❄️ Norðvik High Arctic Research Base: Day 7
The call came through on Rebecca’s phone early, the caller’s name flashing on the screen.
Sanna Korhonen.
Rebecca stepped aside from the main room and into the hall, the door easing shut behind her as she answered. It was the call she had been dreading.
Sanna’s voice was steady.
Sanna: We ventilated him overnight.
A deafening silence.
Sanna: The high-flow oxygen wasn’t maintaining his saturations. We had to intubate.
Rebecca closed her eyes briefly and her ears dropped.
Rebecca: Understood.
Sanna: He’s critical. His oxygen and ventilation requirements may continue to change.
They both knew what that meant.
Rebecca: Thank you.
The call ended and her ears deflated completely, and Rebecca leaned her head against the wall, her emotions welling up within her.
Eugene woke drenched in sweat. Everything felt too warm and too cold, all at the same time.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to engage his brain. His head throbbed faintly, an intense pressure building behind his eyes. His throat felt dry, raw, and scratchy.
He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. He tried to stand, but the floor felt unsteady, and the room spun. He quickly sat back on the edge of the bed.
He thought to himself, still tired, that was all. He stood again, slightly steadier this time.
By mid-morning, Rebecca had seen enough.
Eugene sat exactly where she’d left him, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. His focus drifted, his responses slow and hesitant when spoken to.
Rebecca: Eugene.
He looked up, taking a moment to register.
Rebecca: We’re going.
Eugene: It’s okay, I’ll be fine.
Rebecca held his gaze.
Rebecca: No, you’re not fine.
Outside, the truck was already running, its engine warming and waiting.
Huxley sat at his desk as Rebecca returned briefly to report.
Huxley: Update.
Rebecca: Lucas is ventilated.
Huxley’s ears twitched just a fraction downward.
Rebecca: Eugene—probable same presentation. I’m taking him now.
A chilling blast blew through the room like heat escaping from an open Arctic door.
Huxley: Understood.
He paused, thinking.
Anyone else? Humans? Hundes?
Rebecca: Not that I know of. No hundes.
Huxley nodded once.
Huxley: Keep me informed.
❄️ Arctic Research Base: Outside
Outside, activity around the base continued as usual. Sleds and equipment were stored and put away, and the dogs had been cared for.
Matthias and Markus were working together, catching up on the multitude of small maintenance yard tasks that always seemed to get put off.
Matthias: Weather’s cleared.
Markus: I agree, it’s looking good.
Markus continued inspecting the belt and track on one of the snowmobiles.
Markus: The Hux approved. We fly out later this morning; we’re to take a look at the site, assess, and report back.
Matthias gave a short huff, already moving to prepare what they needed.
Matthias: About time.
They continued packing their gear, methodical, efficient, and precise as always.
Nearby, Nyra lifted her head briefly, watching them, before settling again. There was no need for her to be involved. She didn’t approve of planes, they made the rest of the dogs fart.
The sun shone brightly, the sky now a brilliant, clear blue.
Meanwhile, back inside
James sat at the same table, the same data open in front of him. He wasn’t reading it now, he had been going over it for hours.
He was thinking.
Lucas.
And now Eugene.
He rubbed at his throat again. It was dry and scratchy.
This time, he noticed it, but only for a moment and he dismissed it just as quickly.
James: That’s two.
Elena didn’t look up.
Elena: Two what?
James: Cases.
Elena: Correlation isn’t causation.
James leaned back slightly in his chair and twisted from side to side.
James: Four humans at TA-3.
Silence.
James: No external contact, and we had been out there for two weeks since the last crew change.
Elena: And?
She briefly stopped typing.
James: No one was sick when we arrived.
Elena finally stopped properly and looked at him, her face was dismissive.
Elena: It’s just the flu. Bad timing. Exposure. Stress.
James shook his head, not forcefully but just… a no.
Elena was still not answering his question. The question.
James: Where did it come from?
More silence.
James: That sample.
Elena: You’re reaching.
I was there. I checked. He was using all the appropriate precautions.
You received the sample, you decontaminated and stored it.
You’re not sick.
That landed. His throat. A niggle of a thought, that wouldn’t go away.
Elena continued.
Elena: Then it’s not the sample.
James didn’t answer.
Because that left nothing else — except — the sample.
James looked back at the screen. No, it wasn’t the data, it was something else.
It was the absence of an explanation.
An infection from within a closed system, with no source.
And yet—
He leaned back and his eyes became unfocused for a moment. Then, almost absently, he reached for his phone.
It was buzzing and a photo filled the screen.
Sebastian.
James’ thumb hovered over the green button for a second longer than it needed to.
James: Hey, Sebby, how’s school been?
He opened a message and started typing an email to his wife.
Hi Katrín, something’s not right here—
He stopped.
Delete.
He started again.
We may have been exposed to something—
Another pause, with more thoughts swirling in his mind.
He stared at the words and the words stared back at him.
❄️ Norðvik Hospital, later that day
Eugene was not yet as serious as Lucas but he was already on oxygen. It was becoming clear that since his initial presentation, he was heading on the same rapid downward trajectory.
Rebecca stood quietly nearby, watching the numbers change on the monitor, watching the same familiar pattern.
She didn’t need anyone to explain it, because she knew.
Isolated a short distance away in another room—
Lucas lay completely still, except for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest.
Ventilated.
Lucas Kovács. Patient zero.
One glove. One tear.
Screw Pile Developments 
If you would like to find out what happens next—continue reading the next short story here:
The Great Collapse – Episode 1