“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.”