Strobing lights blinked red to green on the Arctic SuperDeep Tunnel: incoming. The gathered scientists cheered in relief. The train had set a record two days earlier—15 miles deep—when communications with it had suddenly ceased.
“Just a glitch!” cried one, as champagne popped. Cold air crept from the tunnel at the train’s approach, a rotted breeze that chilled the celebration. Blue flashes flickered, electrical surges that blew out fluorescents and other equipment. The train breached the tunnel, a jagged birth painted with gristle, greased with sparks. And behind it, a pulsing mass of tentacles and bone and screams.