Apocalypse Weird: Reversal (Polar Wyrd Book 1) by Jennifer Ellis Page B
Authors: Jennifer Ellis
Ads: Link
metal siding, pausing at dents and marks, while the dogs skipped around him baying and howling their disapproval. He went around the corner to where the bay door stood. Sasha followed.
The corner of the door that Soren had boarded up with plywood just an hour ago was perfectly intact.
Soren stepped back from the station eyeballing it and shaking his head like it was a newly arrived alien ship.
“This isn’t the station,” he said. “We need to go.”
“How can it not be the station?” Sasha said. “How?” It was not that she was disputing his conclusion. It was just that she had no idea how any of this was possible, and at this moment she wanted to be in the station, Soren’s station, occupying the relative safety of the couch, far away from polar bears, and craters, and demons, and other researchers with guns.
“I don’t know. But I know my station—I’ve lived in it for seven years—and even without the fact that there is no plywood on the door here, I know this is not it.”
Before Sasha could say anything more, the buzz of something overhead cut through the storm. She looked at Soren. Someone was trying to land in this soup of a fog with the wind screaming all around them?
A small red helicopter dropped out of the murk above them and both Soren and Sasha automatically jerked their bodies into a hunch as if it might remove their heads. It bobbed and weaved, buffeted by the fierce wind until it dropped low enough to skitter about on the icy station runway. Sasha closed her eyes. Surely it was going too fast in this wind, and it was all over the place, it would never be able to pull out a safe landing.
But the anticipated clang and snap of metal followed by explosions of petrol never came, and after a few seconds, the engine on the helicopter was cut. Sasha opened her eye a crack. Soren scrambled over the swales of snow in the direction of the helicopter.
A lone figure sat in the cockpit. It was human, thankfully, although she wouldn’t be totally surprised to see a helicopter piloted by an alien, chimpanzee or robot at this point. She followed Soren across the packed and slippery snow of the runway.
A giant of a man with brilliant red hair in black paramilitary outfit vaulted out of the helicopter cockpit with a drawn gun. Soren too had pulled out his weapon, and Sasha felt desperately around in her pocket for hers. She was useless in this kind of situation. The dogs gathered in front of Soren, their bodies humming with low growls.
“Dead or alive?” the man bellowed in question.
Soren skidded to a stop. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you dead or alive?”
“Last time I checked, I was alive, although if this all gets any weirder, I’ll be pretty sure I’ve died and gone to some sort of strange hell,” Soren said.
“Sick or healthy?” the bear of a man returned, his voice deep and loud.
“What are you talking about?” Soren said.
“I mean, have you killed anything today, do you have the urge to eat raw flesh, do you have impulse control problems, are you human? Is there anything going on here other than the fact that the North is now the South or West, the entire landscape is pitted with holes and there’s goddamn smoke and fog everywhere?”
“We’re human,” Soren said by way of response. “We were all blind yesterday, and there are some pretty strange things going on, and as for the rest of it. I have no idea.”
“Blind? Yesterday? You don’t say.” But the man did not make it sound like he was surprised that they were blind. Rather it sounded more like he was surprised that they were blind yesterday.
The man shoved his gun into a holster around his waist. “Okay, I’m going to risk it then. I’m Barry Smith, mist-traveler, in search of uninfected lands. We thought the North or South, not sure which this is to be honest, might be a haven.” The man gave an active shiver. “But I have to say, it’s goddamn cold up here.”
Soren lowered his own gun, but
The corner of the door that Soren had boarded up with plywood just an hour ago was perfectly intact.
Soren stepped back from the station eyeballing it and shaking his head like it was a newly arrived alien ship.
“This isn’t the station,” he said. “We need to go.”
“How can it not be the station?” Sasha said. “How?” It was not that she was disputing his conclusion. It was just that she had no idea how any of this was possible, and at this moment she wanted to be in the station, Soren’s station, occupying the relative safety of the couch, far away from polar bears, and craters, and demons, and other researchers with guns.
“I don’t know. But I know my station—I’ve lived in it for seven years—and even without the fact that there is no plywood on the door here, I know this is not it.”
Before Sasha could say anything more, the buzz of something overhead cut through the storm. She looked at Soren. Someone was trying to land in this soup of a fog with the wind screaming all around them?
A small red helicopter dropped out of the murk above them and both Soren and Sasha automatically jerked their bodies into a hunch as if it might remove their heads. It bobbed and weaved, buffeted by the fierce wind until it dropped low enough to skitter about on the icy station runway. Sasha closed her eyes. Surely it was going too fast in this wind, and it was all over the place, it would never be able to pull out a safe landing.
But the anticipated clang and snap of metal followed by explosions of petrol never came, and after a few seconds, the engine on the helicopter was cut. Sasha opened her eye a crack. Soren scrambled over the swales of snow in the direction of the helicopter.
A lone figure sat in the cockpit. It was human, thankfully, although she wouldn’t be totally surprised to see a helicopter piloted by an alien, chimpanzee or robot at this point. She followed Soren across the packed and slippery snow of the runway.
A giant of a man with brilliant red hair in black paramilitary outfit vaulted out of the helicopter cockpit with a drawn gun. Soren too had pulled out his weapon, and Sasha felt desperately around in her pocket for hers. She was useless in this kind of situation. The dogs gathered in front of Soren, their bodies humming with low growls.
“Dead or alive?” the man bellowed in question.
Soren skidded to a stop. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you dead or alive?”
“Last time I checked, I was alive, although if this all gets any weirder, I’ll be pretty sure I’ve died and gone to some sort of strange hell,” Soren said.
“Sick or healthy?” the bear of a man returned, his voice deep and loud.
“What are you talking about?” Soren said.
“I mean, have you killed anything today, do you have the urge to eat raw flesh, do you have impulse control problems, are you human? Is there anything going on here other than the fact that the North is now the South or West, the entire landscape is pitted with holes and there’s goddamn smoke and fog everywhere?”
“We’re human,” Soren said by way of response. “We were all blind yesterday, and there are some pretty strange things going on, and as for the rest of it. I have no idea.”
“Blind? Yesterday? You don’t say.” But the man did not make it sound like he was surprised that they were blind. Rather it sounded more like he was surprised that they were blind yesterday.
The man shoved his gun into a holster around his waist. “Okay, I’m going to risk it then. I’m Barry Smith, mist-traveler, in search of uninfected lands. We thought the North or South, not sure which this is to be honest, might be a haven.” The man gave an active shiver. “But I have to say, it’s goddamn cold up here.”
Soren lowered his own gun, but
Similar Books
