The Dying of the Light: Interval (34 page)

Sabrina looked up at him. “You’ve been summoned.”

He sighed. “I can’t imagine this will be very pleasant. Having to choose half my friends to die.” He glanced over at her, noticing her worried expression. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling and kissing her on the cheek. “If they want me to go, they’re going to have to take you, too.”

He put on his jacket and opened the door, giving her a long look before he left. As he headed over to the main building, he shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold.

At best, there’s a 50/50 chance that plane will make it back here. How can I possibly live with that?

He walked into Warner’s office a few minutes later, and looked around in confusion. Warner was moving about his office, collecting papers and small items into a file box that he obviously intended to take with him.

“I thought this was going to be a lottery drawing, Jack,” Atkins said.

Warner nodded, not really paying attention. He sat down, rummaging through his desk drawers. “It is, it is.”

“I don’t see any numbers. Or tickets. Or, you know, anything to do an actual
drawing
with. Have you hidden it somewhere?”

Warner looked up, his expression one of surprise and fear. “What? Hidden? What have you heard?” He’d stopped rummaging, his right hand in the top drawer. The look on his face made Jim’s blood run cold.

Whoa. Jack is stone-cold crazy. What the hell is going on?
thought Atkins.
I’ve never seen him so jumpy
. “The lottery drawing? Where’s the stuff? Tickets, etc?”

Warner was clearly confused for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Oh, that.”

What the hell did he
think
I was talking about?
“Yes,
that
. You know, the thing where we leave half our people to die on the ice. Kind of a big thing at the moment.”

“I already took care of it, Jim. No need to worry, either. You are, of course, on the list.” There was an odd tone to his voice, but Atkins put it down to stress at the rescue. “You and Dr. Tanner, both.”

“You already took care of it? What are you talking about?”

“That’s why I called you here. I figured the lottery drawing could really be done by anyone, and I thought you’d be so busy you might not have time to help. So I just went ahead and did it.” He selected a small figurine for his box, one of the few personal items Atkins had ever seen in Warner’s possession. The diminutive golfer was carefully wrapped in spare printer paper and placed in the box. After which, naturally, lots of other files and knickknacks were heaped atop it.

“So, you held the lottery already. By yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Can I see the list?”

“No need! You’re on it, as I said. As is Dr. Tanner.” Atkins noticed Warner had glanced at an otherwise inconspicuous folder on his desk, and blessed the poker he’d played in college for his ability to read faces and body language.

“Still, better to just have a second set of eyes to double-check,” Atkins said as he snatched the file from the desk. He wasn’t prepared for Warner to nearly leap across the desk, grabbing at the file.

“No! There’s no need, I already told you!”

The men struggled, each pulling and twisting on the file. Just when Atkins thought it was going to rip rather than end up the sole possession of one of the two angry men, his least-favorite blonde Russian burst into the room, along with Sven.

Tatiana Zavrazhny was still zipping up her jacket when she entered. Atkins noticed her slip a small piece of paper into her left breast pocket as she did so, though his curiosity didn’t last long when she began speaking.

“
Mudaki
! Assholes!” Her voice carried quite a way, and Atkins knew others had heard it. “Haven’t you been listening to the radio?”

Warner and Atkins glanced at each other, then down at their radios, which they’d turned off just so no one would accidentally overhear them.

“No, we haven’t, Ms. Zavrazhny,” said Warner, still holding tight to the file, as was Atkins. “What is it?”

“Your little plan is pointless, now,” Tatiana said, and it occurred to Atkins that her English had gotten one hell of a lot better damned quick. “Come on. The planes are landing.”

Atkins did a double-take. “Wait, what?
Planes
? As in multiple?”

“
Debil
! Yes, you idiot, that’s exactly what I mean. There are
two
planes landing. You’d know this if you weren’t too busy playing with each other.”

Atkins turned to Warner. “But then, that means…”

“
Da
, it means you do not need to consider any longer your stupid plan to leave half of us here,” said Tatiana, causing both men to go completely silent in shock. “You did not think I knew? Your little ploy to keep secret this plan failed.”

“How… how many…” asked Warner.

“How many people know you tried to kill them? Only Sven and me. Is… how you say in English… insurance?” She looked over at Sven. “We wanted to be coming on the plane. Now, is pointless. Come on.”

Mutely, the four of them went outside, where a Jeep was running, and climbed aboard, Tatiana taking the driver’s seat. They slalomed around the final curve and approached the Ice Runway. Atkins made a mental note never to ride with a crazy Russian bitch driving, and then gasped at the number of people on the runway, lined up to see the planes arrive. It had been years since everyone had gathered together in one location. Just over nine hundred people was still a
lot
of people, even though it felt like only a few people lived on the base anymore.

As the Russian stopped the Jeep and they got out, Atkins looked up and could just make out a huge plane circling in the distance. The crowd began to erupt in scattered cheers.

He saw Sabrina nearby with a pair of binoculars held to her face, the fringe on her parka fluttering in the light wind. He walked up next to her and smiled, or at least tried. They’d known each other long enough now, though, that when she glanced his way, she didn’t return it, realizing it for the false front it was. She reached down and squeezed his hand, though, passing the binoculars to him with the other.

The plane leaped into focus, and he gasped once more as he recognized it as the same model as the one which had sat in a converted warehouse at McMurdo for nearly four years. When Sabrina tapped him on the arm and pointed, he shifted his position and saw
another
C-5 preparing to circle for its own landing.

How the hell did they get
two
of those things?
he wondered.

“I don’t believe it,” said Warner as he walked up, his own pair of binoculars clutched tightly in his grip. “It’s ours.”

“What? What are you talking about?” asked Sabrina.

“That’s
our
C-5. The one that left six years ago.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I recognize the tail number. I’m nothing if not observant, Dr. Tanner.”

Atkins had to concede the point, but what confused him wasn’t Warner’s near-eidetic memory, but rather the flash of profound terror on his face as he recognized the plane.

What the hell is he scared of?

“I have to go,” Warner said, jumping into the Jeep before anyone could stop him. As he sped off, Atkins could see him screaming into his radio.

He turned to Sabrina, taking the radio from her pocket, having left his in Warner’s office. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he just shook his head, turning the volume up. There was only a scattered few transmissions, mostly between the incoming planes and those on the ground directing them in. He started to hand the radio back to her, but stopped when he saw the little-used frequency knob on the side of the device.

At McMurdo, there was rarely a reason to use that selector, at least with their population size as it was now. But what if… He began rapidly scanning through the available frequencies, and just as he moved to channel eight, he heard a voice speaking. He couldn’t make out the words, but quickly switched back to channel seven.

“…on my way!” It was clearly Warner’s voice, but he’d stumbled in on the middle of the conversation. Sabrina stepped close to him, as much to hear as to shield the sound from others nearby. Atkins adjusted the sound volume down so only the two of them could hear it, and hoped the short phrase he’d heard wasn’t the last.

“Say again?” said another voice that neither of them recognized. “Repeat last.”

“… said it’s
our
plane… back, landing
now
… Take care of her! He might be on… I’m on my way!”

The chill that went through Atkins had nothing to do with the weather, and as he looked at Sabrina, he could tell she felt it, too. “Take care of who?” he wondered out loud.

Sabrina grabbed his coat and pulled him close to further rule out eavesdroppers, whispering into his jacket hood. “Who do you think?” she said, looking him in the eye. “Jennifer Shaw.”

Shaw looked down at the expanse of white below him, shading his eyes even though he’d managed to find a pair of shades in the gear he’d left behind on his plane all those years ago. Something caught his eye from the side, and he turned to look as they came in on their final approach. Something black, on the edge of the bay… he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, sure they were playing tricks on him. But what he’d seen was still there, mocking him with its impossibility. He grabbed a headset and turned to Sergeant Myers.

“Get me
Rescue One
.”

“Yes, sir,” said Myers, flipping a couple switches and then nodding at Shaw.

“
Rescue One
,
Rescue Two
Actual.”

“
Rescue Two
, Anderson here. What’s up, Bill?”

“You’re a Navy man, sir. Look down at the edge of the bay there, closest to the station, and tell me what you see.”

“One sec, checking… Holy shit.”

“So I’m not crazy.”

“No, you’re not. Though if you hadn’t pointed it out to me, I would’ve thought
I
was. What in the hell is a United States Navy submarine doing down here? Did you know anything about this? Never mind, you wouldn’t have asked me if you did. What in the actual fuck is going on down there?”

“I’ve got no idea, sir. It wasn’t here or even on its way when we left six years ago. Can you make out any details?”

“Well, judging from the ice buildup around the sail and the rudder, it’s not a boomer—those are a
lot
bigger. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s likely a
Los Angeles
-class, maybe even
Virginia
. See that hump in the ice behind the sail?”

Shaw couldn’t see anything aft of the sail, so he grabbed a nearby set of binoculars. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the weird bulge Anderson had mentioned.

How the hell did that old man see it? Guess he’s in better shape than I thought for someone pushing fifty
.

“Yeah, I see it now, Captain.”

“I think that’s a DSRV. Maybe a Dry Deck Shelter, but I’m guessing a DSRV.”

“No shit? This just gets weirder and weirder.”

Archer looked over his shoulder at Shaw. “Making our final turn, sir.”

“Roger that. All right, Captain, we’re heading in now. I guess we’ll get our answers pretty soon.”

“They better be
good
answers, too.
Rescue One
out.”

My first surprise was how unbelievably cold it really was on Antarctica. I know I should’ve expected it, but looking back, I’m not sure I could’ve ever adequately prepared myself. It was, in fact, “weenie-shrinking cold” as Eric had once said to me, causing no end of laughter from his mother and I.

Thinking about Eric and Rebecca no longer caused me physical pain, though I would always miss them.

He would’ve loved this adventure
, I thought.
Still, time to focus and get these folks out of here
.

The condition of the survivors of McMurdo had been a major worry for us, based on the descriptions of their plight. That was one reason we’d brought two full pallets of MREs with enough food to feed twice their number.

I’d assigned Sergeant Denson, one of Anderson’s men, to watch over the supplies and make sure that no one got ahead of the game. He’d had to bring in a couple of his fellows to help, having been nearly overrun. We’d finally had to clear the hold of everyone, and we were just about to close it down.

I looked over at Archer and Myers as we stood on the ramp, looking out at the crowd.

Archer glanced at me as a woman came up to him with a small group, offering him what looked to be fresh tomatoes, apples, and other fruits and vegetables.
Where the hell did
those
come from?
I wondered.

“Sir?” Archer asked, and I shrugged.

“You needn’t worry,” said the woman with a strong Scottish accent, and I glanced a bit closer. She was pretty, if a bit undernourished like the rest. “I’m Marcie Thompson, and these be our gifts to you and your men, sir. From the aeroponics bays.”

I laughed. “No need to call me sir, Marcie. I’m a civilian. But we’ll gladly take your gifts. Aeroponics, you said? Just let us get this ramp closed and I’d love to see them.” I turned to Myers and Archer, who were already moving back into the plane as I stepped off the ramp into the snow to one side. The crunch of the snow under my boots felt good, bringing back memories of happier times in Colorado and Washington. After being in the sweltering heat of the Texas sun for two months, I’d started wondering if I’d ever see it again.

The ramp closed and the side door of the plane opened to let out the two other men. Archer came up to me while Myers took the opportunity to flirt with Ms. Thompson and her friends while quietly stuffing his pockets with strawberries, apples, and the like.

“All hatches secure, sir. Looks like the others will be here in a moment,” Archer said, pointing down the runway. I shaded my eyes and saw the other C-5 coming in. The crowd cheered as they, too, saw the big plane landing, though they stayed well clear until it had taxied to a stop near ours, leaving plenty of turning room for the takeoff.