Two at a time, the clan swelled to almost their full size at the end of the station platform next to the underground tunnel portal.
Raven: Just Seb and Red to come now, guys. Those with torches, make sure you conserve the batteries, we’re gonna need them.
Samson: I’ve got a spare one if that helps.
Red looked around at the group of faces, the same faces that had trusted him to keep them all safe for so long. The crushing weight of responsibility sat heavily on his heart.
Now was not the time to dwell on feelings.
Rather, it was time to engage the head and the street smarts that had served him well over the last few years.
As he looked, each face told a different story, yet each carried the same fear, concern, and determination etched behind the grimy smears, along with one or two tears.
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As soon as they returned to the basement, Red wasted no time.
Red: Everyone, listen up.
The Marauders are getting too damn close. It’s only a matter of time before they find us, and we can’t take that risk.
The basement is no longer safe, we need to move, and we need to move tonight. Pack what you need, whatever food we have left, a bottle of water, and be ready to move as soon as we can. Help each other.
A pale, skinny thirteen year old youth was picking through the piles of debris, looking for anything that might be useful, either to keep or trade. The pickings were slim, as these piles had already been picked over several times by others. A bottle or two here, a battered bicycle helmet, and some plastic bags there.
This was the world now.
❄️ 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.
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❄️ Norðvik Hospital — Day 6
Inside Norðvik Hospital, the usual hum of its early morning routine carried through the corridors.
Staff arrived for their morning shifts, stopping by the coffee shop, hot drinks in hand to start their day. Institutional fluorescent lighting ran the length of the corridors as the cleaners mopped the floors, deploying a trail of wet floor signs as they went. Night shift handovers were well underway.
Eugene paused at the doorway, one hand resting briefly on the frame as he adjusted his mask. He pressed quickly at the bridge of his nose.
He took a breath and stepped inside.
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❄️ Nearing the summit of Vindskarð Pass — “The Wind Notch”
❄️ The Storm: Day 3
The wind had eased enough that the storm’s mood was a little more contemplative, as if assessing its next move. The climb out of Norðvik had been long and sustained. Visibility had opened enough to travel, but the terrain remained cloaked with fresh snow and deep wind-blown drifts.
The hunde in the lead would need to remain cautious, optimising for speed over safe arrival.
General Jake “Ice-pick” Husky, the Arctic Division Commander, had taken immediate and direct command of the rescue. Huxley was not only a well-respected Arctic expedition commander but he was also a personal friend. The two old war dogs, kriegshunde, shared a long and colourful history.
The sled dogs pulled smoothly, not too fast and not too slow. They had been moving like this for hours. The three teams steadily clocked off each waypoint, bringing them a little closer to their planned rest stop, a bivouac site where they would drop most of their heavier items, a small marked cache of vital supplies: shelter, food, and medical. The supplies would remain ready and waiting for their return to the lee of the pass. Following a brief rest during the darkest hours, the teams would soon crest the pass and then make the shorter, steeper, switchback descent into the glacial valley below.
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Thermal Array – 3: Research Drilling Station, High Arctic
❄️ The Storm: Day Two
The storm did not pass; instead, it strengthened.
Through the second day, severe katabatic winds drove down from the heights, pummelling every surface, every line, and every anchor point.
The tents flexed continuously under the sustained force, snapping back and forth against their anchors as fabric and seams strained to their limits.
Small tears had begun to appear in the outer shells, while snow drifted and built up along the sides and across the roofs, adding further weight and stress.
A sharp, whip-like crack sounded from just outside the main tent.
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Thermal Array – 3: Research Drilling Station, High Arctic
❄️ The Storm: Day One
At 06:03 precisely, it hit.
There was no polite prelude and there was no gentle build-up. The storm hit with a ferocity that no-one expected.
The first impact came not as a sound, but as force, roaring in like a freight train, a wall of moving air slamming into the camp hard enough to make the tents shudder violently against their anchors. The wind was immediately accompanied by thick snow, driven sideways in dense, blinding sheets.
Continue readingTA-3 Research Drilling Station: Shower and Sanitation Facility
A short, stubby tail gave a faint, irritated twitch. Attached to the tail was a stocky behind, a pair of hind legs, and a pair of arctic boots that completed the view.
General Marvin Huxley was down on all fours, gently tapping his way along a frost-covered pipe with a hammer. His remaining tools were laid out in a neat, deliberate line beside him.
Tap, tap… crack! A lump of ice and biomass gave way somewhere inside the pipe.
Huxley muttered to himself in quiet satisfaction.
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Screw Pile Developments 