Between 2012 and 2016 M.J. Preston drove the world's longest ice road
HE CAME BACK WITH ONE HELL OF A TALE TO TELL!
North of the 60th Parallel Something has happened that will change everything!
The lights of the snowcat bounced up in down in the morning light, tracks click-clacking on the ice, powder kicking up into the air. Behind it, two more vehicles, a plow and a grader, cleared the road. Lenny only saw the headlights, he never saw the creatures riding on the vehicles, but Chase saw them, and he scrambled back down into the trench.
The snowcat came to a stop.
In front of them, a little man waved his arms frantically.
Then he stopped.
The door on the snowcat popped open and out stepped Herb Aronson. “Lenny?”
Lenny realized his mistake. Saw them climbing down off the vehicles. Saw the caverns where Herb’s eyes had been. He didn’t turn his head to see where Chase was, although he tried to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye. There were five hanging off the plow, all of them now dismounting onto the road. The grader moved up beside the snowcat, its massive lights drowning out the shadows and washing Lenny in amber milk.
The creatures were surrounding him now.
Chase covered his mouth in horror.
“We’ve been looking for you, Lenny.”
“Well, I guess you found me.”
“Where’s Chief Fenwick?”
Lenny reached under his parka, unsheathed his knife.
“He froze to death. On the Telegraph.”
They were closing in. Lenny could hear the clacking of teeth.
Herb looked around. He did not follow Lenny’s tracks or see the building obscured by the darkness outside the circle of light they stood in. The winds were still up, polishing the surface of the snow, extinguishing his tracks. Lenny hoped there would be enough time to erase them permanently.
Herb turned his head, but Lenny, hoping to distract him, spoke up. “Herb.”
“Yes, Lenny?” Herb turned his attention back to Lenny.
They were all around him now, no escape.
“Does it hurt?”
“Does what hurt?”
Herb grinned. “A little, but not for long.
Lenny brought the knife up.
“What are you doing, Lenny?”
In one smooth motion, he cut his own throat. There was a sting, sticky warmth, his knees buckled.
Better run like hell, Chase, was his last thought. He was dead before they dismantled him.
© Copyright M.J. Preston 2020