Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [95]
Schofield stared at the screen intently.
The Marine, his face still obscured by his helmet, bent down over Schofield’s body and placed two fingers on Schofield’s blood-covered throat.
‘He’s checking your pulse,’ Renshaw whispered.
That was exactly what he was doing, Schofield saw. The Marine on the screen waited several seconds with his finger on Schofield’s neck.
Schofield didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
The Marine on the screen stood up, satisfied that Schofield had no pulse. He uncocked his pistol, put it back in its holster.
‘And . . . look at that,’ Renshaw said. ‘There’s nothing there.’ Renshaw turned to face Schofield. ‘Lieutenant, I do believe your heart just stopped beating.’
Schofield didn’t even look at Renshaw as he spoke. His eyes were glued to the screen.
‘Now look at what he does here,’ Renshaw said. ‘This is his fatal mistake . . .’
Schofield watched as on the screen the Marine – his face still masked by his helmet – shoved Schofield’s dead body across the deck with his foot.
He was shoving the body towards the pool.
After two strong kicks, Schofield’s body was lying on the edge of the deck, right next to the water. The Marine then pushed Schofield’s body one last time with his foot and the body fell limply into the water.
‘He doesn’t know it,’ Renshaw said, ‘but that guy just kickstarted your heart.’
‘How?’
‘The way I figure it, that water’s so cold, it acted like a defibrillator – you know, those electric-shock paddles they use on TV to restart people’s hearts. The shock your body received when it hit that water – and let me tell you, that would have been one hell of a shock to a body that wasn’t prepared for it – was enough to jolt your heart back into action.’
Schofield watched the screen.
The Marine stood at the edge of the deck for a while, watching the circle of ripples that indicated the spot where Schofield’s body had entered the inky water. After about thirty seconds, the Marine turned and looked around himself.
And at that moment, as the Marine turned, Schofield saw something that made his blood run cold.
Oh, no . . . he thought.
The Marine then turned on his heel and quickly walked out of the frame.
Schofield turned to Renshaw, his mouth agape.
‘It’s not over yet,’ Renshaw said, interrupting him before he spoke. ‘Keep watching.’
Schofield turned back to face the screen.
He saw the image of the deck and the pool. Otherwise there was nothing.
Nothing was happening.
Nothing at all.
There was no one on the deck. No movement in the water.
A full minute passed.
And then Schofield saw it.
‘What the hell . . .’ he said.
At that moment, the water in the pool seemed to part of its own accord and suddenly, in a wash of bubbles and froth, Schofield’s body – limp and lifeless – emerged from the water.
Schofield watched, stunned.
But it was what came after his body that truly laid him cold.
Whatever it was, it was absolutely huge, at least as big as a killer whale.
But this was no killer whale.
It lifted Schofield’s lifeless body out of the water and deposited it gently onto the deck. Water washed out onto the deck all around Schofield’s limp body as the animal leapt up onto the deck after him. The whole deck shuddered under its immense weight.
It was huge. It dwarfed Schofield’s body. Schofield watched it, entranced.
It was a seal of some sort.
An enormous, gigantic seal.
It had a huge blubbery body, layer upon layer of undulating fat, and it propped itself up on two massive fore-flippers. The impression that Schofield got of the animal’s strength was overwhelming – to hold up that enormous body required phenomenal musculature. It must have weighed at least eight tons.
The strangest feature of all, however, was the animal’s teeth. This enormous seal had two long inverted fangs – fangs that protruded from its lower jaw and rose up in front of its nose.
‘What the hell is that?’ Schofield said softly.
‘I have no idea,’ Renshaw said. ‘The nose, the eyes, the shape of the head. It looks like an elephant seal. But I’ve never seen one so