Below Zero

by Dan Smith

  ‘It’s awesome.’ Zak watched as Dima’s skin glued back together. ‘But also kind of disgusting.’

  As the wound grew smaller, a large glob of blood welled up and plopped out, running down Dima’s forehead. Zak turned away. ‘Gross.’

  ‘Wimp.’ May smiled.

  ‘No I’m not.’

  ‘Yes you are. Can’t stand a bit of blood?’

  ‘Well, it is pretty rank.’

  ‘Why don’t you two go and sit over there?’ Dad suggested, and Zak was pleased for the excuse to walk away.

  ‘I want to watch,’ May complained.

  ‘I think it’s best if you two stick together,’ Mum said.

  Reluctantly, May joined Zak and they perched themselves on the edge of the L-shaped sofa, neither of them settling back into the impressions left by the previous occupants. It would have been too much like lying in someone else’s bed. Or grave.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s freaky?’ May said.

  ‘The skin thing? Totally. It’s disgusting.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant the way everything came back on? I mean, it’s like someone knew we needed the power. When you think about it, the same thing happened when we were trying to land. Literally the same thing.’ May had taken off her gloves and was picking at the nail polish on one finger. ‘If they hadn’t come on, we’d have crashed. It’s like they came back on exactly when we needed them. Both times.’ She broke off a small black flake. ‘That’s weird, right?’

  ‘Yeah. Like everything else in this place.’ He stood and paced backwards and forwards a couple of times before heading to the window. Flurries still twisted and swirled out there, but the worst of the storm had died down and visibility was better than before. The landing strip beacons shone into the mist like giant yellow lightsabers. Zak counted fifteen lights on each side of the runway, and between the twelfth, Dima’s plane sat on the compacted ice, tilted forward as if it had lost its balance.

  Zak put his face closer to the window and cupped his hands to block out the reflection from inside The Hub. He squinted at the plane, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The front skid of the aircraft was missing, that’s why it was tilted forward, but that wasn’t the only thing wrong with it. Similar to the MRV, it looked as if someone had taken a massive bite out of it. The cockpit was torn open and a large, jagged piece of metal the size of a garage door lay on the runway. Beside it were the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats, torn from their fixings and tossed aside like someone had dumped some old rubbish.

  Digging his phone from his pocket, Zak switched on the camera, held it against the window and zoomed in as far as it would go. He focused on the cockpit of the plane. The picture was fuzzy but it was obvious all the instruments were gone. All those switches Dima had flicked, all those controls he had used, all those warnings that had flashed on and off, were gone. Not broken or smashed-up; gone.

  ‘My God, what happened?’ May startled him.

  ‘I . . . don’t know,’ he said. ‘But it’s not going to fly us out of here.’

  ‘Mum? Dad? You’d better come and see this.’

  ‘What is it, May, we’re busy?’ Mum was inspecting Dima’s wound, checking it would stay sealed.

  ‘Seriously, you want to see this.’

  Dad’s expression darkened. ‘See what?’

  ‘The plane,’ Zak said. ‘It’s the same as the MRV; like something took a bite out of it.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Dad came over. ‘You’d better not be—’ He stopped in his tracks when he saw it. ‘Oh my God.’ Then Mum was coming over to see, and even Dima managed to shuffle over to the window.

  They stood in a line, gaping at what was left of the aircraft.

  ‘Moy samolyet,’ Dima whispered. ‘My plane. This is not khorosho. Not at all.’

  Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before looking again. ‘What could have done that?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t penguins.’ Dima managed just one sentence before his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor.

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  NOW

  Dad helped Dima to the L-shaped sofa by the pool table, while Mum nagged him, saying he shouldn’t be moving about. ‘You’ve probably got concussion,’ she said. ‘And you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to sit down and stay sitting down.’

  When she mentioned blood, Zak looked over at the patch of it drying on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. There were drips and splashes where Dima had been lying. And the bloody paper towels were gross. The place was like a crime scene.

  ‘Zak? May? Why don’t you two see if you can find Dima something to eat?’ Mum pointed to the kitchen at the far side of the Hub. ‘And bring some water.’

  Zak could tell Mum and Dad wanted them out of the way, and as soon as they went to the kitchen he heard Dad say, ‘What the hell is going on here?’ He had never been much good at whispering. ‘Where is everyone? And the plane? I don’t want to frighten the kids, but this isn’t good.’

  ‘I think they’re already frightened.’

  ‘We shouldn’t have brought them here. Especially Zak. What were we thinking? What if something happens to him?’

  Oh no, this again. Poor old Zak.

  ‘We weren’t to know it would be like this,’ Mum said. ‘We expected experts, state of the art medical facilities, clinical conditions and—’

  ‘We should have sent them back to stay with my sister.’

  ‘Well, it’s too late to be blaming ourselves,’ Mum said. ‘And it’s a waste of time. We can worry about all that later. What we need to do now is figure out how to put this right.’

  Dad sighed. ‘Do you think it might be something to do with—’

  Whoosh! Zak didn’t hear the rest because May turned on the tap and water jetted out at top speed. It hammered into the metal sink and sprayed everywhere.

  ‘Shh!’ he snapped at her.

  ‘What?’ She turned it down and grabbed a glass from the draining board.

  ‘I’m trying to listen.’ Zak tilted his head, peering over in Mum and Dad’s direction. Something to do with what? he was wondering, but he’d missed it now.

  ‘I know,’ Dad was saying, ‘but what else could have done that? Out here?’

  ‘You’re jumping to conclusions. We’d have to get a good look at the damage. And we need to see if they’re still . . .’ Mum glanced over and saw Zak watching them. She forced a smile at him, and leant closer to Dad. When she spoke again, she lowered her voice so Zak couldn’t hear.

  ‘What do you think that’s all about?’ Zak asked May.

  ‘Who knows?’ She filled the glass. ‘I think they’re trying not to scare us. You know what they’re like; they think we can’t handle anything, but they have no idea. God, imagine if they had to put up with Vanessa Morton-Chandler and her clones every day. They wouldn’t last five minutes at school. Literally.’ She sounded tough, but her hand was trembling as she put the glass on the worktop and wiped it dry with a towel.

  Zak was thinking about the figure again. The explorer he’d seen (imagined?) earlier in The Hub when the lights were out. He wanted to tell May about it, as if getting it out in the open would make it less horrible. She’d think he was mad, of course, probably make fun of him like she usually did – call him a freak and stuff – but the urge to say something was too strong to resist. So he tried to think of a way to tell her, without actually telling her.

  ‘I read this story online,’ he said, leaning both hands on the kitchen worktop. ‘About some . . . researcher guy from one of these small bases out here. They were investigating meteors, right out in the middle of nowhere. Apparently there’s meteors hitting this place all the time. The Antarctic, that is, not this exact place right here.’

  ‘Yeah, I realized.’

  ‘OK. Well. Anyway, the story is: one of the researchers went out on his snowmobile to find a meteor, but there was a storm and he got lost. He
found an old abandoned shack instead, like a cabin that explorers or researchers used in the past. I saw a photo – there was still food and supplies in there, like really old tins that were rusted and falling apart. Apparently there are loads of these things all over the place – ships, bases, I even saw a photo of an old church sitting out on the ice in the middle of nowhere, and—’

  ‘Is there a point to this, or are you trying to make me feel even worse about this place?’

  ‘Umm.’ Zak hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

  May sighed and opened a cupboard. ‘Just tell me the rest of the story.’

  ‘OK. So, this guy, he went into the old shack, and the minute he stepped inside, he knew something was wrong.’

  ‘Hm,’ May said. ‘Like when we came in here.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose. Except, he felt like people had died in there—’

  ‘I know that feeling.’

  ‘— like maybe a part of them was left behind like a ghost or something. But he was cold and hungry and the storm was getting worse, so he stayed. There was a bed and stuff, so he went to sleep, but he woke up, and there were people standing around him. At first he thought they were there to rescue him, but he realized they weren’t wearing ECW gear like they should have been, not like this stuff . . .’ Zak pinched the front of his thick orange coat to show May what he meant. ‘These guys were wearing old-timey cold weather gear. Like really old-fashioned.’

  ‘Don’t tell me; they killed him?’

  ‘No. They just stood there staring at him, then they turned around and left the shack. He was scared, like pee-your-pants scared, and stayed where he was, didn’t leave the shack until he plucked up the courage to go outside, but there was no one there. And when the storm cleared and he went back to base, he took some people out to investigate, but they couldn’t find the shack. It’s like it was never there.’

  ‘So how did they get the photo?’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘Of the shack. You said you saw a photo.’

  ‘I dunno.’ Zak shook his head. ‘I suppose they used a photo of a different shack for the article. Does it matter?’

  May stood there with one hand on the open cupboard door, her head turned towards Zak. ‘You saying you think there are ghosts out here?’

  ‘No.’ Zak wanted to tell her what he had seen, but he didn’t want her to think it was his illness making him see things. He had to know what she thought of the story.

  May sighed. ‘He was hungry and exhausted, right?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘So he must have been seeing things.’ She turned back to the cupboard. ‘It can happen. People hallucinate when they’re tired and hungry. Or sick. I like horror films, Zak, but I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  When she said that, Zak knew he couldn’t tell her what he’d seen; May was scared enough already. She would blame it on his illness, and maybe she’d be right. Maybe he had imagined it.

  ‘C’mon,’ May said. ‘Let’s get something for Dima to eat.’

  The kitchen was well stocked. There were cupboards full of baked beans and canned vegetables, tea, coffee, dried milk, and piles of vacuum-packed foil bags with things like ‘Beef Stew’ and ‘Chicken Curry’ printed on them.

  ‘Astronaut ice cream?’ May held up a foil pack.

  ‘Why? What’s the point? This place is basically a giant freezer, they could have as much proper ice cream as they wanted.’

  ‘Yeah, ’cause all they have to do is milk all the Antarctic cows they have around the base.’

  ‘Or they could fly it in like they do with all this other stuff.’ Zak tore the lid off a large plastic container full of chocolate bars and showed it to May. ‘Isn’t sugar supposed to be good for you if you’ve had a shock?’

  ‘Yep.’ She grabbed a Snickers and they went back to where the others were waiting. Zak pocketed one of the chocolate bars for later, and followed her.

  ‘So, what’s the plan now?’ May handed the water and the Snickers to Dima.

  ‘Well.’ Dad sat down. ‘Now we have power, there are two main priorities – find the Project members, and get a message out to Head Office. We need to let them know what’s going on.’

  ‘Do we even know what’s going on?’ May said.

  ‘No,’ Dima mumbled as he took a bite of the Snickers. ‘But it doesn’t look good.’

  ‘Well, let’s see shall we?’ Mum glared at him. ‘We’ve got power, so comms should be fine, and that means we’ll be able to get someone here in a few hours. That’s no time at all, right?’

  ‘Right.’ Dad stood and headed towards The Hub entrance, where a rough map was stuck to the wall by the door. The map was home-made, as if someone had been at a loose end and decided to do a bit of doodling. It was held in place by a small piece of duct tape.

  Dad tapped the image of the Control module, the first building off the East Tunnel, and looked back at Mum. ‘You work on communications; you’re better with that stuff than I am.’

  ‘Nice to hear you admit it,’ Mum said.

  ‘You’ve already been in Medical, but check it again. And make sure you check the Science building – see if you can find anyone. I’ll take the West and North Tunnels, and when we’re done, we’ll meet back in Control.’ He tapped the map again. ‘They have to be here somewhere.’

  ‘OK, you come with me.’ Mum touched May’s shoulder. ‘Zak, you stay here with Dima while Dad checks the—’

  ‘No way. I’m not staying here. I’ll go with Dad.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’ Mum asked. ‘Do you feel OK?’

  ‘Yes. Why do I have to keep telling you? I’m fine, Mum. No one ever listens.’

  Mum paused. ‘OK. You go with Dad.’ She turned towards the East Tunnel. ‘May and I will go this way.’

  ‘Ooh,’ May said. ‘A girl team and a boy team. That’s very modern.’

  Mum stopped her. ‘Let’s not go there, May, this isn’t a competition. It’s about getting out of here.’

  ‘What about me?’ Dima sounded half out of it. ‘Who do I go with?’

  ‘You stay right where you are,’ Mum told him. ‘The last thing we want is you falling over again.’

  ‘I am starting to feel better after my healthy meal.’ He raised a hand holding the partially eaten Snickers.

  ‘Good, because I’m sure we’ll need you later.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain.’ He saluted, took another bite, and sank back into the sofa.

  ‘Come on then.’ Dad nudged Zak. ‘Let’s get this done.’ He raised a hand to the others. ‘See you in a minute.’

  Zak followed Dad, pausing by the West Tunnel entrance. Dad hefted the torch from his left hand into his right. He was trying not to show it, but Zak could tell he was nervous. Zak was too. They were about to make their way further into the base, and they had no idea what they were going to find.

  ‘You ready?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Zak replied. ‘Are you?’

  Dad pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘No.’

  OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA

  NOW

  The West Tunnel was a long, windowless corridor with pale blue walls and a pale blue floor. White light flooded from spots embedded in the ceiling, giving it a clinical atmosphere.

  The dull ached prodded behind Zak’s right eye again. It nudged him, reminding him of hospitals and how much more time he would have to spend in them. He checked Dad wasn’t watching, and pressed the palm of his hand against his eye, waggling it about, trying to get rid of the ache.

  ‘You OK, dude?’ Dad stopped.

  Dude? Zak cringed. It was so awkward when Dad tried to be cool. Dad was tall and lean with the beginning of ‘middle-aged spread’ as he called it – or a ‘pot belly’ as Mum called it. He had short silver hair that was thinning on top, and was partial to brown corduroy trousers and brown shoes. He sometimes wore a jacket with elbow patches – like Zak’s geography teacher – and in the summer, he was even known to wear socks and sandals. Zak loved h
is dad, but he didn’t believe he had ever been cool.

  ‘Everything OK?’ Dad asked again.

  ‘Yeah.’ Zak blinked hard. ‘Don’t you start.’

  ‘OK . . .’ Dad watched him. ‘It’s just that you seemed a bit spooked when we arrived. And I guess the blood made you queasy, so I was wondering if—’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad.’

  Fine, fine, fine. Zak was sick of telling people he was fine. Why did they never listen?

  ‘All right. Well . . . I guess we’ll check the sleeping quarters first,’ Dad said. ‘Maybe they’re all taking a well-earned nap.’

  At the far end of the tunnel, Dad stood with his hand hovering over the door-control button, and grinned at Zak as if he was ashamed for being nervous. He pressed it, and when the door to the living quarters hissed open, he raised the torch like he was expecting trouble.

  But the short corridor beyond was empty. Dad let out his breath and switched on a light that flickered once, twice, then illuminated a central aisle with three large, round windows in the ceiling. In the summer months, light would flood through those windows, but for now Antarctica was in darkness twenty-four hours a day.

  On either side of the corridor, five doors gave access to the separate quarters. They were all open.

  ‘Hello?’ Dad’s voice wavered slightly.

  No one replied.

  Of course no one replied. There’s no one here.

  Entering the corridor, Zak noticed more of the broken shards glistening on the floor. ‘Just like in The Hub,’ he whispered.

  Dad considered the fragments before turning to the first door on his left. ‘Let’s see if anyone’s here.’

  The small, basic living quarters were made up of a tiny sitting room, a bathroom that wasn’t much bigger than the kind Zak had seen on aeroplanes, and two narrow bedrooms with bunk beds and built-in wardrobes. There was a handful of paperbacks on the shelf in the sitting room, and a few photos in frames on the wall. In one photo, a family of four stood on a snowy mountainside, wearing skis and smiling for the camera. In another, two of them – Mum and daughter, Zak guessed from the likeness – were posing in front of Outpost Zero, where the sky was bright blue in contrast to the whiteness of the ice. Other photos showed the son holding some kind of certificate in front of him, and the daughter, about the same age as May, dressed in a school jumper.