by Andrea White
Polly stared at the clouds overhead. “It doesn’t look good,” she said to Robert, “but Billy knows about snow, don’t you, Billy?”
“I guess we shouldn’t risk it,” Billy said quickly.
“Right here?” Polly said.
“Here—and fast!” Robert said as he climbed off his snowcycle. “Let’s set up the tent before the others get here.”
Polly climbed off Billy’s snowcycle. A gust of wind came up and blew against her. She stared toward the south and wondered how long this strange monotonous landscape went on.
“Snap to!” Robert shouted at her.
“Yes, sir,” Polly said sarcastically, but she turned toward the sled attached to Billy’s cycle. Billy had already started unloading.
“We don’t have much time,” Robert repeated. He heard his breath crackle as it froze in midair. The temperature was dropping fast.
22
EVER SINCE STEVE had missed Andrew’s rescue of the pony, he had slept very little. He watched Antarctic Historical Survivor during the day, together with the accompanying educational documentaries and family interviews. Then he went to work and watched the day’s episode again along with the real-time footage. He was using so much electricity at home that soon he wouldn’t be able to afford his small luxuries like new comic books. As the Secretary of Entertainment intended, his twelve-inch television, which sat in the middle of his tiny hut, was becoming the focal point of his life.
“Although the weather looks ominous, the contestants are still heading for the Pole,” Johnny Sparks’s oily voice was saying. “Earlier, Robert fired an incredible shot that killed a seal. Grace’s dogs showed their stuff in a mad dash toward the dead animal. Only when the dogs were on the verge of devouring the seal did Grace succeed in getting them under control. Now let’s break and interview family members.”
The scene shifted to an immaculate living room. “Mrs. Pritchard,” Johnny Sparks asked a small, demure-looking woman sitting in a wheelchair, “how do you think your daughter is doing so far?”
“I have to say well, Johnny. Polly’s no outdoors girl, but she’s certainly making her contribution.”
“Are you aware that over thirty-three percent of the viewers are voting for her as Most Valuable Player?”
“I had heard that figure.”
“You know that award means an extra ninety thousand dollars.”
The woman nodded, her lips pressed tightly together. “Johnny, I don’t care about the money. I just want my little girl back.”
Johnny smiled. “We can certainly understand that. It’s been easy to guess what her super talent is.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “She’s had the Memory since she was a little girl. Her father, rest his soul, had it.”
“Do you think Robert is treating her as well as he should?”
“I think Robert would be better off if he listened more to Polly.”
“Do you think Polly should lead the group instead?”
Steve hated how Johnny Sparks would never quit until he had gotten the contestants’ parents to say something ugly.
Mrs. Pritchard hesitated. “I wouldn’t say that. I just think each member of the team has strengths, and Robert undervalues Polly’s contribution.”
“But you would say that Robert doesn’t listen, wouldn’t you?”
“He’s not a great listener, but he seems to do many things well.”
“Robert’s mother said that Polly is a prissy little girl who shouldn’t be a contestant at all.”
“How I wish that Polly weren’t a contestant!” Mrs. Pritchard’s bottom lip trembled as if she was about to cry. She reminded Steve of his own sweet mom, and Steve wanted to reach out and hug her.
“So you don’t like television.” Johnny Sparks smirked. Criticizing EduTV was a crime.
“I didn’t say that. You’re putting words in my mouth. I think television serves a useful purpose in calming people.” She grimaced. “After all, I lost the use of my legs in the first Urban Trash War.”
Steve pushed the MUTE button. He couldn’t stand listening to Johnny Sparks anymore. He picked up his favorite long-sleeved T-shirt from the mat on his floor and slipped it over his head. He opened a bag of tomato, spinach, and cheese chips and began eating breakfast.
The sound of his neighbor’s television penetrated the thin walls. “Mr. Morton …” he heard Johnny Sparks say, beginning his interview with Andrew’s dad. Then silence.
“Mom, what are you doing?” a child’s voice objected.
“I’m turning this off.” His next-door neighbor’s voice came through the walls. Her name was Mrs. Poppers, and she had two kids. “You guys have watched enough. Our government jails us if we trash the streets, but they trash your minds.”
“Mom, we have to watch this. It’s tele-school.”
“You can earn an F on this, for all I care. I can’t stand to hear any more about those poor kids or their poor families. It’s too sad and depressing.”
Steve had never paid much attention to Mrs. Poppers before; she seemed like just a typical overworked mother. But now her words filled him with hope.
“You’re crazy, Mom!” a kid shouted at her.
“She’s not crazy!” Steve said in a loud voice.
The Poppers’ shanty fell silent. Then Steve heard Johnny Sparks’s voice again. “If Andrew wins, what will you buy?”
“A new television. Ours is falling apart,” Mr. Morton said.
“I told you, turn that thing off!” Mrs. Poppers yelled.
Mrs. Poppers must have won the argument this time, because the next-door shanty grew quiet again.
If Mrs. Poppers didn’t like Antarctic Historical Survivor, then maybe, just maybe, the Secretary’s latest series was backfiring. Steve decided to leave early for work, hang around a street or two, and see what he could find out.
Near the DOE a man wearing a Planet Hollywood cap was hawking Survivor souvenirs. Steve looked at the Polly and Grace dolls and the Andrew, Billy, and Robert T-shirts. “How are they selling?”
“Like hotcakes,” the vendor said. “The Secretary, she’s really good for business.”
Steve bent toward the man and said in a whisper, “I’m just curious. Do you watch the series? What do you think of it?” They could both go to jail if the telepolice heard him.
“Who are you?” The man’s eyes darted around anxiously.
“I’m not the telepolice. I just want to know.”
The man stared hard at Steve and then pulled open the bottom drawer of his cart. He lifted a T-shirt and spread it out. On the front, images of the five kids were frozen inside blue, green, purple, red, and pink Popsicles. The Secretary, her red lips open, was just about to eat the frozen bar with Andrew inside. The caption was “POPSICKLES”
“Why did you show me that shirt?” Steve asked.
The man chewed his lip and shrugged. “Thought you might be interested.”
“You don’t like her, either,” Steve exulted.
The man only arched his eyebrow.
23
BILLY KNELT BY the Primus. In the middle of the day, Robert had insisted that they stop and set up the tent. As Billy stirred the seal-leg soup they were going to try for dessert, he hoped that Robert had panicked about the weather and that their fearless leader would end up looking like a fool. Sure, it was growing darker outside, but it seemed equally likely to Billy that the storm would blow over.
Billy took a sip of the soup. He had become the group’s cook. Of course he had eaten his own crackers and peanuts instead of the pemmican concoction that he had served the others, but he did love the hot chocolate.
Polly was taking a last bite of her luncheon ration of pemmican when she heard the wind rise. “Robert was right. A storm …” Polly began to say, then realized that she needed to shout to make herself heard over the wind. No, a blizzard, she thought, remembering the definition in one of her books. An Antarctic blizzard is a period of strong winds sufficient to whip
existing snow up off the surface and change the landscape to a formless wall of swirling white powder—a world in which it would be difficult if not impossible to find one’s way. A blizzard outside, and Andrew was taking care of the pony!
How could Robert predict the weather so accurately? Billy wondered. He stirred the soup faster in frustration.
“Did we forget anything?” Robert shouted.
“I’ll check the dogs!” Grace yelled. She hadn’t taken off her parka.
Robert pulled on his gear. “The supplies!” he shouted.
Polly stuck her arms into her parka and her hands into her gloves. She put her cap on her head and followed Grace outside to see if she could find Andrew. Her breath looked like puffs of smoke. She took one step away from the tent, then another. After her third step, she was lost in a great white blur. Her cheeks felt numb. She knew that she was close to the tent, but terror rose in her throat. She looked for the ground but saw only rivers of snow. She looked up and found herself floating in a stinging white cloud.
“Help! Help!” Polly cried. The men in Scott’s expedition had felt their way through blizzards in the remotest part of Antarctica. How had they managed?
Someone reached for her. She buried her head in his shaggy parka. She could tell by the open zipper that it was Andrew.
Polly felt her tears freeze. “I got lost,” she tried to say.
Andrew pushed her toward the tent.
“Where’s Grace?” Polly cried, but the wind ripped the words out of her mouth. She stumbled into the tent.
Billy was still squatting next to the Primus. Polly crawled next to him. She slipped off her gloves. The frozen tears bit her skin as she knocked them off her face.
Andrew waved at her from the open tent flap.
“Don’t go back out,” Polly begged him.
Andrew shook his head before disappearing.
“How long do Antarctic blizzards last?” Billy asked.
Polly bent toward him so she could hear his question.
He repeated himself.
It was curious. Billy was the only one with experience of ice and snow, yet he didn’t seem to feel at all bad about staying inside the tent while the others braved the weather. “It depends. It could last a few days,” Polly answered. Then she paused. The raging white winds outside terrified her, but she tried to think of something positive to say. “Thank goodness for the seal. Do you like the soup?”
Billy nodded. He had convinced himself that seal meat wouldn’t be bad.
“If we’re stuck here for a few days, at least we have extra food,” Polly said.
“You’re right,” Billy agreed. “You ready to try it?”
“Sure,” Polly said.
Billy handed her a cup. She held it against her nose for warmth, then took a sip. It tasted like flavored water, but she loved it anyway because it wasn’t pemmican.
Andrew pushed Grace into the tent.
“And Robert! Where’s Robert?” Polly shouted. But the wind was howling, and she couldn’t hear Andrew’s answer.
Grace crawled next to them. Billy handed her a cup of soup, and Grace peeled off her gloves.
Polly raised her voice above the sound of the wind. “Did you see Robert, Grace?”
Grace shook her head. She had seen a whole continent turn into a ghost.
“How about the dogs? Are the dogs okay?” Polly asked.
Grace nodded. “They dig holes in the snow. They stay warm. But the pony …” She shrugged.
“Don’t worry. We have the snowcycles,” Billy said loudly.
Over their cups of hot seal-leg soup, Polly and Grace exchanged glances.
A few minutes later, Robert and Andrew pushed their way inside. Snow blew in through the tent flap.
Robert quickly closed it.
Andrew took a few deep breaths after joining them at the Primus. “The pony!” he shouted. “Cookie’s getting lashed by the snow!”
“Scott built snow walls for his ponies,” Polly suggested.
“Polly, if you want to tell me how, in that blinding mess, we can build a snow wall, then great. Otherwise, keep your suggestions to yourself!” Robert yelled.
Polly took a sip of seal-leg soup. Even though new ideas seemed to frustrate Robert, he had been right about the storm, and she was grateful, oh so grateful, that they were inside right now.
Andrew sat down beside her. In a tight circle around the Primus, they all enjoyed the slight heat of the stove. The snow continued to beat on the tent, but as they sipped their soup, the wind grew quieter.
Andrew crawled over to the tent flap and peeked out. “It’s still snowing, but the wind’s died down.”
“It feels warmer,” Grace agreed.
“You’re right,” Polly said.
Andrew crawled back to Polly.
“Weird weather,” Billy said.
“The best thing we could do would be to sleep,” Robert said. “Anybody sleepy?”
“Sort of,” Grace said.
“I want to hear more about Scott sometime, Polly,” Andrew said.
“That’s a real upbeat topic, Andrew,” Robert said. “Let’s hear about it after we collect our prize money.”
Again Polly reminded herself that they owed their escape from the storm to Robert. “What are you going to do with your money, Robert?” Polly asked in what she hoped was a pleasant voice.
“I’m going to buy me a boat with my name written on the back of it in big red-and-silver letters,” Robert said.
“You should invest it,” Billy said.
“Heck, I don’t know anything about finances. But I know everything about bayous,” Robert said.
Polly smiled. “You’ll probably buy a bank, Billy.”
“I’m going to go to high school and college,” Billy boasted. “I bet Grace will use it to buy dogs.” He laughed.
Polly thought his laugh sounded mean.
Grace looked down at her cup. “I’ve thought about starting an animal shelter. With so many starving people, no one pays attention to animals.” Grace didn’t want to tell the kids about her real dream. They might laugh at her. She planned to use the money to move her family to Antarctica. They would eat seal soup and seal steaks every night.
“And you, Polly?” Grace looked at her.
“I’m like Billy. I want an education,” Polly said.
Robert laughed. “Why? You’re already an encyclopedia.”
“Do you want to teach, Polly?” Andrew asked.
“Maybe.” Polly wanted to do something that would make a difference in the world, but that sounded too grand. She turned to Andrew. “What about you?”
Andrew panicked. He hated big broad questions like that. He had no idea what he wanted to do. Before this trip, all he had wanted to do was watch more television and do fewer chores. But now he wasn’t sure what he would want to do. He just knew he couldn’t go back to the soft spot on the couch.
Billy watched Andrew’s discomfort with pleasure. There was no way that the viewers would vote for such a dumb person to be MVP. Andrew was out of the running. And Robert was too bossy, Polly too cerebral. He was sure the winner would be either him or Grace. And if the dogs were losers, then Grace was, too.
“I say that we take a nap,” Robert said. “If it’s still calm when we wake up, I’ll go out and finish cutting up the seal.”
“Good idea,” Polly mumbled, suddenly tired.
Andrew struggled to keep his eyes open. The wind must have stopped completely, because he could hear the sounds of the other kids’ breathing. Even after two nights in the tent, it still felt strange to be so close together. After all, they hadn’t even known one another two weeks ago.
He had set out his sleeping bag as far from the others as possible in the small tent, because even though they had left the ship, he hoped his friend could still talk to him.
Billy was snoring.
Would his friend talk to him again? Andrew wondered. The tent was strong and sturdy, and he was almost d
ry and very warm. He felt his eyelids growing heavier.
Some nine thousand miles away, Steve, who had just checked into work, was wondering the same thing. Except for Andrew’s, the other kids’ eyes were closed; their cameras were shut down. This was his chance.
Steve watched the steam from the kids’ exhalations rise to the center of the tent. He listened to the sounds of the children sleeping, and from behind him the slow swish, swish, swish of Pearl’s broom. At least there were no soldiers with muskets ready to shoot the kids, as in the Civil War Historical Survivor series, or wild beasts outside waiting to tear the kids up, as in the African Explorers Historical Survivor series. These kids weren’t going to catch any dread disease, the way the contestants in the Black Plague contest had. There were no pyramids to build, as in the Egyptian contest. Yet a storm raged outside their tent. It was minus fifteen degrees. The weather could be bad for a long time, and the kids probably had only five days’ worth of food. He didn’t believe that five kids could actually survive without help.
And he doubted whether the advice that he would be able to offer would be enough. He hung his head. If he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he really didn’t think that the kids were going to survive.
The audience rating for the past two days had been higher than for any survival show in history. It had climbed to 97.8 percent.
Hourly, the production department received e-mails from the Secretary of Entertainment:
Who are those subversive 2.2%? How dare they ignore this show? Before this is over, we want 100% viewer ratings.
Production room: It is your job to see that we attain 100% ratings. It is your job to see that everyone in America is having fun.
Steve hoped the ratings didn’t mean that viewers were having fun. But he wasn’t sure of anything except that the situation was hopeless.
