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  OVERLORD

  Sam Aston Investigations Book 2

  David Wood and Alan Baxter

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Overlord (Sam Aston Investigations)

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

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  47

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  Books by David Wood

  Books by Alan Baxter

  About the Authors

  What lurks beneath the ice?

  Marine biologist Sam Aston is hired to explore a series of subterranean caverns deep beneath the Antarctic. Somewhere within this lost world of magnificent caverns and underground seas lies a source of limitless clean energy, but something guards this treasure. As enemies bent on obtaining this world-changing resource for themselves close in from above, Aston and his team plunge further into the depths, and discover they are not the first to come this way...and they are not alone.

  As the death toll mounts, Aston and his companions are forced to uncover secrets hidden far beneath the ice. Danger lurks at every turn as they face the deadly threat of the OVERLORD.

  Praise for the Sam Aston Investigations

  Renegade marine biologist Sam Aston is back for a second outing in what is shaping up to be a must-read aquatic adventure series! Danger and intrigue lurk both above and below in this action-filled, white-knuckle romp with a breathtaking conclusion! —Rick Chesler, author of Sawfish

  “Everything you’d want from a monster story – great characters, a remote location and a creature with bite! Mixing history and lore with science and action, David Wood and Alan Baxter have penned a thriller that is hard to put down.” —Jeremy Robinson, author of Island 731

  “Bone-cracking terror from the stygian depths! A creature thriller that is both intelligent and visceral. I could hear the Jaws soundtrack playing on repeat, although that might have been my heart pounding.” —Lee Murray, author of Into the Mist

  “One of the best, the most thoroughly delightful and satisfying, books that I've read in quite some time. A serious out-of-the-park type of home run hit.” —Christine Morgan, The Horror Fiction Review

  Overlord by David Wood and Alan Baxter

  © 2018

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters, situations, and events are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

  Published by Adrenaline Press | www.adrenaline.press

  Prologue

  Wilkes Land Crater, Antarctica, 1911

  Michael Thornton questioned again the wisdom of the expedition as he trudged through the featureless white of the Antarctic. He was pretty sure he had frostbite in at least two toes. A permanent layer of ice coated his clothes, the fur lining of his thick hood, even his beard and mustache. His eyelashes waged a constant battle with the ice, and two frozen daggers of snot hung from his nostrils.

  A layer of new snow crunched beneath his heavy boots as he winced into the frozen wind, flurries of blizzard regularly reducing visibility to little more than a few yards. Then there would be a momentary break in the weather, he would see across vast vistas of rough white landscape, and hope would briefly kindle, only to be extinguished as the landscape was obscured once more moments later. Despite those flashes of optimism, he wondered if he would ever see the rest of the party again. But at least he wasn’t alone.

  He would never admit his fears to Gavin Lee, stumbling along beside him. He was grateful for his companion’s presence. A better man might wish Gavin the safety of the camp and the company of the rest of the scientific expedition, but Michael was terrified of being lost alone. Perhaps it was a strange way to think about things, but while he was desperate not to die out here, the thought of dying alone was infinitely more terrifying.

  Gavin tripped, went down on one knee, his thick gloves sinking into the snow as he caught himself from falling flat on his face. The man stayed down, his back arching and sinking with labored breaths. Michael hauled his friend back to his feet, tried to flash an encouraging smile through the curtain of ice-flecked facial hair. Gavin gave a weak nod of thanks and pushed ahead again. He was stoic, no question about that. The expedition to investigate the possibility of volcanoes, or volcanic vents and potential magma deposits beneath the surface that might support life, had been met with a certain amount of ridicule by the scientific community. Nevertheless, Michael still believed in the project. He was certain the Antarctic held secrets that brave and determined men could reveal. The area of Wilkes Land Crater had seemed the best possibility during his research, and he maintained that conviction. Being caught in a sudden and unexpected blizzard while out on their own hadn’t been part of any plan, however. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. He could not die now. He refused to even consider it. There had been too much interest in Antarctica during the early years of the twentieth century and he’d be damned if he’d lose his opportunity after getting this far. All the recent treks to the South Pole looking for possible new sources of natural resources couldn’t be ignored. His would be successful. It had to be.

  “I’m not sure how long I can go on,” Gavin shouted over the wind. “Can’t feel anything below the knee.”

  “Push on, man.” Michael clapped him on the back. “We must be getting near to the crater. Don’t quit on me! This weather will pass. The others will meet us at the destination. That was the plan if we got separated, remember?”

  Gavin nodded. “Bloody ignominious way to die, from bad weather,” he said with a wry laugh.

  “Well, it’s always the biggest danger down here, I suppose. But we won’t die. Not today.” He hoped he wasn’t lying.

  “I always thought I’d be more likely to expire from a monster than a blizzard.” Gavin grinned, his lips blue beneath a mustache that was as much icicles as hair. “I really wanted to see the pyramids.” He leaned forward as they pushed up a steep rise, the edges of the crest glimpsed occasionally through the swirling snow.

  Gavin wanted to talk, Michael realized. Probably trying to keep himself distracted from the pain and exhaustion. It was a smart move. “I know you believe all those old legends, Gav, but I really doubt they’re true.” He would talk, but he wouldn’t give any credence to unscientific nonsense.

  They reached the top of the rise and the blanket of white swept down from their feet, disappearing into the storm.

  “Better watch our step here,” Michael said, straining to see the lay of the land.

  “They’re bloody real,” Gavin said, almost too quietly to be heard.

  “What’s that?”

  Gavin pointed, out across the crater. “We’re here! This is the Wilkes Land Crater.”

  Michael looked in the direction Gavin indicated, saw only thick clouds of snowflakes gusting in loops a
nd whorls. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Just watch. Wait for a gap in the blizzard.”

  Michael strained to see something, anything within the cloud of white. He was about to question the man’s sanity when a break opened and he saw clear across the huge expanse. He gasped.

  “Do you see it?” Gavin asked, more animated than he had been in hours. “I’m not hallucinating, am I?”

  “I saw... something.” Michael frowned. Surely they had been mountains. Strangely regular in size and shape, with weirdly straight edges, perhaps. But surely natural. They had to be.

  “I think the storm is passing,” Gavin said.

  He appeared to be correct. The two men stood at the ridge, patient as the howling wind dropped to patchy gusts over the course of a few minutes, then to little more than an intermittent breeze. The flurries of snow thinned, even occasional shafts of sunshine breaking through brief rents in the thick cloud cover. After a few more minutes, the blizzard had stopped completely and they stood staring across a wide bowl of featureless white.

  “They’re real,” Gavin said again.

  Michael couldn’t believe he was looking at pyramids, thickly covered in snow, but the shape was unmistakable. “Surely just oddly shaped mountains,” he said. “There must be a geological explanation for them.”

  Gavin shook his head. “They look like pyramids to me. That can’t be more than a mile, don’t you think? Let’s check them out.”

  Michael could think of no reason not to. The rest of the expedition hadn’t yet arrived, but this crater was the meeting point, so they would surely be here soon. Unless they had fared worse than Gavin and himself. He chose not to continue that train of thought for the moment. They could investigate the strange range and keep an eye out for the arrival of their friends at the same time.

  With renewed vigor, they crunched across the fresh snow. As they approached the pyramids, looming high above them, Michael still couldn’t tell if they were man-made or not. The edges revealed themselves to be less regular under the snow as they neared, the overall shape less defined up close. But was that the natural weathering of a man-made shape over millennia, or had Mother Nature’s hand sculpted a natural, vaguely pyramidal shape into something more refined?

  “Look there.” Gavin pointed.

  An opening lay shadowed against the relentless white. It appeared to be a cave of some kind. A fissure in the rock, heading into darkness. Snow whipped up again, the blizzard beginning to gain a second wind.

  “It’s shelter, at least,” Michael said.

  The two men headed into the cave, wincing against the renewed gale and blustering snow. Once they entered the blessed safety, still and quiet at last, Michael realized his exhaustion again. His legs ached, his toes burned with possible frostbite, his whole body trembled with fatigue. He sat down to rest, about to call his friend to rest beside him. But Gavin was clearly renewed, fueled by wonder at the bizarre discovery.

  “This goes deeper,” he said, taking a few steps into the darkness. He pulled out a flashlight, the remarkable portable device invented by David Misell only a dozen or so years previously, and shined it down the length of the shadowed passage. “A long way deeper!”

  Sighing, Michael hauled himself back to his feet and followed. The last thing they needed was for the two of them to become separated. “We’ll check a little way, but not too far,” he said. “We can come back properly equipped once we’ve rejoined the rest of the team.”

  They wound deeper into the cave as it gradually sloped downward. As they descended, it grew warmer. At first Michael thought it was simply a matter of getting out of the wind, but the rise in temperature seemed greater than that would account for. Was it too much to hope that the theory about volcanic vents might hold true? That it might be this easy to prove?

  “You feel that?” he asked. “The warmth?”

  Gavin came to a sudden halt. “Look there.”

  It took Michael a few seconds to accept what he was seeing. Lines had been carved into the frost-encrusted rock up ahead.

  “It looks like cave paintings,” Gavin said.

  “Pictographs,” Michael corrected, not sure he believed it even though he saw quite clearly the distinct designs. “It almost resembles language of some kind.”

  They moved closer, Gavin playing his flashlight beam slowly left and right. “It’s remarkable. But who...?”

  With a crack and a sudden, stomach-churning lurch, the floor gave way beneath them. They half-tumbled, half-slid in the darkness, Gavin’s flashlight flying free from his grasp and blinking out as it bounced end over end.

  In the sudden blackness, Michael lost all sense of time and distance. He wondered briefly if perhaps they’d fall into darkness forever, then he slammed into something unforgiving and everything went black.

  As consciousness slowly returned, bringing with it a pounding headache, Michael pulled himself into a sitting position. He swallowed down a wave of nausea. He scanned his surroundings and his eyes fell on Gavin.

  His companion spun around, excitement clear in his wide eyes and eager grin. “You’re awake! Good to have you back.”

  They were in a massive cavern, dark gray rock curving up and away from them. Michael realized he was seeing that without the aid of flashlights. “Why can I see?” His voice was a little slurred, as though he were drunk. His words blared in his ears like a trumpet. He pressed his fingers to his temples and let out a low groan. He felt hungover, and wished he were inebriated instead. He probably had a concussion. Not good. Not good at all.

  “Yes, it’s this odd growth on the walls.”

  Michael blinked, his vision slowly regaining a sharper focus. Glowing softly green, vein-like striations wound across the cavern like twisting vines. Michael almost imagined the weak light pulsing, as if blood pumped through from some distant, subterranean beating heart. Deposits of a strange, neon green crystalline substance punctuated the walls between the vines.

  Michael pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the headache and nausea, the incredible sights before him taking over his thoughts. He looked closer, and saw the veins appeared to be organic, perhaps some kind of lichen or mold. It was pliant beneath his finger as he pressed it and his glove came away with a pale green luminescence that quickly faded. He broke off a small protuberance of rock containing a similarly-glowing piece of the crystal. It took some little effort, but snapped after he applied strong leverage with his gloved fingers. Using his teeth, he pulled the glove from his other hand and dug into the deep pocket of his jacket for a small sample jar no bigger than a standard test tube. He carried half a dozen, thankfully unbroken from the fall. He put the sliver of rock and crystal inside and screwed the lid back on tightly, then returned the slim jar to his pocket.

  As he tugged his glove back on, they began to explore further. The space was huge, stalactites extending down from above, gently dripping, the water echoing quietly as it fell. They made their way around large stalagmites, stepped over small pools of gathered water that was not frozen. Realizing that, Michael checked and discovered no frosty patches on the walls. The temperature in the place obviously remained above freezing, much warmer than the many degrees below zero outside. He paused to take a sample of the water.

  As they resumed their trek, a feeling of wrongness crept over him. He felt like an intruder in an alien world. Everything around him was gently lit by the glowing pale green of the viney growths, the shadows where the light didn’t reach inky black in contrast.

  On the far side of the cavern, they found a strange door. It was a solid slab of shiny black rock, like a kind of obsidian, carved with a strange script unlike anything Michael had ever seen. No, scratch that. Unlike anything he had seen except the markings in the cave before they fell. He’d only had a brief look at the pictographs up above, but he was certain they strongly resembled the marks he now inspected. And it was far too neat to be anything but deliberately fashioned. It had to be language. “This isn’t possible,” he w
hispered.

  “And yet here we are,” Gavin said. His excitement had given way to trepidation, the concern clear in his voice.

  Michael was glad to hear the fear there, because he thought they should both be alarmed by these discoveries. As he stared at the door, the sense of wrongness, of alien-ness, grew stronger.

  “How can there be a door down here, far beneath the surface of the Antarctic?” Michael asked. “How far did we fall? It seemed like a long way.”

  Gavin didn’t answer, just ran his gloved fingers over the carved symbols.

  “We should go back to where we fell in,” Michael said. “Try to climb our way back up and find the others. Then we can return and explore properly.”

  Again, Gavin said nothing. Then he put both hands to the door and leaned his weight into it.

  “What are you doing?”

  But Gavin gave no indication he was even aware of Michael’s presence. He threw his shoulder against the door. With a loud scraping, it slid open. Gavin headed through. Michael called for him to come back, but was again ignored. Hardly any of the glowing crystal or vines lit the passage beyond, and Gavin slowly vanished into blackness.

  Biting down his annoyance, Michael followed. Perhaps it was simple fear, or maybe the recent blow to the head, but the darkness seemed alive, as though it were squeezing him. “Gavin!” Michael called, but felt unable to raise his voice to a shout. He saw movement up ahead. “Gavin,” he said again, grabbing at his friend’s coat, but Gavin jerked his arm free and kept going.

  “What’s got into you, man?” Michael said. He took a step to follow, then heard a soft whick. Warm wetness covered his face in a sudden spray and he tasted a metallic flavor that could only be blood. Bladder loosening, spreading warmth down his leg, he stumbled back, patting himself all over to be sure he wasn’t injured. As he moved quickly backward, returning to the low light of the glowing cavern, he saw a stone the size of a bowling ball bounding toward him from out of the darkness. As the stone rolled over, he saw it wore Gavin’s face. Not a stone at all, but Gavin’s head, neatly separated from the rest of him.

  Michael cried out, caught a glimpse of Gavin’s body being dragged down the tunnel into the dark. In the half-light he saw what had hold of his friend, and he let out a throat-rending scream. Blinded by panic, he turned and ran.