All five of us nod.
‘I’ll use this flashlight as the signal, okay?’
We all nod again.
‘Anyone religious here?’ Luuk asks finally.
Ark shrugs. ‘Does Russian Orthodox count?’
‘That’ll do. Start praying, and make sure God is paying attention.’ He glances around at all of us. ‘Good luck.’
We exchange nervous looks, then trudge across the snow to take up our positions. I find I’m praying too, well aware of everything that could go wrong. We’re going to need all the help we can get.
The odds are stacked against us – and those odds are huge.
Enough, I tell myself, as I stand in the darkness by one of the large fuel drums Ark and Luuk have dragged out onto the ice.
Thankfully the wind has dropped since Caro and I took refuge in Gamma, and we’re surrounded now by stillness. I stamp my feet to keep warm, listening for any break in the silence, hear nothing but Alice coughing fifty metres away. I take slow steady breaths, trying not to think about the cold, about what happened out here during that terrifying episode five days ago.
And everything that came after. Finding Arne near dead on the ice, half frozen and losing blood from the wound in his head. How it took three people – Ark, Luuk, and Rob – to drag Drew back to Beta and lock him up in one of the storerooms. The anxious hours by Arne’s side, waiting for him to regain consciousness, hoping against hope that any injury to his brain wasn’t too extensive.
My joy and relief when he finally opened his eyes and murmured my name. A miracle.
Two miracles, I think, remembering little Kate.
Now we just need a third.
I strain my ears but there’s still nothing. So I distract myself by studying the heavens above me. No clouds tonight, and I can see billions of tiny pinpricks of light, those countless stars and galaxies, and the bright opalescent band of the Milky Way. It’s beautiful, and I drink it in – this may be the clearest view I’ll have of the night sky for the rest of my life.
I’ve just managed to locate the Southern Cross when I see Luuk’s torch flash on and off three times.
The signal.
Fumbling, heart thumping, I pull off my glove and remove the cigarette lighter from my pocket. My hand is shaking so much I can barely hold it, and it takes several attempts to light the end of my torch. The flames leap out, illuminating the surrounding ice with an eerie orange glow that reminds me of the aurora.
I dip it quickly into the barrel, jumping aside as the fuel explodes with a whoosh and flare of red. I hurry across to the other side, and ignite the second barrel. Standing back, I gaze up towards the others, marvelling at the two parallel lines of fire before me.
Please God, I pray, more sincerely now.
Please let this work.
In the distance a sound, a faint buzz like an insect. I listen, wondering if I’m mistaken.
Did I imagine it?
Slowly, inexorably, the noise grows louder, developing into the distinct drone of an engine. I squint into the sky, scanning the area north of our makeshift runway, pulse racing with an equal mix of fear and excitement.
There!
Alice whoops as she spots it too, an array of lights, some blinking, some static, low on the horizon. My heart lifts as the Twin Otter angles into view, the lights growing bigger and brighter as it veers slightly to the left and lines up with the runway.
I clench my fists to contain my emotion.
Please let them make it. Please.
The high-pitched whine of the engines, its two whirring propellers, increases to a roar as the plane loses height, heading for the ice. I cover my ears with my hands, holding my breath, as I watch it drop ever closer to the ground.
Please.
For a moment I think it won’t make the landing, that the little aircraft will surge back into the air, but a second later its wheels hit the ice, bouncing several times, sending up a spray of snow crystals that sparkle in the orange light. The Twin Otter races towards me, its engines screaming as it decelerates fast, finally coming to a halt a few metres from where I’m standing.
They made it.
They actually fucking made it!
A chorus of cheers as everyone hurries to meet the pilot already descending from the cockpit. Several passengers emerge from the side doors, two in army uniform, carrying formidable-looking guns. Raising a hand to greet us, they proceed immediately to unload supplies from the rear of the plane.
A third passenger joins the pilots as they approach, smiling broadly and shaking all our hands. ‘Goodness,’ the man says in a soft Canadian accent, ‘I have to admit that was a bit hairy.’
To my embarrassment, I burst into tears, overwhelmed with relief and elation and gratitude. They’ve made it. These men all risked their lives to make this journey in the dead of winter – a journey so formidable, so fraught with danger, it’s rarely ever been attempted.
The Canadian puts a comforting arm around my shoulder, and studies my face in the flickering light of the burning barrels.
‘I’m guessing you’re Kate.’
I nod, wiping away tears with my gloved hand before they freeze.
‘I’m Jon, the replacement doctor. I hear you’ve been quite the hero.’
We don’t have long. The pilots have to keep the engines running to stop the oil and fuel from freezing. Jon, Ark, and the two soldiers help wheel Arne out on a trolley and load him into the aircraft, Caro and her baby taking the seat by the window.
I linger on the ice, saying goodbye. Ark envelops me in one of his bear hugs, clearly unwilling to let me go, his shoulders tight with emotion. Alice is openly crying, Tom beside her, supporting himself with the crutches I’d found in my clinic.
‘Take care of that leg,’ I tell him, squeezing his arm. ‘Not too much exertion until it’s fully healed.’
He nods, and Sonya grabs something from her jacket pocket and drapes it around my neck. A beautiful scarf, in the same wintry colours as my lovely socks.
‘See you soon,’ she says, pressing her lips together and blinking hard.
I climb almost reluctantly into the seat between Arne and Caro. Despite everything, I find I’m sorry to be going. Leaving these people, after all we’ve been through together, is proving a great deal harder than I anticipated.
But they’re in safe hands now. The base has a new doctor, and the soldiers will take care of Drew until everyone can be flown out safely in September. Ark has managed to repair the generator, and Tom’s leg is healing nicely – he’s adamant he wants to see out the rest of the winter with the others. Even Luuk has been transformed by the unfolding horror on the station, picking up the slack left by Arne and Drew.
I check on Arne, who manages a weak smile and gives me a thumbs up. But Caro senses how nervous I am. She glances down at little Kate, cradled inside her jacket, then grabs my hand.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ she whispers, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze – she knows how much I hate flying, let alone in these conditions.
‘Final check,’ says Mike, the lead pilot. ‘Everybody strapped in safely?’
We murmur our assent.
‘Next stop, Chile,’ quips Sam, the co-pilot, and I clutch Caro’s hand tightly as the plane taxis around and lines back up on the runway.
Seconds later we start sliding forwards. I stare out of the window, my fear almost drowned out by the noise of the engines as we pick up speed, the ice transformed into a steady blur of white.
A small, barely perceptible lift, and suddenly we’re airborne.
I crane my neck around as the Twin Otter begins to circle. I can just make out the others on the ground, shimmering in the light of the burning barrels, waving goodbye.
Instinctively I raise my hand and wave back, though of course they can’t see me. Then I watch, mesmerised, as the lights of the ice station grow smaller and smaller, finally fading completely as we fly into the boundless Antarctic night.
A
cknowledgements
It can be a long journey to get to THE END, so a huge thank you to everyone who’s helped me along the way. Big gratitude to my agent Mark ‘Stan’ Stanton and Julie Fergusson, editor Jo Dickinson, along with Sorcha Rose, Melis Dagoglu, Charlotte Webb, Helen Parham and all the fantastic team at Hodder.
I’m also indebted to all my lovely writer pals on Facebook, but particularly Caroline Green and Julie-Ann Corrigan for beta reading, with honourable mentions to Susi Holliday, Essie Fox, Roz Watkins and Amanda Jennings for their help and support.
As always, thanks to Marie Adams, for keeping me sane. And I’m ever grateful to my friends and family, particularly James Ridley and Hetty Rees-Haughton for battling their way through a very early draft. Not forgetting a special mention for my father, Bob Haughton, who I hope will be tickled pink to see his own name in print right here.
More generally, I owe an enormous debt to all the brave souls who’ve spent months out in Antarctica and detailed their fascinating experiences on blogs and videos. Thank you, I couldn’t have done this without you. Please forgive any liberties with time, place, customs and so on, in service of the plot. I hope your stay on the ice was considerably less fraught!
Last, but not least, thank you to everyone who has taken the time and trouble to read this story. I hope you enjoyed it.
Emma
Stay in touch …
@Emma_Haughton
/emmahaughtonwriter
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