Zoo 2 Read Free

crescendo as a gunmetal military transport plane roars overhead, flying dangerously low to the ground.
    Which is a very beautiful sight. It means it’s about to land. Right on time.
    As it touches down—on the snow-covered airstrip about a quarter-mile from our hut—Chloe and I quickly gather up the few small duffel bags we’ll be bringing with us. Mostly clothes, toiletries, and a dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities we’re halfway through reading to Eli.
    Other than the hooded jumpsuits we’re already wearing, we’re leaving the rest of our extreme cold-weather gear behind. I’d started packing our thermal underwear last night, until Chloe saw me and practically slapped the long johns out of my hand.
    “I hope you’re joking,” she said, crossing her arms. “We’re done living in this damned Arctic wasteland. Forever. We’re returning to civilization, remember? And we’re saving it. For real this time.”
    “Right,” I said. “Of course.” Then, under my breath: “No pressure or anything.”
    But my wife had a point. We’d decided to leave our safe little hideout at the edge of the world. We both knew there would be no coming back.
    “Okay, bud, time to go,” I call to Eli, who eagerly jumps into Chloe’s arms.
    We assemble by the front door, which we haven’t opened in nearly a week—not since I tangled with that polar bear and left a trail of her blood and mine right to our doorstep. Chloe and I were afraid more wild animals would pick up the scent and come calling.
    By the evening of the next day, they had.
    First was a herd of rabid reindeer. They rammed their hoofs and antlers against the metal siding for hours until finally giving up from exhaustion. Next came a pack of wolverines. Not the scary Hugh Jackman mutant kind but weasel-like critters the size of small dogs. Still, their teeth and claws are as sharp as razors. If they’d found a way in, they’d have had no trouble turning three helpless humans into mincemeat.
    I peer through the door’s porthole. The coast looks clear—but anything could be out there. Lurking. Waiting. The quarter-mile hike to the airstrip might as well be a marathon.
    Which is why I’m holding that trusty Glock—the one that saved my life once before—just in case. I check the clip: seventeen shiny gold bullets. Locked and loaded.
    I push open the door and the three of us step outside. With my very first breath, the frigid air stabs the back of my throat like a knife.
    “Come on,” I manage to croak. “Let’s hurry.”
    We traipse as fast as we can across the fresh snow; it’s up to our knees. Over the crunching of our footsteps and the whistling of the wind, I hear Chloe speaking some comforting words to our son to help keep him calm.
    Meanwhile, I’m scanning the icy vista all around us like a hawk. Which is harder than you might think. The endless snow and ice reflect the midday sun brighter than a million mirrors. If a feral animal or two—or ten—came charging toward us, sure, I’d probably spot them in time. But would I be able to see well enough in the glare to aim and fire?
    I pray I don’t have to find out.
    Before long I do spot something looming. It’s bluish-gray. And enormous.
    It’s the C-12 Huron transport plane—its dual propellers still spinning—sent by the Air Force to take us home.
    We finally reach it as its rear stairs are hydraulically lowered. I gesture for Chloe and Eli to board first. I take one final glance around, say a silent good-bye to this icy hell, then climb in after them.
    “IDs and boarding passes, please?”
    One of the two pilots, a surprisingly youngish woman with a megawatt grin, is turned around in her seat to face us. Chloe and I smile back, filled with relief and glad to discover our saviors have a sense of humor.
    “Shoot,” I say, patting my pockets. “I think I left my wallet in my other subzero bodysuit.”
    “I’m Major Schiff,” the captain says, grinning. “This is First Lieutenant