The Dark

by Emma Haughton

  ‘Thought we’d take one of the skidoos,’ Drew says as we descend the steps to the ice. ‘Save you too much walking till you’re up to speed.’

  Oh hell, do I look that bad? I still feel a bit nauseous, though my headache abated with a few more painkillers. Clearly my exhaustion is still showing.

  Drew leads me around the side of Beta to a large hangar where several black snowmobiles are parked. He mounts the nearest, motioning me to get on behind. I climb on awkwardly, feeling the biting cold of the seat through my padded trousers.

  ‘Hang on tight!’

  As he revs the engine and takes off across the ice, I clutch onto his waist. It makes me feel awkward and self-conscious, but we’re circling the whole complex at unnerving speed, swerving around the ropes Arne mentioned earlier that arc out from Alpha and Beta towards the surrounding outbuildings.

  ‘That’s where we keep the emergency generator,’ Drew shouts back, as we pass the largest of the sheds. He points out the massive fuel containers full of diesel as we skid past, cutting a path towards a smaller hut in the distance.

  I try to contain my rising unease as we head into the vast white space and Alpha and Beta recede behind us. I’m scared to leave it, our tiny refuge in this frozen oblivion. Afraid that somehow I won’t make it back.

  Suddenly we hit a rut in the ice and I squeal in alarm, clinging to Drew even tighter.

  ‘You okay?’ he yells above the noise of the engine.

  ‘Yes!’ It’s a lie. I’m utterly terrified. If I fall off, I’m looking at a concussion or a fracture at the very least. I close my eyes, trying not to think of the crash, the sudden sensation of weightlessness as the car left the road and flew through the air.

  You’re fine, Kate. He’s probably driven this thing a thousand times.

  A minute later we pull up outside the little building. ‘This is the meteorology hut,’ Drew says as I clamber off the skidoo, thankful I’m still in one piece. ‘It’s pretty much Sonya’s domain.’

  We step inside. After the cold air that whipped around my face on the skidoo, penetrating right through the necker I’d pulled up over my nose, this place feels surprisingly warm. Almost cosy, though there’s no heat source I can identify. The paraffin heater in the corner isn’t lit.

  ‘Most of this stuff is for snow samples and measuring ozone concentrations,’ Drew waves at a bench covered in unidentifiable equipment and containers, ‘but Sonya walks out here to release the daily balloon.’

  ‘Balloon?’

  ‘Helium. It carries instruments to measure things like temperature, humidity and so on, and transmits data back to the base for about 150 kilometres.’

  ‘Sonya comes out here to do that every day?’ I try to imagine braving this harsh white world day in, day out. Being out here, on your own, undaunted by the size and inhospitability of this landscape.

  ‘Pretty much,’ Drew says. ‘She only missed a couple when the weather was bad. She loves it though, says it’s her daily constitutional.’

  I remove my goggles and rub my eyes, picturing Sonya bundled up in her outdoor gear, trudging all the way out to this shelter. I’m filled with admiration. I’m not sure I’d have the courage. Or tenacity.

  ‘You okay?’ Drew asks, studying me.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘I was as nervous as fuck. First time out on the ice I had a straight-up panic attack.’

  ‘Seriously?’ I return his gaze, wonder if he’s exaggerating to be kind.

  ‘Seriously. I nearly threw up I was so scared. It gets you like that sometimes … the vastness. How inhospitable it all is,’ he says, echoing my own thoughts. ‘This place has a way of letting you know who’s boss.’

  I think again of Jean-Luc, unable to shut down the image of him dying out here, somewhere in this frozen world, and bite back the urge to ask Drew about the accident.

  Not the time or place.

  We visit the atmospheric science hut, where Alice spends much of her time on air sampling, then tour the other shelters erected for various experiments. Some have been abandoned with the departure of most of the summer crew, Drew explains; others, including a round cave excavated in the ice on the south side of the station, are used all year long.

  We move on to Omega, the aluminium tower I spotted from the plane. ‘Tallest in Antarctica,’ Drew shouts to me as he weaves through the network of guyropes tethering it to the ground. ‘Fifty metres high, and a kilometre from Alpha. Holds much of the meteorological equipment.’

  ‘Does Sonya have to come out here every day as well?’ Heaven forbid.

  Drew shakes his head. ‘Only about once a week. Then she takes a skidoo.’

  He slows to a crawl, glancing up at the tower then back at me. ‘Fancy checking out the view at the top? I brought some harnesses and climbing gear in case.’

  I peer up through the ice-encrusted girders, the sky beyond so blue it’s almost black. ‘Perhaps another day. Not sure I have the stomach for it yet.’

  ‘Probably wise,’ he agrees. ‘It’s a great outlook, but it can be pretty hairy up there, especially if there’s any wind. Not ideal if you’re feeling under par.’

  Instead we head off in the opposite direction, towards a series of large domed tents on the horizon. I’m really starting to feel the cold now, the freezing air penetrating the thick downy layers of my clothing, making my toes and fingers pulse and ache.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask Drew, as we pass a small dome on top of the ice.

  ‘Igloo,’ Drew shouts back as we roar past. ‘Couple of guys built it a few winters ago.’

  ‘What’s it for?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ he laughs. ‘It’s empty. A few of the summer staff slept there once, for a dare.’

  I shiver at the thought – even in the summer, temperatures here are well below freezing.

  After another minute or two bumping across the ice, Drew slows up alongside the tents, some half a kilometre from the main station. ‘Welcome to Gamma,’ he announces. ‘Aka summer base. It’s got its own water supply and internet, even a coffee machine and washing facilities.’

  ‘How many people stay out here?’

  ‘Thirty odd. It can get pretty crowded. It’s also our official evacuation point if we have an emergency in Alpha or Beta. Wanna take a look?’

  He stops outside the entrance and I follow him inside. There’s not much to see now the remaining summer staff have moved back into the main building, just neat rows of bunk beds, crammed surprisingly close. A couple of small bathrooms and a minuscule kitchen. It makes my claustrophobic little cabin look like the last word in luxury.

  ‘Can you give me ten?’ Drew asks. ‘I have to check one of the supports.’

  All at once I’m assaulted by another swell of nausea. I inhale deeply. Oh Jesus, don’t let me be sick in here. Not in front of Drew.

  ‘Actually, I might walk back,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I need to warm up a bit.’

  ‘You sure?’ Drew frowns, clearly uncertain whether that’s a good idea.

  ‘It’s not far. And I could do with stretching my legs.’

  ‘Okay, but take the walkie-talkie,’ he insists, handing his set to me. ‘Any problems at all, just radio the base. I’ll see you back at Alpha.’

  I seal the handset into the pocket of my jacket, then leave the tent and set off towards the main building. Within seconds, however, I’m struggling to breathe.

  Shit. This is a really bad idea – I’d forgotten how exhausting it is walking any distance at this altitude. I pause, trying to rake more oxygen into my lungs, thankful Drew can’t see me.

  When I’ve caught my breath, I set off again, consciously slowing to a fraction of my usual pace, eventually finding a rhythm I can sustain. Weirdly, moving steadily seems to settle my stomach, and the dizziness that accompanies the nausea subsides. Without the wind chill from the skidoo, I can even lower my necker and allow the sun beating down from the cloudless sky to warm my face. In mid-summer, Sonya told me last night, you have to
wear a thick layer of sunscreen to combat the lack of ozone, but this close to winter I should be okay – for a few minutes at least.

  Halfway back to base, I spot a strong halo in the sky to the left of Alpha, two intense bursts of rainbow either side. I stop to take it in. A sundog. I’ve read about them but never actually seen one before. The horizon shimmers, fluctuations in the light subtly changing the colour of the ice below.

  It’s beautiful and mesmerising.

  Out of nowhere a breeze appears, picking up little flurries of ice crystals, spinning them into tiny tornadoes that dance along the ridges and pinprick the exposed skin of my face.

  What are those ridges called? Ark told me last night, the Russian for these parallel lines in the snow, so reminiscent of waves.

  Sastrugi, that’s it. I say the word out loud, enjoying the sensation of it in my mouth.

  Sastrugi.

  All at once any lingering misgivings about coming out here to Antarctica disappear. For all its harshness, its bleakness, there’s something magical about this world and its vast, unfathomable emptiness. The air feels impossibly clean and sharp after the pollution of the city. Away from the constant chatter of the station, inside and out, the quiet wraps itself around me like a blanket, soft and soothing.

  I breathe in deeply, ignoring the piercing cold in my lungs, the ache of my frozen fingers and toes, as I gaze up into the fathomless blue. No clouds, no contrails from aircraft. We’re so remote that even satellites seldom pass over.

  Peace, I think, my heart lifting as I embrace the stillness, the silence.

  This place is a gift. A privilege.

  Nowhere in the world right now I’d rather be.

  4

  15 February

  ‘How are you doing? You settling in?’

  ‘Great,’ I reply, trying to sound more upbeat than I feel. Though my blood sats are better and my pulse rate is down, the headaches and nausea are still plaguing me. And the near constant snow-bright daylight that streams in through every window is playing havoc with my body clock – I barely know whether I should be eating or sleeping.

  Alice squints at me, her smooth forehead wrinkled with concern. ‘You sure you’re okay? You look a bit peaky to be honest.’

  ‘Peaky?’ Ark frowns. ‘What is peaky?’

  ‘She means I don’t look very well. Unhealthy,’ I add for good measure.

  Ark grunts and scratches his beard. ‘You be fine. It is,’ he searches for the right words, ‘height sickness?’

  ‘Altitude sickness. And yes, I’ll be over it in a day or two.’

  ‘Hope so,’ he says gloomily. ‘Don’t want to lose you too.’

  Sonya frowns at him but Ark ignores her, breaking off a piece of poppadum and dipping it into his curry.

  ‘Once summer crew has gone,’ he continues, raising his voice as if challenging everyone to join in. ‘Then you stuck with us. And if that don’t make you sick, nothing will.’ He guffaws at his own joke, gazing around for a reaction.

  A few people smile, but it’s subdued. My fourth day here and some of the winterers are letting their guard down. The veneer of cheerfulness that greeted my arrival has slipped into something more … what? I try to put a finger on it. A wariness, a sense that everyone is treading on eggshells around each other.

  There’s a lull in the conversation, one of those awkward pauses that arise out of nowhere.

  ‘Well, this is delicious.’ Caro raises her glass of wine to Rajiv, whose face still glows from the heat of the kitchen. His turban today is a warm deep orange – apparently he wears a different colour each day of the week, to help him ‘keep track of time’.

  ‘You’re most welcome.’ Rajiv wiggles his moustache and tips a wink back at Caro, making her laugh.

  Supper time is fast becoming my favourite part of our daily routine. With station numbers now drastically reduced, Drew and Rob have pushed the tables into a large square so we can all sit together. Every evening, Alice pulls down the blinds in the dining room and lights a trio of candles, shutting out the ever-present glare of the sun and giving the place a more cosy atmosphere.

  Caro turns to me. ‘What do you think of the food so far?’

  ‘It’s fabulous. Much better than I expected.’

  ‘Antarctica has an odd effect on the appetite,’ she muses, eyeing my meagre portions. ‘Either you’re hungry all the time or you barely want to eat at all. Sadly, I’m the former.’ Caro pats her stomach and grins – though frankly it’s hard to tell what shape she’s in under the baggy top and dungarees she usually wears.

  ‘You’ve done this before then?’ I ask.

  ‘Only once. Out on Mawson, the Australian base. I was due to visit Halley too, but it closed.’

  I nod. Halley, the flagship UK ice station, had to be evacuated in winter when a huge section of the Brunt ice shelf began to crack away from the Antarctic mainland. ‘So you’re an old hand then?’

  ‘Guess so. I swore on Mawson it’d be the one and only, but here I am. Go figure.’

  ‘Was it that bad?’ I try to keep my tone light-hearted.

  Caro tilts her head, considering. ‘Let’s just say it was interesting, in a tedious sort of way. Winter sorts the men from the boys, if you’ll excuse the sexism – though it has to be said, in my experience, women cope better.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ Luuk leans back in his chair, swigging beer from his bottle. His expression is challenging, almost defiant, as though he’s ready for an argument. Despite my best intentions to get along with everyone, there’s something I instinctively dislike in him. A kind of insouciance that borders on arrogance.

  Caro stares him down, refusing to be intimidated. ‘No idea. It’s only an observation.’

  Luuk eyeballs her for another moment or two, then returns his attention to his food. I gaze around the table. There are still half a dozen summer scientists here, due to leave in a few days – once that plane takes off, just thirteen of us will remain.

  Thank heavens I’m not superstitious.

  I’ve got to know most of the winter crew, at least a little. Chatted over meals, and in my clinic, as I ask each to come in for a basic check-up. Raff has done an excellent job, but I want to establish my own baselines.

  Only two have yet to show up for their medicals: Alex, who seems to be actively keeping his distance, and Sandrine, who also hasn’t improved on closer acquaintance. I study her, sitting at the far end of the table, talking to Tom and Sonya, her expression blank with concentration. Despite the make-up, there’s no hiding the dark circles under her eyes, the heavy frown lines in her forehead. Too much work, and not enough sleep.

  For a second, our eyes meet, then her gaze flicks away again without acknowledgement. I haven’t been able to shake the sense that she doesn’t like me, that Sandrine somehow resents me being here. Surely she’s relieved to have a permanent doctor back on the base?

  ‘Fucking shame about the naan bread.’

  I glance at Rob, who’s pulled his hair up into a kind of samurai topknot that looks pretty bad-ass. ‘Sorry,’ he says, catching my eye.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘My language. Mum’s always nagging me about it. Though she knows just about every curse word in English and Taiwanese.’

  I laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it. You should work in a busy A&E – plenty of swearing, I assure you. Anyway, what’s the deal with the naan bread?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ Alice’s voice is dramatic. ‘We’ve got weevils!’

  ‘Weevils?’

  ‘In the flour.’ Rajiv looks disconsolate. ‘Half the consignment is ruined, and there’s no room to fly in more. So bread’s rationed from now on.’

  That’ll hit everyone hard, I think. I may have only been here a matter of days but I’m already aware that Rajiv’s freshly baked loaves, which he garnishes with all sorts of extras – dried onion, garlic, caraway, different nuts and seeds – are one of the highlights of the station diet.

  ‘What is wrong with weev
ils?’ booms Ark. ‘More protein!’ He breaks out into another round of laughter as he registers the disgust on the faces around him. ‘You babies not last long in gulag!’

  ‘This is the fucking gulag, isn’t it?’ Alex mutters, only half to himself.

  Luuk snorts, his expression mocking, but Alex ignores him. I study him, curious. What on earth does he mean? But Alex keeps his focus on his food, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  Probably he’s still upset about Jean-Luc’s death, I decide, remembering that photo, the easy camaraderie evident between them. Perhaps he’s finding it harder to deal with than some of the others.

  I try to finish my curry. Caro’s right. It’s really good, making the most of the few vegetables we have left in store. Once the final boxes arrive on the plane tomorrow, that’ll be it – the only fresh food we’ll taste for eight months will be Drew’s meagre supply of salad.

  As people get up to serve themselves dessert, I lean in to Alice. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ I say, voice lowered.

  She fixes her clear blue eyes on mine. ‘Sure. Fire away.’

  ‘What exactly happened to Jean-Luc?’

  ‘No one told you?’ Her eyebrows lift in surprise.

  ‘Not in any detail. Just that he had an accident out on the ice.’

  Alice chews the side of her lip. Takes a long slug of wine, then lowers her voice to match mine. ‘He died on a group expedition to the Transantarctic Mountains – about three days from here by skidoo. There are some big crevasses out there, and we were practising ice climbing. Well … he was abseiling into one of them, and his equipment failed. He fell right in.’

  ‘Shit.’ I let out a long, astonished breath. ‘How did you get him out?’

  Alice looks uncomfortable. Her eyes flit around the table before she drops her voice to a murmur. ‘We didn’t.’

  Shock hits me like a punch in the lungs. ‘You mean … he’s still out there?’ I flash back to those photos on the wall. That kindly, handsome face beaming at the camera.

  Oh God. It doesn’t bear thinking about.