by L. A. Larkin
‘You … all right?’ asked Tubs. His voice was weak and wheezy, his face pale.
Nightmare images from the fire filled Luke’s head: Craig’s raw and hairless face, Sue’s limp body, the explosion, the men shooting at them. The coughing fit subsided but his mouth was bone dry and filled with the bitter aftertaste of smoke. No doubt they all reeked of it. He looked sideways at Tubs who was lying on sheets of Mac’s watercolour paper, used as insulation against the cold that seeped up through the floor.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ Luke replied. ‘Let me take a look at you.’
He moved to a kneeling position but his legs were numb and he couldn’t keep his balance. He stood stiffly and stamped his feet on the floor to get the blood moving.
Tubs gritted his teeth in agony and Luke realised he was jolting the thin floor. He kneeled again, having regained some feeling in the form of pins and needles. ‘Sorry, that was dumb. Let me look at you. Can you sit up?’
Tubs tried moving, then groaned. ‘Fuck me, that hurts.’
By the time Tubs was in a sitting position he was wheezing badly, barely able to get enough breath. He coughed, clenching his eyes shut. His mouth was bloody.
Maddie was now awake, blinking, trying to get her bearings. Her freezer suit was several sizes too big, and this, on top of her wound, made it difficult for her to move.
Luke gingerly pulled back Tubs’ sleeping bag and unzipped his freezer suit. A hole, like a large cigarette burn, marked the entry point of the bullet through Tubs’ clothing. The inside of the suit was soaked in blood.
Before they slept Maddie had done her best to cover Tubs’ wound, using gauze and bandages from a snowmobile’s basic first-aid kit. She and Tubs had shared the painkillers. But the kit didn’t contain the sutures, antibiotics and morphine they needed and they were out of bandages.
‘Let me see,’ said Maddie. She winced as she shuffled nearer. She carefully lifted off the dressing. Tubs’ wound was weeping a little. The bullet had created a perfect circle between his lower ribs.
Tubs craned his head down to look at his injury. ‘Holy shit!’
Luke hadn’t thought it possible, but Tubs went paler still.
‘Can’t breathe …’ he mumbled, and then, exhausted, he began to cough again. This time he spat out blood. The hole in his skin hissed and frothed.
Luke and Maddie looked at each other in concern.
‘He needs stronger painkillers. Morphine or pethidine, and antibiotics,’ Maddie said.
Luke shook his head. They had nothing stronger than Panadol. He searched the hut for anything useful. He picked up some sketch paper and masking tape and kneeled next to Tubs.
‘We can use Mac’s painting paper, tear it into squares and create a fresh pad for his wound. It’s the only semi-sterile absorbent thing I can think of. The rags in here are too dirty. We can use masking tape to hold it in place. What do you think?’
‘That’ll do for now. But we’ll need more than that.’
‘This is all we’ve got,’ he replied, gesturing around the hut. ‘No station, no communications, no doctor. But we do have a camping stove with enough fuel for three hours, so we can melt ice and rehydrate, and we’ve got shelter. I can get us food. Penguin, seal. It could be worse.’
‘Love your optimism,’ Maddie said. Her face was grubby from the smoke, making her green eyes seem strangely bright as she looked at him. ‘But we can’t last long like this, and Tubs needs proper medical attention.’
‘Hey, guys, down here,’ Tubs gasped. ‘I’m not dead yet.’ He attempted a smile, but his lips were clenched tightly as he fought the pain.
Luke had never watched someone die before. He could see Tubs weakening fast, as if his body was gradually shutting down and his force of will was the only thing keeping him alive. He dreaded to think about the organ damage the bullet must have caused.
‘I’ll go back to the station,’ he said. ‘Salvage what I can. Find medical supplies.’
‘No!’ Maddie and Tubs said in unison.
‘Too dangerous,’ Maddie continued. ‘They’ll be there, expecting us to do just that. It’s suicide. They want us dead.’
‘We could stay here for a while if they don’t track us down,’ said Luke, ‘but Tubs needs treatment. I might even find some way to call for help.’ The floorboards shook as he stood. ‘I’m going.’
‘Luke, why do you have to be so bloody impetuous?’ Maddie flung her arms up. ‘I’m telling you, it’s madness. They’ll kill you, and then where will we be?’ Her voice grew more urgent. ‘I can hardly walk, Tubs can’t move – how would we survive without you? Think, Luke!’
‘What choice do I have?’
‘I’m station leader. Well, leader of what’s left of us. And you’re my responsibility. I’ll go back for supplies. I can manage the snowmobile fine. You just have to get this shrapnel out of my leg,’ she said, looking down at the metal protruding from the torn snowsuit.
‘I’m not removing it till I know I can stem the blood loss. If it’s severed an artery you could bleed to death.’
Maddie frowned. ‘And I thought I was the cautious one. Look, Luke, it’s my leg and I want you to take it out. Now!’ Her anger was building.
‘I’m not going to be responsible for your death.’
‘You will be, if you go back to Hope,’ she snapped.
Luke swallowed. ‘I need to think,’ he said, stepping outside. He shut the door quickly to keep what little warmth there was inside.
The anaemic morning light did nothing to brighten his mood. Without a hat, Luke’s head felt as if it were being squeezed in a clamp. The cold air scratched at his sore throat and he coughed hard, bent double. As he straightened, he peered towards their gutted station. A dark slash of smoke in the sky looked like God’s finger pointing to the destruction. He scanned the mountainside, the glacier and then out to sea. No sign of the killers.
As he turned the ignition of the first snowmobile to check its fuel gauge, he considered their options. They had to put their energies into a plan that would give them the best chance of survival and rescue. Pine Island Bay was getting clogged with ice but an ice-breaker could probably still get through. But they had no way of calling for help, not nearly enough clothing to keep warm, and only enough fuel for a few hours. Capturing and killing animals to eat would be no mean feat, with nothing but Mac’s rusty penknife as a weapon. They could be facing months in permanent darkness, with temperatures as low as minus forty degrees Celsius at night, the wind chill making it feel far colder. He knew their odds of survival were dire. But he needed Maddie and Tubs to believe they could live long enough to be rescued.
As he searched for a solution, he pulled out a bit of glass from his hair.
The immediate worry was Tubs’ health. Luke suspected the bullet had punctured a lung, and if that was right, he didn’t rate Tubs’ chances unless they could get him to a hospital soon. And Maddie’s prospects weren’t good either – she might bleed to death and risked infection if the metal was left in her leg. Luke had to find a way to contact the outside world. Perhaps the cause of the comms blackout had been rectified? Perhaps it had been a problem with ANARESAT? He had to return to Hope.
Luke coughed again, his eyes watering. His heightened breathing had triggered the attack. ‘Focus, man, focus,’ he said to himself. ‘You can do this.’
The fuel gauge of the first snowmobile indicated that it was almost empty, but it might have enough. Just. He turned off the engine quickly. As Luke approached the second snowmobile, he noticed that his right foot was colder than the left. He lifted his boot; the sole was torn – not good. To his relief, he found the second vehicle had more fuel.
The door opened and Maddie limped out. She leaned on a snowmobile seat. ‘Someone should go back, I agree. But it has to be me. What use am I wounded? I can’t hunt for food. Tubs stands a better chance with you. So I go. Do you understand?’
Her expression revealed nothing of the fear she must be feeling.
>
‘I understand your logic,’ Luke said. ‘But you’re assuming they’re waiting for us. Maybe they aren’t. There’s no shelter for them there – they’d have gone back to their camp to survive the rest of the night.’ Maddie tried to interrupt but he continued. ‘I’m not wounded. I can carry more weight than you. I’ll be in and out fast.’
Maddie hugged herself. She stared off into the distance for a moment and then looked him in the eye. ‘Luke, I’m instructing you not to go. I’m going to rehydrate first, then I’m off.’
‘Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn? You’re injured!’
She turned her back on him and began to stagger back to the hut. She paused and then faced him, her voice hushed. ‘I think the bullet’s in Tubs’ lungs,’ she said, leaning on her good leg. ‘Did you see the wound frothing? And the wheezing? I’m worried he’s bleeding into his chest.’
‘I was thinking the same.’
‘I need a plastic bag.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s called a flutter valve, I think. Anyway, we have to allow the blood to come out of the hole but stop him sucking in air through it. I need to tape down three sides of the plastic. He breathes in, the plastic creates a vacuum. He breathes out, it allows blood to escape.’
‘I think Mac kept his paper in a plastic bag. I’ll look. Maddie?’
‘Yes?’ She was shivering badly.
‘Don’t let him know how bad it is,’ said Luke. ‘We’ve got to keep him positive.’
She nodded.
Back inside, Maddie managed to tape a section of plastic over Tubs’ wound. They watched it lift and then seal, just as she had described.
‘Good job,’ said Luke.
He and Tubs made eye contact and Luke saw his panic.
‘It’ll be all right, mate. You’ll see. We’ll be rescued soon. Now, I’ll get some ice and make tea. Mac kept a stash here.’ Luke grabbed the billy can. ‘But, my friend, I need your boot. Mine’s ripped,’ he said, lifting his right foot. The sole of his boot hung like a floppy tongue.
‘Take the boots from a dying man, why don’t you?’ Tubs joked. His lips were now almost blue.
‘Dying, my arse. You’re just lazy, as usual,’ Luke replied with a big grin, then gently removed Tubs’ right boot. ‘Small feet, mate? Could be a tight squeeze.’
Luke crammed his larger foot into Tubs’ boot.
Tubs stared at him, like a child frightened to be left alone in the dark. Had Tubs guessed what he was about to do?
‘Geez, stinky socks,’ Luke said to Tubs, trying to lighten the mood.
Tubs half-smiled. ‘Yeah … damp dog meets smelly cheese.’
Luke stood, the billy in his hand. ‘I’ll give the vehicles a check too,’ he said. ‘I may be some time.’
He shut the door behind him. He hoped they hadn’t noticed that he had unintentionally used the famous last words of the late Captain Lawrence Oates, one of Robert Falcon Scott’s men. On the doomed return leg of their expedition to the South Pole in 1912, he had left their battered tent, saying, ‘I am just going outside and may be some time.’ He had not returned.
Luke scooped up some snow and left the billy on the doorstep. He then straddled the snowmobile with the fuller tank. Before Maddie could open the door, he sped off in the direction of Hope Station.
T MINUS 4 DAYS, 1 HOUR, 33 MINUTES
6 March, 10:27 am (UTC-07)
Luke rounded the promontory, the snowmobile’s engine a quiet purr. In a few minutes he would be able to see the station – and anyone guarding it would be able to see him. A marksman on the raised station platform could easily take him out. Would he ever see his son again?
His heart rate was up and his hands trembled. He focused on slowing his breathing to steady his nerves. To push away the mounting fear, he made a mental list of the supplies they’d need: bandages, antibiotics, antiseptic, painkillers, sutures, boots (preferably large), fleeces, gloves, hats, sleeping bags, food, ideally a tin opener, knives to kill and cut food, shellite for the camping stove … and, by some miracle, maybe some of their comms gear, if it had not been completely destroyed.
The closer Luke got to the station, the more hopeful he became. Yes, they could survive. If Shackleton and Mawson had survived for years with vastly inferior clothing and limited food, then so could they. And the fire may not have devoured every room. Perhaps something in the comms room would still work?
Then he smelled the aroma of burned wood and fuel, and his empty stomach heaved. Despite the wind, the turbine didn’t move. Had it been switched off last night? Gradually, the satellite dish came into view, followed by the two-storey-high fuel tank. Luke slowed, anxious to be as quiet as possible. A few more metres and he saw what was left of Hope.
The station looked like a black beetle with its guts hanging out. It was still raised on its hydraulic legs but the outer walls of the living quarters were half their normal height and the roof was destroyed. The garage doors had remained open. The workbenches still stood high and proud, like altars. He could just make out the plastic body bags, which had melted like white paint over the dead.
It took a minute or two for Luke to recover. He focused on a familiar motif on the diesel tank. Months before, Mac and Luke had painted a three-metre-high kangaroo doing a thumbs-up on the tank’s side, cheekily announcing their nationality to any ship that found itself in Pine Island Bay. He remembered the fun they’d had painting it. Now, the kangaroo’s oversized thumb and cheesy grin was glaringly out of place amongst the carnage.
Luke looked up at the living quarters, searching for movement. He guessed he was still out of gunfire range but he couldn’t be sure. The sky was the kind of exquisite blue that he’d only ever seen in Antarctica. It didn’t seem right that the sky above their burnt-out home should feign such purity, given the horror that had happened beneath it. The brightness of ice all around made him squint. Without snow goggles or sunglasses, Luke knew that snow-blindness would set in. He added eye protection to his salvage list.
He tentatively accelerated toward the wreckage, constantly scanning for places in which the killers might hide. No gunfire. No shouting. He finally stopped just inside the garage entrance and cut the engine, hiding the snowmobile from view.
Luke dismounted and looked towards the metal steps leading up to Exit 1. They were free of ice, due to the heat of the blaze. Despite his painfully tight borrowed boot, he raced up the steps, keen to get inside. He stopped in front of the door, dumbfounded. It had remained shut last night because bolts had been attached to its top and bottom. Crudely drilled at speed, the screws had been forced into the door and frame at odd angles. It took Luke a few seconds to grasp fully that someone had sealed the doors to prevent their escape. It had been cold, calculated murder.
‘Bastards,’ he breathed. He staggered along the deck in search of another way in. The large window of Craig’s room was shattered but Luke hesitated, the memory of Craig’s charred and twisted body all too vivid. Remembering that his brilliant-yellow freezer suit was designed for maximum visibility, he stepped through the open window. The room was still smoking. Before he had a chance to look around, the stench of burnt human flesh caused him to gag. He saw Craig’s blackened skeleton, its flesh stripped away, and retched violently.
Bent forward, Luke tried not to think of the agony Craig must have suffered. He tried not to think of Craig emailing his wife and grown-up kids every day, exchanging photos with them. A gruff man with a soft heart. Luke wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. But he hadn’t felt the fabric against his lips and cheeks; the skin on his face was numb. He needed to protect his extremities – especially his sockless feet – fast, otherwise frost-nip and its more serious successor, frostbite, would set in. Luke knew that frostbite didn’t just incapacitate – it could kill.
He straightened and placed a hand over his nose and mouth and systematically checked through what was left of Craig’s room. There was nothing worth salvaging from the rubble.
‘I’m sorry, Craig,’ Luke said. He had to move on.
T MINUS 4 DAYS, 1 HOUR, 16 MINUTES
6 March, 10:44 am (UTC-07)
Tubs’ room was gutted. On the smoke-stained walls, Luke noticed a photograph, curled and singed at the edges but miraculously mostly intact. It was of Tubs with his mum, dad and girlfriend, taken on the beach at Wallaby Point. He remembered Tubs talking about his hometown and his childhood sweetheart, Carley. Tubs was overwintering in Antarctica because the pay was good and they were saving for their wedding. Luke peeled the photo off the wall and put it in his pocket.
The wardrobe door came away in his hands. Inside, the synthetic fabric fleeces, parka and outer leggings had perished. His hope of finding clothing was declining rapidly. However, Tubs’ daypack, dumped at the bottom of his wardrobe, was still mainly intact. Some of the straps were brittle but it would do for now. Luke threw it over his shoulder.
Maddie’s room was a burnt-out shell, as was Sue’s. Luke’s room was next.
His wardrobe was nothing more than a black hole. But under his bed frame and carbonised mattress he found a spare pair of boots, with a double pair of used socks inside. He whooped with excitement, forgetting the need for quiet. Sometimes being untidy paid off.
Luke sat on the stinking carpet and pulled off Tubs’ boot, as well as his other one. He pulled on both pairs of socks, rubbing his numb feet, then laced up his fresh boots. He tied Tubs’ boot to the daypack, then turned to his collapsed desk and kneeled down. The drawer was jammed shut but he managed to yank it open. The notebooks inside were browned and crisp, his sunglasses’ frames were warped and the lenses cracked. Reaching to the very back, he pulled out a curled-up photo of Jason as a baby. He was in his father’s arms, and Luke was looking down at him adoringly. Luke had taken this photo with him wherever he went: it was a record of the first time in his life he had felt such overwhelming and unconditional love for another person. He put it in the same pocket as Tubs’ family photo.