Free Ice Storm by David Meyer Page B

do, Aaron?"
    "I'm an evolutionary biologist."
    Rupert lifted his head. "Really?"
    Jenner nodded.
    "What do you study?"
    "Invertebrates. Specifically, their evolution, development, and ecology."
    "Why here?"
    "Well, I'm a bit of a nomad," Jenner replied. "From a biological perspective, Antarctica is like a land out of time. It's almost as if God plucked it straight out of the Paleozoic Era. But it's not all the same. Regional differences exist. So, I travel from base to base studying the development and phylogenetic relationships of invertebrates in each region."
    "If you need any help, let us know." Holly said. "We focus on tardigrades but we have a lot of experience with other invertebrates as well."
    "Thank you. By the way, I read your paper on the tardigrade colony collapse disorder. Fascinating stuff."
    "That's very kind of you."
    As their conversation dwindled away, I sidled up to Holly. "I have a quick question for you. What are the rules on using a Sno-Cat?"
    "First come, first serve," she replied.
    "Where do I get a key?"
    "Check the ignition." She grinned. "Car theft isn't much of a problem around here."
    "Good point." I cocked my head. "By the way, where's Pat?"
    "On one of his mysterious excursions, I imagine."
    "Excursions?"
    "Whenever he comes here, he takes off by himself first thing in the morning. He's religious about it."
    "Where does he go?"
    "He refuses to say. I've tried to get it out of him but he's like a vault."
    "So, Pat's not here." Graham glanced at me as he slid two fried eggs onto a plate. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
    "Sure am." A grin creased my face. "It looks like we're going to have to chaperone ourselves today."

 
    Chapter 23
    The engine choked and coughed. Baxter slammed his hand onto the dashboard. "Come on. Don't quit on me now."
    He glanced out the windshield. He could barely make out the horizon through the blowing snow. There were no other markings or signs of life. Just a desert of smooth ice.
    He checked his GPS device. He was close, very close. He applied the brakes. The vehicle hit a patch of ice and started to slide. Baxter yanked the steering wheel in the opposite direction. The Sno-Cat spun in a half circle and slid to a halt.
    Baxter produced his pistol and checked the ammunition. Then he shoved it back into his pocket. He hated the gun. Most of the time, he was happy to leave it in his wall safe. But when he visited Kirby Station, he never failed to bring it with him.
    Opening his door, he stepped out into the snow. He felt older than his years. He always did when visiting this particular section of Antarctica. And yet, he couldn't stay away. It was the closest thing he'd ever had to a life-sucking addiction.
    He walked a short distance from his vehicle, heading east. To the casual observer, the area consisted of flat ice. There were no hills or markers, nothing to distinguish one patch of snow from another. But Baxter was no ordinary visitor. Even though the terrain had gone through countless changes in the last thirty years, he still knew every inch of it.
    He stopped. Backed up a few inches and closed his eyes. He searched his memory, trying to recall how he'd felt all those years ago. Before the horror, the deaths, the depression.
    Before Fenrir.
    He opened his eyes. Strode forward a couple of paces. Conflicting feelings of anxiety and wonder stirred in his chest. He recalled his first—and only—vision of the swirling snow. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It had reminded him of a living, breathing dust storm, only with ice instead of sand. He and his friends had stopped briefly to marvel at it.
    Baxter took a few more steps forward. Shame and remorse rose from deep within him. This was it. This was the spot where he'd seen the eyes.
    The eyes had peered out from within the swirling snow. He and his friends had frozen in their tracks. They'd gawked at the eyes. No vertebrate could survive Antarctica's harsh weather. It was an ironclad rule. And