Radio Silent

By Lincoln Reed

The first thing Mia noticed was the blood—dark specks drizzled across fresh snow like errant paint strokes. Her boots crunched in pursuit until the spatter disappeared into a sheet of white beyond the remote compound.

Blinding wind cut at her eyes as she peered into the Yukon permafrost and shouldered her rifle. Prints of Xavier Patel’s snowshoes headed north. Still fresh.

Mia tightened her parka and fought the visions of Xavier flashing before her mind’s eye—his sweating brow, dangerously high fever, bruises up and down his ribcage. He didn’t deserve to die alone. No one did.

Mia continued her hunt as towering peaks overlooked the stark terrain, its all-encompassing silence threatening to swallow her with each footfall. The stench of rotting flesh still clung to her nostrils and the images remained branded to her memory. Scarred paws twisted beneath splayed legs. Brownish fur and a once-bushy tail—preserved by the Yukon ice for perhaps thousands of years—adorned faded hide. Exposed skin and bones curled outward like two breaking waves. A limp tongue sagged between canine teeth. The dead carcass bent in a curve as if the beast had flailed on its back before the moment of death.

“The Pithovirus we found in Siberia is 30,000 years old.” Virologist Xavier Patel had folded and opened his hands as if reading a book. “Splits its victim in two if the host is an amoeba, not a mammal. What I see here is an ancient fox gutted by a predator. Nothing more.”

They had been so careful, taking all the proper procedures for investigating such a discovery. Her research team had excavated the Artic fox and analyzed its cause of death without rush or cutting corners. The result had left her with one conclusion. They had unearthed something they knew little about, something that should’ve remained buried.

Her breath plumed in the air as she reached into her parka and extracted a walkie-talkie. “Vance, it’s Mia. How soon till takeoff?”

Static.

“Vance. You there?”

“Roger.”

She glanced back at the research base and the helicopter parked nearby—thick snowfall clouding any signs of movement. “How long?”

“Storm’s moving fast. Radar’s redder than a hot tamale.”

Static popped through the receiver as the ache in her gut twisted tighter. “Not leaving without him.”

“We don’t take off soon, we’re all stranded. Then what?”

“He wouldn’t abandon me. Can’t let him die alone.”

The walkie-talkie hissed. “An hour tops. We take off with or without you. Mia… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Mia turned off the walkie-talkie. “Me too.”

As snowfall increased, Mia tracked Xavier deeper into the undergrowth. A sharp wind battered limbs and trunks, slashing at her eyes with invisible needles.

He couldn’t have gone far.

She knelt and inspected red droplets in the snow.

“Xavier?”

The Yukon wilderness consumed her words in a gust of wind and snowflakes. She checked her wristwatch and the thick haze of gray covering the winter sun. Thirty minutes till nightfall.

A dark form flitted through the trees. To her left, a hefty creature skirted from trunk to trunk. Howls splintered into a cacophony of barks and yaps.

Xavier!

Mia sprinted toward the noise as fast as her snowshoes allowed. She stumbled over rocks and logs. A branch slashed her cheek.

The howling ceased, but the wind continued its unending squall.

With caution, she crept into a clearing where she found Xavier resting with his back against a boulder. He raised a hand and waved her away. “Mia, don’t.”

She raced forward and knelt by the virologist. Despite the frigid air, he had sweated through his clothes. Beads dripped off his chin. His skin had paled.

“Let me die,” he rasped. “My way.”

“We started this together.” Mia lowered her rifle. “Ride or die. We’re a team.”

Xavier gave a weak smile before convulsing in a rasping cough. He caught his breath and leaned against the rock. “Safe to say… we’re… postponing the wed—”

“Stop it. We’re getting you out of here… it’s not too late.” Mia dug the walkie-talkie from her coat. “Vance, you read me? Over.”

Static.

“Found him,” she continued. “Copy?”

Xavier motioned toward the snowy crests looming above the pine. “And miss this view?”

Mia grabbed Xavier’s coat, fighting tears. “We’re not giving up. You get on your feet and get your butt to that chopper. You hear me?”

Xavier reached for her hand. “Don’t make me laugh. I might bust….”

Three wolves stepped from the trees. Each was large, covered in shades of gray, black, and brown. Hunger oozed from their gaze.

Xavier fumbled with a flare on his belt. Its glow lit the forest in an orange flame, reflecting in yellow eyes as wolves closed the distance.

“Don’t let them eat me,” Xavier said through gritted teeth. “If they get infected… it spreads.”

He waved the flare side to side, keeping the predators at bay while Mia’s mind sprinted in a dozen directions. She was a scientist, not a hunter. She had shot game before, but nothing fiercer than a doe. Could she land a bullet in three wolves?

Xavier’s eyes sank into hers. “You have to burn… me… or else….”

Mia’s voice cracked. “I-I… can’t.”

“I’m already dead.” Xavier tore off his coat, revealing a growth within his ribcage pressing tight against his skin. “We can’t let the virus….”

The flare’s light burned low as darkness descended upon the forest. Above the trees, the whir of helicopter rotors faded into the ambience of unforgiving landscape. Mia held Xavier against her torso and caressed his head.

When his chest ruptured, the flare plummeted from Xavier’s hands.

Mia blinked.

The wolves slunk closer, enticed by the smell of blood.

The first sank its teeth into Xavier’s arm. The second lunged at Mia, jaws wide.

She grabbed the rifle and clubbed her attacker. It yelped and retreated.

She steadied the barrel. A report echoed. The wolf crumpled.

Another charged.

Mia dug her heels into the permafrost and took aim.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Lincoln Reed is a writer, filmmaker, and professor. He holds an MFA in creative writing from Miami University (OH). More than 45 of his short stories are featured in online publications and print anthologies.

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