The Winter Over

by Iden, Matthew

  “Don’t you think it would be better to stick together?” Tim asked.

  “For Christ’s sake, the station is two long halls connected by stairwells,” Anne snapped. “My house has a more complicated floor plan. We could make it to our berths, get suited up, grab some flashlights, and be back here before Pete is.”

  “Go then,” Tim said, his voice wounded.

  “Colin?” Carla asked.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The sound of rustling preceded Anne’s hand pulling Carla to her feet. They continued to hold hands as they navigated their way around the tables. Carla stubbed her toe on a table leg and cursed.

  “Is somebody leaving?” A woman’s voice from the other side of the galley.

  “This is Carla Bjorkholm. Anne Klimt and I are going to our berths to get our cold weather gear now,” Carla called out. “I’m sure Deb is working hard to get the heat and electricity back on, but I don’t see any reason not to hope for the best and prepare for the worst. If no one panics and we keep things orderly, we can all feel our way to our rooms and be ready for anything.”

  The suggestion prompted a swell of talk as the idea was debated at twenty tables. Anne tugged Carla close and said into her ear, “Come on. Let’s keep moving or there’ll be a big crush to get out.”

  So much for keeping things orderly . But Anne was probably right. She could already hear the scrape of chairs being pushed away from tables. They scampered for the door, their free hands reaching out to find a wall or the counter near the entrance that would guide them to the door and then to the hall.

  She hissed as she bruised her hand against something cold and metallic on the wall—the fire extinguisher case. Just as she brought her scraped knuckles to her mouth, however, a thick body blundered into her, cross-checking her to the ground. He grunted at the impact, but she hit the ground hard, barely managing to break her fall with her injured hand. Anne’s hand was yanked away.

  “Carla?” she heard her friend call, but then the bumbling man who’d run into her also kicked her in the shin. Crying out with pain, she reached down to grab her throbbing leg.

  No doubt the accident had been just that, accidental, but the sudden, unexpected pain—perhaps because it was heaped onto her worry about the loss of heat—enraged her, causing her to lash out angrily with her other foot. The man bellowed and fell beside her with a crash that shook the floor. Shouts filled the air. Someone brought out a small flashlight, but the tiny beam only added to the chaos as more people, confused and acting as a single organism, began piling toward the exit.

  Ignoring the pain in her hand, Carla pushed against the floor, trying to gain her feet. But the position left her head down and vulnerable. A rising knee caught her in the side of the face and her world exploded with a parade of brilliant colors before turning as dark as the South Pole winter.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Dismal. Disastrous. A complete failure.” Keene turned away from the panoramic view. “Does that summarize it succinctly?”

  “I think we get the picture.” Hanratty had his hands folded across his stomach, rocking his office chair from side to side in small swings. “Have a seat and we’ll take this one step at a time.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  Hanratty masked his irritation and turned to the rest of the room. Gathered with him in his inner chamber were Deb, Taylor, Keene, and Ayres. It was the day after the heat and electricity failures that had paralyzed Shackleton’s crew and Hanratty had summoned his top team members to do a postmortem. Normally, the station’s doctor wouldn’t have been part of that group, but Ayres had pushed his way in when he saw the others gathering.

  Of everyone in the room, Hanratty was the only one who seemed comfortable sitting. Taylor stood broom-straight in the corner, his wiry forearms crossed and a blank expression on his face. Keene slouched by the window with his hands in his pockets, remaining irritatingly in Hanratty’s peripheral vision. Which is no accident , Hanratty thought. Deb leaned against a bookcase, looking unsure whether she should adopt her boss’s easy confidence, Taylor’s readiness, or Keene’s world-weary posture. Her eyes flicked over the others, assessing. Ayres had his hands on the back of one of the chairs for support, watching Hanratty.

  “So the psychological makeup of the crew is hovering somewhere between severely damaged and irretrievably spooked. We’ll work on solutions to that in a second.” Hanratty swung his chair. “Ron, would you give us a rundown on the medical situation?”

  Ayres’s expression was sour. “It could’ve been worse, which isn’t saying much. One sprained wrist, a black eye, and about three dozen contusions, goose eggs, and cuts. One anxiety-induced asthma attack and several people reporting GI problems probably brought on by stress and latent T3. Carla Bjorkholm was our worst injury.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She sustained a concussion that put her out for about fifteen minutes, based on what Anne and Colin said when they found her. She was just coming to when the lights finally came back on.”

  “We did the best we could, Ron.”

  “What good are backup systems if they don’t work, Jack?”

  “We’re looking into it. The reason for the failures isn’t clear yet,” Hanratty said. He scratched something on a sheet of paper.

  “Well, I’d love to know how you’re going to find out without our electrician.”

  Hanratty frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No one’s seen Leroy Buskins for nearly a month.” Ayres looked over at Deb. “I sent a report that he hadn’t picked up his medication.”

  “Deb?” Hanratty asked.

  She held her hands up. “I forwarded Ron’s e-mail to Taylor.”

  All eyes turned to the security chief, who shook his head. “Too much on my plate.”

  “Just what is on your plate, Taylor?” Ayres asked. “I’ve never quite understood what a security professional is supposed to do at a South Pole research facility. Especially one with such a distinguished career.”

  “Fuck is that supposed to mean, Ayres?”

  “Nothing. It’s just I knew a lot of folks in Baghdad, Kabul. Your name never came up.”

  “Those are big places,” Taylor said, his eyes glittering. “No one knows everyone.”

  “They’re not that big,” Ayres said, grinning back at him. “And somebody with your . . . reputation would’ve been known, believe me.”

  “Enough,” Hanratty said. “Ron, if you can’t help contribute to a solution, leave. And Taylor, if you’re that easily baited, maybe you should, too.”

  The room was silent as the two men stared at each other. Neither seemed prepared to give an inch until Hanratty stood, walked in front of Taylor, and said quietly, “Stand down.”

  Taylor gave Hanratty a venomous look that abruptly turned into a smile. “Sure thing, boss.”

  Hanratty watched him for a moment more, then turned to Ayres. “We were talking about the situation at hand. Do you have anything to add?”

  “No, not add, but I’ll repeat my original question,” Ayres said. “How were you trying to get the power back online without the base electrician?”

  Hanratty paused. “We thought it was a problem with the fuel supply at first, so we were working with Boychuck and his boys. By the time we thought of it as an electrical problem, it was too dark to go try finding Leroy. And from what you’re saying, it looks like we wouldn’t have had any luck anyway. Anyone have any ideas where he went?”

  “I asked around when Ron first mentioned it,” Deb said, “and Dave told me he’s down in the tunnels all the time.”

  “I would hope so. That’s where half the electrical is.”

  “Not near the arches. In the old, old tunnels. Like past the shrines. He was going down there and nosing around after his shift, apparently.”

  Taylor frowned. “I don’t like that.”

  “No rule against it,” Deb pointed out. “Peopl
e like to explore down there just for something to do. If you seal it up, you’re going to have some pissed-off crew.”

  “Christ. Like we need one more thing,” Hanratty said, displaying dissatisfaction for the first time. “He’s got to be on the job and we have to be able to find him. If we have another outage, we’re screwed. I don’t even know if we have another licensed electrician on base.”

  “I’d be more worried he hasn’t taken his medicine. He’s on some strong psychotropic drugs,” Ayres said. “Maybe our psychologist could speak to that?”

  Keene shrugged. “I’ve had a session or two with Leroy. The man had a rough childhood and mentioned a physically abusive older sister. If Taylor can find him and we can get him back on track with his medication, he’ll be fine. I’d say we have bigger fish to fry, however.”

  Hanratty scrubbed his face with his hands. “Agreed. Let’s get back to Leroy in a minute. I assume Carla will be laid up for a while?”

  Ayres nodded. “The best thing for a concussion is bed rest, which she can do in her berth. I’ll call on her as much as I can, but it wouldn’t hurt if we made sure someone checked up on her once or twice a day.”

  “What about her work?” Deb asked, then flushed as she saw frowns around the room. “I’m not criticizing her. Carla’s famous for working until she drops. She’s going to want to get back to the lab as soon as she can stand.”

  “She can try, but she’ll have headaches, nausea, and dizziness if she pushes herself beyond a light walk.” Ayres shrugged. “I’d recommend she do very little except sleep for the next few weeks. But if she doesn’t listen to me, her own body will take her out of the equation.”

  Hanratty wrote a few more lines on his paper, then raised his head. “Ron, thanks for your help. We all appreciate how quickly you got on this.”

  The doctor ignored the pat on the back. “Bumps and bruises. Nothing compared to the mental damage the event seemed to cause. I have to say I was totally thrown by the reaction in the galley. I mean, the lights went off and it got cold. I thought our people were made of sterner stuff than that.”

  Ayres’s remark was aimed at the back of Keene’s head, but the psychologist continued to keep his eyes on his footwear. An awkward silence filled the room.

  Hanratty cleared his throat. “Thanks again, Ron. We’ll get you somebody to check on Carla. Give me a shout if you need anything else, okay?”

  Ayres had spent enough time in the Marines to know when he was being dismissed, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He walked out of the room stiff-backed and shut the door behind him with a bang.

  The room was silent for a moment, then Hanratty spun in his chair to face Keene. “Gerald, give us a read on the situation.”

  Keene shifted his weight. “Twenty-six people were involved with the episode in the galley. The rest of the crew was aware of the failures, of course. Two of the staff have a history of severe claustrophobia. Both required the help of others to recover, even after power was restored. Only a handful of people—most of whom are in this room—would have felt any measure of control as the situation deteriorated.”

  “What does that mean, in a nutshell?” Deb asked.

  “A nutshell.” Keene snorted. “In a nutshell , Deb, everyone on base is freaked out. If we have another significant power failure, people are going to be stealing snowcats out of the VMF so they can take the road back to McMurdo.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help restore confidence, get morale back up?” Hanratty asked. As Keene’s face twisted in anticipation of delivering a sarcastic comeback, he added, “Constructive suggestions.”

  The psychologist got his face and his retort under control. “The most obvious step is that the station manager should make a general announcement about what happened and why, to calm nerves by reasserting control of the situation.”

  “All right.”

  “While you do that, I could work behind the scenes. The Beck Anxiety Inventory is a quick way to take a group’s temperature. And I can pull in a few of the real problem cases, like those claustrophobes, and work with them more intensively—”

  “Negative,” Hanratty said. It was his turn to look down at his shoes.

  “What?” Keene looked surprised. “Why?”

  “You’re the authority, of course. But—no offense, Gerald—it seems to me that, if the base psychologist distributes an anxiety questionnaire, we’ll end up with exactly the effect we don’t want. It would be like asking someone who’s afraid of drowning if they packed a life preserver before getting on a boat. Prudent, but not necessarily the best move.”

  “What do you suggest?” Taylor asked.

  “I’ll prepare an announcement about the failure, as per Gerald’s suggestion, tell everyone we’re checking those systems and we’ll get to the bottom of it, et cetera, et cetera. In fact, Deb, let’s make a big show of it. Get Jennings to check pipes and lines. Taylor, find Leroy—I don’t care if he’s part of the ice wall down below, let’s get him working and visible so people see him fixing the electrical. Gerald, spread yourself around, ask your questions, but don’t press too hard. Take temperatures, as you called it, but don’t be obvious.”

  “You’re asking the base psychologist to casually join conversations without raising anyone’s suspicions?”

  “Yes. Just sit and listen if nothing else.” Hanratty turned his attention to Taylor. “Same for you, Taylor. Keep your ear to the ground, report back to me.”

  “Do you want me to short-circuit any doomsday talk or anyone bad-mouthing admin?”

  “No. I think it would have the same effect as the base shrink telling people not to worry. But if they want to talk themselves into a tizzy, let ’em talk. I’d rather know who’s vulnerable than have them hide their thoughts.”

  Taylor looked doubtful, but nodded. Hanratty looked around the room. “Okay, any questions?”

  Deb started to speak, then hesitated. Hanratty raised an eyebrow and she plunged into her question. “Jack, we still don’t know why the electrical went down or why it came back online.”

  “Correct,” he said, nodding.

  “So . . . what are we actually doing ? Reassuring personnel is nice, but we may have a hell of a problem here, with no idea how to fix it or if it’ll happen again.”

  “Deb, I know that this episode has shaken all of us, but I trust that the system is stable. We’ll diagnose the problem soon enough. I think the important thing is to keep a strong outward face on things. We don’t want the crew to get spooked any more than they are.”

  “It won’t matter how spooked they are if the heat goes out again,” she pressed.

  “It’ll be fine, Deb,” Hanratty said, his tone final. “Trust me.”

  She stared at him for a moment, as if debating whether to argue, then let it go.

  “No more questions? Okay, let’s get to work, then.”

  Deb and Taylor shuffled out of the room. Keene appeared to join them, then held back. He made sure the other two had left the outer office, then looked at Hanratty. “Is this the best way to go about things?”

  “There’s only one way to know, and that’s to do it. If we coddle them now, how will they act in a true crisis? ‘That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.’”

  Keene’s laughter came out as a high-pitched bark. “The man who said that wound up in an insane asylum.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  He had never been so cold.

  As a young boy, he’d been through winters on the plains so hard that the cows had frozen and died standing up, but they didn’t compare to the warmest day at the Pole, and it was colder than that. Even when he’d first stepped off the plane at McMurdo, in full gear, when the wind had screamed in his ear and the icy fist of Antarctica had slammed him full in the chest—unprepared and weak—he hadn’t been this cold.

  It hurt to make a fist and his joints ached. His cheeks and the flesh of his chin felt sandpapery and strange. A few days ago, he’d wiped his running nose
and realized he hadn’t felt the touch of his own hand on his face. But worst of all was the simple, hurtful cold. He couldn’t escape it and he couldn’t remedy it. Short stints with a fabric tent held over the propane stove chased it away, but then the waves of shivering came on twice as bad and his muscles would rattle and flinch until his body acclimated once more.

  A voice in his mind—weak and distant—reminded him that he could be warm again. All he had to do was leave the nest he’d made for himself, trek back through the tunnels, and climb the steps to the station above. There were blankets and beds, hot drinks and warm forced air blowing through the halls. All he would have to do was listen to the wind once more.

  He cried as he thought about the voice of the wind, talking to him, shrieking at him constantly. The people around him had begun to look at him strangely and fall away, but they didn’t understand the restraint he’d shown, the strength of will it had taken to fight and refuse what he was being commanded to do. When he’d felt himself begin to buckle and weaken, when the wind began to make sense once again, he’d headed for the tunnels, where the wind was a timid thing and—sometimes—blissfully, wonderfully nonexistent.

  With the wind silenced, however, the cold had moved in and the only thing that seemed to take his mind off it were the blue and pink pills he’d found back in his room. At first, after washing them down, they made him feel edgy and irritable, but the sensation went away if he kept his mind cleared and tried to stay calm. Before long, he was lying on the frozen floor of his nest, bundled in full parka, boots, and gear, almost warm under six layers of ancient carpeting he’d torn up from the floor.

  Dimly, he wondered what would happen when the pills ran out. But for now it was enough that he was holed up deep in the ice, away from the people, away from temptation, and—most important—away from the wind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT