by Perrin Briar
“What brought you here?” Kate said.
You, Hamish wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He looked down and kicked a small clump of ice with the tip of his boot.
“I wanted to do something that made a difference,” Hamish said.
“Teaching does make a difference,” Kate said.
“You know, work on the frontlines for once,” Hamish said, “for my name to be attached to a project that students would be reading about one day.”
“The old vanity trick, huh?” Kate said with a smile.
Hamish chuckled.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose it is. She can be a seductive mistress. But I want to make a difference too. I think a lot of people do. They just don’t have the time to do it.”
“That’s horseshit,” Kate said, never one to mince words. “People always have time. If they don’t, then they make time for it. But they usually don’t care enough about something to want to make the sacrifices required. That’s what people are really missing. The drive, the need, to achieve what they want. People don’t achieve their dreams, not because it’s too hard, but because they look at it the wrong way. Dreams are tangible, not ethereal. They can achieve practically anything, so long as they have the right amount of drive, passion and motivation.
“Sometimes people give up and try something else. That’s fine too. But they should always be striving for something, something more, to become better people, to change their surroundings so it’s a better place for all. They need to get up off their asses and go do those things. It takes action, not words. That’s what the people here have done. There’s nothing magical about what we do. We just know what we want and we do it – that’s the way the world works. You need goals, and they need to be achievable.
“But let’s face it, if someone doesn’t have enough motivation to stop smoking, to lose weight, to exercise, then what chance do they have of having the motivation to change the world? To achieve their dreams? None. And then they wonder why they haven’t achieved anything with their lives. They get depressed and take medication. All because they didn’t have the balls to make an effort, a small, tiny effort each day to achieve their goals and their dreams. That’s not what people want to hear, but it’s the truth.”
Kate was panting by the end of her tirade. She glared at Hamish, as if daring him to contradict her. Hamish held up his hands in surrender.
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” he said.
Kate smiled. Her cheeks glowed red.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just something I feel very passionate about.”
“I can see that,” Hamish said.
“The greatness people could achieve if they just spent a little time helping others rather than just themselves all the time,” Kate said.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Hamish said. “I like seeing your passion.”
“Daniel doesn’t,” Kate said. “I go on like this, and he starts checking his phone.”
“Maybe he has a very nice one,” Hamish said with a grin.
Kate grinned back.
“It’s one thing to want to achieve something great for yourself – selfishly, like me,” Hamish said. “It’s another to want to inspire it in other people. The people like you, you’re the Martin Luther Kings, the Gandhis, the, dare-I-say-it, Hitlers, of the world. For better or worse, they inspire change in others. They are the real treasures of the human race, because ideas spread and take root, causing a knock-on effect that lives on for generations.
“It’s the single mother living on a project who organizes events and games for the local kids to get them off the streets for an evening. It’s the successful businessman who sets up a mentor training program to help the next young entrepreneur to set up his or her business. It’s the Dr. Scotts who fund science initiatives to learn about our planet’s past, to educate us all on what we thought we already knew. They’re the ones who inspire change, not the selfish rest of us.”
Kate’s grin grew larger and larger the longer Hamish spoke.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
Hope, and a fair amount of love, sprouted in Hamish’s heart at the words.
“Me too,” he said.
They shared a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, a moment that, to Hamish, seemed to last forever. Hamish tried to let all his emotions travel through his eyes, and into her, so she would understand the way he’d felt about her for the past twenty years. He tried to see the same in her eyes, and for a flicker, a nanosecond, he thought he caught sight of it. But he knew he couldn’t trust it. The eyes see what they want to see.
Now was the moment he should tell her the way he felt, the way he had always felt. He parted his mouth and licked his lips. This was the moment, the moment he was going to tell her everything. This was why he’d flown all this way, had put off his other plans. The reason he couldn’t go on living the way he had. Because in his heart he wanted to live with her, to love her, to be with her, and for her to be with him, because without her, there was no way to live.
And then the old familiar weight of doubt settled in, pressing down, deep and painful, even more so than the cold. What if she rejected him? What if she didn’t feel the same way? What if he had to spend the next few months pretending he hadn’t told her everything? Hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of her?
What if, what if, what if?
The questions attacked him from every direction, as many as his mind was capable of conjuring. They proved to be too many, too powerful. He pulled his eyes away from hers and picked up another sandwich. She looked away too, and stared out at the sea. The world was a big place, the universe huge beyond contemplation, and yet here Hamish was, unable to tell the woman he loved how he felt. It was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.
And then he saw something, something on the horizon.
“What is that?” Hamish said.
He was looking at something behind Kate, a dark shape. Flecks of light did nothing to doubt the blackness. They were sporadic, coming from all over, like grey hair on an old woman’s dress. Betsy’s twisted twin sister.
“It’s a storm,” Kate said, getting to her feet. “A big one. Come on. We’d better get back.”
“Maybe it’ll swing north?” Hamish said.
Kate bent down to pick up their picnic.
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said.
Z-MINUS: 5 hours 20 minutes
Hamish couldn’t help peering over his shoulder at the approaching storm. It was moving so fast! Each time he looked back the storm seemed to be gaining. The thunder wasn’t distant pops now, but harsh, deep throbs that shook the ground and made the air crackle with energy.
Kate pushed the snow mobile hard, rising and tracking the movement of the land with her body, like a professional horse jockey. Hamish mimicked her. He could feel how tense her body was. If she was that worried, Hamish knew he had to be concerned too. But he couldn’t understand what could be so bad about a little storm for Kate to drive the way she was.
The wind struck them hard, from the side. The snow mobile reacted like they’d been hit by a truck. Kate pulled on the handlebars, leaning down to force her weight into the movement, and straightened the snow mobile up again.
The wind was cold and harsh, cutting through them like a steak knife. Where a moment ago it was peaceful and calm, it was now dark and filled with danger.
KRRRUUUUNNNGGGGGG!
The thunder exploded like someone had smashed a cymbal over their heads. Hamish shouted, but couldn’t hear himself. All over his body his hair stood on end, the air alive with electric energy. Somehow, Kate maintained her grip, head straight like a horse stretching for the final post, toward the black buildings of Palmer Station.
Then all hell broke loose.
The snow swirled, tossed up into the stiff gale, rising a dozen feet in the air. Kate drove through the great white curtains. It dampened their skin and coats. The buildings of Palmer Station were getting
close. They were going to make it.
Then the snow descended, a blizzard. It removed all sight of the buildings ahead, as if they’d been blinded. But if they kept their heading, they were certain to run into Palmer Station…
Run into…
They were still running at top speed. Hamish squinted his eyes against the storm. He was beginning to get nervous. If they slammed into the buildings at this speed the others would have to scrape them off with shovels. He was about to lean forward and shout in Kate’s ear to slow down when she eased off the throttle. Hamish would have slowed further, but Kate was in the driving seat.
Kate eased up off the accelerator further. She cast her head around. They should have been amongst the buildings by now, but they hadn’t come across anything. Worse still, there was nothing to suggest evidence Palmer Station was even close by.
The thunder roiled and rumbled overhead. It sounded like victorious laughter. They were lost, and the storm was closing in for the kill.
There!
Hamish’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d caught sight of something. An arched roof? It was gone in an instant, but it had been there. Hadn’t it? He tapped Kate on the shoulder and pointed animatedly in the direction he’d seen it.
Kate didn’t hesitate, turning the handlebars. The snow mobile crawled forward. Hamish was struck with the reason why she was suddenly being so careful: if the ski got damaged, they were done for.
They edged along, the little engine’s roar drowned by the howling wind and rattling thunder. But the vibrations under Hamish’s legs were their beacon of hope in an eternal darkness. Fail to find Palmer Station and they were as good as dead.
Then, finally, a large flat wall. It was yellow – not the color of the red shed the snow mobile belonged to, but now Kate knew the location well enough. She steered the snow mobile onward, skirting the yellow hut and then, the moment it was out of view, the larger red shed came into view. The doors were held open, a man on each. One wore yellow, the other red. Hamish wasn’t familiar enough with the colors yet to know who they were, but he was relieved nonetheless.
Kate pulled the snow mobile to a stop and thumbed off the engine. The two figures wrestled with the doors, pulling them shut. Hamish got off the bike and moved to help them, but staggered, almost losing his feet. He was more exhausted than he thought. Kate must have felt the same because she hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat yet. She’d removed her helmet and sat there with her hands over her head, panting for oxygen.
The two figures got the doors closed, and then lashed them shut with the chain.
“Key,” Daniel said, stretching out his hand toward Kate.
She fumbled inside her coat pocket and tossed the key to him. It was a bad throw, but Daniel caught it anyway with a single hand. He lashed the chains between the two door handles and snapped the padlock between them, locking them tight.
The doors rattled on their hinges, but the roar and groan of the storm had been locked out. Snow crept through the gaps, but not enough to worry. They were safe.
“Thank God,” Daniel said, removing his hood.
He wrapped his arms around Kate.
“We were beginning to think you weren’t going to make it back,” Daniel said.
“We almost didn’t,” Kate said. “It came on quicker than we thought.”
“Where have you been?” he said.
“I took Hamish to see Betsy,” Kate said.
Daniel looked at Hamish, his expression darkening. He didn’t believe a word of it. Earlier he’d said he knew everything about Hamish. But Hamish knew nothing about Daniel. Hamish felt exposed and unprepared. Was he dangerous? Was he the type to fly off the handle? He had a larger build than Hamish and could easily overpower him.
“Why weren’t we warned about the storm?” Kate said.
“Must have been a problem with the antennae,” Daniel said. “You know how it gets glitchy sometimes.”
“A fine time for it to mess up,” Kate said. “It almost killed us.”
“You’re here now,” Daniel said. “That’s all that matters.”
“Is everyone else all right?” Kate said.
“They’re locking everything down now,” Carl said. “We should be heading to the center.”
Z-MINUS: 4 hours 52 minutes
The snow was a flurry, assaulting their eyes and ears, making it difficult to see much farther than a few feet ahead. A strong gust of wind blew and caught Hamish, making him stagger to one side. But he never lost sight of the brightly colored coats in front of him, always keeping his eyes open, despite the stinging pain.
The others were out, locking down the buildings, strapping thick ropes over the older sheds and hammering metal pegs into the hard earth. The snow lashed them, the flurries a magician’s trick, making people appear and then disappear as they rushed about the area, trying to lock the center down. Then the figures turned and hurried for the main center, fighting against an invisible opponent. They were all winning, save one.
Someone wearing purple Carhartts coveralls was leaning against the wall of the red shed. He swayed on his feet. Perhaps he had just lost his footing and hadn’t yet straightened up. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and spat more lumps out, yellow stuff spewing from his mouth, pooling on the snow, staining it.
Hamish looked ahead, at Kate, Daniel and Carl heading toward the main center. They hadn’t noticed the purple man. Hamish was about to shout and get the others’ attention when the purple man turned and began to stumble toward the center’s back entrance. He knew what he was doing. Hamish shrugged and turned back to follow the others. The sleet spat in Hamish’s face, the ice tiny biting mosquitoes.
The storm descended, a roiling mass of dark clouds with streaks of white. The snow blasted the snow from the ground and into Hamish’s face like a high pressure hose.
Hamish was the last of their entourage to struggle inside, the wind already whipping at the door and making it fly open, banging on the wall. Hamish shied back from the approaching blow. Something slammed into the door, holding it steady, inches from striking Hamish. He looked up to see Daniel holding the door open.
“Hurry!” Daniel said.
A hand gripped his shoulder, and pulled him into the center. Carl. He took hold of the door alongside Daniel. Together, the two large men held the door in place. The wind relented. The men slammed the door and affixed the lock. The wind howled, raging against its loss, making the doors buckle and bang. The backing track to their incarceration.
The snow lashed down hard, a solid wall of white, harder than Hamish had ever seen before. Lightning flashed, thunder hot on its heels, hard, loud and frightening. Sleet scratched at the windows, the kind of weather that made you grateful you had a roof over your head, no matter how flimsy.
Hamish shrugged off his coat and boots, letting them thud to the floor. The others followed suit. The space was thick with the smell of wet hair. Hamish felt light after removing his outer skin, the water no longer dragging him down. His feet lifted lightly off the floor. It felt like he was walking on a cloud.
Jeff and Lindsey made cooing noises.
“It certainly is rough out there!” Jeff said.
“That came on quick, didn’t it?” Lindsey said.
They hung up their coats, hats, and boots, and sat a heater in front of them to help dry them out.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Lindsey said. “Anyone fancy hot chocolate?”
They funneled into the main communal area. In the corner was the radio and microphone. Patrick, one of the ping pong players earlier, was sat before it, speaking into the mic. He wore headphones, but had pulled out the jack, so they could all listen. There was the loud roar of static, like an airplane thundering overhead.
“Hey,” Patrick said. “Winter is coming.”
“That’s hilarious about the first thousand times you said it,” Carl said.
“But winter is coming, though,” Patrick said.
Carl just looke
d at Patrick and shook his head.
“What does the weather control center say about the storm?” Kate said.
Patrick tapped at the keys.
“We didn’t hear anything about the storm before it arrived,” he said.
“Who was on duty?” Daniel said.
“I was,” Patrick said. “But Ian was with me. We were playing ping pong and… I must have missed the signal.”
Daniel turned on Patrick.
“Kate and Hamish almost lost their lives because of your negligence,” he said. “They were out looking at Betsy while you were playing your childish games.”
Patrick lowered his eyes.
“Sorry, Kate,” he said. “Hamish.”
“No harm done,” Hamish said. “We got back okay.”
“Yeah, it’s all right,” Kate said, resting a comforting hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Nothing bad happened, so you don’t have to worry.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” Daniel said, not letting up for a moment. “We got lucky this time.”
“It looks like some of the computer systems were down at about the time we should have received something from them,” Jeff said, peering at the monitor.
“The computer was down?” Daniel said.
Looking at the computer now, it didn’t surprise Hamish. It was old and covered with dust. No wonder it cut out on them and didn’t operate. It probably did it out of spite.
“What about the internet?” Hamish said. “Maybe you can get some information about the storm off that?”
“The storm knocked out the internet as soon as it started,” Patrick said.
“Great,” Daniel said. “We’re reduced to old Blackadder reruns.”
“Not while I’ve got control of the remote, we won’t,” Carl said.