The Dying of the Light: Interval

by Kristopher, Jason

  He glanced at me, and I knew he was thinking of the same thing I was: Eric. I found that dark place in my heart, and brought it to the fore, using it, reveling in it for a moment. Gardner had been bad, but this guy was just plain evil, as Anderson had said. “Can I have your sidearm, Frank?”

  Frank took one look at my face, and handed me his pistol, then turned and walked out of the shed, closing the outer door behind him without even a backward glance.

  Somewhat later, I left the Jeep off to the side of the runway, then jogged over to Rescue Two, climbing through the side door with a hand from Myers. I took one last look around, then secured the hatch. There wasn’t much room in the cargo bay, as I saw when I turned around. More than four hundred people sure take up a lot of room. They were sitting, standing, or lying down wherever they could, and I marveled at the sheer number of people we’d been able to cram in the plane. I turned to Myers and whispered, “Are we going to be able to take off?”

  He shrugged. “We took out everything we could. Good thing these folks are skinny.”

  We headed up to the flight deck through the rear compartment, and I noticed the people were jam-packed in here, too. It looked like we were all going to be tight on space on the way back.

  As I moved onto the flight deck, the pilots were busy going through their pre-flight checklists. Shaw had taken the first pilot’s seat for this part of the flight, with Archer assisting. Anderson was heading up Rescue One.

  “We’re all ready whenever you are, sir,” said Myers, taking his station.

  “Well, then, let’s get out of here,” I said.

  “Amen to that,” Archer mumbled under his breath.

  “Rescue One, Rescue Two Actual,” said Shaw.

  “Anderson here, go ahead,” came over the radio.

  “I’m ready to get out of here, sir. What about you?”

  “Fine with me. We’ll take the lead, if you don’t mind.”

  “Last in, first out, sir. Have at it.”

  “Roger that.”

  I couldn’t hear the other plane’s engines over our own, but it seemed like forever before we saw the other C-5 begin creeping forward, inch by inch gaining speed as her jets clawed at the near-frozen air. Soon enough, she was speeding down the runway, and I could hear both Shaw and Archer chanting in whispers, urging her up. Moments later, we were all joining in, and we cheered as her nose finally came up, just before the end of the runway and certain doom.

  “I guess it’s your turn now, boys. Good luck. Rescue One out,” said Anderson over the radio.

  “No time like the present,” said Shaw, as he and Archer threw the throttles forward to their stops. The engines outside began screaming even louder, and we all leaned forward, practically willing the plane to take off. Slowly, oh so slowly, we began to inch forward, just like our sister aircraft, and again, soon enough, we were racing down the frozen runway.

  Atkins entered the flight deck, holding onto various handholds as he moved forward.

  I looked at him, and he just shrugged. “Humans have been on this continent since 1904. I wanted to be one of the last ones to see it… who knows, we might never come back. For the first time in over a hundred years, there’s no one alive on the ice.”

  As we finally made it into the air and began our initial banking to turn northward toward freedom and the rest of the world, I looked down at McMurdo Station one final time. I strained to find the shed, but it went by too quickly, and I thought of Atkins’s words.

  Unfortunately for Warner, Atkins was wrong.

  Warner sat in his cell, holding a cold pistol in his hands.

  The plan, or so David Blake had told him, had been to kill him quickly, and keep him from suffering—as he hadn’t done with his own victims. At least, that’s what he and Anderson had told everyone else who was in on it. Apparently, the rest were going to think he’d committed suicide.

  As if I’d ever do something so gauche, he’d said. Kill me, or leave me here, if you must. Just make up your mind. He’d been beyond apologies at that point, knowing they wouldn’t have done any good. Besides, the look in that man’s eyes… something had told him nothing he could say would have made a difference.

  But I’ve decided I can’t kill you, Blake had said. I won’t do that, not again. So I’ll leave the choice to you.

  Blake had then ejected the magazine from the pistol, removing all the bullets and pocketing them, save one, and then reinserted the magazine, racking the slide and readying the gun to fire.

  Now, I’m going to leave, but I’m going to give you this gun before I do. I suggest you use it wisely.

  He’d opened the outer door, then turned back, swinging the gun a few times as he judged the distance. Then, with a single toss, he’d landed the gun right at the base of the cell bars, and by the time Warner had looked back up, the door was shut and he was gone.

  He’d picked up the gun and looked at it for a little while, when he heard the screaming engines of the C-5s, even from this distance. Once they were gone, it hit him that he was truly alone.

  “Marooned,” he whispered, the idea conjuring thoughts of pirates and sandy beaches and the creak of sails and rigging. He looked out at the frozen landscape through the cracks in the patchwork cover they’d erected over the hole Duncan had made with his dramatic exit, and Warner suddenly realized he might not be alone, after all. Surely Duncan had—.

  No. Surely Duncan escaped on one of the planes, or the sub, he thought. No way he’d stay behind, no way at all.

  That was it, then. No choice now but to break out of here, or take the easy way out. Even as he thought it, he realized how foolish it would be to think they’d left any food behind, or even any seeds to use in the aeroponics bay. The more he thought, the more he hated them, wished he’d never bothered saving any of them. His hate fueled his rage, and he railed about his tiny cell, smashing his fists over and over again into the plywood walls, until they ran with the blood from his broken skin and he collapsed, sobbing, onto the cot.

  It took just two days for him to reach the end. Oh, he’d tried the walls, even the ceiling, hoping he could break through, but as hard as he’d hit them, as much as he’d pried, he couldn’t make it out. Not surprising given the effort he’d put into creating the shed. Well, at least this part of it.

  But he’d forgotten that one staple that humans needed, that one bit of ephemeral substance that the human body just couldn’t live without: water. The irony, of course, being that he was literally surrounded by ice, though he had no way to get to it.

  He picked up the gun once more, deciding that a quick death, however trite and unseemly, was better than a slow death from dehydration, or even worse, a slower death from starvation, should he manage to break out and at least get some water.

  The gun tasted horrible, the bitter tang of metal and the nauseating flavor of gun oil combining to make him gag. He fought down the urge to pull the gun from his mouth, making sure it was tilted correctly so that he wouldn’t accidentally shoot out his cheek or some other such idiocy. He was a scientist, after all.

  The least he could do was kill himself correctly.

  He took a deep breath, reviewing the choices that he’d made in his life, wondering how things might have turned out if he’d been a little different, been a better man, or just in general not made such a mess of things.

  Not that it matters now, he thought. But I do have a few regrets. Maybe, if there is another life after this one, I’ll get another chance. I can do better. I know it.

  He closed his eyes, holding the gun tight with both hands, and said a short prayer to a God he hadn’t prayed to in what felt like forever. Then it was time, and he pulled the trigger.

  It was only when he realized the gun was irreparably jammed that he really began to scream.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Christchurch International Airport

  New Zealand

  We were following Rescue One in for a landing, all of us ready to be back in the relat
ive warmth. I’d watched the other plane touch down safely, and as it was taxiing to the same place as before, I could hear Anderson on the radio. He wasn’t having much luck reaching the guys we’d left here working on the fuel supply.

  “Repeat, AEGIS Rescue One calling any available AEGIS personnel. Please respond.” After having known him for as long as I had, I could hear the strain in Anderson’s voice. He was worried for his men.

  Truth be told, so was I.

  Suddenly, there was a flare of static from the radio, and I heard a most welcome voice. “Gaines here, Captain. Sorry about that. We’re in the terminal and the radios don’t work great in here.”

  I sighed with relief, as did Myers and Archer.

  “What’s your situation, Gunny?” asked Anderson.

  “We’re fine, sir. We’ve stayed out of sight for the most part, quiet and hiding. We had some bad luck a few days ago—we lost Markinson—but everything’s settled down now. We’re packing up to come out to you now.”

  “Roger that. Don’t leave anything behind; hopefully, we won’t be here that long.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A few minutes later, we had also landed and taxied over to the other plane. I had made my first landing, with Archer and Shaw watching, and they grinned. “Well done, Mr. Blake. We might make a pilot out of you yet,” said Archer.

  I nodded, but didn’t smile. “Yeah, just when we’re never going to need these things again.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. “These things carry a shit-ton of cargo, and we might need that. It’ll be good to have at least a couple working, just in case.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I just hope they stay that way. Things are… bad… up in Washington.” I’d talked with him briefly about what was going on back home, and I think he saw the look in my eyes as I worried about Kim and the others.

  “Look, I’m sure they’re OK, man. Just focus on getting the job done, and getting back to them. That’s what they’d want, right?”

  I climbed out of the chair, pausing to lay a hand on Archer’s shoulder. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  Our command pilot smiled and nodded to the rear of the plane. “Now, how’s about we let these folks out for a bit of sunshine?”

  Shaw grinned. “Please! It’s getting kinda ripe down there.” He picked up the headset and activated the radio. “Rescue One, Rescue Two. Request permission to release the host— I mean, the survivors.”

  “Wait one, Rescue Two,” replied Anderson, the colonel’s attempt at humor lost on the older man. “Our escort should be arriving any second, and I’d rather have them on the ground first.”

  I glanced out the windows and saw the Humvees roll up, the soldiers we’d left behind spilling out to form a perimeter, with Gaines and Reynolds heading for Anderson’s plane. “All right, Colonel, let ‘em loose.”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. Myers, if you please, patch me through to the passengers.” Myers flipped a switch and nodded at the colonel, and he spoke once more.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Air McMurdo. We ask that you please take care when disembarking,” We were all chuckling a bit but sobered quickly as he continued. “There may be walkers on the ground outside. Please stay away from the perimeter and as close to the plane as possible. We’re not going to be here very long, as we’re only stopping to refuel, and we don’t want anyone to get lost. Thank you.” He turned to Myers and nodded, and the younger man grinned as he flipped some more switches.

  The alarm began sounding, ringing throughout the plane. As the flashing lights came on below, I could see them reflected in the metal of the stairwell. I felt a jolt through the deck plates, and watched, amazed as always, as the entire front end of the plane swung up to block our view. I could only assume the rear had done the same, since there were no warning bells and the breeze blowing through felt wonderful.

  I didn’t wait for the others to follow, but headed down the stairs to the cargo bay, where excited scientists that hadn’t felt above-zero temperatures—at least outside—in more than ten years began stripping off their coats and stretching their arms wide, luxuriating in their new-found freedom. I noticed that there was quite a pile of refuse from the MREs that we’d brought along, as well, indicating they were more than a little happy to have some real food in their stomachs.

  Fortunately for them, Doc Stirling had reminded them all that they shouldn’t eat everything at once, since they’d been on such low-calorie diets for such a long time, and although most of them complied, I did notice more than one clutching their stomach. I walked over to one of the soldiers maintaining the perimeter, and he nodded.

  “What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Well, Corporal, you see those folks there?” I asked, pointing to a small group clearly in pain and need of a restroom. “Any facilities they can use?”

  He laughed. “Facilities? No, sir. We dug some latrines over to the side there, though,” he said, pointing just around the corner of the terminal. “Let me grab a couple guys and we’ll give ‘em an escort, just in case.” He whistled to two of his men, and they rounded up the ones who clearly needed to go the worst, herding them off. One of the Humvees rolled up to take their place, the .50-caliber machine gun swiveling on its roof.

  “Blake, this is Anderson,” squawked my radio. “Meet us in five at aft end of Rescue One.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, then began jogging over to the other plane. As I got closer, I noticed the rest of our ‘command group’ was already there, with a special guest, Chief Mahoney. Here’s hoping he got the fuel tanks working, or we’re not going anywhere.

  I’d noticed a distinct awkwardness between Shaw and his wife Jennifer on the plane ride up from McMurdo, and I put it down to people getting to know each other after being separated for so long. But now they were still standing apart, Jennifer with a hand on the cane we’d found at McMurdo to help her get around, and I couldn’t help but wonder if being separated for six years would’ve done the same thing to me and Kim. Hell, we’ve only been apart a couple months, and I’m already going crazy.

  “Mahoney was just telling us about the fuel tanks,” said Anderson.

  “Yeah, turns out they’re fine—the tanks themselves, that is. Look to be nearly full, too. We just couldn’t get at the fuel itself. In simple terms, the valves, switches, and things that allowed us to actually pump the stuff out were all damaged. I had to strip everything off and repair what I could.”

  “But we can use them now?” asked Shaw.

  Mahoney grinned. “It’s not pretty, but it’ll do the job. I figure we can have both planes with full tanks in about a day.”

  Anderson frowned. “A day? That long?”

  “Like I said, Cap’n, it ain’t pretty. Frankly, I’m surprised we were able to get it working at all.”

  “Fine,” Anderson sighed. “Take Williams and get the planes fueling. I want to be out of here ASAP.” He turned to Gaines. “Get those people cleared out of the way. You said the terminal is clear now?”

  “Yes, sir. Tom and I double-checked the whole damn thing ourselves.” The look on Gaines’s face told me there was more to that story, but now wasn’t the time.

  “Good. Get all these people inside and bedded down. Once they’ve finished moving the planes into place, get some of the supplies off and moved inside. We’ll hole up there until the planes are ready.”

  “Yes, sir,” chorused the men. The pilot and the mechanic climbed back aboard, while Gaines took the second Humvee and corralled the milling scientists toward the terminal, the soldiers maintaining the perimeter working to get everyone inside.

  “Excuse me, Captain,” said Jennifer, and all eyes turned to her. “I’d like to know where you’re planning to keep Warner and Duncan.”

  Anderson couldn’t help his glance in my direction, and I couldn’t blame him for it. I just shrugged, knowing that she was going to find out in the end, anyway. When Anderson didn’t answer right away, Jennifer looked to Shaw, who shook h
is head and spread his hands, and then to me. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Since the decision was ultimately mine, at least in Warner’s case, I decided to step up, but I was glad to see Anderson start to speak just as I did. “Mrs. Shaw, Warner isn’t on the plane.”

  “I know that, he was on the other one.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I misspoke. He’s not on either plane.”

  “What? Why not?” When I didn’t answer, her eyes widened in realization. “You… you left him there? Alone?”

  I nodded, not even slightly remorseful. Perhaps dealing with Gardner changed me more than I care to admit, to so callously dispose of another human being. Then again, he did murder and eat people. “He had to be punished for his crimes. We chose the most humane way of doing that that we could, given what he’d done.”

  “Sure, abandoning him to die of starvation or dehydration is humane, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, we left him a pistol, too,” I said. “Frankly, I think giving him such a quick way out is doing a disservice to everyone that he murdered and ate, but I know my judgment on that may be a little bit harsher than everyone else’s. I’ll admit that. But what I don’t get is why you’re so surprised. I would’ve thought you’d be eager to see him dead, after being drugged and locked up for three years. And you yourself tried to kill him.”

  She shook her head, turning away from me and looking up at Shaw. “Did you know about this?”

  He looked down, clearly uncomfortable. “The captain said they would deal with it, and I had to let them. Although the story I heard was that he’d committed suicide,” he said, looking at me.

  I just shrugged and met his gaze without shame. “To be fair, he probably did.”