Thirst

by L. A. Larkin

  Blue’s room was next. Luke found a parka and waterproof trousers in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the wardrobe – the ones the doctor had worn on the SAR mission. They would fit Tubs or Maddie. Luke checked the pockets and found Blue’s inner and outer gloves. Bingo. But his large hand threatened to burst the seams so he peeled it off and stuffed both pairs in the daypack.

  Then Luke remembered he had clothing in the laundry. How could he be so forgetful? The washing machine and dryer were still intact, although their paint had blistered and blackened. He opened the dryer door and found, protected from the flames, his thermals, socks, inner gloves, balaclava, inner trousers and a large fleece. He hastily threw all of it into the daypack, except the gloves, which he pulled on immediately. He spotted his canvas laundry bag, too, and grabbed it. This find should give all three of them enough clothing.

  Luke moved to the comms room. The swivel chair he’d fallen asleep on was melted like a wilted black tulip. The desk had collapsed. The high-frequency radio was upended on the floor, and its front panel had fallen away. It looked as if someone had put a boot into it, but maybe there was a way it could be repaired … Luke decided to come back for it at the end of his scavenge.

  Luke looked around for the two VHF radios, one, marine band, the other, aeronautical. Someone had taken an axe to them, as well as to the Iridium satellite terminal. The Inmarsat BGAN satellite terminal was trashed too. He looked for the handheld radios. They were crushed.

  Luke tried not to let his rising panic overwhelm him. As a scientist, he believed there was always a solution; you just had to find it. Their survival depended on shelter, food and, ultimately, rescue – but how could he call for help? He scanned the room and found a compass in the debris. He held it up and pointed it due north – it still worked. He pocketed it.

  Next, the surgery. The wall cabinets had burst open and spewed out their contents. Plastic syringes had melted like ice cream on a summer’s day. Luke worked his way through Blue’s surgery drawers and found needle holders and sutures. He combed the shelves for antibiotics, but only two vials were unbroken.

  Then he remembered the safe that held the addictive drugs. Surely it would have protected its contents from the blaze? But the key – where did Blue keep the key? He spun around to Blue’s desk and opened the top drawer, and there it was. The key clicked in the safe lock and the thick door opened. Luke grabbed handfuls of vials filled with morphine and pethidine. But he still had no syringes or intravenous drips.

  Back at the wall cabinet, he found most things burned, shattered or melted. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Luke spotted a blackened backpack. The fabric had originally been red and the badge still had the brand ‘Thomas’ on it: an emergency medical pack. He ripped it open and found syringes in one of the pouches. In another pouch were painkillers, and in another bandages, antiseptic and sterile wipes. Placing his other finds inside the pack, he closed it and tied it using a sling, much as he would place a belt around a suitcase.

  Wondering how long it would be before the killers returned, Luke dashed towards the kitchen. He came upon Sue and stood stock-still. He felt terrible – he had forgotten about her. Somehow the flames had not reached her, and she lay on the floor as if asleep. Her face and fluffy pyjamas were covered in a fine layer of ash. Her parted lips were black. He bent down and used his hand to close her eyes. Irrationally, he thought about trying to find a blanket to cover her. Pull yourself together, man.

  When he saw Blue, Luke turned away immediately. There was little left of the doctor. It was as if an autopsy had been performed and he’d been left with his entrails hanging out. Luke managed to control his gag reflex this time. He thought that he should bury his friends, to give them back some dignity. But that would be like putting up a sign saying, ‘I’m still alive. Come and get me.’ It was, of course, impossible to bury them anyway. The ground was frozen solid.

  Luke had worked, laughed, eaten and played with these people. He knew all about their families, their friends, their worries, hopes and dreams. And their loved ones had no idea they were dead. A sharp gust of wind chilled him to the core, awakening him from his grief. Tubs and Maddie needed him.

  The kitchen had clearly been the epicentre of the explosion: there was a small crater where the gas tanks had once been. He clambered over the rubble and found a saucepan – into the canvas bag. All the plastic containers had melted, and the foods dripped down the shelves in congealing browns, reds, creams and greens. Cardboard packaged foods were nothing but black flakes, but some of the cans were fine.

  He plucked tins of soups, stews, baked beans off the shelves and put them into the bag. In the large cabinet freezer he pulled out bread, several bags of vegetables and meat.

  The cutlery had been blown across the room but some still remained in the sink drainer, including several knives. Luke nearly fell as he rushed to the general stores cupboard. Despite being highly flammable, a couple of bottles of shellite looked to be undamaged. He placed the daypack on his back and then pulled his arms through the straps of the second bag so it rested across his chest, balancing the weight. He carried the medical kit with one of his free hands.

  Crash!

  Luke turned around clumsily, his movement hampered. What was that? Was someone there? He ducked, and the tins inside the bag clanked together and dug into his spine. He couldn’t see anyone. He kept his head low as he stepped over the remains of the kitchen wall and out onto the deck. He peered below. Were they hiding down there?

  He approached the steps, his heart pounding and his mouth as dry as chalk. He poked his head around the corner: the steps were empty. He couldn’t see anyone. He raced for the snowmobile but when there was no gunfire, his confidence grew. He strapped the bags to the snowmobile and decided to go back for the radio transmitter.

  A figure appeared from behind the massive fuel tank. The person was wearing white, and Luke might not have noticed him if he hadn’t been standing against the bright colours of the thumbs-up kangaroo. He had a gun but didn’t move. Perhaps he hadn’t seen Luke?

  He had to leave the radio. He turned the ignition and revved the engine. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed an ice axe near the door. He accelerated, leaned down to pick it up and then raced out of the garage. Immediately machine-gun fire began, the noise like a frenetic jackhammer. Bullets tore at the ice around him.

  Terrified, Luke ducked and accelerated hard, burning up what little fuel remained. The gauge was flashing on empty in angry red.

  T MINUS 3 DAYS, 22 HOURS, 58 MINUTES

  6 March, 1:02 pm (UTC-07)

  Tubs screwed up his young face as he coughed. The morphine hadn’t yet kicked in and the pain was excruciating. Upon Luke’s return, Maddie used the antiseptic wipes and placed a fresh three-sided sterile dressing over the entry wound. There was nothing more they could do. Tubs rested his limp hand over the photograph of Carley and his parents.

  ‘Your turn, Maddie,’ said Luke, looking at the shrapnel in her leg.

  ‘Didn’t you say you were followed?’

  ‘Yes, but I detoured through an area littered with slots. It’ll take him a while to get backup, and unless he knows the area well, which I doubt, I reckon we have at least an hour’s head start, maybe more. The emergency medical kit has everything I need to do it.’

  Maddie studied the piece of metal sticking out of her calf. What she could see was as wide as a credit card. She reached for a paintbrush and pulled her hair back, twisted it round and secured it in a bun with the paintbrush protruding from the top. Her thinking mode. ‘Let’s work out where we’re going first.’

  Luke crouched down. ‘Have you heard of Bettingtons?’

  ‘The abandoned British station? That’s exactly where I was going to suggest. I’m not sure how comfortable it’ll be, though. I heard it was a bit of a wreck.’

  ‘Don’t think so – it was evacuated in a hurry in the nineteen-fifties. Apparently they left everything they couldn’t carry.’

  �
��It’s at the southern end of Cranton Bay, isn’t it?’ Maddie asked. ‘That’s a long way.’

  ‘That’s what Craig told me. Probably seventy kilometres, as the crow flies.’

  ‘Seven … ty!’ Tubs rasped.

  Luke looked at him. ‘You’ll be resting in the boat. You won’t have to do a thing. We’ll look after you, mate.’ He focused again on Maddie. ‘The Zodiac has spare fuel; the only problem might be hardening sea ice.’

  Maddie scratched her head, deep in thought.

  Luke continued. ‘Craig showed me photos of Bettingtons taken a couple of years ago. Said it was like going back in time – mattresses still on beds, food still in cupboards. Like some English village cricket hut, complete with checked curtains. It was fine a few years ago, so there’s no reason to believe it won’t be now.’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said, nodding. ‘The Brits planned to use it as a base for dog-sledding survey parties in the embayment. But they couldn’t do it because the sea ice is so unpredictable – sometimes solid as a rock, sometimes like porridge.’

  ‘I think we must’ve read the same article,’ Luke replied. ‘How ironic that when their ship came to pick them up, the sea ice was rock-hard so they had to sled out to the ship. That’s why so much is left behind: they could only take what fitted on the sleds.’ It occurred to Luke that this was probably the most relaxed conversation he’d had with Maddie in the five months he’d known her.

  She glanced at her leg and then at the hut door. ‘Let’s leave the operation until we’re at Bettingtons. I think we should focus on getting away from here. If I’m in the boat, I won’t need to use my leg anyway.’

  ‘We’ll have to cross Pine Island Bay. Then we’ll follow the headland round into Cranton Bay,’ said Luke. ‘There’s a risk we’ll be spotted, but Bettingtons is our only chance of survival.’

  ‘Tubs? Are you okay with this?’ asked Maddie.

  ‘We stay … here.’ Every word was agony.

  Luke replied, ‘Mate, they’re professionals, probably military. They’ll find us here. I’m sorry, but we have to leave.’

  Tubs nodded a fraction.

  ‘We’ll need plenty of energy. Tubs especially,’ Maddie said. ‘Have we got time to eat before we leave?’

  ‘We’ll have to be quick. I’ll get the boat ready. Can you heat something up?’

  When Luke returned, he found Maddie trying to get Tubs to eat some tinned stew she had warmed over the tiny camping stove. She handed it to Luke, who gulped it down.

  Maddie shared the rest with Tubs, who could do little more than lick the gravy. ‘Needs seasoning,’ he said, trying to smile. ‘Water.’

  Maddie helped him drink some melted snow in a plastic beaker that used to be Mac’s tea mug.

  ‘Can’t go with you,’ wheezed Tubs.

  ‘Of course you can,’ said Luke. ‘Try to eat some more.’

  ‘Nah.’ Tubs turned his head slowly to look at the photograph of Carley with his family. ‘Can’t see,’ he breathed. Luke lifted the photo so it was in front of Tubs’ face but still in Tubs’ grip. ‘Was gonna marry her.’

  ‘You still are,’ said Maddie. ‘She’s gorgeous. When’s the wedding?’

  ‘Jan … uary.’ Tubs’ words were slurred; the morphine was beginning to take effect.

  ‘You focus on her, Tubs, on getting better for your wedding, okay?’ said Maddie, but Luke could tell that she, too, realised Tubs wouldn’t live till January.

  Tubs’ eyes flickered and then opened again.

  ‘It’s my … fault,’ he said, as a tear spilled from a half-open eye.

  Maddie cut in. ‘Let’s not go there again. It’s not your fault. Just relax, okay?’

  ‘They paid … money for wedding … God, what … have I done?’

  Luke glanced at Maddie, confused. ‘What’s he mean?’ He turned to Tubs. ‘Who paid you? And for what?’

  ‘A stranger,’ he wheezed. ‘I jammed … communications. Didn’t know … new batteries.’

  ‘Maddie?’

  ‘Luke, he said all this while you were gone. Over and over again. He says the comms blackout was his doing.’

  ‘Mate,’ said Luke, softly squeezing Tubs’ shoulder, ‘you’re delirious. We’ll get you in the boat and you can rest.’

  Tubs grabbed Luke’s arm with what little strength he had left. ‘I didn’t know … I’m so … sorry.’

  Tubs coughed hard, droplets of blood splattering the sleeping bag. He lay back on his makeshift pillow. ‘Must be them … at fire.’ He opened his blue eyes wide at his last breath.

  ‘Tubs? Mate?’ called Luke.

  Maddie reached out and touched Tubs’ neck, feeling for a pulse. She gently closed his eyes and took his hand. Neither she nor Luke spoke for a while, as Tubs’ loved ones continued to smile up at him from the photograph lying in his lifeless hand.

  ‘Why does everyone I care for have to die?’ Maddie whispered.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Luke said. ‘There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this.’

  ‘He was only twenty-four,’ said Maddie. ‘He had everything to look forward to. Wedding. New business. They were going to open a café on the beach. Did you know that?’

  Luke stared blankly at the steamed-up hut window. ‘It would have been a winner. Long hours and hard work, but he’d have made it.’ Luke took the photo from Tubs’ palm and unzipped his friend’s freezer suit. He placed it facedown over Tubs’ heart and pulled the zipper shut. ‘There, mate,’ he said. ‘You’ve got them with you. You wait there, and when our ship turns up, we’ll get you home.’

  Maddie released Tubs’ hand and pulled the sleeping bag up and over his face.

  Luke could feel his eyes getting watery but he knew there was no time for grief. He stood. ‘We’ve got to get going.’

  ‘We can’t just leave him like this.’

  ‘We have to. He’s safe here, but we’re not.’

  Luke hurriedly packed their bags. He couldn’t allow his desolation to show. He wanted to watch over Tubs’ body just as much as Maddie, but their enemy might arrive at any moment.

  She stared at him, appalled, her grimy face streaked with tears. ‘You’re a cold-hearted son of a bitch.’

  Her words were like a punch to the stomach.

  ‘Goodbye, Tubs. We love you.’ Maddie stroked his hand one last time, then struggled to stand. Luke went to help her but she glared at him and he backed off. As she tried to use her left leg she fell against the door, only just regaining her balance.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maddie, but we need to take that sleeping bag,’ Luke said. She was about to object but he persisted. ‘He’d want us to have it.’

  Reluctantly, she drew back the sleeping bag from Tubs’ face and began rolling it as tightly as possible. Luke dismantled the camping stove and shoved it into the daypack, along with the pan. Maddie grabbed the first-aid kit and stuffed the spare clothes into the second bag.

  ‘Ready?’ he said.

  Maddie glanced at Tubs’ peaceful face. He looked as if he were just sleeping. ‘We’ll come back for you, I promise,’ she said, her voice cracking.

  Once in the Zodiac, Luke handed her their only pair of snow-goggles. He’d found them stuffed inside a jacket pocket.

  ‘You have them,’ she said.

  Luke put them on and was grateful to cut out some of the eye-stinging glare. ‘I drive, you navigate?’ he asked, offering her the compass.

  ‘Sounds good,’ replied Maddie, pocketing it. She smiled grimly. ‘Seems like we’re working as a team at last.’

  ‘Looks like it,’ agreed Luke, smiling back. ‘How the hell did that happen?’ he joked.

  But as he placed his arm around her so she could lean on his shoulders, his smile evaporated. Neither of them knew the exact location of Bettington Station. It would be pure guesswork.

  T MINUS 3 DAYS, 21 HOURS, 50 MINUTES

  6 March, 2:10 pm (UTC-07)

  Robert Zhao Sheng skidded the white snowmobile to a halt
outside Hope Station. He turned off the ignition and flexed the fingers of his left hand; the outer three hardly moved, and they ached. He had taken great pains to ensure his men had not noticed his weakness as they crossed the glacier to arrive at Hope. The journey had given him the chance to listen to the allegro movement from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. Such sublime music further lifted his spirits.

  He was already on a high. The chairman of the arms manufacturer he’d wanted to buy had caved. It was only a small deal – five hundred million or so – but the company was worth at least twice that, given the opportunities his ownership of Hung Security would create. Synergy. What a wonderful word. And it was yet another victory for Robert. Life was about keeping score and staying ahead, and even from this cesspit of a place, he was still king.

  Robert switched off his iPod, dismounted and removed his helmet and balaclava. He waited for Captain Wei and the soldier who had failed to kill the survivor to jog over. He had deliberately parked some distance away to avoid seeing the burned corpses. ‘How many bodies do we have?’ he asked.

  ‘Including MacNamara and Cox, five, sir,’ said Wei.

  ‘So three are still alive, and one is clearly close enough to salvage supplies,’ concluded Robert, lighting a cigarette, his movements deliberately slow.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ responded Wei, his head down.

  Robert sucked on the cigarette and exhaled several times in rapid succession, creating rings of smoke. The rest he blew through his nose, in Wei’s face. ‘Identify the person who returned.’

  ‘We believe it was Searle. A tall man. Grigg is rounder and shorter. And the only other person to escape was a woman.’

  Robert nodded, speed-smoking his cigarette. The stench of burned flesh and petrol was wafting towards him on the wind. He had hoped the cigarette would remove some of the smell from his nose, but it didn’t. ‘Yes. I expected it to be Searle. But where are the others?’

  He looked down as he contemplated this question. When he looked up again, both soldiers were observing him. They immediately dropped their eyes to the ground. ‘What did he take?’ Robert asked sharply.