Thirst

by L. A. Larkin

  It felt like a surgeon was peeling away his face without anaesthetic. He groaned as the metal slashed three or four millimetres deep: two parallel cuts just below his ear, and two into his cheekbone below his eye socket. The last two to connect slit his lip, the metal perforating through to his teeth. He tasted rust-like blood seeping into his mouth.

  ‘Payback,’ Robert managed to say through a broken jaw.

  Luke swung out his axe and connected with one of the ropes supporting his enemy. Robert’s harness jerked and he dropped his rifle. The other ropes held, but Robert was now unarmed.

  Luke’s face was on fire, his mouth full of blood, but he pulled himself level with his enemy. He lifted his axe again. ‘Where’s Vitaly? Where?’

  ‘Stop! Don’t!’ Robert squeezed his eyes tight for a moment. Speaking was agony. ‘Down there. He attacked me and fell.’

  ‘Liar! You cut his rope!’ With his axe still poised to strike, Luke called out to his friend. ‘Vitaly! Vitaly!’ There was a glimmer of hope he might be alive but Luke heard nothing but the snap of shifting ice.

  ‘Spare me and I’ll stop the countdown,’ Robert pleaded.

  ‘It’s started?’ Luke was stunned.

  ‘Not yet, but it’s programmed to begin at eleven fifty-seven.’

  In fury, Luke swung his axe at the new antenna and it fell into the chasm.

  ‘Disappointing,’ Robert said. ‘But the rest of the fissure will still blow. Can you risk the glacier’s collapse, Searle? Huh? I can still stop it, if you let me go.’

  Luke considered for a moment. ‘Stop the detonation and I’ll let you live.’

  ‘This is the key,’ said Robert, showing Luke something that resembled a USB memory stick. It was dangling from a chain around his neck. ‘If I place it inside the master controller’s port, the countdown will be terminated.’

  ‘The laptop’s at your camp?’

  ‘It is.’

  Luke thought of Maddie. Was she alive? He realised that if she had the laptop, Robert wouldn’t be here.

  He glanced at his watch. Twenty-six minutes and nine seconds to detonation. Only just enough time to get to Robert’s camp. Luke was torn. With Robert at his mercy, he could stop the detonation. But first he had to find Vitaly.

  ‘Give me the key.’ Luke raised the axe higher, ready to strike.

  Robert reluctantly handed it over and Luke placed the chain around his neck. From way below, he heard a moan. ‘Quiet!’ he hissed at Robert.

  ‘Luke …’

  It was hardly more than a whisper. Luke ripped Robert’s head torch from his helmet, almost toppling the tiny video camera. ‘Vitaly,’ he called, as he shone the torch into the chasm.

  Distracted, Luke didn’t see Robert’s hand slide into his coat pocket. In the split-second it took for Luke to raise his eyes, Robert had pulled out a pistol and was turning it in Luke’s direction.

  The ice axe was in Luke’s hand, secured by a wrist loop. He swung it across his body and the pick struck the side of Robert’s chest, sinking deep into flesh and gut and bone, like a butcher’s knife slicing through a carcass. The killer dropped his gun, his face in a startled gasp. Luke retrieved the blade and Robert‘s head slumped forward like a baby unable to bear the weight of his skull.

  ‘Luke,’ called Vitaly, weakly.

  ‘I’m coming,’ Luke shouted back.

  Blood dribbled from Robert’s wound and his body twitched. His breathing was a wet gurgle. ‘You lose.’ He spat blood in Luke’s face and collapsed.

  Every muscle in Luke’s body tensed, like a sprinter waiting for the starter gun to fire. He calculated time and distance. He could save his friend and stop the detonation, but only just. ‘No, Robert,’ he replied. ‘I will win.’

  Luke scanned the area around them and saw the ledge Vitaly had used to hide from Robert. He swung across to it, pushing Robert’s limp and suspended body in front of him. With his crampons firmly set on the outcrop, he lowered Robert so he lay flat, then he unbuckled his harness and tore it away.

  He began descending fast into the chasm, taking the extra harness with him. ‘Keep talking to me, Vitaly. Where are you?’

  ‘Lu … uke,’ the Russian called.

  It sounded as though Vitaly couldn’t catch his breath. Luke remembered Mac’s blue, parted lips, his chest wedged into a hole that crushed his ribs, suffocating him to death. Luke sped up, his neck craned downwards. It was very dark. In the torchlight he saw the khaki of Vitaly’s parka. ‘Mate, hold on! I’ll get you out of there.’

  He was now level with his friend, whose leg was trapped in a crack in the ice floor. He was lying on his stomach.

  ‘You having a party up there … huh?’ Vitaly’s deep-set eyes almost disappeared behind his relieved smile.

  ‘Robert’s dead. Have to get you up fast. I’ve got a key that stops the countdown but have to reach his camp to use it.’

  ‘Blyad! No time!’

  ‘Fuck’s about right, my friend. I’m going to have to be quick.’ Part of Vitaly’s right ear had been blown away and he had a deep gash above it in his scalp. ‘How badly injured are you?’

  ‘Broken leg. Bullet cut my ear. It is okay. Put me in the harness. Then you must go.’

  ‘Can you make it up on your own?’

  ‘Da!’

  ‘Okay, this is going to hurt.’ Luke got Vitaly under the arms; he must have weighed one hundred and twenty kilograms, and he was pure muscle. Luke was strong but he struggled. ‘You need to go on a diet,’ he joked, as he dragged the big man onto firmer ice.

  With no time to worry about the pain, Luke roughly pushed his friend’s legs into the harness and ignored the man’s curses. ‘Use Robert’s snowmobile, okay?’ Luke asked.

  ‘No problem. You must go!’ Vitaly demanded.

  Luke hesitated. He checked his watch: eighteen minutes and twenty seconds left.

  ‘Go!’

  Luke ascended so fast that he barely noticed his muscles burning. As he crawled out of the fissure on his belly – his chest heaving, his whole body shuddering from the exertion – a snowmobile skidded to a halt nearby, showering him in snow. Had he finally run out of luck?

  ‘Luke! My God, your face!’

  It was Maddie’s husky voice. Was he imagining it? He lifted his head. She ran at him and held him tight. Just as quickly, she tore herself away and yanked the straps from a backpack off her shoulders. ‘I’ve got the laptop – but how do we stop the countdown?’

  She pulled the master controller from her bag and placed it on the snowmobile seat. Luke struggled to stand and had to lean on the vehicle for support. The laptop was switched on but in sleep mode. She opened the screen. Luke looked at the digital clock.

  Ten minutes and two seconds to go.

  Luke ripped the chain from his neck. His hand trembled so much that he struggled to insert the key into the port.

  ‘It’s in,’ he said.

  Terminated at nine minutes and fifty-one seconds appeared on the screen.

  Both Maddie and Luke stared in disbelief.

  ‘We did it,’ said Luke, quietly at first. Then he yelled, ‘We did it!’ and he wrapped Maddie in his arms. ‘How on earth did you get the laptop?’ he asked, his chin resting on her warm head.

  ‘Robert thought I was dead. He shot at me and missed, but I played dead.’ Maddie pulled back and he released her. ‘Wei tried to stop Robert … Robert killed him.’ She frowned as she noticed Robert’s snowmobile. ‘Oh my God, he’s here, Luke – that’s his!’

  ‘He’s dead. He can’t hurt us anymore. But Vitaly’s still down there, injured.’

  Luke handed her the laptop for safekeeping. He took one end of the rope he had used to climb out of the crevasse and tied it to the vehicle’s handlebars. He threw the other end into the fissure. ‘Can you call down to him? We’re going to use the snowmobile to pull him out.’

  She did so and then joined Luke on the snowmobile. He accelerated away from the fissure until Vitaly was safely on the surface.
Maddie leaped off the vehicle and ran over to him. ‘We stopped the countdown – it’s over!’ She danced around him in little circles, her arms held high, her long hair swinging in an arc behind her.

  ‘I think I am dead and with an angel,’ Vitaly said.

  ‘Mate, that’s the second time we’ve had to drag you out of a crevasse. You’ve gotta watch where you’re going,’ Luke joked.

  Vitaly lay spreadeagled on the ice and laughed.

  T MINUS 3 MINUTES

  10 March, 11:57 am (UTC-07)

  Robert is entering a tiny room, an airless cubicle with no windows. A soldier guards the door. A battered bedside lamp provides a pinkish glow of light. The walls are burgundy, like the red wine that makes his father loud and belligerent. Apart from the bed, there is a framed mirror on the wall and a small wooden chair, both amateurishly painted gold. Robert stands just inside the recently shut door and peers from behind his father’s wide frame, like a shy toddler.

  Robert is fifteen and the girl on the bed looks to be no more than twelve. She has no breasts and wears a simple smock dress, no ribbons in her hair. Her family is clearly poor, probably peasant stock. She sits on the edge of the bed, hunched over, her eyes darting from his father to him, one minute pleading, the other terrified.

  ‘Mummy. Where’s my mummy?’ she says.

  ‘Arrested this morning. You won’t see her again,’ replies his father, intending to be brutal. He swivels to face his son. He is not in his military garb but a civilian shirt and trousers, his expanding belly protruding over his belt. ‘She’s clean,’ he says to Robert. ‘A virgin. Happy birthday.’

  Robert is appalled. He has always imagined he would meet a girl and fall in love. His beautiful mother had talked to him about the tenderness of making love, despite her husband’s cruelty. But this? This is disgusting.

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ he replies politely, and waits for him to leave. Robert will simply talk to the girl and make her promise to pretend they had sex.

  ‘Well, get on with it. Her name is Woo Huo.’

  ‘I’m waiting for you to leave,’ he replies, a tremor in his voice.

  His father laughs, the same mocking laugh he’s always used at Robert’s expense, his mouth wide as if he were chewing up whole countries. ‘Oh, no, I’m staying. I’m going to make sure my weedy son becomes a man. Now, get on with it. Show me you’re worthy to be a Zhao.’

  His father moves to stand in front of the door, folds his arms and waits. The girl cowers, shaking her head, her misery clear in her pleading eyes. Robert begins to unbutton his shirt. He feels sick. He doesn’t want to do this but he is desperate to win his father’s approval. But not like this; he can’t rape a girl.

  Robert stops unbuttoning his shirt and turns to face his father. ‘I thank you for this gift, Father, but I want to make love to a girl who is special to me. I would like to leave now,’ he says, and he steps closer to the door. But his exit is blocked.

  His father’s hand whips out and slaps him across the face. ‘Show me you’re a man,’ he shouts. ‘Take your clothes off now, and fuck her.’

  Robert’s eyes become watery and his father’s narrow in scorn at his son’s cowardice. Robert shakes from head to toe but he obeys and soon he stands naked, his small penis limp.

  ‘Undress her,’ his father orders.

  Robert walks towards the girl, who scrambles onto the pillows, curled into a tight ball. ‘Please, please don’t,’ she repeats, over and over.

  ‘You fucking baby,’ his father yells at him. He approaches and slaps the girl across the top of her bent head. She tries to curl into a tighter ball but he yanks her arms up and tears off her dress, then her panties, which are sodden with urine.

  General Zhao glances at his son’s flaccid penis. ‘What’s the matter with you? Doesn’t this stir your blood?’

  ‘No, Father,’ Robert replies meekly, increasingly ashamed.

  ‘Retard!’ his father screams. ‘Watch what a real man does,’ he says, unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers onto the stinking carpet.

  ***

  Robert woke with a jolt. It wasn’t a fantasy; he remembered every detail. Woo Huo – Wendy.

  He was colder than he believed possible. Where was he? His vision was blurred; all he could see were patterns of greys and blues. He blinked and pain shot down the left side of his face, which seemed to hang oddly. He tried to move and coughed, almost choking on the blood from his lungs.

  Breath. He had no breath. His lungs wouldn’t expand. Then he remembered the excruciating pain of the axe slamming into his chest. He was in the Fitzgerald Fissure. But how could he still be alive? For a moment his heart beat a little faster with hope, but he couldn’t catch his breath and he coughed up more blood. There was no hope.

  Robert moved one hand, a few centimetres at a time, feeling his surrounds. He could see through only one eye. He was on his side, on some kind of ledge. He lifted his hand to his waist: he had no harness. The bastard had left him there to die.

  He felt a momentary surge of anger but it didn’t last long. His life-blood was seeping away and he was weakening fast. Anger would drain his energy. He couldn’t waste it. He had a task to complete. His legacy must be a magnificent victory. His ego would allow nothing less. Above all, there was no way he would be beaten by that nobody, Luke Searle.

  Did he still have his backpack? In flesh-tearing agony Robert raised his free hand higher up his chest and found a strap. Yes. And his wrist-monitor? It was attached to his left arm, which was numb, pinned beneath him. He tried to move onto his back but his parka was stuck to the ledge. His blood had glued his coat to the ice. Robert lay still, momentarily defeated.

  ‘Call yourself a man?’ he heard his father’s voice shout.

  ‘Yes,’ croaked Robert. He remembered the video camera and hoped it was still recording. What had he been saying? His heroic battle with Vitaly would be on tape, and his attempt to shoot Searle. Now the camera would record his final act. He would be immortalised. The thought gave him a surge of strength.

  Robert wrenched his left arm out from under his body. He undid the wrist-monitor’s strap and raised it in front of his eyes. The movement felt like razor blades tearing at his guts. Did the screen say the time was 12:02 pm? No, it can’t be! He blinked several times as he tried to focus on the message illuminated on the small screen.

  Terminated at nine minutes and fifty-one seconds.

  Luke Searle had stopped the countdown! Robert had to re-start it.

  Resting the monitor on the ice, he undid the zip of his parka and began to wriggle free. He almost passed out from pain, and his lungs were on fire. First one arm and then the next, and he was free of both coat and backpack.

  Robert peered down at the sodden red stain of his wound, then up at the signal relay box above him, its antenna gone. Did he have enough strength to fix it? He had to try. Gritting his teeth, he sat up. His scream was brief but intense, and he coughed blood, spraying it over himself. He could hardly catch a breath, barely enough to oxygenate his ever depleting blood supply.

  In a dreamlike state, Robert took the second spare antenna from his bag. Now to stand. With his back to the ice wall, he used his legs to push himself up. The ledge, the wall, everything was moving, as if he were at sea. He was giddy with lack of oxygen.

  Robert pulled himself level with the box. Reaching up, he unscrewed the remains of the destroyed antenna before doubling over and vomiting blood. The pain was unbearable but he just managed to screw the new antenna in position. He staggered, unable to tighten it fully, but it held in place.

  Robert collapsed back on the ledge, which was to be his glassy open coffin. He felt for a tiny rubber button on his wrist-monitor and pressed it. A cursor flashed on the small screen, asking him for his password. His hands were so cold that he couldn’t feel the raised keys, but he knew their location. His vision was fading fast. He used the keyboard to tap in his password, changed only a few hours earlier.

  W–E–N�
�D–Y.

  Robert had never forgotten her. He had never forgiven himself for watching his father destroy her innocence, just as the bastard had destroyed his own sensitivity, his belief in human goodness.

  Nine minutes and fifty seconds.

  Nine minutes and forty-nine seconds.

  Nine minutes and forty-eight seconds.

  He had overridden the command to terminate. Not even the key Searle had taken could stop it.

  ‘I win,’ he wheezed, his last words recorded on a video camera that would never be found.

  T PLUS 11 MINUTES

  10 March, 12:11 pm (UTC-07)

  Maddie, Luke and Vitaly were so filled with relief that a few minutes passed before Maddie noticed the countdown had restarted. ‘No! It can’t be,’ she cried.

  Luke was instantly at her side.

  Vitaly stopped laughing and sat up.

  Six minutes and forty-six seconds.

  ‘How in God’s name did that happen?’

  Luke fiddled with the abort key. It hadn’t come loose. It simply wasn’t working.

  ‘What?’ demanded Vitaly.

  ‘Countdown has started again and this section is going to blow too!’ Maddie said. ‘Look.’ On the laptop screen each detonator was listed as working, except the one Luke had deactivated.

  Luke shook his head in disbelief. ‘Robert is still alive. It must be him.’

  ‘Six minutes and forty-three seconds. What can we do?’ Maddie shot an anguished look at Vitaly.

  ‘Nothing,’ Vitaly replied. ‘We get the hell out of here.’

  Maddie dropped the laptop as if she’d just been scalded. ‘What if we smash it to pieces?’

  ‘Nyet. Once the signal is sent, it cannot be stopped. We must leave very fast!’

  Luke helped Vitaly to his feet. ‘You come with me,’ he said. ‘Maddie, take the other snowmobile.’

  Vitaly took his fractured leg in both hands and manoeuvred it over the seat, roaring in agony. He placed his bulky arms around Luke’s waist. ‘Go,’ said the Russian.