Siberius (20 page)

The camera was still there, but the pistol was gone.

His body slumped in despair, but the gun wasn’t his primary concern. “Talia?” he said. His voice echoed, a puzzling sound. “Hello?” It was a hollow echo, like the one made by the announcer calling trains inside cavernous Terminal Tower station back in Cleveland.

Nick stood up, the enveloping blackness fading to dark gray as his eyes adjusted. He froze as something pulled at his back. “Is that you?” he whispered, then spun around.

The weight of the backpack shifted. He sighed, then slipped the backpack off and set it down. “Talia?” he called out, then listened to his own echoing voice bounce back at him.

After a few more tries, Nick determined that he was inside a cave. How he got there, he didn’t know. “Talia, are you in here?” His echo kept him company.

As his eyes grew more accustomed to the darkness, Nick began to make out a strange shape. Before him was a faint white oval. He reached out and touched it. “Snow,” he said, and then things became clear. The avalanche had thrust him into a cave and blocked the entrance all at the same time. He wondered if Talia was okay.

Looking around, he saw that the cave was large, the ceiling high. He crept deeper, his eyes now adjusting to the dim light.

“
Talia?” he said. “Where are you?”

22

Parnichev couldn’t sleep. The truck bounced along the uneven road, the snow cover doing little to cushion the ride. He pulled the collar of the army-issue wool coat around his neck, but it didn’t help. The bed of the Jimmy was freezing and he couldn’t believe the rest of the soldiers could sleep. They were all bunched together on wood benches and covered with blankets. Earlier, Barkov and Radchek decided to abandon one of the Jimmies, and Vukarin ordered everyone from the second truck into the first. Parnichev thought the whole thing ludicrous. A perfectly good truck, left to rust in the middle of nowhere. He made the suggestion that they towed it behind them. Instead, Vukarin ordered him out of the comfortable half-track and into the back of the Jimmy.

              So much for initiative.

             
The buzzsaw snoring annoyed him, and he plugged his ears. Why couldn’t he sleep? He shouldn’t have opened his mouth. He was eager, too eager, to show the officers how dedicated he was. Colonel Barkov liked him, that was clear. He had driven the Maultier the past few days at the request of Barkov himself. And he’d still be there, inside the warm cab on a cushioned seat, had he not opened his mouth.

             
Tensions were high, though, that was obvious. The soldiers wondered just what they were supposed to do. Their faith in Barkov, Radchek and Vukarin was dwindling, and they all wondered how long they could continue the search. Food was low and they had to abandon the second truck for its fuel. They wondered when they’d be heading back to Yenisey. They assumed Corovich and his team were already there, drinking vodka and eating real food, and although they were happy for his promotion, they were envious of him, too. Corovich was home and they were not.

             
Private Parnichev pushed the rear flap of canvas aside, shielded his eyes from the bright white daylight and watched the passing charcoal streaks of trees. The truck bed bounced and he bit his tongue. Blood seeped from his lips and he touched it; his fingers smudged red.

             
“Fuck,” he said, then spit red globs out onto the passing snow. He sucked his tongue until the bleeding slowed, then swigged a mixture of vodka and water from a flask.

Wiping his mouth, he capped it then slipped the flask back into his coat’s breast pocket. The urge to urinate hit him and he looked around for the bucket. Since leaving Yenisey, they had all taken turns with it. Some of the soldiers were less inhibited than others, and because of that, the truck bed now smelled like a shithouse.

Parnichev stood, steadied himself against the bouncing floor. He grabbed onto one of the canopy’s steel ribs, strained to see through the shadowy recesses between sleeping bodies.

There was no bucket.

His belt pressed against his bladder and the urge grew more intense. He had to relieve himself, bucket or no bucket. Turning his back to the sleeping hoard, Parnichev untied a corner of the back canvas and pulled it away. The blur of scenery showed through the opening, and the private fought to open his fly with one hand while holding onto the swaying truck with the other.

It was an impossible task.

Planting his boots on the bed, he let go of the support and undid his pants. An agonizing moment later, he succeeded and pissed out the back of the truck. As the discomfort of a full bladder diminished, Parnichev got creative. He aimed at and hit passing trees and odd clumps of snow. Giggling, he reasoned that it was good for hand-eye coordination. Who would have ever guessed that taking a piss could help you shoot? Finishing up, he tucked his manhood back into his pants and zipped up.

The sudden bump was so violent that Parnichev’s feet left the floor. Reaching for the canvas flap, he grabbed onto it, preventing his fall from the Jimmie.
That’s what I call hand-eye coordination-

A second later, the rear tires hit the bump and this time, Parnichev lost it. Tumbling out of the truck, he hit the ground head-first with vertebrae-cracking force.

Inside the Jimmie’s bed, the jolt awoke Private Nierbanski. Sleepy-eyed and cold, he looked around, got his bearings. He was still in the truck. Yawning, he glanced over and saw the canvas flap waving in the breeze. A frosty draft now invaded the truck bed, but Nierbanski would have none of it. Crawling over another soldier, he reached for the flap, grasped it and pulled it in, then tied it back up to the gate. Back in his seat, he pulled his coat and blanket closer, then went back to sleep.

23

Talia sat in Dr. Leonid Andrychenko’s classroom and listened to him lecture. Although she sported full winter gear and a heavy parka, she wasn’t hot. With her hood pulled up around her head, she smiled as the gray-haired doctor spoke of the summer heat wave, but his face was blank and lifeless. His jaw moved, his lips crinkled to form words, but somehow his voice was coming from somewhere else. She looked around the lecture hall for the source of Dr. Andrychenko’s voice. When she turned back, she was no longer in the classroom, but in the middle of the forest. There was no sound and the smell of rot filled her nostrils until her eyes streamed with tears. Standing next to her was Nick, who reached out to hug her. She broke down, squeezed him, afraid to let go. “I thought you were dead,” she said with tears of joy running down her cheeks. She hugged Nick and the rotten smell grew weaker, replaced by the smell of an animal. Then Nick’s body grew cold, and when she pulled away, she saw that she was hugging an aged soldier.

A dead soldier.

It was her husband, and he was not in good spirits, for his decayed body was pockmarked with bullet holes. An icy wave flowed throughout her body and Talia tried to scream. His mouth didn’t move, but Leonid spoke just the same.

“You told my secret,” he said, then opened his mouth absurdly wide, revealing two scimitar tusks.

Talia awoke in a languid state, her body slow to respond. She tried to move her toes, but couldn’t. Her fingers were also slow to react, and then she remembered one of the most basic rules of survival situations, and that was not to fall asleep in freezing temperatures.

She sat up, shook her head, slapped her face. Her body came back to life as sluggish blood reached her extremities. Scooping up some snow, she smashed it into her face and tried to wake up. Then she remembered the Smilodon and looked to the cliff above.

The cat was gone.

Where and for how long, she didn’t know. Not that it mattered. She was stuck on a ledge with no food, no shelter and no hope of escape. She looked over the ledge again. There was nothing there but a steep drop. “Nick,” she said. “I’m sorry.

“You are?” he answered magically, his disembodied voice eminating out of thin air. “About what?”

Talia thought she was having another nightmare. Still- “Nick?”

“Give me a hand, will you sister?” said the voice.

Talia turned around, scanned the cliff wall and piled up snow behind her, and saw a little hole with a gloved finger wiggling out. “Nick,” she said, then dove into the snow and began digging. “Nick, Nick, Nick,” she repeated, until she saw his face emerge from a shallow tunnel. She grabbed his cheeks and kissed him.

“Wow.” Nick was surprised by Talia’s show of affection. Surprised and quite happy about it. “You sure you’re okay?” Within seconds he crawled out of the tunnel and they embraced. Whatever inhibitions she might have had, they were now gone, and for good reason. She was given a second chance.

“
I thought you were dead,” said Talia. She squeezed him with surprising strength.

“
I’ve been in worse scrapes than this,” he said hugging her back. Her body felt good, even through her heavy parka. “I’d be crazy to break this up and all, but there’s something in here I think you should see.”

Inside the cave, Nick guided Talia through the darkness. “Your eyes’ll get used to it,” he said. In a moment, she could see gray. Soon after that, she was surprised by how much she could see.

The cave floor canted down. Stalactites reached from the high ceiling to the floor, where stalagmites awaited a joining that was still a thousand years away. Even through the darkness, Talia could make out a well-worn path in the cave floor. Nick led her along that path and into another tunnel.

“Watch your head,” he said. “It gets pretty low.” They emerged into a larger, darker cavern. It took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust, but when they did, Talia’s jaw dropped. “What do you think?” said Nick.

Lining the walls and stacked 10 feet up were hundreds of Smilodon skulls. Even in death, they possessed an awesome, intimidating power. Talia gaped at them. She inhaled involuntarily, for she had forgotten to breath. Following the circular wall, she tried to comprehend the scope of what she was seeing. Some of the skulls were quite large, while others were from smaller, juvenile animals.

Nick tapped on one of the larger skulls. “If these cats of yours have a hell,” he said. “I bet it looks something like this. I counted 375.” She glanced over at him, surprised by the number.

“
Three hundred seventy five?” she said. “Your sure?”

“
Well, give or take. My mind ain’t real sharp right now.”

Talia nodded, recognizing how ludicrous her question was. She removed her gloves and ran her fingers along the tusks, then traced the mandible up to the angular process to the zygomatic arch, right below the eye sockets. She had never been this close to a Smilodon
siberius
before, alive or dead, though this was the first time she had ever seen dead ones. It was a dream come true to actually
touch
one.

Without realizing it, she went into her analytical mode, observing the differences between the siberius skull and those of other Smilodon species. There weren’t many. As she and her husband had long ago observed, their siberius was larger than Smilodon
populator
, the big South American cousin to the saber-tooth found in the tar pits of California. Siberius was a bigger, more robust version of a known species. Whether extinct Smilodons had the same ability to hear as siberius, she’d never know by looking at a skull in a dim cave. She would love to get one into a lab.

Or even daylight.

Her fingers ran the length of the skull, tracing the various sutures where different sections of bone were fused. She was surprised by how smooth to the touch it was. “These have been treated and polished,” she realized.

“
Polished?” Nick said. “Really? By who?”

One skull in particular was huge, at least 10 or 12 pounds, tusks not withstanding. “I don’t know,” she said. “No one’s ever seen anything like this before.” She walked across the room to another skull, studied it, ran her fingers over the teeth. The lower jaw fit neatly into the upper, the incisors snug against each other. The slicing carnassial teeth, she noted, were sharper than she had seen on fossilized skulls of other species. But there was something even more overwhelming about this skull. All the skulls, in fact.

“How long do you think they’ve been here?” said Nick. He wished that he hadn’t used up all of his film on Yenisey’s radar.

“
It’s impossible to tell without some other reference,” she said, studying the skull. Nick sensed her restrained excitement as she looked around the cavern. Aside from the skulls, there was no other evidence of who put them there or why. “I wish Leonid could have seen this. He thought something like this existed. We just never knew where to look.”