2042: The Great Cataclysm Read Online Free Page A

as Jeremy leapt in after him. The second the men were aboard the crew member gunned the two powerful outboard motors and spun the rib away from the ship with an expert thrust, and they headed for the ironbound coast.
    Danger was ever present, the shore was gouged and jagged by constant surges that pounded and eroded the coastline endlessly. In the hands of an unskilled boatman the rib could easily have capsized on the treacherous rocks, but this crew member knew his job and he guided them through the menacing gauntlet to safety without mishap.
    Four men came forward to greet the new arrivals, slapping their bodies like fat penguins flapping their wings to keep the blood flowing . They helped bring the boat ashore, and when all was secured the largest of the men clad in foul-weather gear, slapped his hands on Nick’s shoulders, and hugged him to his barrel chest. Smiling blue eyes above an unruly red beard softened his leathery weather-beaten countenance and brought a warm glow to his face.
    ‘Nicky. Been a long time! Come, my friends. I’ve got a warm tot o’rum waiting back at camp.’ Wolf’s voice warmed more than the frigid air that puffed white clouds around him. It softened Nick’s grimace and reminded him why he liked Wolf so much.
    ‘Christ Wolf, how do you live in this cold hole? It’s not even fit for the bears!’ Nick’s reply was partly lost in the howling wind, as the men hunkered down to face the trek ahead. After the rib was secured, Wolf led the way with the others close behind, scrabbling over the slick rocks, greased to a slippery shine by the constant sea spray that coated this inhospitable part of the coastline.
    Nick reeled against the bitter blast that blew from the North and lashed his face like knife cuts, and one by one the small party began to string out as they gained the higher level. They stumbled across an uneven tract of land covered by sparse patches of dry grass, whose scruffy tips had been given temporary life by the spattered muddy snow clinging in small glittering beads to their surface.  Bent low against the savage winds that lashed their backs like a demon slave driver, the men managed to defy their adversary and made it into the small isolated camp, thankful for the promised shelter from the elements bent on their destruction.
    They came upon a building twenty metres long, shaped like a barrel cut in half, it’s corrugated iron sides effectively repelling the constant snow falls that battered it’s rusty shell. With no windows apparent it did not present a welcoming site, and when they entered through the one visible doorway, they slammed their eyes shut against the sudden bright lights that prickled their dry eye balls like sharp needles, and their ears attuned to the howling wind gratefully absorbed the calm silence.
    Wolf’s research station supported a small crew of dedicated men who spent long lonely hours monitoring displays from the vast array of electronic equipment. The only other residents of the island were a crew from the United States Coast Guard, and some hardy fishermen.
    They found the main room housing the recording instruments and computer displays littered with discarded graphs, crumpled paper, and reams of other documents curling like unruly snakes beneath a long centre table. In 2042 all electronic equipment was voice controlled and a vast amount of data was stored on chips, but scientists still needed paper maps and charts on which they could scribble and write notes. Beneath this layer of superficial clutter it was remarkably clean. Another large room beside this, lined with rough hewn timber and obviously well insulated beckoned the shivering men.  Large comfortable lounge chairs squatted in one corner, arranged around an oversized square coffee table.  The sweet smell of spruce from the open fireplace filled the room, sparking warmly, offering the weary freezing visitors solace from the cold outside.
    A giant moose head dominated one wall. Broad