I knew every creak and groan the building made. Even the distant thunder of icebergs calving was background noise by now.
This was different.
A living being made this dull thump, thump, thump.
I stole into the hall. Total darkness. Peeked in Sigrid’s room—she was fast asleep. Wyatt snored steadily; Jeanne’s door stood ajar. Moonlight swathed her in cerulean; the sad quilt rose and fell with her breathing.
Back in the kitchen, I crept past hanging pots, pans; knife-scored counters gleaming silver.
Another thud.
Where are these noises coming from? A dull bang, like wood on wood, or the heel of a boot against a door. I walked the length of the main room, past Wyatt’s desk, past the couch lumbering in the shadows like a reclining beast.
At the picture window, I scanned the moonlit ice field. Nothing moved. I pictured the animals hunkering down in the cold and the dark. Then I heard it: a high, keening whine that could have been the wind, but wasn’t.
Another cry—high-pitched, sinewy, sad. Clearly from outside the Shack.
The front door unlatched with a dull clunk. With my shoulder, I nudged it open a crack and hovered there, the great Arctic night slicing through my long johns as I closed my eyes and listened with every pore.
A thud-thud-thud, a scraping sound. A bang.
It sounded like it was coming from the Shed.
What is out there? Had something or someone—Raj or Nora—been locked in the Shed by accident? If so, why didn’t they cry out?
But then, I did hear something. A long, drawn-out whimper. So very, very faint. Am I imagining it?
I heard it again. It sounded human. I shut the door, latched it. Tugged boots over my slippers, threw on my parka and gloves, yanked on my hat.
Feeling as if I’d lost my mind, I stepped out into the ferocious cold, pulling the door closed behind me. The air so raw my lungs gulped half portions. I squinted at the ramshackle silhouette of the Shed, a stark black cutout against the deep blue night sky. Blinking to keep moisture in my eyes, I felt along the wall of the Shack for the rope that joined the two buildings. Devilish gusts blew fine snow into my face, then swirled away in glittering funnels before disappearing like stardust.
From the Shed, more noises. A dull pounding, a mewl.
Someone was dying.
I walked faster, achieving a clumsy trot. Slipped and fell forward, sliding on my belly like a penguin, too frightened to let go of the rope to break my fall. Head down, eyes closed, I tasted the oxygen fog my hot breath made on the ice. Pulled myself to my knees and touched my forehead. Blood steamed, then froze to a shiny streak on my yellow glove. I blundered on.
The Shed was barely warmer inside than out, my footfalls heavy on the creaking slats. I clicked on the overhead lamp. Shadows leapt across the room. The air snapped with quiet.
“Hello?”
Nothing. I turned in a slow circle, my breath puffing out in small clouds.
“Is anyone here?”
The wind rattled the windows in their sashes, then stopped. Silence. Stillness. As if the Enormity was listening to me, waiting for my next move.
I thought: I’ve got the wrong building. The sounds must have come from the Cube—
Behind me, a dull scraping sound.
Spine rigid, I turned around.
Nothing. Just the walk-in freezer where the ice cores were stored.
“Hello?” I said, my voice thin and wheezy. “I’m here to—”
Another bang, like wood on metal. A pitiful dragging sound.
It was coming from inside the freezer.
A knock. Then another.
I approached the enormous metal box. The floor-to-ceiling steel door leached its own chilled fog.
“Hello? Is someone in there?” I pressed my gloved palm flat on the steaming surface.
Nothing.
“Answer me!” I banged on the door, kicked at it.
A dull scratching from inside. Andy was trapped in there, too cold to speak, and I was about to let him die all over again. I pounded on the door, grabbed the combination lock and yanked down on it. Didn’t budge. Spun the dial, tugged at it again.
“Who’s in there?”
A terrible lowing sound, from something or someone in unimaginable pain.
I spun around. Wrenches, saws, blowtorches, hammers. Hammers. I snatched up the heaviest one I could find—a sledgehammer—and turned toward the door.
I could barely lift it over my head, so brought it down full force but out of control. Bang. I missed the lock completely, denting the door.
A kicking sound, a howl.
“Hold on, I’m coming!” I tore off my gloves—I couldn’t grip or feel the handle otherwise—and wound up again, coming at the lock sideways like a club. A colossal clang and the lock was damaged now, its metal arms cockeyed but still attached to the dial. Another windup and I bashed the thing further sideways.