Ice Storm (6 page)

"No rush."

As he closed the curtain, I noticed a mirror on a small stand. I picked it up and studied my face. My left eye was puffed out. An inch of dark bruising encircled it on all sides.

"Hello?" The curtain slid open and a tall woman appeared. She flashed me a weary smile. "What's your name?"

"Cy Reed."

"Are you new here?"

"You could say that."

She looked at my bruised face. "What happened?"

"The
Desolation
happened."

"You were on it?"

"Only for a few minutes."

"You're the one who climbed the crane?" she asked.

"Guilty as charged."

"That was brave. Stupid, but brave."

I shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"Any other injuries?"

I pulled up my shirt and showed her my welts. "They look worse than they feel."

"We'll get to those in a moment. Do you have any vision problems?"

"No."

She produced a vision chart and held it against the curtain. "Cover your right eye and read the fifth line."

I did as she asked. "N, D, O, F, Z."

"How about the sixth line?"

"E, C, N, D, Z, O."

"Good." She picked up a small light and peered into my eye, occasionally asking me to blink or to look in certain directions.

After a short examination, she peeled off her gloves. "Your eye looks fine. I don't see any signs of hyphema or unusual pressure. A black eye usually has nothing to do with the eye itself. Instead, burst capillaries and the subsequent hemorrhaging cause blood to accumulate in the space around the socket. As the blood is reabsorbed, pigments are released."

"How long will I look like this?"

"Most of the swelling and discoloration will be gone in a day or two. But it could take a few weeks to fade completely." She wrote a few notes on a clipboard. "I'm going to give you an ice pack. It'll reduce the swelling and numb any pain you might feel. But keep the pressure light. Your eye has undergone a significant trauma."

"Anything else?" I asked.

She pulled up my shirt again and applied alcohol to my welts. The burning sensation caused me to cringe. Afterward, she bandaged the wounds. "I'll have Connie rustle up some extra bandages for you. Acetaminophen too. If you notice any bleeding or experience additional pain, come back here immediately."

She reached for the curtain. "Do you need anything else?"

The entire appointment had taken less than five minutes. It had to be some kind of record. "That's it?"

"This is guerrilla medicine. We don't waste time. We fix a problem and move on to the next one."

"Sounds good to me."

The curtain shuffled as she closed it over. The soles of her shoes scraped across the floor. A door opened and closed. Silence fell over the clinic.

I hopped off the bed and donned my shirt. Then I pulled the curtain aside. The clinic appeared empty. The door leading to the office was now closed.

I hurried to the Examination Room. Quietly, I opened the door. The room consisted of two cots with a drawn curtain between them.

As I pulled the curtain out of the way, I inhaled sharply. The man from the
Desolation
lay on the second cot. Bandages covered most of his head and upper body. A blanket covered his lower body. But I assumed it wasn't much better than the rest of him.

"You shouldn't be here."

I didn't turn around. "What's his name?"

Baxter walked to the opposite side of the cot. "Johnny Richards. He served as first mate on the
Desolation
."

"Is he going to make it?"

"Dr. Shay is doing everything she can."

I swallowed. The saliva felt thick in my throat.

"So, you were Dr. Shay's emergency patient?" he said.

"Yeah."

"What the hell happened to your eye? You were fine when I left you."

I didn't see much benefit to telling him the truth. But I saw an opportunity to gain some much-needed sympathy with a white lie. "Guess I was a little more beat up than I realized."

"You could've died out there."

"I suppose so."

He waited a few seconds. Then he cleared his throat. "Did you see anything suspicious on the ship?"

I shook my head.

"I can't rule out the possibility this was deliberate."

"You mean like terrorism?"

"It's possible." He paused. "May I ask you a question?"

"Go for it."

"Why are you here?"

"Didn't you read my application?"

"Yes, but I know better than to trust anyone associated with Dutch. So, I did my own research. I know who you are, what you do."

"Is that right?"

"Yes."

I didn't say anything.

"I noticed you claimed prior experience at McMurdo. But you've never been there, have you?"

I shook my head.

"So, you lied about that too."

"I didn't have much of a choice. I know the policies around here. All newcomers are supposed to go through orientation and take a bunch of training courses before hitting the field." I shrugged. "I have better things to do with my time."

"Training saves lives."

"I can handle myself."

"You probably could, couldn't you?" He stared at me for a long moment. "Well, let's get going."

"Where to?"

"To Kirby. I want to take care of its power problems once and for all."

I gaped at him. "You're taking us with you?"

"Just for a day or two."

"Why?"

"You earned it." He hesitated. "Plus, Liza called from the lunchroom. Seems she ran into you guys. She, uh, suggested I let you stay."

"So, how do we get to Kirby? Helicopter?"

"Too much trouble. I'll take you in my Sno-Cat."

"What about the
Desolation
?"

"What about it?"

"Don't you have to, I don't know, handle the fallout?"

"Liza is heading up our investigation." Baxter walked toward the door. "That frees me up to go to Kirby. But let's get one thing straight. I don't trust you. And I'm not letting you out of my sights until I find out why you and Dutch are really here."

P
ART
II

Kirby Station

Chapter 14

Johnny Richards awoke with a start. His eyes opened. He saw flickering light. But everything else was blurry.

He blinked. Lines firmed up and joined together. Shapes appeared before his eyes. But they weren't the shapes he'd expected to see. There was no crane, no cargo containers. Instead he saw a curtain, medical instruments, and a small bedside table.

The air was warm, a far cry from the snowy tundra. He felt the cot beneath his body, the pillow beneath his head. He smelled disinfectant and chemicals. Apple juice too.

He rested for a few minutes. His strength returned, albeit at an excruciatingly slow pace. But his mind remained fuzzy. What had happened? Why was his body not responding to his brain?

A door opened and closed. "Hello Johnny."

Richards turned his head. His eyes studied the speaker. "Raven?"

"Yes."

All of a sudden, everything came back to him. The deal. The subterfuge. The blinding light. The deafening boom. Richards tried to speak. But his throat was too parched. "P … p … please." He swallowed. "Water."

Raven walked to a sink. Moments later, he returned with a cup of water. He tilted Richards' chin.

Liquid splashed into Richards' throat. It was warm and tasted like metal. But he didn't care. Greedily, he consumed every last drop.

Raven set the cup down. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible. Where am I?"

"Fitzgerald Station."

"What happened?"

"The
Desolation
exploded."

Richards winced. "The crew …?"

"You and I are the only survivors."

"But how …?"

"It's a mystery. But it looks like terrorism."

"Terrorism?"

"The explosion was huge. It tore your ship apart."

"I don't understand."

"I'll explain everything later. But right now, I need to know if you told anyone about our arrangement."

Richards groaned as a bit of pain flooded his body. He had a feeling it was going to get worse before it got better. "No, I'm a man of my word."

"Are you sure? What about the guy who rescued you? Did you say anything to him?"

"I don't even remember being rescued."

"It's okay if you said something. I'm not going to be mad, not after what you've been through. I just want to be prepared."

Memories nagged at the back of Richards' mind. But they were cloudy. He closed his eyes and tried to piece them together. "I remember waving from the deck. And I can remember someone picking me up, yelling at me. But that's it."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be."

Raven smiled. "Thank you."

Richards saw the hands reaching toward his neck. He shrank backward. But they didn't touch him. Instead, they grabbed the pillow and pulled it out from under his head. "What are you—?"

The pillow slammed into his face.

He screamed but the pillow muffled the sound. He tried to fight back, to gain some breathing room.

But the pillow just pressed tighter around his face.

His energy drained away.

His arms fell limp.

His eyes closed.

And then his brain shut down for good.

Chapter 15

"I can't see a damn thing." Graham looked out the windshield. "Have you got maps in case we get lost?"

"Maps?" Baxter shook his head. "Some things never change."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're still a Luddite. Haven't you ever heard of a GPS device?"

"That's all well and good. But what do you do when the power goes out?"

"Fortunately, we don't have to worry about that very often. We employ the latest technology here. Anyway we'll be fine as long as we stay on the road."

I stared at the snow as they continued to bicker. It fell at an incredible pace. It was quiet yet majestic and I wanted to lose myself in it. But the sun had other ideas. Its rays reflected off the powder, causing a harsh glare to shoot across the ice.

"How far is the drive?" I asked.

The Sno-Cat jolted as Baxter directed it forward. "One hundred and sixty miles."

"How long will it take?"

"Could be six hours, could be twelve. Depends on conditions. The maximum speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour. But we'll be lucky to get that high. The road is compacted ice, like the South Pole Traverse. We built it by leveling the snow and filling in the crevasses. Unfortunately, it requires a lot of maintenance. So, it has good days and bad days."

"What happens if we get stuck?"

"Then we'll make camp for the night."

"But we don't have any equipment."

"Relax." He jabbed his thumb at the cargo space. "I'm prepared for everything. I've got extra fuel canisters, a tent, sleeping bags, mats, space blankets, first-aid kits, tools, camp stoves, and enough freeze dried food to last us a week. I've even got hot chocolate."

"How about water?"

"Have you looked outside lately?" He gave me a disdainful glance. "We've got plenty of water. Just requires the camp stove to melt it."

Silence fell over the cab. I sat quietly for a few minutes, scrunched tightly between Baxter and Graham. I could practically feel the hatred, the enmity between them.

Six to twelve hours? Of this?

Chapter 16

"So, who is Beverly Ginger?" Baxter asked.

I did my best to mask my surprise. "Who?"

"Cut the crap. It wasn't hard to find her on another manifest, seeing as how she's also claiming to be a geomorphologist from New York University."

I rubbed my eyes. We'd been on the road for hours. I wasn't sure how long exactly. But it felt like an eternity. "We work together."

"How does Jeff Morin fit into the picture?"

"I don't know him."

He looked at me. "Jeff's a guide."

"Like I said, I don't know him."

Baxter produced his satellite phone. "What do you say we ask him if he knows you?"

I shrugged.

Baxter dialed a number.

I held my breath. Not because of Morin. I'd told the truth when I'd said I didn't know him. Instead, I was apprehensive about talking to Beverly. Several weeks had passed since our last encounter. I knew I had to speak to her again. But I wasn't exactly looking forward to it.

Baxter attempted to raise Morin for a few seconds. But there was no answer. With a frustrated grunt, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

I kept my eyes on the landscape as we drove further south. The blowing snow limited my visibility. But every now and then a gust of wind would give me a glimpse of the beautiful, lonely expanse.

"Tell me about your profession," Baxter said. "Your real one."

I frowned. I'd been waiting the entire ride for this exact moment. But I still felt unprepared.

In polite company, I referred to myself as a private archaeologist. It was true enough. Plus, it allowed me to avoid dirty looks and accusations. But my former colleagues had plenty of other names for people like me.

Grave robber. Tomb raider. Relic thief. Artifact Looter. History destroyer.

And those were just the nice ones.

"I'm a treasure hunter," I replied.

"You think there's treasure here?"

"I didn't say that."

"Well, there's not."

I turned my attention back to the landscape. I noticed a few rock exposures, mostly situated around the mountains. A brilliant white cloak covered the rest of the icy land. Much of it appeared flat at a distance. But up close, it looked highly textured, like tiny waves.

After another hour of staring at the ice, my eyes started to ache. My body grew stiff. The constant sunshine threw off my internal clock.

The wind whipped and whirled, sending particles of snow hurtling into the windshield. My visibility declined but I had no trouble seeing the bright red flags marking the route. They were mounted on tall posts and flapped madly, shifting constantly with the winds.