“I’ve got
a couple of plastic bags if you’re going to—”
“Just shut up and keep driving,” Anastasia
groaned, holding her stomach tightly.
After a fashion, the moans stopped and she
slept. The interior of the car was warm and the rocking motion
helped to lull Harry to a state of near unconsciousness.
Sleep didn’t come, not entirely. The memory
of the cabin in the woods where unspeakable acts of human
experimentation had gone on remained fresh in his mind. Nurmelev, a
short, bald, and totally insane although brilliant scientist, had
constructed a laboratory in a secret room below the surface. There,
he’d created Anastasia, Doug, and Ivan, the bear-man, a towering
menace that had died at Anastasia’s hands.
After a horrific battle and just as the end
was near, the mad scientist—why did all scientists have to be
classified as mad, anyway—had detonated a series of bombs that he’d
rigged up.
The only reason Harry and Anastasia had
survived was that they’d hidden in a secret room where the
scientist kept the remains of his failed experiments. Nothing
remained of the cabin, as he recalled, only charred timber and
twisted steel. So why were they going...?
The sound of tires crunching over what
sounded like hardened snow and gravel came through to his ears, and
a draft of cold air startled him into wakefulness. “We’re here,
kids, so get ready,” the flat voice of Farrell came. “It’s almost
nine in the morning as we speak, and it’s time to search.”
Kids, once again, he has to say kids. This time, the agent used the plural form of the word. All the
same, for once in his life Harry wished that anyone over the age of
twenty would refer to him as an equal, at least in some ways. It
seemed like it would not turn out to be the case.
As he looked out the window, a world of white
greeted him. Snow lay thick upon the ground and covered the forest,
which surrounded the remains of the cabin. He remembered the forest
being unbelievably dense, with the trees packed so close together
that not much light could penetrate. Back then, it had been
summertime and greenery was the catchword of the day.
Now, only the neutral color of white
dominated the area, and not a soul seemed to be around. Anastasia
stirred, picked her head up, stretched, and quickly exited the car.
Harry followed suit. “This is the place,” she said, craning her
neck around to look. “Yeah, I remember being here.”
The agent had parked his car along the path
near the woods, just a few yards away from the wreckage. Harry
started to shiver. He hadn’t brought anything warm to wear, and the
clothes he had on—a thick, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of
jeans—couldn’t keep out the cold.
Anastasia tested the air with her nose,
sniffing it as a cat would in order to catch a scent of...what
could be up here, anyway? Outside of some local residents who lived
here year-round, the only other visitors during the winter were
hunters and die-hard cross-country ski enthusiasts.
“You find anything unusual?” the agent
queried while he watched her perform her smell-and-seek
routine.
Anastasia’s ears twitched and she shook her
head. “I got nothing. Just cold air and a faint smell of...” She
broke off her sentence and sniffed the air again. “I thought I
smelled ammonia, but maybe it was just a rabbit or dog passing
through.” Her nose kept moving up and down rapidly, testing the
air, though, and a perturbed look appeared on her face.
Harry observed the goings-on, and his own
feelings of uneasiness began to grow. When Anastasia got worried,
it usually meant something bad was going to happen. However, up
here, right in the middle of nowhere with no evidence to speak of,
he couldn’t figure out why she was acting this way.
Instead, he turned to the FBI agent. “So
what’s the deal?” he enquired. “There’s nothing here.” He indicated
the wreckage with a wave of his hand. “Didn’t your guys go over
this before?”
“They
a couple of plastic bags if you’re going to—”
“Just shut up and keep driving,” Anastasia
groaned, holding her stomach tightly.
After a fashion, the moans stopped and she
slept. The interior of the car was warm and the rocking motion
helped to lull Harry to a state of near unconsciousness.
Sleep didn’t come, not entirely. The memory
of the cabin in the woods where unspeakable acts of human
experimentation had gone on remained fresh in his mind. Nurmelev, a
short, bald, and totally insane although brilliant scientist, had
constructed a laboratory in a secret room below the surface. There,
he’d created Anastasia, Doug, and Ivan, the bear-man, a towering
menace that had died at Anastasia’s hands.
After a horrific battle and just as the end
was near, the mad scientist—why did all scientists have to be
classified as mad, anyway—had detonated a series of bombs that he’d
rigged up.
The only reason Harry and Anastasia had
survived was that they’d hidden in a secret room where the
scientist kept the remains of his failed experiments. Nothing
remained of the cabin, as he recalled, only charred timber and
twisted steel. So why were they going...?
The sound of tires crunching over what
sounded like hardened snow and gravel came through to his ears, and
a draft of cold air startled him into wakefulness. “We’re here,
kids, so get ready,” the flat voice of Farrell came. “It’s almost
nine in the morning as we speak, and it’s time to search.”
Kids, once again, he has to say kids. This time, the agent used the plural form of the word. All the
same, for once in his life Harry wished that anyone over the age of
twenty would refer to him as an equal, at least in some ways. It
seemed like it would not turn out to be the case.
As he looked out the window, a world of white
greeted him. Snow lay thick upon the ground and covered the forest,
which surrounded the remains of the cabin. He remembered the forest
being unbelievably dense, with the trees packed so close together
that not much light could penetrate. Back then, it had been
summertime and greenery was the catchword of the day.
Now, only the neutral color of white
dominated the area, and not a soul seemed to be around. Anastasia
stirred, picked her head up, stretched, and quickly exited the car.
Harry followed suit. “This is the place,” she said, craning her
neck around to look. “Yeah, I remember being here.”
The agent had parked his car along the path
near the woods, just a few yards away from the wreckage. Harry
started to shiver. He hadn’t brought anything warm to wear, and the
clothes he had on—a thick, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of
jeans—couldn’t keep out the cold.
Anastasia tested the air with her nose,
sniffing it as a cat would in order to catch a scent of...what
could be up here, anyway? Outside of some local residents who lived
here year-round, the only other visitors during the winter were
hunters and die-hard cross-country ski enthusiasts.
“You find anything unusual?” the agent
queried while he watched her perform her smell-and-seek
routine.
Anastasia’s ears twitched and she shook her
head. “I got nothing. Just cold air and a faint smell of...” She
broke off her sentence and sniffed the air again. “I thought I
smelled ammonia, but maybe it was just a rabbit or dog passing
through.” Her nose kept moving up and down rapidly, testing the
air, though, and a perturbed look appeared on her face.
Harry observed the goings-on, and his own
feelings of uneasiness began to grow. When Anastasia got worried,
it usually meant something bad was going to happen. However, up
here, right in the middle of nowhere with no evidence to speak of,
he couldn’t figure out why she was acting this way.
Instead, he turned to the FBI agent. “So
what’s the deal?” he enquired. “There’s nothing here.” He indicated
the wreckage with a wave of his hand. “Didn’t your guys go over
this before?”
“They
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