When Hell Freezes Over
By Wolf Sherman
()
About this ebook
Prologue
"This is no doubt NOT one of the places I would've chosen to spend my birthday. It's not exactly like I grew up in this part of the world, but then after so many years, it sure feels like it. Yet, here I am. All grown up and aged and cripple. Somewhat...," No one knew how exactly to react to his unusual word choice; unclear whether it was his idea of a humorous kickoff to what was anticipated as his welcoming speech; the group stared over at the strange figure - through the freeze. Having barely started, he paused as a soldier rushed up behind him, wide-eyed and clearly out of breath, "Doctor McKenzie! They called! It's for you, sir!" The soldier pointed upwards at the miserable dark clouds that had engulfed the frozen scene. "Practice run. Is what they say it is, Doctor, sir... I guess... this is the..." Glancing monetarily over at the spectators, then back at the skewly positioned old man whose pale-blue eyes grew just wide enough to serve as an apparent warning, he seemingly decided not to complete his thought and had it paused mid-air. The soldier's voice was suddenly subdued to almost that of a whisper as he kept his palm over the phone at the same time as the ominous grey sky was hammered by what appeared to be a thundering jet engine - then another immediately after. The soldier's rushed kicking in the snow a few moments before - along the narrow walkway between the helicopters and the structure that appeared like a giant warehouse, somewhat startled McKenzie, and in reflex, he'd shifted his weight over to his other leg to turn better and face the silhouette as it approached. By the time he had time to investigate what the noise was behind him, and swapped his brass cane into the other hand, he was almost already expected taking delivery of what his cold audience presumed was a satellite phone. The soldier held it out for him, and from the moment of taking the call, McKenzie remained silent for the duration of the conversation. "I... See." And he ended the call and pushed the device back into the soldier's waiting hand - his eyes following the direction of where the thundering sound overhead had disappeared to. And that was how the shivering team would remember him. His introduction and welcoming commenced and as he told what lay ahead, all suddenly wished themselves back to the warmer climate where the initial interviews were conducted.
Wolf Sherman
Biography - Wolf ShermanWolf was born in 1970, grew up in Pretoria and after school joined the South African Police in 1988. During 1993 he was transferred to Johannesburg. During his colourfully interesting police career he was attached to several specialist divisions that include the anti-vehicle theft unit, organised-crime-and-political-investigations unit, and the East-Rand Murder & Robbery unit. After his police career he successfully applied his experience in the corporate financial world as insurance investigator and financial planner.Wolf is 48-years of age, have been blessed with three daughters, and is an avid blood and blood platelet donor. He fills his time by weaving his unusual life experience and keen interest in religion, metaphysics, war and political research and that of his love for food and classical music - into his poetry, fictional short stories, and novels.“A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one.” - George R.R. Martin, A Dance with Dragons.I'm always curious to listen when people talk about which book - ever - they'd first read. For me it was “The Man Called Noon” that was published in 1970. I suppose that it goes without saying the 1973 film directed by Peter Collinson - of the same name - as the 1970 Louis L'Amour novel, was quite a hit in the day.I was always in love with the books in which storytellers extended an invitation right from the word go, and pulled me in into a different world. The next early love for me growing up were bookshops and libraries. But I'd consider libraries had the first place. My love for both novels and short stories grew over the years, but somehow short stories found me more often. In part, I think because one can sponge it up in a single sitting, and move on to the next world, so to speak.On the topic of short stories, the storytellers in this instance tell how they see it - but being forced far quicker to relay that. I have no doubt that any short story can be stretched out and pinned down to become a novel - if one wanted to. Obviously there is no set length that a short story has to subscribe to, but I'd imagine anything from five-thousand to twenty-five-or-so-thousand words is adequate to save someone, murder a few people, get some revenge, use most of the rope in your boot, discard the spade when you're done, and go in hiding till the whole thing blows over. Of course, if there's a body to begin with... Which really stems from poor planning - I have always thought - in a story. Naturally. Of course, we also need to fall in love at some point and give our whole heart to someone special. It makes for a more balanced killer. In a story. Naturally.Look me up on:Pinterest @ Wolf Sherman BooksInstagram: @Wolf_ShermanTwitter: @WolfSherman2
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When Hell Freezes Over - Wolf Sherman
When Hell Freezes Over
Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved - Wolf Sherman. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronically, electrostatic magnetic tape or mechanically; including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author. Although this is a fictional work, some locations, organisations and events are factual. The characters and times in the storyline are fictional - therefore, all resemblances to actual people present or past are purely coincidental.
Synopsis
Forests may be gorgeous, but there is nothing more alive than a tree that learns how to grow in a cemetery.
- Andrea Gibson
He repeated the quote over in his mind. An aged eccentric and cripple virologist who - at the hands of ridicule - found refuge in a frozen world, was at odds with what he rightly perceived as the outside world
- governed by profit and indifference to future humanity. Having dutifully selected his peculiar team of replacement scientists, the team soon enough learn that their inhumane climatisation would be but one of the reasons why the prospect of returning home again, was for the old man's purposes, not an option. Not anymore.
Prologue
This is no doubt NOT one of the places I would've chosen to spend my birthday. It's not exactly like I grew up in this part of the world, but then after so many years, it sure feels like it. Yet, here I am. All grown up and aged and cripple. Somewhat...,
No one knew how exactly to react to his unusual word choice; unclear whether it was his idea of a humorous kickoff to what was anticipated as his welcoming speech; the group stared over at the strange figure - through the freeze. Having barely started, he paused as a soldier rushed up behind him, wide-eyed and clearly out of breath, Doctor McKenzie! They called! It's for you, sir!
The soldier pointed upwards at the miserable dark clouds that had engulfed the frozen scene. Practice run. Is what they say it is, Doctor, sir... I guess... this is the...
Glancing monetarily over at the spectators, then back at the skewly positioned old man whose pale-blue eyes grew just wide enough to serve as an apparent warning, he seemingly decided not to complete his thought and had it paused mid-air. The soldier's voice was suddenly subdued to almost that of a whisper as he kept his palm over the phone at the same time as the ominous grey sky was hammered by what appeared to be a thundering jet engine - then another immediately after. The soldier's rushed kicking in the snow a few moments before - along the narrow walkway between the helicopters and the structure that appeared like a giant warehouse, somewhat startled McKenzie, and in reflex, he'd shifted his weight over to his other leg to turn better and face the silhouette as it approached. By the time he had time to investigate what the noise was behind him, and swapped his brass cane into the other hand, he was almost already expected taking delivery of what his cold audience presumed was a satellite phone. The soldier held it out for him, and from the moment of taking the call, McKenzie remained silent for the duration of the conversation. I... See.
And he ended the call and pushed the device back into the soldier's waiting hand - his eyes following the direction of where the thundering sound overhead had disappeared to. And that was how the shivering team would remember him. His introduction and welcoming commenced and as he told what lay ahead, all suddenly wished themselves back to the warmer climate where the initial interviews were conducted. Sitting in sunny Italy and perched on a chair while appreciating the shade outside a restaurant, on the day, went hand-in-hand with paging the menu right past the elaborate selection of steamy coffees - over to an ice tea - for Tom. An inviting scene indeed compared to where the group had found themselves two weeks later. Like all who had arrived, Tom, Elana, and Jerome's wishes for the warmer and more hospitable part of the world, the old man knew, were shared by the rest who were poured out of the military helicopters. While trying to study their faces through the falling sleet, he absorbed the news on the phone, then with a deep long sigh, lifted his eyes upwards one last time as two steel birds overhead returned - reminding him that there wasn't much time left. Stating the obvious - Two.
The soldier motioned with his fingers. Air-strike and virus outbreak
, Weren't two phrases the man leaning his upper body weight on the brass cane preferred in a single sentence. For a fleeting moment, he considered giving it all up. He thought the right course of action just flew over him and maybe it was time... Pointing over to the line of military helicopters which had just delivered them - and were still slicing through the frigid air, he knew was the only out for his visitors. He should have now just halted the process and just apologised for the inconvenience - then tell them all to go back home. Then a movement behind the anxious crowd he'd gathered changed his mind. A mere few metres beyond the group of scientists who were staring puzzled at old man McKenzie, two soldiers emerged; arched over and wary-looking. Each battling, while momentarily - in turn - looking up - they dragged; with a thick rope over their shoulders, on a highly stacked sleigh that was covered and tied with a grey and white arctic camouflage canvas - that had been stretched over the peculiar cargo. Knowing the helicopters needed to disappear into the sky first, the old man paused, then as if unsure, lifted his thickly gloved right hand and poked his thumb into the snowy air. As the helicopters took off; churning into the blizzard and out of sight, he waived the two waiting soldiers at the apron of the forest to drag the heavy sleigh closer. Well, now nobody leaves...
He thought and addressed his onlookers who were turning to look behind them. I would have wanted to introduce you all to my devout staff - who you'll be replacing... but it would seem that I was beaten by time. Or was that fate?
The remaining rows of freezing cold new arrivals too turned to face behind them to whatever it was that McKenzie was waving at.
Chapter 1
The colourfully dressed group who was waiting on him, had reacted to an invitation where it seemed the scientific corporate world could simply not compete on a salary level - at least. Had they been honest; to have shared the time of the legend of a scientist who they believed had assembled them, they would have surely accepted even at a fraction of the money that had been dangled in front of them. But the climate on the morning when they got of the plane in Russia, soon after changed their willingness to continue. After we were ushered into a bus - right off the plane - that was driven to a hanger at the very back of the airport, the red flag should have risen for us.
Tom thought while the man in the front who faced them, and was about to continue what was supposed to pass for a hearty welcome. He recalled a number of huge signs displayed as the bus left the apron of the runway. That they weren't directed to the main building to have their passports stamped, was one of the first peculiarities. Not at all.
The bus driver's Russian accent smiled over. We will attend to the administrative formalities over there.
He lifted his gloved hand which was poking out of the sleeve of a thickly padded military jacket, to where absolutely no buildings were. The visitors looked ahead of the bus, and seeing nothing of the sort, faced him again, but not after sharing a good number of perplexed frowns. Till it got stranger. It wasn't exactly custom anywhere they'd travelled to after a taxing flight, to have descended an A380's lengthy staircase that had been parked; pushed up near the plane, then hop on a bus where someone in a military camouflage uniform was the tour guide. All the while, there reigned from what the crowd could make out, no apparent urgency to have been reunited