As good a time as any to put my plan into action. I was about to stand, to quietly get started, gathering what I needed, but hesitated. Something was wrong, and it wasn’t simply the hangover of a nightmare. Something felt off-kilter.
I clicked alert, scanning the dim room. Nothing moved. I held my breath, ears stretched for the slightest sound. Aside from the snores, there was nothing.
And then I realised that was the point. No noise.
Throughout my time inside the base I’d been enveloped by a low humming, just background noise, a faint vibration. I don’t know what it was – air conditioning, lights, whatever, it was gone now.
And it was far too cold.
There was another sound missing – the wind and rain had finally stopped hammering on the roof, the storm had passed. My eyes had adjusted, dim shapes just about marking the furniture and the other men on the floor.
I silently got to my feet, grabbed my gun, carefully opened the door. Dash snorted and rolled over. I stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind me. The base was deathly quiet. I looked up the corridor but nothing stirred. Was Greenbow still in his room?
From the window in the corridor I couldn’t even see the bright orange cabins up either side of the horseshoe. I squinted into the darkness, could only just make out the generator hut. It looked like the tool shed had partially collapsed into it, destroying half the wall. Splintered plywood panels spiked outwards. The little exhaust chimney at the top was still there, but when we’d come back to the base yesterday evening, smoky fumes had been blowing from the top. I couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t look as if they were now. I flicked the light switch in the hallway. Nothing happened.
I gripped the bedroom door handle, opening the door slowly. There was a groan somewhere in the darkness.
‘Who’s that? Stay where you are!’ A flurry of activity, a light snapped on, blinding me. I threw my arm up, aware of a shape jumping near me.
‘Get that fucking torch out of my face, Hurley,’ I said.
‘John? Where’ve you been… what time is it?’
The beam swung away. I blinked, when my eyes recovered I could see Alice poised behind the door, an empty bottle held high ready to club me.
‘You said no one should leave the room,’ said Dash in a questioning tone.
Marie sat up in the other bed, duvet pulled up to her neck. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
I glanced up and down the corridor. ‘Power’s off.’
Dash leapt up as quickly as his bulk allowed. He flicked the impotent light switch to test for himself, then wobbled into his trousers. ‘We need to get it restarted.’
‘Why?’ asked Alice.
‘The base is almost airtight, means the air in these rooms will begin to get toxic. As we breathe it’s filling with carbon dioxide.’
Hurley looked out the window. ‘The base is huge. Assuming Greenbow’s still in here, there are only six of us; surely we can last?’
‘We don’t know how long the generator’s been off, could have been hours already. Without the air circulating around properly, the rooms will become stale quickly. It could be okay, but we really should go outside and get it back on again.’
‘What about power to the HADU?’ asked Hurley. ‘If we don’t get the generator on we’re stuck outside.’
‘Built-in batteries,’ I said. ‘They should be good for a while.’
‘Why can’t we just suit up and wait it out?’ asked Alice. ‘It’s nearly six – they’re coming to evacuate us in a few hours.’
‘That’s a last resort,’ I said.
Chapter Fifty-six
Dash and I left the others inside whilst we went to check on the generator. The wind had changed direction, noticeably warmer now, and it was refreshing to be outside without being hammered into the mud by the rain. We’d traded one devil for another, though; even if the sun had been up we wouldn’t have been able to see more than a few metres. I flicked on my torch and illuminated a vast, endless expanse of grey. It swirled and stretched around and above us as if we were trapped inside a dirty snow globe, muffling all sound. Droplets clung to the visor of my gas mask, smearing everything. Dash’s beam found the outbuildings, melting in and out of the fog. I already knew they hadn’t escaped the storm. The generator hut leaned drunkenly against the tool shed. We stumbled closer to see the roof had collapsed and the door was bent, embedded in the mud.
‘Shit, Dash, if you want this base to stay in one piece down in the Antarctic, you need to build it stronger than this.’
‘This is down to your boys. Remember, down there the enemy is the cold – we’ve got tool huts and generator buildings fabricated that link onto the main base, we don’t have the added complication of having to pass in and out of a decontamination chamber. No, this won’t be a problem when we ship out.’
‘Which is when?’
‘Next week. We need to get this base on the ice while it’s still summer down there. A few weeks on a container ship – we’ll have the decontamination and refit done before we hit the Falklands.’
‘Interesting.’
‘What is?’
‘Speculation. What do we need to get the generator back on?’
‘Depends on the problem, let’s take a look.’
Around the back we found the split where the plywood cladding had been splintered. I squeezed through easily but it took some coaxing – in the form of pulling and shoving – to get Dash in there. The generator was untouched by the storm – whatever the reason for the failure, it hadn’t been physically impacted by the shed partially collapsing around it.
‘What do you think, out of fuel?’ I asked.
‘Shouldn’t run out this side of Christmas.’
He pointed at my feet. I was standing on the hose that led up to the top of the generator. I shone my beam over the machinery – this was nothing like the small generator I’d started up at the second camp, more like the kind of thing that sits in the cellar of a government building or hospital. A full-on auxiliary generator, not a portable affair you’d find in a farmer’s barn.
‘Fuel’s pumped out of these –’ Dash pointed to a row of plastic drums along the far wall – ‘to a header tank up here.’
He rapped a knuckle on the header tank at the top of the generator, which thudded. Full. He pulled off the cap, shining his torch in, swirled with his gloved finger, pulled it out and swore loudly. I waited patiently while he stared into the header tank – this was his domain, after all.
‘Full of dirt,’ he said eventually.
‘Dirt?’
‘Move off the pipe. It must be damaged.’
I dropped to my hands and knees to check the pipe. It looked fine.
‘Maybe it’s broken outside somewhere?’
‘Must be. Probably the storm damaged it, blew something onto the pipe. Musta been sucking in mud along with the fuel.’
‘Can you fix it?’
‘I can fix anything, but it’ll take me a while.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Stay outta my way. You may as well go back inside.’
I pushed back out into the world, but I’d no intention of going back inside just yet – I’d been handed a golden opportunity. Dash had said the base would be loaded onto a ship next week – and at once I’d understood the killer’s plan. There was even more reason to flush them out before we were evacuated. Time to put my idea into action, though I needed to be more cautious now the others were awake.
I’d scoped the tool shed earlier, knew it would fulfil my needs. I unravelled an extension lead, wrapping it round my arm and using a Stanley knife to slice the socket end off. I stuffed a few cans of spray paint into the voluminous pockets of my overalls and stole a roll of electrical tape and bottle of paraffin from a cardboard box on the shelf. After a moment’s consideration I tipped the rest of the contents onto the floor and took the box too.
I kept my torch off as I walked back to the base. I didn’t want to alert anyone that I was coming back in,
didn’t want to attract attention. Navigation in the double darkness of night and fog was difficult, but following the churned mud I managed to reach the steps.
Protocol was now out of mind – no one was in the radio room monitoring the CCTV. After disposing of the outer suit I packed the things I’d taken from the shed into the box, added a couple of rolls of toilet paper from the cubicles, and wrapped the whole lot in my jumper. I skipped the shower, making a beeline for the kitchen to add a few more things to my bundle. After that I headed to Dash’s room, and to that lamp on his bedside table. I swiped the timer plug it was plugged into, the one that kept Dash’s sanity at the Poles, the kind normal people leave at home when they go on holiday. Just one last vital ingredient to collect from my bedroom.
Instead of getting it, I rushed to the radio room.
The room stank. The almost airtight conditions of the base had prevented the usual swarms of bugs from feasting on Gambetta’s corpse, but not the rot that had started in his internal organs, the necrotic stench of putrefaction. He’d been dead less than twelve hours, but lying on the warm plastic floor hadn’t helped. I flicked on my torch to see the discoloured flesh of his cheeks swelling grotesquely. I tore my eyes away, dumped the box on the shelf, returned to my bedroom.
The other three were still there, suited now, ready to go outside.
‘Where’s the captain?’ I asked.
‘Still in his room,’ said Alice.
‘You’re sure? Did anyone hear anything at all last night?’
Collective shrugs and shaken heads. ‘Why?’ asked Alice.
‘There’s dirt in the generator.’ I let the implication float on the stale air, no embellishment.
‘Sounds like we’d better check the captain is actually in his room,’ said Hurley.
‘You read my mind.’
I let the three of them lead the way, waiting by the box of Andy’s things, the one I’d packed by the door. As soon as they left the room I pocketed what I needed, and was closing the door when something on my bed caught my eye. I went back in and knelt closer.
A tiny key. I fished in my pocket and pulled out my window key to compare. No doubt about it, here was the second missing window key. Had it fallen from someone’s pocket?
‘John, you coming?’
Marie had come back to check on me. I dropped the keys and pulled the blanket over them, standing to follow her with a groan from my aching limbs.
The other two were striding down the connecting tunnel to the next huts.
Alice reached the door first, knocking softly. ‘Captain? We need to talk to you.’
No reply. I pulled up alongside her and booted the door, it trembled but held. I was about to try again when Hurley shoved me out of the way and gave it a kick, splintering it easily. I crouched, torch and pistol up in case a bullet came our way.
Nothing. Instinctively I flicked the dead light switch, to no effect, then ran the torch around the room instead. Not only was it empty, but it didn’t look as if it had been slept in.
‘Where the hell is he?’ asked Hurley, looking over my shoulder.
‘There are only four of us now,’ said Marie.
‘Greenbow must be around somewhere.’ I glanced up and down the corridor. ‘Dash is outside on his own. Get out there, stick together.’
‘I’m not going outside without you,’ Marie said.
I looked at the others, already jogging to the entrance. ‘Take this.’ I handed her my gun, she took it gingerly, as if it’d go off. ‘Safety’s here, point that way, squeeze this. Put it in your pocket, don’t let on you have it.’
It was a dangerous situation; six of us left on the island, one killer, and at least three guns that I knew of – although Gambetta’s Walther was, to my knowledge, still where I’d left it hidden at Camp Vollum. Those are the kind of stats the NRA reckons are safer, but I’d have preferred no guns.
‘There’s a spare mag under my pillow. Go, I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Marie.
‘Gotta see a man about a dog,’ I winked. The expression was completely lost on her. ‘I’ll check the labs.’
I watched her jog after the others, still carrying the pistol as if it’d bite, glancing nervously behind every few steps.
Chapter Fifty-seven
I sat in the comms room, back pressed against the door, torch clamped between my feet, trying to ignore the dark, foul-smelling shadow that covered the floor and the grim stains running down the opposite wall. I’d laid the contents of the cardboard box out in front of me; the timer plug and extension lead flex, a couple of toilet rolls, the tape, the paraffin, the spray paint. Then the items pilfered from the kitchen; some foil, all the wooden spoons I could find, and a wooden rolling pin, which did make me wonder who’d thought the scientists might fancy baking. I’d also gone back and grabbed a couple of wooden boards, shelves from a cupboard. Sandwiches were tipped onto the worktop to free up a Tupperware box. Finally, from my room, I took Kyle’s box of matches and my cologne.
I used the Stanley knife to strip the last few centimetres of flex, cutting the earth wire off completely, separating live and neutral. I opened up the plug on the other end: three-amp fuse. I tossed it away, the irony of a missing fuse starting this whole thing, the removal of a fuse finishing it, not lost on me.
I replaced the fuse with a tiny fat tinfoil sausage. The circuit breakers in the base would blow, but this wouldn’t.
I emptied the matches onto the floor, gathered them into a bunch, using electrical tape to secure them. Back to the flex, I bit away the plastic coating, exposing the wires, taking my time to unwind the strands, trimming them down. I did this on both the live and neutral wires. As I worked, I prayed Dash would get the generator working again.
The live wire was wound around the match heads, twisted together with the neutral wire, then wrapped round and round. After a few minutes work I’d finished, jamming the bundle of matches inside a bog roll then wrapping it up in a second roll, creating one bulky parcel with a flex lead sticking out of it. Perfect.
I poked my head out of the door to check the corridor was still quiet. Crouching in the polytunnel leading to the next hut, I lifted one of the tread-boards on the floor. The tunnel was circular in section, resulting in a gap between the flooring and the metal ribs supporting the tunnel. I laid one of the wooden kitchen shelves on the ribs, placed the Tupperware on top. My bundle sat in it, with the flex winding up and into the corridor. The paraffin was poured into the Tupperware, the toilet roll drank it up, it’d evaporate over time but the reservoir would keep it soaking for a while. Everything flammable was stacked around the bundle. I placed my Acqua Di Parma bottle upside down above the tiny bonfire, followed by the spray cans. I’d brought Kyle’s old map to use as additional fuel but decided it was more useful in one piece and stuffed it back into my pocket.
I backtracked to the radio room, paying the wire out as I went, kicking it close to the wall; no one would trip over it and in the dark it was all but invisible. Reaching up to the light attached to the ceiling, I removed the strip bulb, resting it against the wall. Now the corridor would stay dark, and the flex would stay invisible, at least until the sun came round to this side of the base – by which time we’d be long gone.
There was just enough wire to reach the socket behind the door. I pushed it into Dash’s timer plug, set it, flicked the switch, and pulled the door closed over the wire.
When the power came back on the timer would begin its slow buzzing revolution. After three quarters of an hour the dial would hit the little depressed numbers, triggering the switch. Instantly the circuit would connect, and in less than a second the wires would get so hot they’d set off the match heads, sparking a miniature fireball. It’s called an electrical match, something my brother and I had messed about with as kids.
The small fire probably wouldn’t be noticed straight away, but after a couple of minutes flames would get to the plastic cologne lid and that th
ick glass bottle would go off like a grenade. Around the same time the heat would get to the spray paint cans and – boom – the pressure would be released explosively, flammable gas igniting, expanding to blow a hole through the plastic sheeting.
In the radio room I’d opened the panel under the floor and replaced the sample vial behind the pipes where I’d found it the previous night. When the explosion ripped open the corridor it’d get everyone’s attention. It’d get one person’s attention more than the rest. The fire would threaten to consume the radio room. I was pretty sure this was a unique sample which meant the killer would have no choice – they couldn’t leave it to destruction, wouldn’t risk it – so before we were evacuated they’d have to ensure its safety.
A fire would drive everyone outside. All I had to do was stand back and watch their faces, wait for the killer to reveal themselves by going into the radio room to save the vial.
It wasn’t foolproof but it was the best I had, given the time and resources available. The killer had been clever. I needed them to give themselves away, catch them with proof. I’d have to apologise to Dash yet again about his base, but he had said they were repairing and refitting on the long journey to Antarctica – and unlike us, the Americans do seem to have limitless resources, so I didn’t feel too bad. Besides, he was proud of his anti-fire design, so the way I saw it, this was a good test: if he’d done his job properly it should only threaten this hut.
I just needed the power back on.
I was suited and back outside in no time, almost running into Hurley and Marie huddled at the top of the steps.
‘How’s Dash getting on with the generator?’
‘He’s doing well, Alice is with him,’ said Hurley. ‘We split up to wait for you.’
‘Didn’t want to leave the entrance unguarded,’ Marie said, scanning the fog, one hand thrust in her baggy pocket, no doubt wrapped around the grip of my pistol.
‘What with Greenbow being around somewhere,’ Hurley added, shining the torch around the fog.
‘Agreed. You stay here, I’ll check on the others.’
Anthrax Island Page 21