The Dying of the Light (Book 2): Interval

by Jason Kristopher

  How the hell did they get two of those things? he wondered.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Warner as he walked up, his own pair of binoculars clutched tightly in his grip. “It’s ours.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” asked Sabrina.

  “That’s our C-5. The one that left six years ago.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “I recognize the tail number. I’m nothing if not observant, Dr. Tanner.”

  Atkins had to concede the point, but what confused him wasn’t Warner’s near-eidetic memory, but rather the flash of profound terror on his face as he recognized the plane.

  What the hell is he scared of?

  “I have to go,” Warner said, jumping into the Jeep before anyone could stop him. As he sped off, Atkins could see him screaming into his radio.

  He turned to Sabrina, taking the radio from her pocket, having left his in Warner’s office. She raised an eyebrow at him, but he just shook his head, turning the volume up. There was only a scattered few transmissions, mostly between the incoming planes and those on the ground directing them in. He started to hand the radio back to her, but stopped when he saw the little-used frequency knob on the side of the device.

  At McMurdo, there was rarely a reason to use that selector, at least with their population size as it was now. But what if… He began rapidly scanning through the available frequencies, and just as he moved to channel eight, he heard a voice speaking. He couldn’t make out the words, but quickly switched back to channel seven.

  “…on my way!” It was clearly Warner’s voice, but he’d stumbled in on the middle of the conversation. Sabrina stepped close to him, as much to hear as to shield the sound from others nearby. Atkins adjusted the sound volume down so only the two of them could hear it, and hoped the short phrase he’d heard wasn’t the last.

  “Say again?” said another voice that neither of them recognized. “Repeat last.”

  “… said it’s our plane… back, landing now… Take care of her! He might be on… I’m on my way!”

  The chill that went through Atkins had nothing to do with the weather, and as he looked at Sabrina, he could tell she felt it, too. “Take care of who?” he wondered out loud.

  Sabrina grabbed his coat and pulled him close to further rule out eavesdroppers, whispering into his jacket hood. “Who do you think?” she said, looking him in the eye. “Jennifer Shaw.”

  Shaw looked down at the expanse of white below him, shading his eyes even though he’d managed to find a pair of shades in the gear he’d left behind on his plane all those years ago. Something caught his eye from the side, and he turned to look as they came in on their final approach. Something black, on the edge of the bay… he took off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes, sure they were playing tricks on him. But what he’d seen was still there, mocking him with its impossibility. He grabbed a headset and turned to Sergeant Myers.

  “Get me Rescue One.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Myers, flipping a couple switches and then nodding at Shaw.

  “Rescue One, Rescue Two Actual.”

  “Rescue Two, Anderson here. What’s up, Bill?”

  “You’re a Navy man, sir. Look down at the edge of the bay there, closest to the station, and tell me what you see.”

  “One sec, checking… Holy shit.”

  “So I’m not crazy.”

  “No, you’re not. Though if you hadn’t pointed it out to me, I would’ve thought I was. What in the hell is a United States Navy submarine doing down here? Did you know anything about this? Never mind, you wouldn’t have asked me if you did. What in the actual fuck is going on down there?”

  “I’ve got no idea, sir. It wasn’t here or even on its way when we left six years ago. Can you make out any details?”

  “Well, judging from the ice buildup around the sail and the rudder, it’s not a boomer—those are a lot bigger. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s likely a Los Angeles-class, maybe even Virginia. See that hump in the ice behind the sail?”

  Shaw couldn’t see anything aft of the sail, so he grabbed a nearby set of binoculars. Now that he was looking for it, he could see the weird bulge Anderson had mentioned.

  How the hell did that old man see it? Guess he’s in better shape than I thought for someone pushing fifty.

  “Yeah, I see it now, Captain.”

  “I think that’s a DSRV. Maybe a Dry Deck Shelter, but I’m guessing a DSRV.”

  “No shit? This just gets weirder and weirder.”

  Archer looked over his shoulder at Shaw. “Making our final turn, sir.”

  “Roger that. All right, Captain, we’re heading in now. I guess we’ll get our answers pretty soon.”

  “They better be good answers, too. Rescue One out.”

  My first surprise was how unbelievably cold it really was on Antarctica. I know I should’ve expected it, but looking back, I’m not sure I could’ve ever adequately prepared myself. It was, in fact, “weenie-shrinking cold” as Eric had once said to me, causing no end of laughter from his mother and I.

  Thinking about Eric and Rebecca no longer caused me physical pain, though I would always miss them.

  He would’ve loved this adventure, I thought. Still, time to focus and get these folks out of here.

  The condition of the survivors of McMurdo had been a major worry for us, based on the descriptions of their plight. That was one reason we’d brought two full pallets of MREs with enough food to feed twice their number.

  I’d assigned Sergeant Denson, one of Anderson’s men, to watch over the supplies and make sure that no one got ahead of the game. He’d had to bring in a couple of his fellows to help, having been nearly overrun. We’d finally had to clear the hold of everyone, and we were just about to close it down.

  I looked over at Archer and Myers as we stood on the ramp, looking out at the crowd.

  Archer glanced at me as a woman came up to him with a small group, offering him what looked to be fresh tomatoes, apples, and other fruits and vegetables. Where the hell did those come from? I wondered.

  “Sir?” Archer asked, and I shrugged.

  “You needn’t worry,” said the woman with a strong Scottish accent, and I glanced a bit closer. She was pretty, if a bit undernourished like the rest. “I’m Marcie Thompson, and these be our gifts to you and your men, sir. From the aeroponics bays.”

  I laughed. “No need to call me sir, Marcie. I’m a civilian. But we’ll gladly take your gifts. Aeroponics, you said? Just let us get this ramp closed and I’d love to see them.” I turned to Myers and Archer, who were already moving back into the plane as I stepped off the ramp into the snow to one side. The crunch of the snow under my boots felt good, bringing back memories of happier times in Colorado and Washington. After being in the sweltering heat of the Texas sun for two months, I’d started wondering if I’d ever see it again.

  The ramp closed and the side door of the plane opened to let out the two other men. Archer came up to me while Myers took the opportunity to flirt with Ms. Thompson and her friends while quietly stuffing his pockets with strawberries, apples, and the like.

  “All hatches secure, sir. Looks like the others will be here in a moment,” Archer said, pointing down the runway. I shaded my eyes and saw the other C-5 coming in. The crowd cheered as they, too, saw the big plane landing, though they stayed well clear until it had taxied to a stop near ours, leaving plenty of turning room for the takeoff.

  “Any sign of Shaw?” I asked the pilot, who shook his head.

  “No, sir. Denson said he ducked out of the plane nearly before it had stopped rolling.” He frowned, and I raised an eyebrow. “Just… unprofessional, sir. Not like an Air Force pilot to do that.”

  “Well, give him some slack, Colonel. He’s been stuck by himself in a zombie-surrounded airport for six years, not knowing if his wife is alive or dead. I’m sure he’s here somewhere, tracking her down. Let’s go say hello to our fearless leader, shall we?”

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nbsp; Archer walked with me toward the other plane, with Myers following a few seconds later as he noticed our departure.

  “That’s fine, sir, and I get that,” Archer continued. “But why should he have to track her down? Shouldn’t she be out here waiting for him?”

  That’s a damned good point, I thought. And where the hell is Atkins? Or this Warner character, for that matter? Something’s rotten in Antarctica.

  “You can’t shoot her, Harold,” said Warner.

  “Why the fuck not? We shoot her, dump her with the others, and tell people she escaped,” Duncan replied.

  “Escaped? Again? From a cell built specifically to hold her? How? Where would she go?”

  “It doesn’t matter. We can come up with something. Once we’re a thousand miles from here, no one will even care anymore about one blonde bitch who can’t keep out of other people’s business.” Duncan looked through the makeshift cell bars at the nearly-comatose form on the cot inside. He’d been here for twenty minutes, trying to decide what to do with her, and had almost figured out the best plan, until Warner had shown up and cocked everything up.

  As usual.

  Duncan drew his pistol, lining up his shot on the girl. If he hit her just right, the small round of the pistol might just bounce around in her brain-box, liquefying the inside without causing much of a mess outside. It didn’t really matter, though. He could always just burn the place down and make it look like an accident.

  Except for the asshole Warner, who stepped in front of the gun. “I told you, you can’t shoot her.”

  “Move, Doc, or I’ll do you, too.”

  Warner’s eyes widened in surprise. “You wouldn’t.”

  “The things I’ve been doing for you, Doc, and you still think I’d care about putting one in you instead? Man, you have got some ego. Now get the fuck out of my way.” He moved to brush Warner aside, but the other man didn’t move so easily, and struggled with Duncan. The scientist was stronger than he appeared, and Duncan realized he must’ve been getting more protein than he should’ve. Just like I have been, he thought.

  For Harold Duncan, what was in his meals was less important than how often he got them. At heart, he was a practical man, and so long as there was some sort of food around, he wouldn’t go hungry. ‘The ends justify the means’ wasn’t so much a philosophical question for him, but rather a way of life. Morality didn’t really enter into it.

  Now, Jack Warner was rapidly approaching Duncan’s personally-defined threshold wherein Warner would cease to become useful and merely become an obstacle. And if there was one thing he had always been good at doing, it was removing obstacles. So when he started to shift the muzzle of the gun toward the scientist in their struggle, it was with more than a little pleasure that he noticed Warner’s sudden realization of their changed relationship.

  On the other side of the planes, at the edge of the crowd, Shaw kept his voice low as he interrogated Atkins. “Where is she, Jim? They told me you’re the one they’ve been talking to. It should have been her. Where is she?”

  “Look, Bill, when you guys didn’t come back, things went a little… sideways. You have to understand…”

  “Perhaps I wasn’t making myself clear, Jim,” said Shaw as he pulled his jacket aside to show Atkins the pistol tucked into the pocket. “I don’t have to understand anything. You’re going to take me to her, and you’re going to do it now.”

  “But Warner…”

  “Now, Jim.”

  Atkins had seen the look Shaw had now in other eyes before, a few times. Usually it had been just prior to one of the Lost disappearing. Who knew what demons the man had, after spending all that time amongst the walkers? Discretion is the better part of valor, Jimbo. Live to fight another day, and all that. “Fine, fine.”

  He motioned to a nearby Jeep, and the two got in and began their drive without anyone from the crowd so much as turning their heads to watch them go. Atkins glanced over at Shaw, who still had that edge-of-insanity look on his face and one hand inside his jacket. The meaning was clear, even to Atkins. The edge of one the hard drives in his pack dug into his side as he made a turn quickly, heading for the main station.

  Shaw looked over the small outbuilding near the Hub, obviously not recognizing it from when he was last here. “What is this place?” he asked.

  “Uh, well…” said Atkins as he stopped the Jeep and got out, slowly coming around the front of the vehicle. “We needed some place to keep… well, it’s just… Oh, the hell with it,” he said, sighing and slumping back against the car. “Look, Bill, when you didn’t come back, Jennifer took it hard.”

  Shaw nodded. “Me, too.”

  “No, you don’t understand, Bill. She… she went a bit gonzo. She lost it. Kept to herself for months, then finally, slowly started to come back. Then three years ago, she tried to kill Jack. Out of the blue, no warning. Came at him with a knife in his office, and he barely survived. Only reason he isn’t dead now is we took away her guns the first time she went crazy.”

  Atkins noticed Shaw had remained silent and still, and the look on his face made Atkins want to run until his feet wouldn’t hold him up anymore. “It was only sheer luck that Duncan happened by and managed to restrain her. Jack’s kept her in isolation ever since, with her screaming half the time and not saying anything the other half. And the things she says… horrible, evil things, Bill. They couldn’t keep her in the marshal’s office—she was keeping everyone awake and even broke out twice.”

  Shaw leaned forward and spoke in quiet tones. “And how do you know all this for a fact? Were you there? Did you see it happen? Have you heard her screaming?”

  Atkins shook his head. “No, no, I heard the screaming sometimes, but the rest was all testimony from Duncan and a few others and… Warner was the one who…” He stopped for a second, surprise crossing his face. “Wait, you don’t think… “ His eyes widened as the possibilities slowly sank in. “Surely not…” He put one shaking hand over his eyes, unable to meet the colonel’s gaze.

  Shaw’s eyes were steely. “You let Jack Warner lock up my wife for three years, on his say-so, without ever investigating? You never thought to ask why he did it?” Shaw drew the pistol and held it to Atkins’s head, his hand shaking with anger. “My wife. For three years, Jim. I should kill you just for allowing it to happen.”

  Atkins didn’t move, didn’t even dare to breathe. He almost wished Shaw would pull the trigger, knowing what he now knew. He wasn’t certain he would’ve been able to stop, were the situation reversed. When Shaw pulled the gun away, he couldn’t believe it, and looked up in astonishment to find Shaw looking down at him.

  “But you’re too important, too vital to the mission for me to do that. You’re the reason we’re here in the first place, the only reason I made it back at all. So if I have to—”

  There was a shout from inside the small building, and a gunshot. Shaw turned and raced for the door, and Atkins was only a step behind.

  The blast of cold air from the outbuilding’s door surprised both Duncan and Warner, who were fighting over the pistol that had just gone off into the wall, and they turned to find Shaw standing in the doorway with a pistol of his own.

  Duncan took the opportunity to shove Warner away from him and towards Shaw, covering them both with his weapon.

  “I think it’s time we had a chat, Jack,” said Shaw to Warner. “And hello, Harold. Been a long time.”

  “Not long enough,” Duncan answered.

  “That’s OK, I never liked you either.” Shaw spared a glance for his wife in the cell, and if he had looked scary before, that was nothing compared to what he looked like now.

  Atkins backed slowly out of view of the doorway.

  Duncan watched the other scientist leave, and they all heard the Jeep’s engines start with a cough. “Guess your friend decided not to stick around, Billy boy,” said Duncan.

  “He’s just getting some backup,” said Shaw, fervently hoping that was the case.

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nbsp; Warner started, “I just want to point out that Harold was the one who wanted to shoot Jennifer. I was arguing against—”

  “Shut up,” the other two men said in near-unison.

  Duncan smiled slightly. “Looks like we’ve got something of a standoff here.”

  “Not really,” said Shaw. “I shoot you, then Warner here, then get my wife and leave this God-forsaken place and never look back.”

  “Ah, but the question is, can you kill me before I kill you? Wouldn’t that be something? You survive six years of walkers only to come home and watch your wife die as you slowly bleed to death from your own wounds?”

  Shaw shook his head slightly. “What the fuck happened to you to turn out this way, Harold? I don’t get it. You were always an asshole, but a murderer?”

  “Oh, I’m far, far worse than that, Billy. Just ask your pal Jack here. He’s got quite a story to tell, I’m sure.”

  “Shut up, Harold!” said Warner.

  “Why don’t you both shut up?” said Shaw. “You know what? I’d love to kill you, but I don’t have it in me to be what you are. So we’ll lock you up and you can have a fair trial.”

  “Ah, well, see, I just don’t think that’s going to work out for me,” said Duncan. “I’m not really the ‘trial’ type, if you know what I mean. So, I’m thinking I’m just going to say goodbye to the both of you, and get out of here.”

  “Oh, really?” said Shaw, as he laughed. “And how do you plan to do that?”

  Duncan grinned. “Distraction, Billy.” Before Shaw could react, Duncan swung the gun around and fired once into the cell, the still form on the cot crying out. Shaw’s instant reaction was to rush forward, but he stopped to fire at Duncan, who was… not there. Not one to rest on his laurels, Duncan had taken the moment to get some momentum and thrown himself through the flimsy plywood-and-vinyl wall of the building, landing hard on the packed snow and ice outside.

  As Shaw ran to the jagged hole in the building, he saw Duncan disappear behind a corner of the Hub. Shaw spun around and moved to open the cell, but it was locked, Jennifer yelling and thrashing on the cot inside. He turned to Warner for the key, but the man had taken his own opportunity to run and had almost made it out the door when he was knocked to the floor by a fist that came flying through the doorway.