The Spawning by Tim Curran Read Free Book Online Page B

they’d been slapped, climbing up into the cab.
    Coyle jumped up on the treads and took one last look at Dayton and his toy soldiers. No, this was all wrong. This whole scenario was spooky and strange. First Mount Hobb and then this crash and now Dayton with his James Bond shit. Not good, not good at all.
    As Coyle cranked up the ‘Cat and got it moving, he cast one last look at the burning wreckage and that singed tarped form. Then he looked at Horn and Slim.
    They stared at him without blinking.

7
    WILLIAMS FIELD,

ROSS ICE SHELF,

WEST ANTARCTICA
    I N THE DYING LIGHT, Kephart watched the Caterpillar loaders hauling crated skids of machine parts, lab equipment, food, and construction supplies over to the DC-3 which sat on the snow runway. The wind coming in off the Ross Sea had a glacial bite to it today but it was nothing in comparison to the weather where the DC-3 was going: the edge of East Antarctica, right in the shadow of the mountains. A place called Colony Station that was getting a really spooky reputation. Kephart never paid much attention to the gossip.
    Ever since the Kharkov Tragedy there was a lot of bullshit in the wind down here on the Ice.
    He kept his nose clean and concentrated on why he was here and the job he had to do. He walked through the wind to the staging area where the cargo was stacked. It was all here on his inventory list and that’s the way Kephart liked it.
    Everything by the book, every bolt, every 2 x 4, every carton of liquid eggs and every frozen steak accounted for.
    So when he found something that was not accounted for, he was not happy.
    Sitting on wooden pallets were six silver aluminum-skinned boxes that looked very much like coffins, except they were about eight feet long.
    Kephart went over his inventory five times by penlight. Nope, nope, and nope.
    The ANG pilot was standing there, checking his watch, anxious to get in the air. He was smoking a cigarette, back to the wind.
    Kephart went over to him. “Lieutenant,” he said. “What are these silver containers? They are not on my inventory.”
    The lieutenant stared at him through ice goggles, blowing smoke. He pulled out his inventory sheet. “Well, they’re on mine.” He paged through it. “Right here. Six aluminum BCVs. Biological Containment Vessels.”
    â€œWell, why the hell aren’t they on my list?”
    â€œI don’t know. You better ask the loadmaster about that. And tell him to move it along, I want to get airborne here.”
    Kephart just stood there. “What the hell are those things for?”
    â€œBiological specimens,” he said. “We’ve flown ‘em out to Colony before.”
    â€œLook like coffins,” Kephart said.
    The lieutenant looked off across the ice. “I learned never to ask questions about Colony Station. Things are simpler that way. Maybe they are coffins, but as far as I’m concerned they’re BCVs. That’s good enough for me.”
    â€œWhat do you suppose they use them for?”
    But the lieutenant would only smile.

8
    POLAR CLIME STATION
    W HEN THEY GOT BACK, the first thing Coyle did was to take Horn and Slim aside in the Heavy Shop and put it to them like this: “You guys want trouble, then just go ahead and write up what you saw out there. Write down what you saw or what you
think
you saw. That’s how to go about it.”
    They both just stared at him.
    He pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg. “Listen, guys. I don’t know what you saw and I don’t think you really do either. Whatever is was, forget about it, okay? That Dayton guy is bad news. He’s the sort that can make real trouble for both of you. Special Ed will make you write it all up. It’s SOP. Just leave out the business about what was under the tarp. You don’t and Hopper’ll be all over you. You know how he is. He can’t handle things like this. All he knows is teamwork and group