A dozen steps from the road, Ron stopped. After one last glance for approaching vehicles, he bent down and grabbed the edge of a sheet of plywood that had been painted to match the variegated colors of the surrounding tundra. He pulled the wood aside to reveal a hole four feet deep.
In the north wall of the hole was the entrance to a small tunnel.
“It looks as if the hut was buried by ice,” Dick said.
Ron nodded. “We think that pack ice was blown up from the beach during one of the ferocious winter storms.”
“A natural tomb,” Dick said.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ron asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Dick said while he donned the parka and pulled on the gloves. “I’ve come thousands of miles. Let’s go.”
Ron climbed into the hole and then bent down on all fours. Lowering himself, he entered the tunnel. Dick followed at his heels.
As Dick crawled, he could see very little save for the eerie silhouette of Ron ahead of him. As he moved away from the entrance, the darkness closed in around him like a heavy, frigid blanket. In the failing light he noticed his breath crystallizing. He thanked God that he wasn’t claustrophobic.
After about six feet the walls of the tunnel fell away. The floor also slanted downward, giving them an additional foot of headroom. There were about three and a half feet of clearance. Ron moved to the side and Dick crawled up next to him.
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit down here,” Dick said.
Ron’s flashlight beam played into the corners to illuminate short vertical struts of beluga rib bones.
“The ice snapped those whalebones like they were toothpicks,” Ron said.
“Where are the inhabitants?” Dick asked.
Ron directed his flashlight beam ahead to a large, triangular piece of ice that had punched through the ceiling of the hut. “On the other side of that,” he said. He handed the flashlight to Dick.
Dick took the flashlight and started crawling forward. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. “You’re sure this place is safe?” he questioned.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Ron said. “Just that it’s been like this for seventy-five years or so.”
It was a tight squeeze around the block of dirty ice in the center. When Dick was halfway around he shone the light into the space beyond.
Dick caught his breath while a little gasp issued from his mouth. Although he thought he’d been prepared, the image within the flashlight beam was more ghoulish than he’d expected. Staring back at him was the pale visage of a frozen, bearded Caucasian male dressed in furs. He was sitting upright. His eyes were open and ice blue, and they stared back at Dick defiantly. Around his mouth and nose was frozen pink froth. “You see all three?” Ron called from the darkness.
Dick allowed the light to play around the room. The second body was supine, with its lower half completely encased in ice. The third body was positioned in a manner similar to the first, propped up against a wall in a half-sitting position. Both were Eskimos with characteristic features, dark hair, and dark eyes. Both also had frozen pink froth around their mouths and noses.
Dick shuddered through a sudden wave of nausea. He hadn’t expected such a reaction, but it passed quickly.
“You see the newspaper?” Ron called.
“Not yet,” Dick said as he trained his light on the floor. He saw all sorts of debris frozen together, including bird feathers and animal bones. “It’s near the bearded guy,” Ron called.
Dick shone the light at the frozen Caucasian’s feet. He saw the Anchorage paper immediately.
The headlines were about the war in Europe. Even from where he was he could see the date: April 17, 1918.
Dick wriggled back into the antechamber. His initial horror had passed. Now he was excited. “I think you were right,” he said. “It looks like all three died of pneumonia, and the date is right on.”
“I knew you’d find it interesting,” Ron said.
“It’s more than interesting,” Dick said. “It could be the chance of a lifetime. I’m going to need a saw.”