It was still dark when Grandma Bella roused the boys for an early breakfast. It was the best one yet, a full cooked breakfast: bacon, eggs, hash browns, sausage, beans, mushrooms, and tomato. There was also a huge stack of toast, just in case anyone was still a bit hungry.
Grandpa Jake had just come into the dining room and was having an urgent, hushed conversation with Grandma Bella.
After lunch, all of the boys started yawning, and once one started, they all started non-stop. Even though it was still early afternoon, Grandma Bella dispatched all the boys upstairs for a nap.
Again, they could hardly believe their luck. Beds, real beds with sheets and pillows, and one bed for each of them!
To Grandma Bella’s amusement, the pups who would normally object strenuously to taking an afternoon nap all insisted that they wanted to take a nap too. Hamish snuggled in with Seb, Fergus with Charlie, and Angus with Raven. Lewis, of course, had Dogger. Soon all the boys and Hunde puppies were fast asleep, the boys feeling completely safe for the first time in a very, very long time.
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.
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.
Three years after The Arctic Incident: Earth, The Remains of a Collapsed Capital City
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.
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.
❄️ 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.
Screw Pile Developments 