dollar theft that Vector5 had been committing for years—the same staggering story that Lucas had relayed to him earlier. Simon stood stock still, listening to every word that his father spoke almost against his will.

“But all of that—all that conspiracy, all that money and power—that is not why I am here.”

“I don’t understand,” Simon told him, shaking his head wearily. “I don’t.”

“There is something far greater that is down here. I did not have the will or the strength to tell you before, even when you were old enough.”

Simon listened without a word, as if the world had stopped to give them this moment—a moment they had never shared before. Oliver’s head dropped. His tears—the last tears his body had the strength to produce—slid down his face.

“The children…history…mankind’s love and struggle to live…our effort to make sense of our place in the universe…all of this was in our hands, Simon.”

“Whose hands? Father what are you saying?” He does not sound like my father, Simon thought. I have never met this man.

“Simon, all I want you to know is that I am sorry. I regret every moment. I should have done something…or at least tried.” Oliver said.

Simon stood in silence feeling his father’s compassion in a way he had never imagined existed.

The next words changed Simon forever. They changed everything he had imagined and known since childhood, everything he believed in and learned throughout his life.

“We are in quarantine, my son,” Oliver said closing his eyes, searching for a way to explain what he had known all along and had kept secret his entire life.

“Quarantine?” Simon did not understand.

Oliver’s head remained bowed, his eyes closed. Here, finally, he had broken the secret of the society—told the secret he had sworn to uphold all his life, a secret that lasted since a time before the Sumerians. It was a knowledge that mankind had no right to share, no right to know.

“We are captives on our own planet, Simon.”

“Captives? I—”

Oliver lifted his hand to stop Simon but did not open his eyes.

“Below where you are standing, thousands of devices from another time are embedded into the bedrock, waiting to melt the ice and create the next ice age. They are about to activate once more to create global catastrophe. To send us back into the Dark Ages.”

“Father, who is doing this? Who—”

“Extraterrestrial intelligence, my son. The same intelligence that helped create the pyramids, the ancient roads, all the many of the mysteries you and I never understood. The same intelligence that genetically altered us as an experiment. They held us captive. They watched and studied us for thousands of years, and decided that we were not capable of interstellar travel. We were not evolved. There were problems with the genetic code. Diseases started to arise, systemic failures of incompatibility. They realized that we—this experimental race—could not be allowed to take greed, war, suffering, and genetic mutation to other planets, not under any circumstances.

“We called them angels or gods, Simon. We wrote books about them. Entire religions were formed around them.”

Simon’s mouth had dropped as Oliver continued.

“They planted devices below the ice shelf and in other locations throughout the globe as a method of protection. They are control mechanisms. They ensure that we will not evolve beyond what we were capable of.”

Tears continued to slide down Oliver’s face as he realized the enormity of the moment. Then he said quietly, “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“But…” Simon’s voice trailed off. He simply couldn’t put the words together. He could not believe what he was hearing. His stomach sank; he felt hollow and worthless for the first time in his life…but somehow, something in him fought the will to believe.

“This is outrageous,” he said, and he was surprised at the sound of anger in his own voice. “This is impossible.” My father must be out of his mind, he told himself, standing stiff as a block of ice himself, staring defiantly at Oliver.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “I can’t.”

“Whether you choose to believe me or not, what I am sharing with you is the absolute truth. You have little time to argue, and I have little time to convince you. You must escape and tell the world before it is too late. As long as you can get to the surface, you will stop all this.”

“But how do you—”

“How I know is not important right now.” Oliver said. It’s better if he does not know, he said only to himself.

“I need to know!” Simon demanded. “I need to know why, how you kept this from me, how you know. Who are you, Father?”

“There is no time to explain,” Oliver said, waving him away. “You need to escape now. Leave everything. There is a transport vehicle for an emergency escape situated right beyond the Great Room. It’s an Ice Raptor. It will shoot you straight through the continent and ten thousand feet toward the surface. Use your own judgment once you’ve escaped, decide how to reveal the truth, how to use it as a tool—and a weapon. But be careful, Simon. Please.”

Then Oliver reached out, ready to take his son’s hand, but Simon did not offer it. He looked crestfallen, broken, as he pulled his hand back. I deserve it, he told himself. I swore to protect a secret I should never have kept. The secret is not my life. My son is my real reason to live.

“Please forgive me, Simon. That is all I ask.”

Simon clenched his teeth. He felt no more pain from his shoulder. It simply didn’t matter now. What he had heard now changed everything. If it were true, it would change who he was and why he lived. He did not want to believe it.

For a brief moment he felt pain for mankind. His father had betrayed him—betrayed them all.

He stood for a long moment before Oliver spoke once more.

“You must escape immediately, and you must find…”

With a sudden burst, the cell door blasted open and careened across the room, crashing into the far wall with tremendous force. A shadowy figure emerged in the dark and moved into the room. Simon had reacted instantly: he pointed his gun straight at the stranger.

“Simon,” Max said, his voice cutting through the darkness. “I need you.”

“Max!” Oliver said. He was glad to see that his son’s best friend was next to him.

Without a word, Max turned toward Simon and grabbed his shoulder. “It’s zero time,” he said. “We’ve got to fight or die in this hellhole. Come with me; I need your help to take out the remaining eight soldiers before reinforcements arrive.”

With little more than a backwards glance, Max disappeared through the door, stepping over the bodies of the soldiers that were slumped on the hallway floor like rag-dolls.

Simon looked back for a brief moment as his father.

“I won’t leave you. I will come back for you.”

Oliver could not speak another word. Simon was already out running behind Max and toward the adjacent hall.

* * *

Blackburn and the eight remaining soldiers carefully made their way toward Oliver’s cell from the opposite direction. They were looking for Simon and Max. They were ready to kill, and they were headed straight toward them.

“Come out from wherever you are!” he called into the frigid gloom. “I knew you would come for your father. I can shut the elevators down and freeze all of you to death.”

He looked ahead, carefully walking behind the soldiers. He watched the lights reflecting on the interior from the source light mounted on the solders’ rifles. “Whoever is down here is going to pay for what they have done,” he said grimly.

Blackburn touched the comm device at his shoulder, careful not to raise his voice. “Send reinforcements and explosives to the Nest,” he snapped out. “NOW!”

The voice on the other end responded nervously. “Sir? If I may? The elevator hatch is completely shut down from the power outage.”

Blackburn knew that, but it was the last thing he wanted to hear.

For a second, he remembered the Raptor that was parked not so far away, fueled and prepped for him and his escape. I can get away any time, he remembered. If I have to, he reassured himself. Then he responded through clenched teeth.

“Get the f*cking system back up before I get up there. For your own sake.”

He had said all that he needed to. He tapped his shoulder and disconnected from Central Command before the officer had a chance to acknowledge his wish.

* * *

Max knew that minutes—minutes—were all that separated life and death. He had a plan but needed to lure the enemy close to where the crane sat at the center of the large dome. That was the key.

He carefully made the bend around the first corridor. Oliver’s cell was almost two hundred feet behind him. He moved into the main hallway that led directly toward the octagonal room almost one hundred yards ahead of him.

Simon followed Max very carefully, clutching the pistol in his left hand. It was pitch black in the corridor, except for localized lights mounted on the dead soldiers that Max had left behind.

Simon was gripped with apprehension. He had no idea where they were headed. His mind drifted for a moment as he thought about Oliver’s words. It’s not possible. This whole thing is a dream, he told himself.

Twenty-five feet ahead of him, Max motioned Simon to slow down and stop. They put their backs against the wall of the main hallway and looked straight ahead. Less than three hundred feet in the distance, the silhouette of a massive crane loomed, dimly illuminated by an eerie glow from below.

Simon was terrified. He didn’t know what to expect as his body stuck against the cold wall. He was feeling the burning pain in his shoulder once more, felt the friction of the rough, cold wall against his back and the freezing steel of the rifle in his hand, as they inched forward, cautious not to expose themselves but ready to fight.

Max froze instantly, startled. He motioned back to Simon: stop moving.

It was too late.

A Vector5 soldier ahead of his squadron moved toward them in the pitch black, appearing out of nowhere, lunging forward to attack. Max reacted instantly as Simon watched twenty feet behind. He grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind him, turning the man 180 degrees, and choked him—briefly, brutally—with his right arm.

Simon moved forward, trying to assist, but he pulled back as the soldier’s handgun fired into the hallway. Max struggled with the man as the soldier shot another bullet straight into the ceiling above them. The small corridor that led to Oliver’s cell was just fifteen feet behind them.

Automatic gunfire exploded. Out of nowhere, bullets cut through the air in an unrelenting barrage, whizzing and shrieking past them.

Simon stuck to the wall, praying for his life. Max turned the soldier toward the direction of the oncoming fire, using the man as a human shield.

The soldier took several shots saving Max’s life. He could hear the bullets slicing the cold air as they flew by. Max felt the force from some of the bullets entering the man’s body as it jerked with every additional round.

Simon pulled back as fast as he could, throwing himself back into the small corridor, avoiding the fusillade.

Max’s task was not so easy. He stood directly in the line of fire, knowing that if he let go of the dead soldier, he would have no chance. The man’s body was excruciatingly heavy for Max, but he did not falter; he grabbed the man around his waist and tucked his head behind the soldier’s neck, walking backwards, inching toward the small corridor.

Something penetrated Max’s forearm. I’m shot, he knew instantly.

The bullet had cut straight through the man’s body and into Max’s arm, but he held on. Just a few more feet, he told himself.

Simon watched from the little corridor, horrified, praying his best friend would not die. I have to do something! he thought instantly.

Max threw his body into the little corridor, diving toward Simon as he let the soldier fall to the floor. That very instant, the image flashed through Simon’s head. The oxygen canisters! It’s our only chance. Like lightning, he moved onto one of the Vector5 soldiers lying dead on the ground and grabbed his rifle, instantly locating the laser-guided mechanism.

Wordlessly, without hesitation, Simon threw his body into the main hallway. He skidded flat on the ground, the pain from his shoulder so intense he almost fainted.

“F*ck this!” he growled. “I’m not ready to die.”

He inched forward on his arms, fighting the pain while he tried to stay as low as possible, still using the body of the dead soldier that lay inches away from his face to absorb the bullets that still flew toward them. He scraped his chin against the floor, praying that his skull would not take a bullet, inching forward like an animal crawling. He fought the pain and positioned his rifle barely above the man’s chest, aiming straight through the hallway into the Great Room.

The bullets kept coming.

It’s now or never, he told himself.

He pointed the gun straight toward the source of the assault, focusing the laser-guide right below the massive crane, centering on the oxygen canisters.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger—once, twice, over and over.

* * *

Blackburn stood opposite the canisters, almost five hundred feet away on the far side of Simon and Max. He looked at the seven soldiers positioned right below the crane—the last of his men, his final defense. They were shooting straight into the hallway in an endless rampage, straight toward the only man they could see—a shadow behind a corpse, aiming a single weapon straight toward them—

Less than a second later, the first of Simon’s bullets penetrated an oxygen canister standing directly behind the seven men. It exploded on impact. The explosion detonated the next canister, and that in turn made the next one explode—over and over, in a cloud of fire and debris that instantly filled every crevice of the octagonal room.

The seven soldiers that surrounded the canisters near the massive crane, immediately disintegrated. The force threw Blackburn himself backwards almost ten feet.

The massive crane that sat above the opening started to collapse into the massive hole. In a fraction of a second the explosion expanded—into the hallway where Simon was waiting, the force of it throwing his head back with a neck-popping jerk. The dead soldier in front of him shielded most of the impact, and suddenly there was absolute silence, a soundless vacuum.

Then, slowly, the crane that was falling into the icy opening started screeching. It sounded like an old train squeezing its mangled structure against the icy walls as it slid down toward the abyss below. The explosion had blown out the emergency lights above octagonal room. The dim light that omitted from the hole beneath the crane illuminated the edges of the mangled structure as it started falling into the opening.

Simon took a deep breath and hesitated for a moment, almost wishing that he could just lie there for two seconds longer. He pulled his body into the small corridor next to his best friend.

Both men were wounded. Max was at a loss for words. Simon had saved their lives.

“Max, we’ve got no time,” Simon told him. “Let’s get out of here.”

They forced their injured bodies up into standing positions. Oliver’s cell was two hundred feet away, and without a word they pushed themselves forward toward the room.

Less than twenty seconds later, Max turned toward the left and into Oliver’s cell. Simon followed close behind. It took them less than three seconds to realize what had happened in the dark room.

Simon noticed instantly that something was wrong. He looked closer at his father’s silhouette; it took him a moment to identify the odd shape that seemed to be growing from his chest.

It was a dagger, buried to the hilt. And less than six feet away, Nastasia stood at the foot of the bed, half buried in shadow.

Simon lunged forward toward his father.

Simultaneously Max shouted, “What the f*ck?” and pulled up his rifle. He stalked across the room toward her motionless figure, the gun shaking against his shoulder as he held the muzzle less than five inches from her head.

She sank to her knees without a word.

“Father!” Simon screamed. It felt as if someone had taken his own life. “Father! Father!”

And Oliver moved—just a fraction, ever so slightly, but he moved.

Relief flooded through him. “He’s still alive!” Simon shouted. “Max! Help me!”

Max was frozen in disbelief fighting the urge to put a bullet in the woman’s head with all of his strength. I should have known, he told himself.

Nastasia did not move. She sat stone cold as if in a trance, her head tilted down and her hands in her lap. She looked like a woman who had been possessed by a great evil, who now prayed silently, desperately for atonement.

Simon felt cold. He felt like throwing up. He shook with anger and shock simultaneously. It was impossible; it was horrific. He could not fathom what he was seeing.

“Why?” he screamed. “WHY?!” He went for Max’s rifle, ready to take her life. He felt dread and hatred like he never knew existed.

And his father stopped him.

“No, Simon,” Oliver said. He was so weak he could barely form the words. He coughed violently; it was almost too dark to see the blood gushing from his mouth.

Simon stopped himself. He turned back, knelt at his father’s side and reached for the dagger.

Max stopped him.

“Leave it,” he said. “He’ll bleed less.”

An uncontrollable emotion took hold of Simon as he looked back at Nastasia again.

“Why?” he begged for an answer.

“She had no choice,” Oliver told him. “It was destined.”

“Simon, Nika belongs to a secret society of which I have been a member of my entire life. This was the reason that I disappeared when you were a child. I came here for a reason: to ensure that nothing would stop the devices from melting the ice cap. To ensure that the angels who created us could complete their mission. But I’ve since realized how foolish I’ve been, Simon. Somebody had to stop this, and I realized you were the only one that I could trust. I betrayed the society when I contacted you. I broke the code, and she was instructed to take my life,” Oliver said. It was getting harder and harder for him to speak.

Simon turned back to his father. The dying man’s voice was barely a whisper. “You must find him,” he said.

“Who? Father, speak to me, who?” Simon begged.

“You must find Leon.” With every ounce of energy he had left, he continued. “Leon has the key. He is the only one that can guide you to the location of the ancient tablets that will describe how you can turn off the devices that line the bottom of the ice.”

Nastasia’s eyes shut in utter shock that Oliver had given away the greatest secret ever kept.

“But…” Simon was speechless.

Oliver clutched his son’s arm. With the strength of a child, he shook as he pulled his son close. He coughed once more, forcing himself to stop as he spoke his last words.

“You must escape. The Raptor can only take one passenger. You must get to the surface immediately, and get to Europe as quickly as you can. Find L…”

Simon’s eyes closed in pain. He barely made out Oliver’s last words. “Forg…v…m…”

Oliver died a few seconds later, and Simon screamed.

The sound of his anguish penetrated the hallway and traveled a thousand feet across to Blackburn’s ears.

Blackburn was barely conscious. The explosion had nearly taken him.

I have to get to the Raptor, he told himself. It’s all that’s left.

Back in the cell, the two best friends locked eyes. Max’s rifle was still pointed at Nastasia’s head.

“Get out of here!” said Max.

“I’m not leaving you. Kill the bitch and let’s go,” said Simon.

“You heard Oliver. There’s only room for one. You heard your father’s words. It’s on your shoulders Simon.”

Simon repeated his father’s words in his head: You must escape. Leave everything. But he couldn’t move—he couldn’t make himself. He stood silent and frozen.

“Go,” Max said with new urgency. “I’ll deal with her.”

Simon shook his head. He did not want to.

“Go, I said!” Max repeated. “I’ll find the others and we will get out of this hell! You’ve got to get to the surface!”

Simon clenched his teeth and realized in that brief moment that if Oliver’s words were true, he had no choice. He had lost his father but did not want to lose his best friend.

“It is our only chance,” said Max still shaking from anger. “UNED will spot you instantly, and they will rescue the rest of us and put an end to this godforsaken operation. GO!”

He did not have the strength to look at Max. For a second, his eyes locked on the space between them on the floor. Then he turned and disappeared.

* * *