Thirst

by L. A. Larkin

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Could they be from Li Bai?’

  ‘No, these guys were military, not scientists. Unless someone at Li Bai discovered something important and Chinese soldiers were sent in to protect it.’

  ‘Like what?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘That’s where my theory falls apart. What could anyone want with a fracturing glacier?’

  ‘What about oil or gas? Like in the Arctic.’

  ‘Well, if it is that, it’s going to be damn hard to reach. The glacier’s constantly moving and cracking. Their drills would snap like twigs. And if they wanted to drill under the ice tongue and into the seabed, they’d have to use a submersible.’ He sipped his tea and enjoyed the burning sensation as it slipped down his throat. ‘It’s got to be some really critical resource, something worth going to war over.’

  ‘You think this could escalate to war?’

  ‘I do. The Chinese Minister for Resources has visited Antarctica several times, and China desperately needs more coal. So maybe it’s coal?’

  ‘And what happens if their actions destabilise the West Antarctic Ice Sheet?’

  ‘Then all hell breaks loose. Sea levels rise and the world goes into disaster recovery.’

  Maddie shook her head. ‘We have to raise the alarm. I mean, we’re the only two people in the world who have any idea what’s going on here.’

  Luke turned away and started to pack up. ‘I agree, but we may not be able to call for help. We may have to stop them ourselves.’

  She tugged at his freezer suit so he faced her. ‘That would be suicidal. All I meant was we should try to find a way to communicate with the outside world. That’s all.’ She peered up at him but he was lost in his own thoughts. ‘Luke, our first duty is our own survival.’ He didn’t reply. ‘Luke?’

  ‘We’d better get moving. Are you ready for more hopping?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘Call me Hopalong,’ she joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  He pulled her up and she placed an arm over his shoulders for support. The oar was in her other hand as a walking stick. This forced Luke to stoop and bear most of her weight. The terrain was getting steeper, and the pink snow algae, closer. Surely they would cross the mountain ridge soon and see Cranton Bay on the other side?

  ‘Looks like someone’s sprayed … raspberry cordial,’ Maddie puffed.

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ Luke said, gazing at the pink mountainside.

  They hobbled onwards. ‘What if the man you spoke to on the radio … wasn’t Mac?’ Maddie asked. ‘What if Mac was already dead?’

  ‘Why would someone pretend to be Mac?’

  ‘To stop us searching earlier … To give them time to shut down our comms and set fire to Hope.’

  Luke stalled at the thought. ‘What makes you think someone was impersonating him?’

  Maddie glanced sideways at him. ‘The more I think about it … the more I think somebody else … wrote Charlie’s emails.’ She gasped for breath. ‘Just as someone pretended … Mac was still alive, so we didn’t … have time to alert AARO.’

  Luke nodded. ‘I could hardly hear what Mac was saying … I guess somebody could have impersonated him.’

  ‘Oh, God, Luke,’ Maddie said with a shudder. ‘Our quarantine team could be dead.’

  Luke’s grip on her arm tightened. More needless deaths. He swallowed as he tried to think. ‘So that would mean there’s a link between the Pine Island Glacier and Whalers Island. Whatever these killers are after, they need both locations.’

  They continued their trek in silence. By now, Luke was carrying almost all of Maddie’s weight. His thermals were soaked with sweat. In this climate, it would take a week or more for them to dry out. The sun was getting low on the horizon and he feared that they would have to spend a night out on the ice.

  As they reached the ridge, Maddie’s head sagged forward and she dropped the oar. ‘I … can’t,’ she murmured as she collapsed.

  T MINUS 3 DAYS, 17 HOURS, 56 MINUTES

  6 March, 6:04 pm (UTC-07)

  ‘Sir, permission to speak.’

  Robert glanced across his desk at his glaciologist, Li Guangjie, who stood with his shoulders hunched, his hands cradling an open laptop close to his chest, as his eyes darted to and from his leader’s face. What a snivelling wretch! He reminded Robert of Dickens’ Uriah Heep. ‘What is it?’ he snapped.

  ‘I wanted to alert you to … to a potential, well, I suppose, it could be a problem.’

  Robert sat up straight. ‘A problem?’

  ‘May I?’ Li held out the laptop.

  ‘Show me.’

  Li scuttled round to Robert’s side of the desk. On the screen were two black and white images, side by side – stills from video footage. ‘What am I looking at?’ asked Robert.

  ‘As you know, sir, we have cameras at various strategic spots to monitor the Pine Island Glacier’s movement. I took the liberty of monitoring the Thwaites Glacier as well.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they are sister glaciers, running parallel, both feeding off the West Antarctic Ice Sheet. The health of one affects the other. Most importantly, they keep the West Antarctic Ice Sheet – which covers over a third of this continent – from sliding towards the coast.’

  ‘Don’t give me a geography lesson. Get to the point.’

  ‘Yes, sir. This footage was shot a week ago at the Thwaites Glacier,’ Li said, pointing to the first image. ‘The other was shot this morning. Look here,’ he said, pointing to the second image. He ran his finger under a black gash on white terrain. ‘This crack has only just opened up. Last night. I estimate it’s a kilometre long and a hundred metres wide. It appears very deep. If it continues to work its way across, well, the Thwaites Ice Shelf could snap off.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘If, well …’

  Li ran his tongue over chapped lips. It revolted Robert. ‘Get on with it!’

  The glaciologist glanced at the tent entrance then back to the screen. He screwed up his face – it looked as if he were constipated. Robert’s features hardened. ‘What are you hiding, Li Guangjie?’

  The man wouldn’t look at his leader. ‘Nothing, sir. I just worry that if the Thwaites Ice Shelf collapses and we start blasting away at the face of the Pine Island Glacier, we might destabilise the whole region.’

  Robert tilted his head. ‘That’s it? Nothing else? Look at me, will you!’

  Again Li glanced at the tent entrance, then looked Robert in the eye, blinking rapidly with nerves. ‘Well, if the Thwaites continues to crack, it could form an eight-hundred-square-kilometre iceberg, which would endanger our vessels.’

  ‘Sit down, over there.’ Robert gestured to the chair usually occupied by his communications officer. The glaciologist obeyed.

  Robert stood. ‘Okay, I agree, it’s a risk, but the Thwaites Ice Shelf could take months, years to break away – am I right?’

  ‘It’s hard to be certain …’

  ‘Exactly, so I’m not altering our plans when you can’t be sure.’

  ‘Um, our blast site is very near the Fitzgerald Fissure, sir. Sea water might flood in and cause further cracking …’

  ‘Stop! Set up a camera to monitor this bloody fissure and stop your wretched moaning,’ Robert said, irritated. ‘Now, let me remind you why we are here. We are saving the most populous nation on the planet from dying of thirst.’

  Robert paused, letting his words sink in. He needed his glaciologist to be one hundred per cent committed, and the last thing he wanted was Li blabbing to his already jittery father.

  ‘China’s water shortage cripples us, cripples our industries, cripples our wealth and status on the world stage. Over two thousand five hundred square kilometres of our land turns to desert every year! We can no longer feed our people. Even the great city of Beijing, where I was born, is encroached on by sand, and the tree-planting – to stop this invasion – has failed. Our cities cannot provide enough drinking water. Beijing alone needs four t
housand gigalitres of water each year. Our rivers are polluted: the toxic Huai and Liao threaten the safety of one-sixth of our people, and the Mekong and Yellow rivers are almost dry.’

  ‘I know, sir.’

  ‘Shut up and listen! The Party has tried many alternatives to generate water. Costly and inefficient ways. Each coastal desalination plant not only costs us three hundred million US to build and twenty million a year to run, but they are hugely energy-intensive. A proposal for a national pipeline grid, to pump water to areas in severe drought, was rejected – the cost was prohibitive and it simply robbed Peter to pay Paul. During the 2008 Olympics we tried seeding rainclouds. We claimed it was a success but it wasn’t.

  ‘I personally have explored the idea of buying land overseas – land above aquifers or at water sources – but no government in its right mind would sell. So I looked for a new fresh water source, and I have found it here!’ Robert raised his arms high and spun around. ‘We are surrounded by it. Water everywhere, locked in the ice.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand this project’s importance. That’s why I’m warning you of a possible impediment.’

  Robert placed a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘I appreciate that, but this project continues as planned.’

  The subordinate nodded.

  ‘You are Captain Wei’s cousin. You were picked for this project not only because of your impeccable credentials as a glaciologist, as well as your knowledge of explosives, but also because we believed you could be trusted. Can you still be trusted?’

  Robert watched Li’s face. He looked like he was about to cry. Pathetic!

  ‘Totally, sir.’

  ‘Good. Do not share this information with anyone – do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Dismissed.’

  Robert checked his watch: just enough time to update his video.

  ‘March sixth, eighteen twenty hours. Robert Zhao Sheng. This is my video diary, embargoed until March eleventh.

  ‘Our preparation is complete. We are ready for testing tomorrow. Drilling has taken longer than we had anticipated, so we have had to work longer hours to keep to our timetable. Several of my men have reported frost-nip and soon may suffer frostbite, and we are low on food. A mistake by our logistics team.’

  He glanced at a pile of bamboo baskets on his desk, which fortunately were out of camera shot. An hour earlier they had been full of dim sum.

  ‘I am troubled that my men are showing signs of strain. They complain they cannot feel their hands as they drill but they are properly clothed. This places a huge burden on me as I have to double-check their work, abseiling into the crevasse, often having to order the men to correct mistakes. I think the isolation, the hardship and the critical nature of this project is not sitting well with Captain Wei. He seems distracted.’

  Robert couldn’t shift the feeling that Wei had another agenda. His devotion to the General was also a concern.

  ‘This is a pity, because I was impressed by Wei’s efficiency.’

  Robert recalled how his team of ten had flown into Li Bai Station two months before his arrival on site. The team had to be small: the fewer people involved, the less the likelihood of discovery. His father had been concerned about Beijing, full as it was of politicians and bureaucrats terrified of their own shadows. They would surely try to stop them, so the project was strictly need-to-know. Not even the Hood Group was in the loop.

  ‘Led by Captain Wei, our mission team and equipment were tractored, in a convoy, to this site. It took many, many convoys. Even our diesel fuel bladders, as big as double-bed mattresses, were tractored here. Quite a feat of endurance.’ Usually, fuel bags were dropped from a low-flying plane, but Robert hadn’t wanted to risk the occupants of Hope Station hearing the drone of the plane’s engines.

  ‘That was three months ago. Now I fear Wei might make a mistake that could cost us the project, so I have to watch him closely.

  ‘I am also anxious about our glaciologist, Li Guangjie. He spent two seasons at Zhongshan Station on the East Antarctic coast, so I expected him to be hardened to the rigours of our existence here, yet he has become sullen and uncooperative. I am concerned he may be losing faith in the project. I remind him daily that we are here to save the people. Millions of lives.’ He leaned closer to the lens for emphasis.

  If anything were to go wrong, Robert wanted Li and Wei in the firing line, rather than himself. That was one of his golden rules: always protect your reputation.

  ‘Sadly, I also have to report that on the night of the fire, one of my men saw a tall man leaving the station on a snowmobile. I am very sorry to say that I believe the tall man was Luke Searle, Hope’s glaciologist. I, also, now believe he drilled the exit doors shut and set fire to the station. This man has a history of rebelliousness and unreliability. He disobeys his commanders and has abandoned his son in Australia, leaving the mother destitute.’

  Robert liked that – who wouldn’t revile such behaviour? And setting Luke up to take the fall was an easy way to explain the bolts and bullets. ‘He has done seven summer seasons and over-wintered four times, so is it any wonder he has finally gone mad?’

  Robert looked around him. ‘Antarctica is desolate and ugly, the stations claustrophobic. He obviously couldn’t face the coming months of permanent night. I have read of a similar story: an Argentinian doctor at Almirante Brown Antarctic Base was asked to stay on for a second winter. This request tipped him over the edge. He burned his station to the ground, forcing a rescue ship to take him home.

  ‘Of course, I am a mere businessman, not a detective. But my man is certain of what he saw and the bolts on the doors make it plain something is amiss.’

  Switching the camera off, Robert made a mental note to make Hope Station’s scheduled call to AARO headquarters at nineteen hundred hours, so they would remain blissfully unaware of the disaster. Since the fire, he had impersonated Mac without raising suspicion. In future media interviews he would suggest that, again, it must have been the deranged Searle. Robert couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching into a smile.

  It was time to ensure nobody would live to contradict him.

  Robert had guessed how his adversary’s mind worked and had pinpointed the nearest shelter: Bettingtons.

  T MINUS 3 DAYS, 16 HOURS, 44 MINUTES

  6 March, 7:16 pm (UTC-07)

  Maddie lay prostrate on the mountainside, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow. She was beyond exhaustion. Luke kneeled and lifted her head and shoulders so they rested in his lap.

  ‘Maddie, can you hear me? Maddie?’

  Her lids half-opened.

  ‘I need you to stay with me a little longer. Maddie? Stay with me, okay?’

  No response.

  ‘Maddie, wake up!’

  Luke peered down the slope, searching for a sign of Bettingtons. The old hut’s weathered timbers would be much the same colour as the slate-grey rocks at the water’s edge, making it hard to see. But he had to find it: Maddie wouldn’t last a night without shelter.

  The low sun streaked the dark waters of Cranton Bay a vibrant blood orange. Something on the shoreline gleamed. Luke squinted. It had to be metallic. He remembered his conversation with Craig. Perhaps it was one of the diesel canisters he’d said were scattered about the hut? Luke guessed it was half a kilometre away, mainly downhill. Not far, he told himself.

  ‘Hey! I can see Bettingtons,’ said Luke, pointing towards the rocks. ‘It’s downhill from here. This is the easy bit.’

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  ‘I’m going to carry you. Can you put your arms around my neck?’

  No response.

  ‘Maddie? Put your arms around my neck. We’re nearly there.’

  He heaved her up into his arms and her head flopped against his chest, but she placed an arm over his shoulder. The bag of supplies dug painfully into his back. After ten minutes of hard walking, Luke was panting heavily. Dehydrated, his head pounded. His tongue felt swollen.
With every gruelling step, his boots sank into the loose surface snow, his muscles on fire. He stumbled and almost dropped her. There had to be another way.

  The slope down to the bay was getting steep. Luke gently placed Maddie on the ground and sat behind her, gasping for air. She was barely conscious. Luke put his legs on either side of her hips and pulled her towards him so her head rested on his chest. Locking one arm around Maddie’s chest, with the other he pulled the bag as close as possible to his side.

  Luke remembered sliding down hills like this as a kid in the Snowy Mountains. He hoped it would work as well now.

  ‘Maddie, wake up.’ He shook her. It was brutal but he needed her alert.

  ‘What?’ she said, dreamily.

  ‘Try to lift your legs, Maddie, we’re going tobogganing,’ he called, as he kicked his heels into the snow to drive them forward. Their waterproof clothes offered a slippery surface he hoped would reduce friction. Nothing happened. Luke dug his heels into the snow again. His leg muscles locked as he forced both of them forward. Gradually, they began to slide. Soon gravity took over and they gained momentum. There was a risk they might tumble into a crevasse, but at this stage there was no other way.

  ‘Like being kids again!’ Luke shouted into her ear.

  Jolted awake by the bumpy ride, Maddie relaxed back onto his chest.

  ‘Woo hoo!’ Luke shouted to the sky, laughing. They were going to make it. Using his boot, Luke steered them away from a boulder in their path. The heavy backpack was causing them to veer to the right, away from the location of the glinting metal. He tried lifting it off the ice but it was too cumbersome. They began to slow.

  ‘Can you take the weight of the bag?’

  ‘Yes,’ she called back.

  With every last bit of his strength, Luke swung the backpack up and onto Maddie, who exhaled loudly under the heavy load. He clung to her and the bag until their descent stopped. Luke pulled the bag aside and wriggled free from beneath Maddie. Shakily, he stood. He peered in the direction of the glinting object, and there was Bettingtons: a long faded-wood hut with a gabled roof.

  ‘Look!’ he cried, pointing at it.