Chapter 3 — The Gathering Storm

Alice

The wind tore through the Arctic camp with a ferocity that turned breaths into knives. The sky had been a pale gray when Alice woke, but by midday, it had deepened to a bruised steel, the kind of sky that promised chaos. Snow swirled around her boots as she cinched the hood of her parka tighter, the motion mechanical while her mind raced with unease.

Something was wrong.

The storm had been building since dawn, but even by Arctic standards, this felt abnormal. The air crackled with an unnatural energy, sharp and jagged, as though the storm itself was alive. Alice had tried to catalog samples in the dim light earlier, but her hand had trembled on the glass vial. Her thoughts refused to settle, darting back to the footprints, the howls, and the persistent static on the radio.

She glanced toward the central tent, where Marcus was hunched over the equipment, his movements tense and deliberate, while Sara paced nearby, her figure rigid against the backdrop of wind-blown snow. Outside, Callum wrestled with a tent stake, his silhouette a faint blur in the swirling flurries. The storm was falling heavily now, thick snowflakes sticking to her eyelashes and turning the landscape into a white chaos.

Alice cursed under her breath and trudged toward Callum. “How bad?” she shouted over the wind as she approached, the words nearly carried away by the gale.

Callum straightened, pulling his scarf down from his face. His cheeks were raw from the cold, and his breath came in visible puffs. “Bad,” he yelled back, his voice strained. “The stakes won’t hold if it gets worse. This thing’s rolling in fast—faster than it should.”

A chill that had nothing to do with the cold settled over Alice. She nodded curtly, jaw tight. Arctic storms were unpredictable at the best of times, but this one felt... wrong. Almost malevolent. Her logical mind bristled at the thought, but the feeling lingered, prickling at the back of her neck.

“Eastern side next,” Callum said, snapping her out of her thoughts. His voice carried a forced lightness, but his darting eyes betrayed his nerves. “If it’s going to rip through, that’s where it’ll start.”

Together, they worked in tense silence. Alice’s gloves slipped against the ice-crusted ropes as she pulled, her fingers already numb despite the insulated fabric. The snow seeped through the edges of her hood and collar, biting at her skin. The tent fabric groaned ominously against the relentless gusts, each creak setting her teeth on edge. She glanced at Callum as they secured the final stake, noting the way his fingers fumbled, his usual steady hands clumsy from the cold—or was it fear?

When they made it back to the central tent, the storm was in full force. Snow lashed the canvas walls with a fury that made the structure shudder. Inside, the weak light from the lanterns cast flickering shadows on the faces of her team. The air was thick with tension, colder than the Arctic wind outside.

Marcus sat at the radio, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the transmitter’s metal casing. His shoulders were hunched, his body coiled like a spring about to snap. Sara stood with her arms crossed, her face pale but her expression hard, though the crackling static of the radio seemed to fray even her resolve. Callum hesitated by the entrance, his usual humor absent as he tugged his scarf loose and stamped the snow from his boots.

“Any changes?” Alice asked, brushing ice from her gloves as she stepped inside.

Marcus didn’t look up. “Still nothing but static. I’ve tried switching frequencies, recalibrating, even bypassing the amplifier—nothing works.”

“Could it be the storm?” Callum offered, though his tone lacked conviction.

Marcus paused, his fingers stilling. “Maybe. But it doesn’t—” He stopped, swallowing hard, his eyes darting to Alice before dropping back to the equipment. “It doesn’t feel like interference,” he finished quietly.

Sara scoffed, her voice sharp enough to draw attention. “What are you saying? That the storm’s targeting us? Don’t be ridiculous.”

Marcus flinched, but Callum interjected before the tension could build further. “Let’s not start biting each other’s heads off, yeah? Bad enough we’ve got a storm trying to kill us.”

“Enough,” Alice said firmly, her voice cutting through the rising unease. She exhaled, steadying herself. “We need to focus. If this storm keeps up, we won’t have to worry about interference because we’ll be buried under six feet of snow.”

She moved to the supply crates, methodically checking their contents. Rations, fuel, emergency blankets—it was all there, but it felt woefully inadequate against the storm’s fury. “Pack the essentials,” she said aloud. “If we need to move, we need to be ready.”

“And go where?” Sara shot back, her voice brittle. “Out into that?” She gestured toward the tent flap, where snow battered the fabric with relentless force.

Alice hesitated. She didn’t have an answer.

The howl came then, low and resonant, vibrating through the ground and into her ribs. It wasn’t the wind. It was deeper, layered, its source vast and hollow. The sound clawed at her instincts, setting her pulse racing.

Alice froze, her eyes locking with Callum’s. His face had gone pale, and his lips parted as though to speak, but no sound came.

Another howl followed, louder now, closer. It rippled through the air, sharp and precise, cutting through the storm’s cacophony like a knife. The static on the radio spiked in response, a discordant symphony that sent a sharp ache through Alice’s temples.

“What the hell is that?” Sara whispered, her earlier defiance faltering into something softer, something closer to fear.

Alice moved toward the tent flap before she could stop herself. Her rational mind screamed at her to stay back, to think, but something deeper compelled her forward. Bracing against the wind, she unzipped the flap just enough to peer outside.

The snow stung her face, and the wind tore at her parka, but she squinted into the maelstrom. At first, there was nothing—just swirling white chaos. But then, movement. A shadow, massive and fluid, shifted at the edge of her vision, disappearing almost as soon as it appeared.

Her breath caught, a sharp intake that burned in her chest. It had been too big, too smooth to be a bear or any natural predator. Her mind scrambled for explanations, clinging to logic even as her body screamed danger.

“Close it,” Callum hissed, pulling her back. His hand gripped her arm, firm but trembling. The usual levity in his voice was gone, replaced by a raw urgency that sent a chill down her spine.

Alice let him zip the flap shut, her heart pounding against her ribs. She turned to the others, forcing her voice to steady. “We need to stay inside. Whatever’s out there—it’s safer if we stick together.”

Sara let out a hollow laugh, the sound brittle. “Safer? In a tent? With that out there? Great plan, Alice.”

Alice ignored her, focusing instead on the rising tension in the room. The shadows from the lanterns seemed to press closer, the storm’s howls echoing louder with each passing moment. The hours crawled by, heavy and suffocating. The howls came sporadically, each one more unsettling than the last. They weren’t random. They were deliberate. Hunting.

And then, the breaking point.

A deafening crack split the air, followed by a rush of cold as the tent’s eastern pole gave way. The canvas tore open, snow and ice pouring in, extinguishing the stove’s flame. The lanterns flickered violently before plunging them into near darkness.

“Get back!” Alice shouted, scrambling to her feet as the wind howled inside, tearing at the fabric and driving the storm into their fragile refuge.

The howls erupted again, louder and closer, surrounding them. Shadows moved in the storm, massive and predatory, their glowing eyes cutting through the snow like spectral lanterns. Alice’s breath hitched as she saw them circling, too fast, too fluid, their forms distorted by the blizzard.

“Run!” she shouted, though she knew there was nowhere to go.

The storm swallowed everything.

And then—darkness.

The last thing Alice heard was the howls, rising and falling in a terrible, inescapable symphony. And then, silence.