by Andrea White
There were a bunch of old cans of liquid ice, a few flashlights, and a card game set up in the middle of the room. He picked up a piece of loose pipe in each hand. After he began beating the pipes on the walls and the ceiling, the room above him grew quiet.
He ran up the narrow stairs and stuck his head into the production room.
Blair Provenzano stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
Steve squeezed the piece of pipe in his hand. Could he really go through with this?
“What’s happening with Andrew?”
“On behalf of the Secretary, I’m ordering you to explain yourself,” Blair said. His tone was clipped. His mustache twitched.
To hell with the Secretary’s orders! “What’s happening with Andrew?” Steve repeated.
“He’s taking off his clothes, saying he’s hot,” Blair said, in a tone that let Steve know that Blair didn’t consider Andrew’s impending death to be his problem.
God. He was going to get hypothermia.
It was only an empty piece of pipe, but Steve lifted it over his head. “I have a bomb!” he shouted. “Get out of here, or I’m going to blow us all up!”
He heard Blair’s quick intake of breath.
Someone screamed and ran out the door. Several other crew members slipped out, too.
“He’s bluffing,” a voice muttered.
“Let’s not take any risks,” Blair counseled the others in a soft voice. He turned and faced Steve. “We’ll leave, but you’re making a huge mistake.”
Steve watched the day shift start to shuffle out. Some were wide-eyed. All his former colleagues moved in a stiff, unnatural way that meant they were scared.
Blair was taking too long to get to the door.
Steve brandished his bomb at Blair. “Leave, or I promise you I’ll use this!” he shouted.
The last day-shift crew member walked out.
Blair stood in the open doorway. “This is outrageous.”
Steve forced himself to use his toughest voice. “Shut the door.”
The door slammed shut. Steve ran over to the door and locked it. He had just a few minutes before the security guards arrived. He doubted whether they would buy his bluff about the bomb for long. He only hoped that he had enough time. He hurried to the screens.
Steve reached under Andrew’s screen for the mike. He twisted it up and turned it on. “Andrew! Andrew!” he shouted. “This is Birdie. Do you hear me?”
“I thought you’d never come back,” Andrew said.
“Put on your parka. Your mind is tricking you.”
“But I’m so hot,” Andrew moaned.
“Put your parka back on,” Steve insisted.
On Grace’s screen, he found Polly, who was staring out the tent at a scene of gusting snow.
Steve dropped Andrew’s mike and found the one to Polly’s receiver. He spoke quickly into it. “Polly, this is Birdie Bowers, Andrew’s distant uncle. I’m going to lead you to Andrew.”
“What?” Polly heard a voice in her head. She looked wildly around the tent.
“I didn’t say anything,” Grace said.
“No time for questions now,” Steve interrupted. “Andrew’s not that far away. Carry a rope, because he’s in a crevasse.”
“Grace, I’m going to look for Andrew,” Polly said.
Robert sat up and rubbed his eyes. “It’s not going to do us any good to have two people dead.”
“Don’t argue. Help,” Polly said. “Grace, get me the big rope.”
“Polly, you can barely carry that rope. Let me go,” Robert said.
“No, I’m going,” Polly said. She threw the guide rope over her head. She didn’t have time to explain.
Grace handed her the heavy coiled rope needed to pull Andrew up.
Polly pushed open the flap of the tent and crawled outside.
Billy sat quietly, hoping that no one would notice him.
Steve heard the sound of men outside the production-room door. Security had arrived. He flicked the mike off. “I’ve got a bomb!” he shouted at the door. “But if you give me ten more minutes, I’ll give myself up.”
“Son, we don’t think that you have a bomb,” a woman’s voice said. “But we’ll know for sure in just a minute.”
It was almost time to put into effect his backup plan, Steve thought.
“Birdie! Birdie!” Polly called to Steve. “Am I headed the right way?”
Steve picked up her screen’s mike and spoke into it. “Yes. Keep crawling with your eyes on the ground. You should be able to see the crevasse soon.”
Polly’s screen was a blur of snow. She was a brave girl, all right. She crawled a few more steps, dragging the rope, and Steve could make out the sleds. “He’s just past the sleds.”
Steve heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie. “Negative,” a stern voice said.
“Let me talk to him.” Steve recognized Blair’s voice. “Stephen Michael. Be reasonable. Give yourself up.”
“I will. Give me a few more minutes,” Steve pleaded. Polly was so close!
“Okay,” he said into Polly’s mike. “Start looking very carefully on the ground.” He couldn’t ignore the muffled sound of a conversation behind the door.
“Oh,” Polly said. “I think I see something dark.”
Steve squinted at her screen. “That’s it.” He glanced at Andrew’s screen. Andrew’s eyes were barely open. Steve picked up Andrew’s mike. “Polly’s here. Don’t give up. She’s going to drop the rope in a minute.
“You got there just in time,” Steve said into Polly’s mike. “Now crawl along the crevasse until you see him.”
“We’ve X-rayed the room! We know you don’t have a bomb!” a man shouted.
Security had called Steve’s first bluff. “I have something worse!” he yelled. “I have the footage of the kids in the clinic!” he lied. “The footage that shows the corneal implant operation. If you don’t give me another ten minutes alone with the kids, I’ll broadcast that.”
“Steve, you’re crazy!” Blair shouted at him.
The walkie-talkie crackled again. Given the secrecy surrounding the corneal implants, Steve guessed that security wouldn’t dare break into the room without checking first with the Secretary. He wouldn’t let himself worry about the fact that he was running out of time.
Steve turned to Andrew’s screen. “Andrew, do you hear me?”
“Yes.” Andrew’s voice was faint.
“I need you to try to stand up. Polly’s looking for you.”
Steve heard a rustle. Andrew had been able to stand. “Now let me hear you shout.”
“Hello!” Andrew called.
“Louder!” Steve said to Andrew.
Steve turned to Polly’s mike. “Polly, Andrew is shouting. Listen carefully.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Polly said.
“You’re still not above him. Keep crawling,” Steve said to Polly. Then, to Andrew, he said, “Shout louder. She’s almost there.”
“Hello!” Andrew shouted now.
The effort must have been hard for him. “Did you hear anything, Polly?”
“No,” Polly moaned.
“Don’t give up,” Steve said to Polly. “Andrew, shout louder!”
“Hello!” Andrew shouted, louder this time, but not by much. It was clear to Steve that Andrew was reaching the end of his strength.
“I hear him,” Polly said. “Andrew!” she yelled.
“Polly!” Steve heard Andrew call.
“You’re a few steps from him,” Steve said into Polly’s mike. “Keep going and drop the rope.” Then he spoke into Andrew’s mike: “Andrew, she’s going to drop the rope.”
“Rope?” Andrew sounded befuddled.
“Yeah, rope. You’re being rescued,” Steve said.
“I can see him,” Polly said.
Behind him, Steve heard a lot of scuffling and yelling outside the door.
“Drop the rope!” Steve said to Polly. Then, into Andrew’s mike, he
said, “Look up.”
“I can’t see it. I can’t see anything,” Andrew mumbled.
“Feel for a rope,” Steve said.
“I tripped on something,” Andrew said.
“It’s the rope. Now slip it on over your head,” Steve said.
“My fingers … I can’t.”
“Try again,” Steve said into Andrew’s mike. He switched to Polly’s. “He’s got it. He just needs to slip it on.”
“I’ve got it. I’m pulling it over my head but I can’t do anything more …” Andrew’s voice trailed off.
“Five more minutes!” Steve shouted at the door. “Then I’ll turn myself in!”
But this time, the men behind the door didn’t bother to answer.
Steve surveyed the other screens. Because of Robert’s injured shoulder, Steve should ask Billy to pull Andrew up, but he hesitated. Injured or not, Robert was more prone to quick action.
“Don’t ask questions, Robert,” Steve said urgently into Robert’s mike. “Andrew has the rope around his waist. Go outside and pull him up.”
On Grace’s television screen, Steve watched Robert look wildly around the tent. None of this Birdie Bowers nonsense for Robert. This kid needed to hear the truth. “I’m a DOE guy, but I’m on your side. You’ve got to believe me.”
Steve heard the pop of gunfire. The guards were shooting the lock off the door. He turned around.
The door burst open, and a crowd of men dressed in uniforms rushed toward him.
“Grace, Billy!” Robert said. “Andrew’s on the rope!”
“How do you know?” Billy said.
“It tightened,” Robert lied. “Now quickly, we don’t have time for questions. Get your parkas on and let’s go!”
Four men surrounded Steve. He felt the cold metal of pistols against his temple.
“Okay, okay,” Steve said. He tried to pull Andrew’s mike toward him to say good-bye but felt a tremendous blow on the back of the head. In his last seconds of consciousness, he stared at the glowing green LIVE button. As he crumpled into a heap, he was able to fall on it. His last thought was, Andrew is safe.
32
ANDREW WAS PROPPED against a sleeping bag. He had heard of people’s teeth chattering, but his whole body seemed to be chattering.
“His feet are the worst,” Grace said, touching Andrew’s bare left foot. “Can you feel this?”
Andrew shook his head.
His face, including the tip of his nose, was chalk white. He had only one eye open, and it looked dull. Polly massaged his arms. She couldn’t bear to look at his lips. They had cracked into bloody crevasses.
“Did the books say anything about frostbite, Polly?” Grace asked. “I don’t know anything about it.”
Polly searched her memory. “If the frostbite is deep-seated then the blood vessels do not recover and the last stage is gangrene and the only hope …” she recited. Then she stopped.
“I know,” Andrew said.
Robert tried to give Andrew a sip of hot chocolate but he turned away as though Robert had hit him.
“The only hope is amputation.” Andrew wasn’t a genius like Polly, but even he could finish Polly’s quote.
Polly’s face flushed from embarrassment. She searched for a way to distract Andrew from her gloomy words. “You want to hear what Scott said about your great-great-great-uncle?” she asked.
“What?” Andrew mumbled.
“Scott wrote in his diary that Birdie Bowers was the hardest traveller that ever undertook a Polar journey, as well as one of the most undaunted…. Never was such a sturdy, active, undefeatable little man.”
“I met him,” Andrew said.
Grace patted Andrew on the shoulder. Poor boy.
“He talked to me, too,” Polly said to Grace.
Grace’s eyes opened wide. She was the one who talked to spirits, not them.
“What are you talking about?” Billy stirred the hot chocolate. They had hardly any left. He wondered if boiling a couple of Chocobombs in a pot of water would make hot chocolate. Then he remembered that the candy was his secret.
“It was a cameraman who talked to me,” Robert said.
“Hey, guys, I don’t understand,” Billy said.
“Birdie Bowers helped us,” Polly explained.
“What do you mean?” Grace asked.
“No, he was a cameraman,” Robert repeated.
“My great-great-great-uncle’s ghost,” Andrew sighed.
“Cameraman!” Robert cried, suddenly realizing what that meant. “Where are they?”
“We’ve known all along that they must be here,” Billy said.
“If you’re watching, help us!” Polly shouted. “We need food! Andrew needs a doctor!”
Polly listened. Only a dog’s growl broke the polar silence.
Robert held the cup to Andrew’s lips again. “It’s okay. If we have to, we can get out of this alone.”
As he swallowed, Andrew slowly, painfully opened his closed eye.
No one had a chance to think about its inflamed redness because a clear disk jumped out of it on a transparent spring.
“Ahh!” Andrew cried.
Grace pulled back, horror-struck.
Andrew looks like a monster, Robert thought.
“What’s wrong?” Andrew said. But involuntarily his hand moved to his face. His left eye felt very strange. He blinked, and a disk fell on the floor of the tent.
Robert held up the disk for all to see. It was smaller than a button, and clear. But in the center, unmistakably, a lens stared out at them.
The mystery was solved. Robert closed his fist around the disk and shook it at the ceiling. “Hot Sauce, you are sick!” he shouted.
“Some kind of device popped out of your eye,” Polly told Andrew.
Andrew blinked his injured eye. The white part had turned bloodred.
“Sick!” Grace spat out the word as though she had bitten into a piece of bone.
Billy rubbed his eyes. “Implants!”
“What else did they stick in our bodies?” Grace said.
“Calm down,” Polly said. “We all need to concentrate on Andrew.”
“What should we do with the little camera?” Billy asked.
“I’m going to stick it up my butt,” Robert said. “Let her watch that for the rest of the television show!”
“We hate you, Hot Sauce!” Billy yelled. He had been cheated out of high school and college. He would be lucky if he even found a crummy job. She had programmed his snowcycle to fail. Those things were bad enough. But nobody—nobody!—had a right to put equipment in his eyes.
Robert laughed. “Remember, Billy, at the beginning of this game, I warned you not to suck up.”
“Andrew, can you feel this?” Grace asked as she touched his foot with a cloth.
Andrew shook his head. “No.”
“I’m going to rub your feet now. It’s probably going to hurt, but I have to,” Grace said.
Andrew nodded.
Grace watched Andrew’s face. He didn’t flinch as she rubbed. Even though she knew little about frostbite, she was sure that it was a terrible sign that he didn’t feel any pain.
“So each of us is a walking digital camcorder,” Billy said slowly. Thank goodness he had eaten his candy inside his sleeping bag. He doubted if anyone could have seen him do that. But could they have heard him?
Andrew groaned as Grace massaged his calf.
Polly looked into Grace’s dark eyes for reassurance but found only worry.
“Maybe there’s a cameraman named Birdie Bowers on Historical Survivor,” Robert suggested.
“Birdie told me some stories,” Andrew said. His good eye was half closed.
He needs to sleep, Polly thought. “Did I ever tell you about the time Birdie, Wilson, and Cherry-Garrard went in the dead of winter to collect emperor penguin eggs?” she asked.
“No,” Andrew mumbled.
“They got caught in a blizzard and their tent blew away,”
Polly continued.
“Can you imagine if we didn’t have a tent?” Billy said, looking around at the blue tarp that covered them. Maybe Polly was right. Things could be worse.
“Luckily, the men found the tent after the blizzard ended. When they got back to camp, Scott asked Wilson what he would have done if they hadn’t recovered it. Wilson said, with an unforgettable expression on his face, ‘I would have trusted Birdie to have got us out of anything.’ ”
“He got me out of the crevasse,” Andrew said.
“He sure did,” Polly agreed.
“Birdie!” Andrew called wildly. “Where are you now?”
“Only his toes are really bad,” Grace said to herself.
But Polly heard her.
“He’s doing angel work,” Andrew said, and closed his good eye.
“He’s delirious,” Billy whispered.
“He’s not delirious,” Polly said. “There was an angel out there.”
After Andrew was asleep, Polly examined the pemmican. There was enough for one small meal for each of them. They had given Andrew all the hot chocolate. She looked around at the drawn faces of the other kids. One of Cherry-Garrard’s quotes floated through her mind: I watched my companions’ faces with their eyes and necks falling in…. One day I got a piece of looking-glass and found I looked just the same.
Polly was glad that she didn’t have a mirror. “Guys, I think we should skip dinner tonight,” she said. When the snow stopped, they’d have to butcher the pony.
No one said anything, but as if they had protested, Polly shared her reasons. “I don’t know how long the blizzard will last or how much meat will be on the pony.”
Grace was kneading Andrew’s toes. Polly sat next to her.
Billy watched them from his sleeping bag. He felt for his candy with his toes.
“What are we going to do if Andrew can’t walk, Polly?” Billy asked.
“I’m going to stay with him,” Polly said firmly. As she spoke those words, she thought of Bowers’s and Wilson’s decision to stay with Scott after his feet had gone bad. Even though Bowers wasn’t talking to her, he was helping her again.
“If that was me over there, would you stay with me?” Billy asked.
