Godzilla At World's End Part 8

The geologist noticed the graduate student curiously tapping one of the delicate thermometers that measured underground temperatures. Dr. Wendell cleared his throat loudly, and the youth quickly thrust his hands into the pockets of his heavy down parka.

"If you're going to stay here, please don't touch anything," Dr. Wendell explained to the student patiently. "And since you are supposed to monitor the seismograph, I want you to let me know immediately if there are any sudden changes in the readings."

The geologist motioned with his head toward the machine, which clicked in the corner of the long and narrow interior of the crowded hut. The machine was a smaller version of the ma.s.sive seismographic machine back at the university. That machine measured seismological events all over New England and parts of Canada. This one covered a radius of only about five miles, but it worked on the same principles and was similarly constructed. Like larger seismograph machines, this one featured a long sheet of paper that slowly scrolled across a flat, horizontal surface while motion-sensitive arms drew jagged lines in ink on the clean white paper. The time and date were stamped on the edge of the paper each second.

The instrument measured vibrations in the Earth far below the ancient ice of the Antarctic. It had been doing that for months. Right next to the machine, rolls of previously used paper scrolls were stacked and hand-dated with a black Magic Marker in Dr. Wendell's crisp, precise script.

The geologist reminded the student how the machine worked and what unusual things to look for. The young grad student gritted his teeth at the unnecessary lecture. Then the older scientist zippered his coat and put thick gloves over the thin ones he was already wearing.

A moment later, the bearded scientist emerged from the plastic-and-metal-frame structure dubbed a "zucchini hut" because of its unconventional shape - like a long, bright red squash lying in the snow. Such structures were cheap and easy to put up and maintain, and could be found in research stations all over Antarctica.

A huddled cl.u.s.ter of these prefabricated buildings served as the laboratories and living s.p.a.ces for the twenty-six men and three women who had been sent to Antarctica by the geology department of Miskatonic University. Their job was to study the unusual seismic activity detected in this area of Wilkes Land.

After the relative dimness of the hut's interior, the glare of Antarctica's endless daylight caused the scientist to don his sungla.s.ses. It wouldn't do to become snow-blind. The expedition had already been forced to send one graduate student back on the monthly supply helicopter from Australia's station on Macquarie Island. The unfortunate woman had forgotten to wear sungla.s.ses on a field expedition. Luckily for her, snow blindness is usually temporary.

As Dr. Wendell crossed the camp, a frigid katabatic wind sprang up. Tiny bits of ice blasted across the frozen plain as the gusts swirled around the sixteen huts that served as the group's sleeping quarters. The small, cramped structures were called "apple" huts because that's exactly what they looked like - a bunch of apples someone had dropped into the snow.

Like the longer zucchini huts, these buildings were bright red because the color stood out boldly against the snow and could be easily seen from the air, or in the haze of a sudden storm.

Well, at least there won't be any snowstorms coming along, Dr. Wendell thought. It's almost summer here. If only the gravity winds would die down ...

The temperature in Antarctica at this time of year was almost balmy - ranging from a high of zero degrees Fahrenheit to a low of minus twenty. But the katabatic winds, caused by shifts in gravity at the south polar region, could push the wind chill to minus fifty or even lower.

Dr. Wendell shivered. Even over the howl of the wind, he could hear the sound of the gasoline-powered electric generator cranking away, supplying power to the camp, the telephone and communications equipment, and all of the scientific instruments.

Without electricity, the people here at Dyer would freeze to death overnight.

On his way to Dr. Meyer's zucchini hut, Dr. Wendell checked the connections from the generator to his own research station. He also checked the phone lines, wondering why his phone wasn't working.

Everything looked normal. The problem with the phone must be coming from somewhere else. At least we didn't lose power, Dr. Wendell thought with some relief. It would be bad if we lost data because of an interruption in power.

The scientist knew this from experience. It had happened before.

As Dr. Wendell trudged across the ice field, he saw some men cl.u.s.tered around the two Norwegian-built Hagglunds tracked vehicles. The gaudy orange machines were little more than cabins set on tank tracks. The tops of the Hagglunds were covered by cl.u.s.ters of spotlights. The side doors on both vehicles had the Miskatonic crest painted on them. The brand-new machines, delivered just a month ago, were the pride of the base camp. Dr. Wendell hadn't yet had a chance to ride in one, but he knew they would both come in handy.

The vehicles could roll across country with ease, and had a range of more than 100 miles. They could also carry extra fuel, which could extend that range considerably.

He wondered what the men were doing with the ungainly vehicles. One was up and running, and a maintenance crew was working on the other. Dr. Wendell surmised that they were going out to hunt for the missing dogs.

As he neared the largest zucchini hut in the camp's cl.u.s.ter, the weary geologist wondered what the team leader wanted with him. He hoped it wasn't answers, because Dr. Stanley Wendell didn't have any.

"Come in," Dr. Hiram Meyer called out when he heard the knock on the door of his hut. Dr. Wendell entered, preceded by a blast of cold air.

The two scientists nodded to each other. Then Dr. Wendell closed the door behind him and approached the portable heater. He pulled off his gloves, unzipped his parka, and warmed his hands for a moment.

"Any sign of the missing dog team?" Dr. Wendell asked. His colleague shook his craggy head, a look of consternation on his sun-bronzed and wrinkled face.

"As far as Dr. Ronson could tell, the dogs just burst out of their shelter and ran off into the frozen plain," Dr. Meyer explained. "The loss of the dogs is a problem, but I think we have a more serious problem to worry about."

"What's up?" Dr. Wendell asked, wondering if he should inform his superior that they might be having an earthquake in the next week or so. No, he decided. I'll save that revelation for later, when I've had the chance to review the data more carefully.

Dr. Meyer frowned up at the bearded man from his wheeled office chair. "The phones are down," he announced.

Wendell shrugged. "So?"

His colleague's face held such a strange look that Dr. Wendell decided to hear it for himself. He reached for the phone on the desk and placed the receiver to his ear. What he heard surprised him.

Usually when the phones went dead up here, they were just that - dead. But this time Dr. Wendell heard a distinct electronic crackle, followed by a weird high-pitched whine that sounded oddly familiar.

"Do you know what that sounds like?" Dr. Wendell asked, holding the receiver out to Dr. Meyer. His superior stared back at him before speaking.

"Back in the navy, we called that sound electronic jamming," Dr. Meyer stated.

Dr. Wendell blinked. "That's what it sounds like to me, too," he replied, recalling his combat days as a radio communications specialist during the Persian Gulf War. "But who would be jamming us? And why?"

Dr. Meyer ignored the question. Instead, the heavyset man slid his chair over to the satellite radio equipment. One of the chair's plastic wheels squeaked loudly, the result of being exposed to the cold, dry air of the Antarctic summer.

The South Pole was drier than a desert. In fact, it was one of the driest places on Earth.

"I decided to call the U.S. base at McMurdo for some electronic repair advice," the man in the chair explained. Then he switched on the radio.

The same high-pitched whine, almost an electronic squawk, issued from those speakers.

"The satellite radio is being jammed, too," Dr. Meyer said gravely. "So is the shortwave radio, and even our short-range cell phones."

Dr. Wendell was silent a moment as the meaning of what he had been told sunk in. Then he looked again at his superior.

"So we're cut off," he whispered, fighting the sudden, paranoid urge to look over his shoulder.

Dr. Meyer nodded grimly. "From everyone."

"So that's why the men outside are prepping the two Hagglunds," Dr. Wendell said. It was a statement, not a question.

Again, Dr. Meyer nodded. "That's why I called you over," the portly man announced. "I want your opinion on where I should send the vehicles. Should I send them to Concorde Base, or to the Aussies at the temporary camp west of here? Or should I separate the two teams and send one vehicle to each camp?"

Dr. Wendell thought about it for a moment. "Well, I think it's too dangerous to separate the vehicles."

Dr. Meyer nodded in agreement as Dr. Wendell talked on.

"The Australian base is closer, and I'm sure they are still there," he said. "But the French base at Concorde should be hard-wired by now. If it is, then they will have a fiberoptic communications trunk line right to Dumont d'Urville Base on the coast."

Dr. Meyer nodded. "That's what I was thinking. If the jamming is widespread, then the Australians are probably being jammed, too."

"But a fiberoptic cable is impossible to jam," Dr. Wendell noted, finishing his superior's thought. Dr. Meyer nodded and explained the terrain and the distances involved.

As Meyer spoke, Dr. Wendell noticed that neither of them was disputing that the research facility was being jammed - whatever that meant. Both were thinking the same thing, though neither of them spoke the words aloud: The jamming was deliberate.

"Are you sure the French are really hard-wired?" Dr. Wendell asked.

"Well, I'm not certain," Dr. Meyer replied cautiously. "Their cable was supposed to have been completed months ago, but with Greenpeace protests and all ..." Meyer's voice trailed off.

The French had had a lot of trouble with the environmental group called Greenpeace. Back in the 1980s, the French government had tried to construct an airfield at Dumont d'Urville. They dynamited several islands flat and killed a lot of Antarctic wildlife. Greenpeace managed to get some pictures of the slaughter and smeared the French in the court of public opinion. n.o.body was in favor of killing penguins and wrecking the delicate Antarctic environment.

Though the French managed to complete their airfield and several support hangars around it, all of it was washed away in a glacial landslide and tidal wave less than a year later.

The airfield had yet to be rebuilt.

"Let us hope that, in the case of this phone line, the forces of progress won this round," Dr. Wendell suggested.

For a few minutes, both men continued to debate the relative distances and times involved in getting to either base. They knew that the trip would be dangerous no matter which destination was chosen.

If something were to go wrong with both of the Hagglunds, the pa.s.sengers would be stranded with a jammed radio, miles from anywhere or anyone.

"Who are you sending?" Dr. Wendell asked curiously.

"Coselli volunteered to drive one vehicle," Dr. Meyer replied. "And Lansing and Dr. Ronson will take the other."

Dr. Wendell nodded. They were good teams. If anyone could lead the men to Concorde or to the Aussies, it was Coselli and Ronson.

In the end, after long debate, the two geologists felt it was best to try for Concorde Base. Though it was farther away, the terrain in that direction was easier to traverse, and the winds less severe.

It was the best choice. Even if the French were being jammed, too, they would still have active phone lines to the coast and the South Pacific.

"Come," Dr. Meyer announced when they had finished their discussion. "Help me gather up the maps and charts Coselli will need -"

But before he finished his sentence, the young graduate student Dr. Wendell had left behind to monitor the seismography machine burst into Dr. Meyer's hut.

Without knocking, Dr. Wendell noted ruefully.

"Dr. Wendell! Dr. Meyer! Come quick!" the youth cried with obvious excitement. Before the two men could get to the open door, the grad student dashed out into the daylight once again. Exchanging puzzled glances, Dr. Wendell and Dr. Meyer quickly bundled up and followed him.

The kid was waiting for them outside. His excitement seemed contagious. The men circling the two Hagglunds watched the excited youth with rising curiosity.

As soon as Dr. Wendell emerged from the zucchini hut, the student began speaking rapidly. "The needle just started jumping, sir," the youth babbled. "The needle on the seismograph, I mean. It just started wiggling like crazy - like there was an earthquake under us... right under us!

"And there was this other noise, a weird noise ... It was coming from the sound buoys. I sort of listened on the headphones -"

Dr. Wendell cursed and was about to berate the student for using the sound device without asking permission first. Antic.i.p.ating his colleague's territorial feelings about his equipment, Dr. Meyer raised his hand and silenced Dr. Wendell.

"What did you hear, son?" the portly scientist demanded. "Describe it to me exactly!"

The youth halted in his tracks and turned to face the two geologists. He thought about his answer for a heartbeat.

"It was a high-pitched whine," he replied, struggling for the right words to characterize the unearthly tone. "It sounded like ... like a giant buzz saw," the young man said, adding, "or maybe a giant chain saw ..."

"A buzz saw? A giant chain saw! That's ridiculous -" But Dr. Wendell never finished that thought. He and the others suddenly felt the ice quake beneath their insulated boots.

Bert Coselli was behind the wheel of the second heavy Hagglunds tracked vehicle when the quake began. His colleague, George Lansing, had started the first vehicle and gone for some coffee - giving the vehicle time to warm up.

Coselli had just turned over the cold engine on the second Hagglunds, and the noise was so intense that at first he didn't notice the movement of the ground beneath the vehicle. What finally alerted him to danger was the sight of the ma.s.sive microwave antenna next to the communications hut swaying back and forth violently.

Then Coselli saw some of his comrades - mostly the geologists and grad students - drop to the ground and hug the ice. Others - maintenance and support crew mostly - remained on their feet, uncertain of what they should do.

As he watched in shocked silence, the cables securing the microwave tower snapped loose from their moorings in the ice. One steel cable whipped through the air forcefully, striking a member of the maintenance crew.

The stunned man's body flew backward like a football that had been kicked. His left arm flew in a completely different direction.

It was then that Coselli noticed the shaking ground. He clutched the wheel of the Hagglunds, knowing he should get out and hug the ground with the others. But he was paralyzed and too frightened to move.

As he continued to stare through the windshield in mute horror, the microwave antenna finally fell over. Coselli's eyes widened when he saw the heavy microwave transmitters land right on top of Dr. Ronson, who had dropped to the ground for safety.

Coselli saw Dr. Wendell and Dr. Meyer running toward the two vehicles. Dr. Wendell was dragging a young graduate student by the scruff of his neck. He pushed the youth into the idling Hagglunds and got behind the wheel.

Then, in the very center of the Dyer base camp, the Antarctic ice began to crumble underneath the buildings and their inhabitants. Like a shattered gla.s.s table, the ice broke and fell into the Earth.

With a deafening rumble, the ground itself split. One by one, the red huts began to drop into the abyss. Even over the noise of the destruction and the roar of the Hagglunds' engine, Coselli could hear the screams of his hapless comrades as the very ground dropped away beneath them.

Then an explosion ripped through the far side of the camp. The cookhouse kitchen was instantly consumed in a ball of fire. A few men stumbled out of the ruins.

They were burning, too!

Suddenly, in the midst of the destruction, a dark figure leapt onto the hull of the Hagglunds. Coselli turned as Dr. Hiram Meyer pulled the side door open and scrambled inside.

"Back up!" he cried, shaking the driver's shoulders. "Back up!"

Coselli snapped out of his shocked paralysis. With smooth and practiced motions, he threw the machine into reverse and stepped on the gas. With a sliding, jerking leap, the powerful tracked vehicle sprang to life.

Far behind him, Coselli saw the other Hagglunds drive away from the destruction with Dr. Wendell at the wheel. Then Coselli gunned the engine on his own vehicle. Driving in reverse, he deftly steered the Hagglunds around the maintenance hut and farther back, away from the abyss that was widening and spreading, swallowing the entire camp.

The treads bit into the ice as the vehicle lurched backward. Dr. Meyer, on the pa.s.senger side of the cabin, clutched the handrails. The portly scientist started in surprise as Coselli rolled the Hagglunds over a battery-charging unit in his haste to escape the yawning mouth of the pit.

But even as the Hagglunds began to outrun the widening abyss, the ground underneath its steel treads started to crumble. Coselli pushed harder on the gas pedal, until he was practically standing on it. The treads kicked up ice shards as they spun. But inch by inch, the vehicle and its pa.s.sengers were slowly being sucked into the pit.

Then Dr. Meyer screamed.

Coselli saw why. There was something inside the pit - something moving ... something big.

Despite his fear, and the certainty that his own death was mere seconds away, Coselli gazed into the maw of the abyss with a fatal curiosity.

The first things he saw were long, curved metal claws thrashing in the air above the edge of the abyss. The silvery sheen of those ma.s.sive, curved talons flashed in the brilliant Antarctic sun. The metal claws were digging at the pit wall, pulling chunks of ice away from the edge of the hole with each mighty gouge.

As the ground tilted and the Hagglunds slid inexorably toward the edge of the abyss, Coselli finally saw the whole creature - for creature it was.

Suddenly, Coselli heard Dr. Meyer scream again, and he felt a blast of icy air fill the cabin. In a desperate bid to escape, the scientist had pulled open the cabin door and jumped out of the Hagglunds. Coselli watched as the man tumbled, screaming, into the pit. A second later, a huge chunk of ice ripped the open door off its hinges. Coselli watched in fascination as it disappeared into the pit as well.