Polaris-8 Research Station, Axelson Glacier, Northern Greenland


    The blizzard outside was getting worse.


    Albert Miller checked his cup and saw there was no coffee left. It didn’t surprise him. This morning, he was the first to wake up in the entire station—it was his turn to recalibrate the sensors outside. On top of that, he felt a little sore, like he was coming down with a bug, which only made his morning worse.


    “Hey, Richardson,” he asked his partner. It was just him and Richardson in the control room this morning. “You still got coffee in that pot?” He pointed to the coffeepot on Richardson’s desk.


    “Help yourself,” Richardson said, passing him the pot and turning back to his screen. Miller noticed pictures of the aurora borealis on his monitor. The photos looked fantastic.


    “Did you take those?” Miller asked, sipping the warm coffee. He didn’t feel like working. Here in the Arctic, nothing warmed you up better than a cup of coffee and a friendly chat.


    “Yep, just last night. You didn’t catch them, did you?”


    Miller leaned back in his chair. “Nah, I had to get up early to recalibrate the sensors. Besides, I’ve seen enough auroras in my life. You kind of get used to them, you know.”


    He glanced at his screen and nearly choked on his coffee.


    “What the hell?”


    “What’s up?” Richardson asked. He didn’t even turn his head.


    Miller slid closer to his desk, put the coffee cup down, and stared at his screen again. The seismic sensor he’d recalibrated that morning was sending strange signals.


    “Check this out. This signal from the sensor—what on earth? It’s like it’s coming from… right beneath the ice.”


    Richardson swiveled his chair over and shrugged. “Yeah, looks weird. For all I know, it could be a glitch. Did you reset the baseline data?”


    Miller closed his eyes and groaned. “Shit,” he cursed. “That’s it.”


    “Well, here’s your answer,” Richardson said with a pitying smile. “Doesn’t take long to fix, right?”


    “No,” Miller replied, rising to his feet. “I’ll go reset it now.”


    “Good. I’ll make more coffee in the meantime.”


    “Yes, please!” Miller said, leaving the control room. He headed toward the gear room, muttering curses under his breath. He couldn’t believe he’d made such a rookie mistake—not resetting the baseline data was seismology 101. What the hell was he thinking?


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Must be the bug, he thought as he geared up and exited the station. Colds didn’t happen often up here in the Arctic—after all, there were only six people in the station with no outside contact—but viruses had a way of doing their nasty work, even in these conditions. They made good people like Miller lose their focus.


    Miller descended the stairs and scanned his surroundings. The blizzard was getting worse, and theoretically, he should have stayed inside. But he couldn’t leave things as they were. It was his mistake, and he had to fix it—even if it meant freezing his balls off twice in a single day.


    He pulled up his hood and started toward the sensor. The damn thing was located 300 feet south of the station, marked by a three-foot-tall pole. Miller marched forward, watching his footing and only occasionally glancing at the pole. He knew the more you stared at your destination, the longer it seemed to take to get there. In the Arctic, things didn’t always work the way they did elsewhere.


    Miller stopped abruptly and strained his ears. He thought he’d felt a strange trembling. Had he imagined it? Aside from the wind and the rustling of snow, it was eerily quiet. Shaking his head, he resumed his march. Maybe he needed a hot cup of tea, some honey, and a good sleep. With every step, the virus seemed to gain a stronger hold over him.


    Finally, the sensor came into view. Miller kneeled, picked it up, and brushed the snow off its surface. Strange. The readings looked normal, and the green LED on the side showed no malfunctions. He shrugged.


    Flipping the device over, he pressed the reset button on its reverse side. One… two… three… four... On the count of five, the device beeped. He flipped it back over and checked the screen: Baseline data successfully reset.


    Good. Now the damn thing should work properly—at least until the next recalibration. Miller rose, ready to head back to the station.


    Then he felt it again. A faint trembling, as if the ice beneath him was shifting.


    A thought struck him. What if the sensor hadn’t been lying? What if those signals were real microquakes?


    He cursed under his breath. This was all Richardson’s fault for throwing him off with that reset question. He should’ve consulted someone more senior regarding the readings—not Richardson, this freaking wannabe-photographer. Now he was freezing his ass off in the middle of a blizzard.


    Miller cursed again and started back toward the station. The blizzard had already covered his footprints, but the station was visible ahead.


    As he trudged through the snow, he was thinking about what had just happened. Earthquakes in Greenland weren’t rare, but they usually occurred near the coasts. Their station was nearly 200 miles inland. That left only two possibilities: either it was the movement of the glacial plate (which would be odd for this time of year), or… it was something else they’d never encountered before.


    Just as the thought crossed his mind, the ice beneath him trembled again—much stronger this time. Miller lost his balance and fell flat on his stomach, hitting the ice beneath the snow and splitting his lip. Great. Just great. He spat blood onto the snow and lifted his eyes.


    The ice in front of him had cracked, revealing a gaping hole in the ground.


    That was definitely not normal.


    As he scrambled to his feet, something caught his attention—a movement in his peripheral vision.


    Slowly, Miller turned his head and froze.


    Something was climbing out of the hole.


    Miller knew every animal native to the Arctic, but this… this wasn’t an animal. In fact, it didn’t resemble anything natural at all.


    It looked like a monster from a horror film. The only difference was that this thing was real—and it was moving toward him.


    Miller screamed.


    The blizzard swallowed his scream.