Colony by Benjamin Cross (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

He shook his head. A fortnight ago if somebody had told him he’d be enjoying himself like this, there was a good chance he would have punched them in the face. But it was undeniable. He was enjoying himself. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so engaged with his own life. Not only was he on the verge of something massive with the ice mummy, but he was somehow managing to patch up his relationship with Jamie too.

“Hello?”

Callum recognised the voice as that of Sarah Olsen, Jonas’s wife. “Sarah? It’s Callum. Callum Ross.”

“Oh, Callum, hello.”

“How are you?”

“I’m…” Her words trailed off and she began to sob.

“Sarah, what is it? Is it Jonas?”

“They… he…”

Callum closed his eyes. Her meaning was loud and clear.

4

Callum drained his glass and poured himself another whiskey. It was nearly one o’ clock in the morning. The lounge on Deck 8 of the Albanov was empty and silent. The electric shutters were fully lowered, leaving only the light of the muted television set to come between the gloom and complete darkness.

As he tipped another shot across his tongue, the door to the lounge cracked open and Darya poked her head through. She entered and walked over. She appeared to be dressed in full outdoor gear. “I thought I could hear somebody.”

“Sorry,” he replied, “I was trying to keep it down.”

She looked at him puzzled. “Keep what down?”

It was easy to forget that English was not her native tongue. “The noise,” he replied, forcing a smile. “I was trying to be quiet.”

She sat next to him on the sofa and watched as he poured himself some more whiskey. “Your plan is to get drunk alone in the darkness?”

“So how come you’re all dressed up?” he asked, changing the subject.

“I am going over to Harmsworth.”

“It’s one o’ clock in the morning.”

“This is not a problem.” She raised one of the blinds a fraction, allowing a band of sunlight to stream into the lounge.

Callum watched the light reflecting off his measure, before swirling it around and downing it. “How could I forget?” She seemed unaffected by the relentless daylight. Where he and the others attempted a regular sleep-wake pattern, as recommended by the on-board medical team, she carried out her research at all hours.

“Besides,” she continued, “wildlife does not wear a watch.”

Callum made no reply and instead refilled his glass.

“There is something upsetting you,” she said, her eyes meeting his. “I can tell this.”

“My friend, the man who was supposed to be here instead of me, I just found out that he’s gone. Passed away.”

The touch of her hand on his told him that, this time, she understood his chosen phrase. “That is very sad, solnishko,” she said. “He was not in great pain, I hope?”

“No, if there’s one good thing it’s that there wasn’t any pain. From what his wife told me, there was some kind of complication related to the tumour in his brain. He was unconscious in his armchair when she found him. They did what they could for him in hospital, but he never woke up.”

“This is very sad,” she repeated. “I am sorry that you were given this news.”

“So am I.”

She squeezed his hand. “I lost a good friend also last year. I did what you do now and drank. Tried to forget. Then I realised that they did not want me to be that way. They would not have liked me that way.”

“Yeah, well, trust me,” Callum replied, “Jonas would want me to drink this whiskey. Every last drop.”

“Even if you are throw it all back up again and waste it?”

The logic was sound and Callum couldn’t help laughing. “Jonas would’ve liked you. I’m sorry you never got to meet.”

“Yes, but then I would never have met you,” she said.

Their eyes met, but before Callum could reply, she released his hand and stood up. “I know what you need.”

“And what’s that?”

“You need distraction,” she answered. “Go and put on your boots and jacket and meet me on the deck. Ten minutes.”

She strode off towards the door.

“But, Darya, I’m drunk,” he shouted after her.

“Not for long,” she called back.

Emerging from the deckhouse in his outdoor gear, Callum checked his watch. Nearly half past one in the morning. The sun was up – as ever – and the sky was clear and blue. Over the last few weeks the ice had largely melted from the bay. Where there had been fissures, there were now vast polynyas, areas of open water with only a few diminutive icebergs lolling on their surfaces. The water itself seemed unnaturally dark, as if its long winter concealment had been enough to shield it from the bleaching effects of the sun.

He stared over at the island. Even though it was no longer new, the sight of the mysterious hunk of twisted rock, with its coves like hatchet gashes and its peaks like worn molars, still sent a shiver down his spine, half-excitement, half-fear. The image of Ngana’bta fleeing from Tansu Taibaa flashed before his eyes. He could think of no more fitting a place for an ancient monster’s lair.

Darya was waiting for him. He followed her along the deck, past the row of lifeboats strung along the funnel-house wall and towards the helipads. Then they descended a long staircase onto the lower deck.

The asphalt platform, on which the two helicopters were perched, now formed a canopy overhead. Its considerable girth was supported by a row of thick, white-painted steel girders. Darya strode towards the first of these. A small control panel was mounted centrally at head height. She tugged the lid open to reveal a confusion of switches.

“What are you doing?” Callum whispered.

She said nothing but reached out and tapped the black button in the centre.

“Darya?”

There was a low clunking sound before the stern ramp uncoupled itself and began to lower onto the water’s surface like a drawbridge. Callum stared down at the water lapping against the end of the ramp. “If it’s all