Night Shift

by Robin Triggs

  Onwards. We fought, dragged and climbed our way past the blockage, but the control room door had warped and wouldn’t open. Dmitri threw himself against the thick barrier, then he and I took turns. Eventually, on the fourth attempt, it gave and I fell inside.

  The others were with me in a heartbeat. We had made it into another refuge, another safe room. It was too hot, though – something had failed. The door, of course – it wouldn’t seal now we’d broken through. Dmitri realized at the same moment as I did; he leaned back against it, trying to hold it closed with his body weight. The blazing currents from the fire kept trying to force themselves in. The big man snarled and turned to brace it properly.

  A man lay face down on the floor: a nightmare figure, his back horribly blistered, the texture of his suit burned into strange patterns on his legs. His hair had shriveled away, his scalp black. Max hurried over to him as I clambered to my feet.

  It was Mikhail. His head flopped to the side, his face streaked with tears. He gave a pained grin and said something to Max that I didn’t catch. He was alive. He was conscious. I could hear nothing but static now, but I knew what to do. I grabbed the standard-issue medikit from the wall and scrambled over, snapped the box open and spun it round to Max. She drew out a green-tipped autoinjector and stuck Mikhail in the neck. Then a second – and we’d barely been in the room for twenty seconds. Then Max pointed to a rack of coldsuits and I went to drag one over.

  Getting him into it was a nightmare. He couldn’t move below his waist. I prayed for him to pass out, for though Max had undoubtedly used a painkiller, his mouth still twisted and retched in agony at every touch. But we had to lift him, to twist and bend his body to get him suited. Without it he was dead. Dmitri couldn’t help. It was a constant battle to keep that door shut – already the plastics in the room were smoking from the heat.

  Eventually we had Mikhail dressed, the helmet firmly attached to the body. Now we just had to get him out. He couldn’t walk. Dmitri and I took him between us, doing our best not to hold him too tight. I was grateful, then, that my mask was broken. I didn’t have to listen to his screams.

  Finally – too soon – we were ready. Max took a deep breath and pulled open the control room door. The inferno bellowed over us again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was freezing cold. Then I was boiling in my own skin. I couldn’t move; pain roared whenever I tried to turn my head. I gasped as full consciousness suddenly burst through me.

  I was in an unfamiliar bed, my vision blocked by curtains on all sides. The infirmary. I tried to get up, to swing my legs round, but my only reward was another shot of pain. I was sweating and shivering alternately.

  I tried to remember how I’d got here, and instantly felt my memories swell up: the oil fire. The fire, and then getting Mikhail away. God, Mikhail – how was he? Was he in this room with me? And Theo—

  I remembered how the rig had blown as I was being driven back to barracks. Keegan was driving, me by his side, while Weng cared for Mikhail in the back. She’d given him another sedative and finally he was free from pain. The explosion came when we were almost halfway home. Max and Dmitri had done as they promised – they’d extinguished the flames, and now there was only smoking rubble.

  Theo was dead. Must’ve been dead. If he hadn’t made it to either of the refuges, then he was dead. The knowledge, the memory, left me numb, an overload of horror blocking feeling.

  And I’d been driven home, deafened by the broken mask and freezing in a malfunctioning suit. Lord knew how I’d managed to help Keegan and Weng carry Mikhail into the corridors…

  Then I’d blacked out.

  I coughed, once, and then was overwhelmed by a great fit. I could taste smoke in my mouth, and when I turned my head my vomit was black. Couldn’t even lean to puke on the floor; a dark viscous stain spread next to me on the pillow. I groaned and turned my head back. My lungs felt like they were wrapped in plastic. At least they’d got that bloody mask off me. I felt myself slipping back into sleep, static filling my mind.

  Footsteps. I opened my eyes and saw the curtain twitch open. It was Fischer in her white coat, the wound-pad around her head much smaller than it’d been before, more like a fashion statement than a bandage. For a moment I quailed, fearing retribution for the hurt I’d done to her. But she was smiling. A weak smile, to be sure, but a smile nonetheless.

  “You’re awake sooner than I expected,” she said. She came further in to take my wrist and feel for my pulse.

  My throat was raw, the taste of vomit still thick. “How’s Mikhail?” I croaked.

  Fischer gently lifted my head and slipped the pillow out. She dropped it on the floor and pushed a clean one in its place. “He should survive,” she said. “Weng did a good job whilst I was out of action. How are you?” She lifted my eyelid and stared carefully at my pupils. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  I was breathing heavily, as if I’d just done a double session in the gym. I let my eyes roll closed. I felt utterly drained; I could barely focus on the doctor when she returned. She was carrying a hypodermic, tapping the needle as she came to my side.

  “The…the others?” I panted as she lifted my arm, stuck me and depressed the plunger.

  I breathed deeply, the pain receding to an itch, a shadow in my mind. My vision swam for a moment as Fischer opened the curtains. I felt bandages and patches covering my face, my wrist and shins – other places too. A drip had been driven into my forearm. I groaned and tried to sit up a little.

  There were four beds in the small ward, and all were occupied. Facing me across the room was Dmitri. The big man was sitting on the side of his bed, talking to Max on the cot next to him. Mikhail was in the bed next to mine; he appeared to be unconscious, most of his body bandaged.

  “Anders,” Dmitri said. “How are you feeling?”

  I didn’t know how to answer – didn’t know how I should be feeling. My throat still felt stripped, and I was so, so thirsty. My head began to thump and I let it fall back on the pillow. “How did I get here? What happened after…?”

  Max and Dmitri shared a glance. “Do you not remember?” he asked, concerned.

  “I remember the fire, dragging Mikhail out…after that things are hazy.” I paused. “Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine,” Max said. “We’re just—”

  “Max and Dmitri are just here for a checkup and some minor burns treatment,” Fischer said. “You and Mikhail aren’t so good.”

  “Me? What’s wrong?”

  “Calm down, Anders,” Dmitri said. “You got burned, is all. You’ll be fine.”

  “He got burns and pneumonia,” Fischer corrected sharply. “Why didn’t you say your mask and suit were fried by the heat? We could’ve got you treated quicker. Cooked on one side, frozen on the other, raw in the middle. Idiot.” She gave me a smile to leaven her words, but she was still in clinical mode. “You’ve been very ill – you’ve slept for most of the last three days.”

  I groaned. No wonder I felt so disconnected. “Mikhail – how is he?” I couldn’t summon the energy to look at the bed next to me, just closed my eyes.

  Fischer’s voice came from the other side of the sickroom – she must have gone to check on the engineers. “He suffered severe burns,” she said. “Rehabilitation will take a long time, but he’s out of danger for the time being.”

  And what kind of life will he have? I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question. Instead I opened my eyes again and watched Fischer ministering to Max. I coughed. “Do we know what caused the fire?” I asked.

  Dmitri looked at Max, and both looked to Fischer, before the Ukrainian answered. “Explosive on timer,” the big man said in little more than a whisper. “Mikhail – he said…said Theo saw something strapped to base of the drill. He went to check and it blew up.”

  “He would have died instantly,” Max said, and the way she looke
d away told me she was trying to reassure herself as much as she was me.

  “Was the body recovered?” I asked.

  “Burned to ash.” There was silence before she continued. “Mikhail was slammed back against the superstructure by the force of the explosion. But he managed to crawl back to the control room, even with cracked vertebrae. Dragged himself by his fingertips. He was lucky the control room door opened for him.”

  I looked again at the figure in the bed next to me, unable to find any words.

  “We’re gonna…” Max trailed off, swallowed. “We’re gonna be in trouble, Anders. The Company – the base—”

  “That’s enough for now,” Fischer interrupted. “Nothing you can do about it right at this moment. You two, get out of here,” she said to Dmitri and Max. “Get some rest, and if you get any pain or shortness of breath, then call me. And drink plenty of water. The same goes for you, Anders, but you’re staying here for a while. I want to keep an eye on you. Get some sleep and try not to worry.”

  * * *

  “We have ourselves a problem,” Fergie said quietly. He was sitting awkwardly on a chair pulled to the edge of my bed.

  I raised an eyebrow, wincing at the pain from my burned forehead. “Just the one?” I asked.

  “We’re going to freeze.”

  “What?”

  “The refinery fed the generator directly. Without it…we’re going to freeze.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t take it in. “We – we only have to survive six months—”

  “I need a proper talk with Max. But I don’t reckon we have more than a third o’ that.”

  I shook my head. “That can’t be right…”

  The Scotsman raised an eyebrow at me. He looked old, tired – too tired even to argue.

  “Do – do the crew know?” I asked.

  “I ain’t said nothing, nothing’s been said. But they’re not stupid. Max must know. The others? If they think about it, they’ll work it out soon enough. I mean, Theo’s dead, you’ve been having your nap and Max and Dmitri were totally worn out after going into that blaze. And o’ course it took me a day or two to get my head working again. We’ve not had time to sit together, all of us as a crew, and talk things over. But they’re not stupid. If they don’t know it’s only because the shock’s too great right now. Or they’re just in denial.”

  I was silent for a moment. I could see the crew all walking round like ghosts, stumbling like the living dead. “So what are we going to do?”

  “I – I don’t know….” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter. When he next spoke his voice was louder, more assertive. “We’ll find a way. We have to find a way. Don’t know about you, but I ain’t ready to die yet. It was always my ambition to die in bed with a supermodel – ain’t ready to give up on that quite yet.”

  “Why’d you come to Antarctica, Fergie?”

  “Why’d you ask that?”

  I shrugged stiffly, forcing myself to sit further up. “I just— I’ve not got to know any of you. I don’t really know who you are yet.”

  “And now’s the ideal time to break the ice? You’re a weird one, Nordvelt.”

  “I just—”

  “As if it matters more than a squirrel’s fart, I came here because I like a challenge, because I wasn’t going anywhere in my career back home, and because…well, because there was someone I no longer wanted to be in the same fucking continent with, if you must know.” He looked away.

  “I’ve heard you’re not a big fan of the Company.”

  “What is this, some kind of interrogation? No, I’ve never been their greatest fan. Dunno about you, but I liked owning my own stuff – remember that, when people could actually own their own things?” he said with bitterness. “I liked being able to make my own decisions, not havin’ to chase someone in some mega-office on another continent for permission to wipe my own—”

  “So why take their money?”

  “What’s the alternative? Go out to China or Korea, live as a non-Com? Mate, my language skills ain’t that good.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “So what are we going to do now?”

  Fergie sighed and rubbed his chin. “Truth is, we’re in a bad way even if we do manage to pull through here. We live to see Tierra again, we got to answer for…for our failure. I hate to think what the Company’s gonna do when they hear – they were relying on that oil. Lot o’ people gonna be sittin’ in the dark in six months’ time. No power, factories not working, have to harvest the crops by hand, even. Ain’t just our lives at stake here, you know that. They can only cut back so far…” He paused, looked up at me. “We need to find out who did this, Anders.”

  “You mean you don’t suspect me?”

  “Of course I do. It’d be stupid of me not to, wouldn’t it?”

  “But you saw—”

  “I saw you walk into the fire to help Mikhail, and I’m seeing you in a hospital bed as a result o’ that,” he snapped. “Yes, I’m very aware of that. And for what it’s worth, thank you.” He took a look at the unconscious figure mummified in bandages. “Thank you,” he repeated softly. “But if you aren’t responsible for…for the incidents, it means that someone else here is. And I find that hard to believe.”

  I watched Fergie as he ran a hand over his face. He looked exhausted. With me out of action and Fischer preoccupied with her patients, the running of the base had fallen to him. I wondered just what that entailed now. Keeping spirits up, I guessed. Making sure that the crew didn’t start falling out over the smallest provocation. At least he looked to have recovered fully from his injury in the mine.

  “There is no way that this was an accident,” I said.

  “Aye, I know. I checked out Mikhail’s story. The fire was definitely started by an explosive device.”

  There was a long pause. I asked him what else he’d been doing for the last few days.

  “We held a service for the commander – and for Theo.” He stared at his fingers, picked distractedly at his nails. “Abi read some verses from the Qur’an, Keegan from the Bible. Then…then we all went round and said a few words. What they meant to us, you know?”

  “What did Weng say?”

  “Don’t be such a cold bastard, Nordvelt,” Fergie said, but there was little rancor in his voice. He just seemed deadened. “She didn’t say nowt, as ever. Kept her thoughts to herself.” He sighed. “And then we got drunk, cried, laughed and puked. It’s what they would’ve wanted.” He gave a weak smile. “Apart from that, we just been getting on with the job. Been tryin’ to keep everyone calm, to get the base back on an even keel. Shoring up the ceiling at the mine. Trying to get over the shock.”

  “It must have been difficult.”

  “Aye.” He took a long breath, and I knew this part of the conversation was over. “But we need to make some decisions. We need to decide what to do. We need a survival plan. And – and we need—” He took another breath. “We need to decide if we’re gonna keep up work at the mine. The rig’s toast, but even if we all die here, if we leave a big mound o’ coal, then at least we might keep the Company running long enough so’s they can rebuild this place. Find a replacement crew. Hopefully one without a damn nutter runnin’ around.”

  I let my head sink back into the pillow. He was right, I knew he was right, but I couldn’t connect emotionally. My death was staring straight at me. I knew it was there but I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel anything but the dull ache in my brow and a cold, creeping horror.

  I cleared my throat, swallowed dirty phlegm. “So…so what do we do now?”

  “We need a meetin’. Me, you and Fischer.”

  “You want to call her? Now?”

  In just a few minutes the doctor had joined us at the bedside. She looked tired, bags under her eyes, deep wrinkles on her brow. “Anders. How are you feeling?”
<
br />   “Better than Mikhail,” I said grimly. “What – what’re his prospects?”

  She shrugged. “What are the prospects for any of us, come to that?”

  I thought of the long months ahead and couldn’t find any words.

  “I’m keeping him unconscious as much as possible,” Fischer went on. “Assuming – assuming any of us… He’ll have a long, painful time in rehab before he can walk again. He’ll need intensive medical care for several years.”

  I absorbed that silently. The poor man. All his ambitions, his dreams, destroyed in a moment. I thought back to the equinox. He wouldn’t be throwing a ball around for years, might never play again. Who was it he’d supported, the West Coast Warriors? I still had no idea who they were.

  Eventually Fergie cleared his throat. “There’s nothin’ we can do about that now,” he said. “No point talkin’ ’bout freezing either. We’ll survive. We’ll survive because we have to, right? And we got other things to discuss.”

  “Okay.” My voice cracked. “What have you got?”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat again and glanced at his datapad. “First up, we’ve obviously had to suspend mining activities. That means that only Maggie and Greigor are regularly leaving the barracks.” He paused. “We could restart the mines, they weren’t badly damaged – just have to check the bracing and scan the tunnels for microfractures. That’d be easy enough, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “But we’re scared, man. Some crazy’s killed two o’ us and left Mikhail a cripple. What’re they gonna do next? That’s what we’re all wondering. ‘Will it be me?’ The barracks is the only place we feel at least halfway safe.”

  “How do you know de Villiers was murdered?” I asked. Max surely wouldn’t have told the crew about the sabotage to the commander’s warmsuit.

  “I don’t believe it was an accident – and neither do you. There are all sorts of rumors going around the base. Most of us think it was you or Weng,” he said frankly.

  I sighed. “Okay. Let’s move on. What’re our options?”