Jury Duty (First Contact)

by Peter Cawdron

  With his gloved hand on the door handle, Nick says, “I don’t think they’re going to hurt us, but they are going to die.”

  He opens the door and is hit with a blast of cold air. To get down from the rear of the snowcat, Nick has to turn and slip his boots into the short metal ladder above the treads. That means turning his back on them. It’s strange, but he doesn’t feel any fear. He’s defenseless, but he’s at peace. Is this what Sandra feels when paramedics roll someone into the emergency room? When you’ve got a job to do, there’s no time to be afraid.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Bear calls out from within the cab. He’s frustrated, but Nick doesn’t care.

  Nick steps onto the treads of the snowcat, shutting the door, and drops the last few feet to the ice. His boots crunch into the snow. Without any hesitation, he rushes to the closest person, a woman in her late 50s. She’s wearing a thick jacket and jeans. Part of him is expecting the worst. If she lashes out with claws and a set of fangs, lunging at him like a vampire, he’d be shocked but not surprised. Sandra, though, seems to whisper in his ear, telling him that’s absurd.

  The wind swirls around him. Snow rushes past.

  Nick ignores the woman’s outstretched arms. He walks around beside her. After taking a deep breath, he drapes his arm over her shoulder and turns her, directing her toward the open door at the back of the living quarters.

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

  Nick may not be a doctor or a nurse, but Sandra taught him kindness is as good as medicine. A couple of years ago, they were returning from a hot summer’s day at Myrtle Beach. It was ten in the evening. They were driving down a quiet country road in her old convertible, taking a shortcut home when they came across an accident. Two cars had collided. One was turning, the other was going straight. The vehicles had spun to different sides of the intersection.

  Steam rose from the crushed hood of a Cadillac pushed up against a street sign.

  A Ford F-350 pickup truck lay on its side. Gasoline seeped onto the road. The windshield was shattered, hanging loose from its rubber seals.

  ‘Get her,’ Sandra yelled as they pulled up on the gravel at the side of the road. ‘She’s in shock.’

  In that instant, she was a child not more than eight years old. From what Nick could tell, she’d been thrown from the truck. Blood ran down her legs as she stumbled on, walking toward oncoming traffic.

  Sandra grabbed the overpriced first aid kit Nick always complained about from the trunk of her car. She ran to the overturned truck. The driver climbed out through the broken windshield. He was shaken but not visibly hurt. She directed him over to Nick and ran on to the Cadillac.

  Nick took the two of them to one side and sat on the grassy bank of a drainage ditch. He dialed 911 as Sandra worked on the elderly couple in the Caddy.

  Eventually, sirens sounded in the distance. EMTs were first on the scene, followed by a state trooper. Sandra praised Nick for looking after the father and daughter, but what had he done? Nothing. Sandra was the real hero. Was that the problem? Did he feel he had to be the hero? Did he resent her for being a nurse? Did she somehow make him feel small by comparison? Why the fuck did he ever compare himself to her? She never did that. It was all him. Standing there in Antarctica, he finally realizes his reaction was fucked up.

  As much as he’d like to ignore that feeling of resentment, back then, he couldn’t. Now, it seems childish. As it was, Sandra was covered in blood. There were stains on her knees, her sleeves, and her shoulder. Were it not for the disposable gloves she was wearing, the medics could have been forgiven for thinking she was one of the victims. Sandra talked with the paramedics as they rolled the injured couple away on gurneys. Now, in retrospect, Nick can see that young girl and her father weren’t the only ones in shock. Being catapulted into that scene had thrown his mind into neutral. He idled along while Sandra hit the turbo boost.

  Nick is ten thousand miles from South Carolina and yet he knows this is what Sandra would do. For once, he doesn’t resent her for it. Instead, he admires her.

  The wind bites at his cheeks. Snow races past.

  Nick taps another man on the shoulder, getting his attention. The man looks at him in a daze, blinking rapidly. Nick shepherds the two of them toward the living quarters, gently pushing them on up the stairs.

  Jazz has sprung into action. She has her M4 slung backward over her jacket with the barrel pointing at the ice. Like him, she’s rounding up several people at once, working with Dmitri to get everyone inside the dormitory. Together, they herd a group of six people toward the stairs.

  Even Bear has softened. He runs to the top of the stairs and directs people through the door and down the corridor.

  For once in his life, Nick feels as though he’s done something right. Somehow that gives him a warm feeling despite the cold. Sandra will never know how she helped save these lives, but she did.

  Jazz yells to Bear.

  “Keep them moving. There’s a lecture hall at the end of the corridor. The heating is on in there.”

  “On it,” Bear says, disappearing into the darkened hallway.

  Lights flicker within the building.

  Like sheep, the others follow without prompting. Dmitri takes Bear’s place at the top of the stairs, brushing snow off jackets and trousers. Gently, he pushes people on down the corridor.

  “I’ll circle around Lucille looking for stragglers,” Jazz says to Nick. “You kill the lights and the engine.”

  “On it,” Nick says in mimicry of Bear. He climbs up on the treads of the snowcat and into the cab. Nick doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, but he looks around and finds the ignition switch. Nick turns off the engine, followed by the lights. Jazz waits for him by the front treads.

  “You did good,” Jazz says as he hops down. She pats her gloved hand on his thick jacket. “You’re going to make an excellent juror.”

  “Thanks.”

  As they climb the stairs, Nick takes one last look back at the flurry of footprints in the snow and the now dormant snowcat, realizing just how different this could have ended. Yeah, Sandra would like this outcome, although she wouldn’t stop to celebrate. She’d be busy tending to people inside. Perhaps that’s what set him off the rails back then. She gave so much of herself to others. When she’d come home, all she wanted was some downtime, not a high maintenance man-baby. Nick could kick himself for being so shortsighted and selfish.

  Nick and Jazz duck inside. With the lights on, the living quarters appear distinctly less evil than they did when shrouded in darkness and viewed through an infrared scope. If anything, the dorm looks a little too bland. Nick was expecting a no-expenses-spared Hollywood movie set. Instead, he got trailer-park chic. The carpet is so last century.

  “Keep them moving,” Jazz yells. As she’s short, she tiptoes on her boots, looking across the sea of heads ambling along the hallway. Dmitri is standing by the kitchen, urging people on.

  From the end of the corridor, Bear calls out, “Now what?”

  Jazz thumps Nick on the chest. “Yeah, now what, genius?”

  Nick wants to say, ask for a doctor or a nurse, but that’s hardly practical. Hell, some of these people could be medical professionals and he’d never know it.

  “Keep them warm,” he yells back. “Grab some blankets. Strip off any cold clothing. Look for signs of frostbite.”

  Damn, for a moment there, Nick actually sounded competent. He turns to Jazz, asking, “What do you do for frostbite?”

  “Depends on severity,” she replies as they push past people to reach the kitchen. “But warming them up is a good start. We’re gonna need painkillers. Lots of painkillers.”

  Dmitri hands her the first aid kit from the kitchen, asking, “So how do we break the spell?”

  “Good question,” Jazz says, leaving Nick with Dmitri as she pushes on toward Bear. “Figure it out.”

  “Okay,” Nick replies, but he’s clueless.

  Dmitri moves between a bu
nch of base staff that have wandered into the kitchen. Their eyes are glazed. With stooped shoulders, they mull around, but they don’t bump into each other. There’s a semblance of cognition there, just not enough. Lips move, but no one speaks. It’s as though they’re mumbling to themselves.

  “This one’s a doctor,” Dmitri says, looking at an ID in a purse he pulled from her jacket pocket. “But down here, she could be a doctor of anything.”

  The confused look on Nick’s face prompts some clarification from Dmitri. “A doctor of astrophysics isn’t exactly what we need right now.”

  “Ah, no,” Nick replies, encouraging her to sit in a chair. The woman’s face is pale, while her hands are red. Her fingers are starting to swell. Nick uses a little soapy water to remove her rings, placing them on the table beside her.

  “How do we wake them?” Dmitri asks, looking into the eyes of one of the men. He moves his hands around in front of the man’s face, trying to get a response.

  “I don’t know,” Nick says, “but we have to try something.” He searches through the cupboards and pulls out a large tin of instant coffee along with a five pound bag of sugar.

  “Coffee? Really?” Dmitri asks, but Nick ignores him. He runs the water in the sink until it’s warm. Then he mixes a heaped tablespoon of sugar along with a heaped tablespoon of coffee into a mug. The resulting concoction is more of a sludge than a liquid. Nick takes a sip. Damn, it’s strong.

  Dmitri laughs. “That’s going to keep you awake all night.”

  “That’s kind of what I’m counting on,” Nick says. “Wake them up, right?”

  Dmitri nods in agreement.

  Nick cradles his left hand behind the woman’s head as she sits at the table. He lifts the mug to her lips.

  “Come on,” he whispers.

  Dmitri places his hand beneath her jaw, gently opening her mouth. Nick pours as Dmitri keeps her head back, trying to keep the fluid from running down her neck. The woman coughs, but swallows.

  “That’s it,” Nick says. “A bit more. Come on.”

  “What are you thinking?” Dmitri asks.

  “I dunno. I mean, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but my girlfriend was a nurse. She was always going on about the strange things people do when they’re in shock. She called shock the silent killer.”

  “You think this is shock?” Dmitri asks as they get the woman to swallow a little more.

  “Maybe. Even if it’s not, these guys haven’t had anything to eat or drink for days. I’m hoping all they need is a pair of jumper cables to restart the engine, if you know what I mean. Some water. A bit of a sugar hit. The crunch of a caffeine buzz.”

  The woman’s head turns toward him. She blinks, looking confused.

  “Pass me a bottle of water,” he says, putting the mug down. Dmitri breaks the cap on a bottle of water. Nick lifts it to her lips. “Here. Drink.”

  Slowly, the woman raises her hands, taking the bottle from him.

  “Hey,” Nick says, stepping back and making eye contact with her. He smiles. “Welcome back.”

  She chugs on the bottle.

  “Easy,” he says. “There’s no rush. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Water dribbles from her chin. At a guess, she’s feeling numb. Her hands shake, which he takes as a good sign as previously they were still.

  He asks Dmitri, “What’s her name?”

  “Dr. Adrianna Macmillan. United Kingdom.”

  “Adrianna,” Nick says, resting his hand gently on her shoulder and looking deep into her heavily dilated eyes. “That’s a beautiful name. How are you feeling, Adrianna? Do you know where you are?”

  She speaks in a whisper.

  “S—Sussex.”

  Nick grins. She’s back and yet she isn’t. As tenderly as he can, he says, “You’re in Antarctica. You are at Vincennes. Do you know where that is?”

  Adrianna nods. For a moment, he feels he’s made some real progress, but it’s quickly followed by her shaking her head in disagreement.

  “It’s okay. You’re probably going to feel a little disoriented for a while. You’re part of a multinational effort here in Antarctica.”

  At this point, Nick leaves out any mention of an alien spacecraft. The poor woman’s got enough to deal with.

  “What kind of doctor are you?” he asks.

  “I—ah. I have a Ph.D. in astrobiology.”

  Nick nods, popping a couple of ibuprofen in her hand. He’s still smiling, wanting to put her at ease. “You’re not quite the kind of doctor we were looking for, but that’s all right. Listen, I want you to take these, okay? You’ve been outside. You’ve got mild frostbite. As your hands warm up, they’re going to sting.”

  Dmitri is over by the sink with a large metal pot. After emptying the tin of coffee and all of the sugar into the pot, he uses a spatula to mix in some warm water. “I’ll get this concoction down to Jazz and Bear. Get them up to speed.”

  “Good,” Nick says, starting to move onto the next person with his mug of sweetened, highly caffeinated sludge.

  Adrianna grabs his arm.

  “Hey,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere, but I need to help these people. You understand?”

  She nods, letting go.

  “Everything’s going to be okay,” he says. Although he’s sincere, his words are a lie. No one knows what the future holds, least of all him. If Adrianna stops and thinks about it, she’ll realize that, but in the moment, lies are all any of them have.

  Dmitri

  Nick’s tired.

  Time is a blur.

  There’s so much to do and so little time to think. The team are busy dealing with what happened but not why.

  It’s been about six or seven hours since they gathered up the base staff in the living quarters and revived Adrianna. Since then, she’s helped organize survivors. As far as he knows, there’s no reason why some people woke easily while others are still catatonic even now, but it’s been a long day. Nick has no idea what the time is. Outside, the storm is still raging in the perpetual darkness. Snow and ice whip past the buildings, shaking the double-glazed windows.

  Knowing the layout of the base and its staff, Adrianna was able to identify nurses, doctors, and engineers. She sent them to work through the external buildings, looking for others, while Jazz and her team worked on those in the living quarters. The lecture hall has become a triage ward, with the seats being pushed down and used as impromptu beds. A couple of nurses have set up saline drips and health monitors they’ve dragged across from the medical suite. Vincennes was never designed to treat mass casualties. It’s easier for the base surgeon to move between rows than it is to traipse between bunks in various rooms. The storage area opposite the lecture hall has been covered in plastic sheets and is used for surgery. So far, there have been three amputations.

  “Colonel Buckley wants to see you,” a uniformed soldier says to Jazz as she tends to one of the survivors.

  “Okay,” she replies, addressing Nick and Dmitri. “You guys stay here. Bear, you’re with me.”

  Nick is exhausted. He slumps down against the far wall, sitting on the carpet tiles lining the floor.

  Adrianna dumps a duffel bag on the ground and sits next to him, asking, “How are you holding up?”

  “Me?” he replies. “I should be asking that of you.”

  She laughs. “I’m doing fine. I’m a little sore, but I’m okay.”

  “I’m beat.”

  “It’s going to be a long day,” she says.

  “Wait? What time is it?”

  “Last time I checked,” she replies. “A little after eight.”

  “In the evening?”

  She laughs. “The morning.”

  “Oh, damn,” he replies, pushing his head back against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. Nick’s got his arms resting on his knees. His fingers are shaking.

  “Are you eating? Drinking?” she asks.

  Nick turns and looks at her. “It’s
a little early for that, but what have you got?”

  “I was thinking about water.”

  He smiles.

  Adrianna says, “Keep your fluids up. Make sure you eat something. And be sure to get some rest. It’s no crime to get some sleep.”

  “Yes, doc.”

  She hands him a bottle of water. Nick takes a sip and asks, “Do you know what happened?”

  “Mikhail thinks it was defensive rather than offensive.”

  “So they’re not coming after us?”

  “No. But we still don’t have contact with the team under the ice. A lot of our equipment has been fried so we’re still trying to piece things together. We need to get down there and find out what happened to the rest of the crew.”

  Nick nods.

  “Oh,” she says, hoisting the bag onto her lap and pulling on the zipper. “I’ve got something for you guys.”

  She rummages around, saying, “I had to guess on sizes, but there’s several changes of clothing along with a bunch of toiletries like soap, toothpaste and shaving cream.”

  Adrianna hands the bag across to him. “I thought it might give you a lift.”

  “Thank you,” Nick says, running his hand over the fuzz on his cheeks.

  Nick’s tempted to point out they’ve got their own stuff stowed away in the back of Lucille, but the prospect of going out into the cold again does not appeal to him at all. Already, he’s feeling soft. In Antarctica, warm air is akin to the finest caviar.

  As he gets to his feet, he says, “Thank you.”

  Nick grabs Dmitri, showing him the contents of the bag as though it were contraband. They head to the communal bathroom. After shaving and brushing their teeth, they shower in stalls barely two feet square. The flimsy plastic curtain between them is semitransparent, but Nick is beyond caring about privacy.