Siberius (35 page)

“
What is that sound?” asked Jovaravich.

Radchek was about to answer, but then something caught his eye: the snowdrift in the middle of the room.

It was vibrating.

37

              “I’ve never heard of him,” Ormskovo said as he detached the battery from the GAZ. Nick leaned over the engine and did a quick check of the air filter and belts.

             
“Not surprised,” said Nick. “If anyone could brighten up this place, it’d be old Bing.”

             
“That woman.” Ormskovo pulled the battery out of the cradle and set it down on the fender.

             
“Talia?”

             
“Yes, Talia.” The private got shy. “She’s your girlfriend?”

             
Nick slammed the hood shut. “Well,” he said, thinking about it for the first time. “I don’t know. If we were anywhere but here, I’d say yeah. I mean, I like her.” He paused as if considering all that came with it. “A lot.”

             
“She’s pretty,” said Ormskovo, and then Nick got the picture. He smiled at the lanky kid.

             
“Yeah, she is,” he said. “Got a girlfriend back home?”

             
Ormskovo shrugged just as they were thrust into a dim twilight of shadows. Both of them looked up as dark clouds shaded the sun. “I like it better in the sun.” Ormskovo picked up the battery. “I wish it were summer.”

Nick couldn’t argue with that. He led the way from the cammo net back toward the cellblock. Ormskovo struggled with the heavy battery, his arms stretching to the snow under its weight. Without the sun blinding them, Nick was surprised to see how their earlier trail had zigged and zagged. He was even more surprised to see just how big the snowdrift stretching across the yard actually was.

             
“You’re in a cell,” said Talia. Barkov stood up, clutched the bars with one hand, and rubbed his eyes with the other.

             
“Yes, of course,” he said. “How long have I been asleep?”

             
“Five or 10 minutes,” said Talia, who now hoped the colonel would lay back down and go to sleep again. His voice was grating, not because of it’s sudden presence but because of its tone. It was calm, subdued, even sensual. It gave Talia the creeps.

             
“It felt longer,” Barkov yawned. “Do you have any food? I haven’t eaten in days.”

             
Talia shook her head and said “No.”

             
The room grew dark. Startled, Talia hopped off the desk and spun around. Sunlight that moments before had beaten through the lone window in Nick’s cell faded to deep gray. Now only dim bulbs lighted the cellblock, and it sent Talia into a quiet panic. Before all this happened, before the gulag, before the cavern, before Nick’s plane crash, being alone in the dark was something she was accustomed to. Now, it was as if she had regressed to a child-like state, and the dark was something she feared.

             
“It’s just a cloud,” said the colonel. Talia looked at Barkov and hated it that she felt reassured by him. “It will pass. What about water?”

             
“What?”

             
“Do you have any water? I’m very thirsty.”

             
“Water,” she said without even understanding the word. Then her mind cleared. “Water, yes. I have water.” Her backpack sat outside her former cell, and she rifled through it for the extra canteen. She found it, shook it just to make sure and then went over to Barkov’s cell.

             
“Here,” she said and passed it to him through the bars.

             
Barkov took it. “Thank-you, madam.” Before he could open it, he suddenly looked to his left, down the hall. Talia instinctively looked as well. It did not occur to her that Barkov had been scheming, and she felt a tightened grip around her coat lapel. When she looked back at him, she saw a red-faced monster with lunatic eyes staring right through her. Barkov yanked her bodily toward him, slamming her into the bars. He did this several times in quick succession. Her head and face hit cold steel until everything went blurry, then dark.

In the radio room, Radchek’s brow furrowed as the snowdrift began to shift. When Jovaravich saw it move, he swallowed hard and crept backward toward the stairs. The low rumble Radchek thought might have been a distant convoy now grew sharper, more pronounced.              

“
What…is that?” Jovaravich said.

             
Radchek’s heart pounded. Sweat broke out over his body.
It can’t be
, he thought. Against all reason, Radchek found himself inching toward the drift with an outstretched hand. If he could just touch it, it would prove-

             
The shaggy head of a Smilodon lifted from the peak of the snowdrift, then spun around toward Jovaravich. On sight of him, it’s whiskers swept back and its short muzzle curled up. Foam ran down the daggers jutting from its upper jaw, and Jovaravich froze and pissed in his pants.

             
Radchek stared at the animal, now recognizing the deep and rhythmic vibrations as the cat’s purring.
How?
Radchek thought.
How could they not freeze to death?
Radchek was not a scientist, but the instant images of polar bears and their thick, cream-colored winter coats answered his question. It didn’t occur to him just how hardy these animals were.
Hardy enough to survive a Siberian winter night,
he thought.
Smart enough to know that snow actually makes a good insulator
. He backed away and the Smilodon’s large ears pivoted around toward him. Radchek squelched the urge to run.

             
Jovaravich, though, had no such inhibition. With the cat’s attention away from him, he turned and bolted for the stairs. The Smilodon spun around and grunted, then leaped from the snowdrift. It paused and shook its muscular body of snow, then chased after Jovaravich.

Radchek grabbed for the luger, turned and headed for the door. Upon reaching it, he gasped as he saw
another
Smilodon bounding through the snow toward him. He took aim but thought the better of it, instead dashing for the tunnel stairs. He stumbled down the stairs in the dark as he heard the second cat enter the radio room. He hoped it hadn’t seen him enter the tunnel. It horrified him to hear it roar from the top of the stairs.

Following the path through the snow he and Ormskovo made earlier, Nick kept his focus on the large snowdrift. It made him uncomfortable, although he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the low gray clouds, or the lack of sunshine. Perhaps it was the mere presence of the gulag that surrounded them. Or maybe it was something more.

             
In a flash of white, something burst out from the drift. Nick fell backward and covered his head as if a shell or mine had exploded. Ormskovo stopped in his tracks and dropped the battery. Nick got up and saw the huge muscular body of a Smilodon. It paid them no attention as it shook the snow from its scruffy white coat. Instead, it dashed through the snow toward Administration.

             
Before Nick could feel any sense of relief, the head of another cat lifted from the snowdrift. This one stared at them, snarled and hissed. As if a signal had been sent, another head, then another, then
another
emerged in a line from beneath the long swell of snow. Nick backed up as they climbed from their freezing cocoons, shaking away caked snow.

He marveled at the animal’s strategy.

Unflinching, they peered at Nick and Ormskovo and growled. Eyes burned like green fire under. Nick stared at the length of their 10-inch fangs.

             
“Run!” Ormskovo said, and then he took off across the yard.

             
“Wait,” Nick cried out, but it was too late. Ormskovo half-ran, half-hopped through deep snow toward the blockhouse, making a fresh trail that slowed his progress. Nick turned and bolted back toward the vehicles, making greater speed through the already cut trail. He looked back as he ran, and instantly wished he hadn’t.

The Smilodon’s gave chase, clearing the drift in a single leap. Two of them went for Ormskovo and two went for Nick in a coordinated attack.

              As fast as he could, Nick raced for the vehicles, unsure of where to go once he got there.

If he got there.

His heart exploded as he forced his body into a now all-too-familiar sprint of life or death. Ahead, the camouflage net grew larger. And then, a terrified scream rang out and Nick resisted the urge to cover his ears.

Ormskovo made it a full 20 feet across the yard before the cats cut him off. He turned back toward the vehicles and saw the American being chased. Nick was going to beat the cats to the cammo net, and Ormskovo found himself swelling up with pride. He even managed a smile. Maybe
he
could make it there, too.

But the second cat cut him off, blocking his path to the vehicles. Ormskovo stopped and turned again, but to nowhere in particular. Now they circled him in an ever-tightening closing pattern. With nowhere to go, Ormskovo watched as they closed on him, dividing his attention between the two. In anticipation of what was to come, his body flooded with adrenaline, numbing him and putting him in a mild state of delirium. When the cats roared and attacked in tandem, he felt incredible pressure but no real pain. It was all happening to someone else and he was grateful for it.

Nick reached the camouflage net and crawled underneath. The cats pounced together, crashing into it and missing Nick’s sprawled body by inches. He rolled away as their legs found gaps in the ropes, which entangled them and sent them into a frenzy. They snarled and roared and tried to free themselves, and Nick yelled with mocking approval. But then the rotted net began to tear under their combined effort, and the cats started working themselves free.

Nick saw what was happening, and he got up and ran toward the tank. At the same time, the cats cleared the net and went right for him. Nick could hear their weight crunch down on the snow, and he knew that he’d never make it to the turret hatch. Reaching the tank, he instead flung his body underneath it , landing on the naked dirt beneath the chassis.

Snow and iced shot up as the beasts skidded into the steel crawler tracks, their paws outstretched with hooked talons ready to seize their victim. Nick tucked himself into a fetal position as two great heads pushed under the tank and hissed at him. Massive paws reached for him, swiped at snow and air, but Nick was out of their reach. The cats stalked the tank, circled it and lashed out at Nick. They dug away the snow, but found the frozen ground below it as hard as rock. Frustrated, the cats growled and roared and tried biting the tank’s armor. It did no good, and Nick sighed. He had once again cheated death.

Jovaravich entered the hospital and slammed and locked the door behind him. Without pause, he darted to the other side of the room and the gun cabinets. He had no intention of dying, not with an arsenal at his disposal. And if it came down to it, he’d fight hand-to-hand. Whatever happened, he’d go down fighting.

             
As he reached the open cabinets, he remembered why he had gone back downstairs after discovering the guns.

The gun rack key.

He hadn’t collected it. He had wasted time asking Captain Radchek questions about the American.
Why didn’t I get the fucking key first?
he thought. An arsenal to be sure, but an arsenal that was locked up behind a
Kamchatka
lock. Jovaravich slammed his fist against the steel bar holding the PPSh submachine guns. Enough power to outfit a regiment.

             
The Smilodon destroyed the door and entered the hospital. Jovaravich jumped at the noise, and the beast spotted him right away. It snarled and cocked its head, its bobbed tail standing straight out from its hindquarters. Then, cautious of its cornered prey, it began to track toward Jovaravich.

             
His body pressed up against the guns, Jovaravich watched as the beast closed the gap. Inching toward the far cabinet in a lateral path, he glanced in and saw the Tokarev rifles. If he could just get to the bayonets, he could fight. Maybe he could stab the cat in the gut, or perhaps an eye. Maybe even a slash across its throat. He would have to be fast though, for he wouldn’t get a second chance.

             
Jovaravich barely raised a hand before the Smilodon charged him with the speed of a lightning flash. In a blur of white, the 19 year-old kid experienced a crushing force that sent him into the open cabinet door. Wood and metal splintered. Rifles and bayonets spilled out of the cabinets. Boxes of ammunition bounced across the tiles.

With the wind knocked out of him, Jovaravich sank to the floor, gasping for breath. Before him, the cat backed into a crouching position, its head low with swept back ears and whiskers. Jovaravich struggled to inhale, but found it impossible.
Sonofabitch
he thought.
Sonofabitch
. He glanced to his right and saw, inches from his hand, a rifle.
I’ll kill you. You and your whole family. Bang bang bang dead. Hah.