Ice Hunt

Dr. Ogden continued: “Such a miraculous resurrection is not unheard of in the natural world. Certain turtles hibernate in frozen mud over an entire winter, then rise again with the spring thaw.”

“But frozen solid?” Amanda asked.

“Yes. Arctic wood frogs freeze as hard as stone during the winter. Their hearts don’t beat. When frozen, you can cut them in half, and they don’t bleed. All EEG activity ceases. In fact, there’s no cellular activity at all. For all intents and purposes, they’re dead. But come spring, they thaw, and within fifteen minutes, their hearts are beating, blood pumping, and they’re jumping around.”

Matt nodded when Amanda glanced at him. “It’s true. I’ve read about those frogs.”

“How can that be?” Amanda argued. “When a body freezes, ice expands in the cells and destroys them. Like frostbite. How do the frogs survive that?”

“The answer is quite simple,” Ogden said.

Amanda raised an eyebrow.

“Sugar.”

“What?”

“Glucose specifically. There’s a Canadian researcher, Dr. Ken Storey, who has been studying Arctic wood frogs for the past decade. What he’s discovered is that when ice starts forming on a frog’s rubbery skin, its body starts filling each cell with sugary glucose. Increasing the osmalality of the cell to the point that life-killing ice can’t form inside it.”

“But you said the frogs do freeze?”

“Exactly, but it is only the water outside the cells that ices up. The glucose inside the cell acts as a cryoprotectant, a type of antifreeze, preserving the cell until thawed. Dr. Storey determined that this evolutionary process is governed by a set of twenty genes that convert glycogen to glucose. The trigger for what suddenly turns these specific genes on or off is still unknown, but a hormonal theory is most advocated, something released by the frog’s glandular skin. The odd thing, though, is that these twenty genes are found in all vertebrate species.”

Amanda took a deep breath. “Including the Ambulocetus…the grendels.”

He nodded. “Remember I told you that I would classify this new species as Ambulocetus natans arctos. An Arctic-adapted subspecies of the original amphibious whale. The gigantism, the depigmentation…are all common Arctic adaptations. So why not this one, too? If it made its home here — in a land ruled not by the sun, but by cycles of freezing and thawing — then its body might adapt to this rhythm, too.”

Bratt added. “Besides, we saw it happen with the monsters. We know they can do this.”

Ogden nodded and continued: “It’s a form of suspended animation. Can you imagine its potential uses? Even now university researchers are using the Arctic frogs as a model to attempt freezing human organs. This would be a boon to the world. Donated organs could be frozen and preserved until needed.”

Matt’s gaze had returned to the line of tanks. “What about these folk? Do you think that’s what’s going on here? Some type of sick organ bank? A massive storage facility for spare parts?”

Ogden turned to him. “Oh, no, I don’t think that at all.”

Matt faced him. “Then what?”

“I wager the Russians were attempting something grander here. Remember when I said the twenty genes that orchestrate the wood frog’s suspended animation are found in all vertebrate species. Well, that includes humans.”

Matt’s eyes widened.

“I believe that these people were guinea pigs in a suspended animation program. That the Russians were trying to instill the grendels’ ability to survive freezing into humans, seeking a means of practical suspended animation. They sought the Holy Grail of all sciences.” Ogden faced the questioning looks around him. “Immortality.”

Matt swung to face the contorted, pained figures in the ice. “Are you saying that these people are still alive?”

Before anyone could answer, a pounding sounded from the door, determined, stolid. Everyone went silent.

A hard voice called out to them. “Open the door immediately…if we have to cut our way through, you will suffer for our troubles.”

From the dead tone of the other’s voice, it was no idle threat.

The wolf was at their door.

Je

Though she couldn’t see anything, she still wore her snow goggles. Even with the blizzard, the midday glare shot through the windshield. It made her want to close her eyes. How long had it been since she’d slept?

She pushed these thoughts away and watched her airspeed. Too slow. The headwind was eating her speed. She tried to ignore the fuel gauge. The needle pointed to a large red E. A yellow warning light glowed. Empty. They were flying on fumes into a blizzard.

“Are we sure about this?” Kowalski said. The seaman had given up trying to raise anyone on the radio.

“I don’t see we have much other choice,” Je

“How far out are we?” Tom asked from the backseat. Bane lay curled on the seat beside him, tail tucked around his body.

“If the coordinates you gave me are correct, we’ve another ten miles.”

Kowalski stared out the windshield. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Je

They traveled in silence for another five minutes. Je

“There!” Tom suddenly blurted, jamming an arm between Je

Je

“Ten degrees to starboard! Wait for the wind to let up!”

Je

Tom nodded.

“Ice Station Grendel,” Kowalski moaned.

Je

It was risky, but not totally foolhardy. The Russians would not be expecting them. If they could land out of direct sight, Tom Pomautuk knew the layout of the station well enough to possibly get them into one of the exterior ventilation shafts that brought fresh air down to the buried station. They could hole up there until the Russians left.

And besides, their dwindling fuel situation left them little other choice.

The Otter lurched as the portside engine coughed. The prop skipped a beat, fluttering. In a heartbeat, the Twin Otter became a Single Otter. Flying on one engine, Je

Kowalski had a death grip on both armrests. “I got that covered.”

There was no sight line to the ice fields below. Je

Je