Surviving Antarctica

by Andrea White

  Andrew stopped and stared at her. Snowflakes dusted her cap and the shoulders of her parka. She smiled at him.

  “I mean it. That’s really your special gift. Oh, I know that you can bear the cold. But everyone else here has done just fine with that. Only you were brave enough to risk your life for Robert this afternoon.”

  “I couldn’t just let him die.” As he said these words, Andrew thought of himself just a few months ago. Heroic words like these never came out of his mouth then. Thinking about his past, he felt something else strange. It was as if he had awakened from a long sleep. That old pudgy Andrew who had a special place on the soft couch seemed like a dream.

  Suddenly they heard Grace shout, “Get him!”

  Andrew saw the large shape of a dog trot past.

  “It’s Brontosaurus,” Grace called.

  The dog that Andrew had chased this morning had returned to camp.

  Grace guessed that the dog had run off to find more food. When he couldn’t find any, he had come back.

  Polly lunged for him, and Andrew turned to run after him, too.

  “No!” Grace screamed. “I forgot! There might be more crevasses.”

  Polly shuddered, remembering Robert’s narrow escape. “You’re right. Chasing him is too risky.”

  Brontosaurus skipped to the outer edges of camp, next to Robert’s abandoned snowcycle, and sat there licking ice off his paw.

  Grace held out her hand. “Bronty! Come here, boy!”

  A gust of wind scared Polly. “Grace,” she said, “in case it starts snowing hard again, we need to get inside.” She turned toward the tent.

  “Bronty! Come here, boy!” Grace repeated.

  Brontosaurus dashed away from her and rolled on his back in the snow. He was having a great time.

  Grace turned away from the dog and followed Polly. Each life form must make its own choice about whether to live or die. Maybe Bronty would stick around camp until tomorrow. Then again, maybe not.

  Polly carefully checked the sleds to make sure that they had brought all the food inside. They couldn’t take a chance that a loose dog would eat their meager supplies.

  Grace crawled into the tent. Polly and Andrew followed her.

  Robert was snoring in his sleeping bag. Usually he was a light sleeper, but now he slept as though nothing would wake him.

  Billy was leaning over a pot of boiling water, about to drop some pemmican into the pot for a late lunch.

  “Billy,” Polly said, “we can take a vote on this if you want, but I think we should save the pemmican for later. We don’t know how long this storm will last.”

  Billy didn’t say anything, but he rolled the pemmican up in foil. He couldn’t care less if he cooked the pemmican or not. He wasn’t going to eat it.

  After taking off her gear, Polly squatted next to the stove.

  “We just had one,” said Billy. “Why is it storming again?”

  An Iñupiat would never ask that question, Grace thought.

  Polly shook her head in despair. “We have a little food. If the snow quits soon, we’ll still be in good shape.”

  “Where will we put all the gear without the snowcycles?” Andrew asked.

  In her mind, Polly reviewed the collection of things on Robert’s sled. “Grace, do you think that the dogs could carry the stuff from Robert’s cycle, too?”

  It would be hard. The dogs’ load was already heavy. But Grace felt proud as she answered simply, “Yes.”

  “Great.” Polly stared at the water boiling in the pot. She felt thankful but exhausted. It was hard to believe that this game had barely begun.

  “I can’t believe that Scott’s crew lived in Antarctica for two years,” Andrew said.

  “Yeah,” Polly agreed.

  “How many blizzards did they live through?” Andrew asked.

  “Lots,” Polly said.

  “I don’t see how they did it,” Andrew said.

  “Me either,” Polly said.

  “And we’ve been here only five days,” Andrew said.

  “Yeah, five days,” Polly said. Five long days. Scott’s men had endured two years of temperatures like this and much colder. She knew that adults were a lot tougher than kids, but she wondered if people in the twentieth century had been tougher than the people of the twenty-first century. “The time would go faster if we napped,” she finally said. “Maybe, when we wake up, the storm will have quit.”

  “I’m not sleepy,” Andrew said.

  “I know,” Polly said. She was too hungry to sleep.

  Every time Billy looked at the watch, he thought about D.C. “It’s four o’clock.” Some people were getting ready to go home from work and watch the five-o’clock news. What he wouldn’t give to be in D.C. or any city now!

  “What else can we do in this small tent but sleep?” Polly asked.

  “That’s a good idea, Polly,” Billy said. He climbed into his sleeping bag and fingered a package of peanuts. He shut his eyes. After the kids went to sleep, he’d comfort himself by eating a health-food bar or a bag of peanuts.

  Billy heard Andrew’s stomach growl, and suddenly he felt ashamed. If his friends couldn’t eat, neither would he. But he clenched the peanuts in his fist, grateful to know that he wouldn’t starve. Not for a while, anyway.

  29

  STEVE WAS OUT of breath from his sprint to the office.

  “The ratings went crazy again today,” Chad said when Steve walked into the production room.

  Pearl was sweeping quietly in a corner.

  “Did you see Robert and Andrew make it out of the crevasse?” Chad asked.

  “Yep,” Steve panted. He had spent his afternoon watching the live broadcast.

  “What are the kids doing now?” Steve asked.

  “Napping,” Chad said. “We got a 99.1 percent rating.” He paused. “Do you realize what that means? This afternoon, almost every single home in the United States had its television tuned to Historical Survivor.” He shook his head and grinned. “First time ever in the show’s twelve-year history!”

  Steve looked sadly at the dark screens. He must have been dreaming to think that the viewers didn’t approve of the program.

  “You don’t get it,” said Chad. “The great thing is that the questions and the mail are not positive.”

  “What?” Steve said.

  “People don’t like this series. They’re calling the Secretary a bully. They’re angry.” Chad turned to his computer and clicked it on. “Here’s a random e-mail. ‘Dear Mrs. Secretary: If life is a game, why don’t people like you play? A viewer in Cincinnati.’”

  Chad turned back to Steve. “Want to hear what our Secretary had to say to him?”

  Steve shrugged.

  “Here it is: ‘I did play. I played the Toss and won. Stop whining, loser.’”

  “Her toughness has shut people up before,” Steve said.

  “Not this time,” Chad said. “I think that people feel bad for the kids.”

  “They should,” Steve said. He walked over to the five dark screens on the wall.

  Just in case Andrew could hear him, Steve picked up the microphone and whispered, “Good job!” But Andrew’s screen stayed black.

  The five kids sat in a circle in the middle of the small tent. Following a long nap, they had had a small portion of pemmican for dinner. Robert’s arm was supported in a makeshift sling. His shoulder still ached, but by immobilizing it, Grace had stopped the sharp stabs of pain.

  “We’ll run out of pemmican after breakfast tomorrow,” Polly said.

  Billy looked at one of the maps. He was really glad that he had his secret cache of food. “Remember, we covered six miles before we hit the crevasse,” he said. “The good news is that the next depot is only seventeen miles away. If we really push, we could almost make it all in one day.”

  “But we can’t travel in this weather,” Polly objected. It was still snowing outside. Not to mention that without the motors, most of them would have to walk, and
the dogs would need to carry a heavier load. She looked at Andrew’s kind face and decided to say what she had been dreading. “Andrew, I’m sorry to say this, but I think we may need to butcher the pony soon.”

  Andrew couldn’t meet Polly’s eyes. He had known this was coming. “Cookie’s weak. I don’t know how long she can keep going, anyway.”

  “But then we have the problem of what to do with the gear Cookie’s pulling,” Robert said.

  “True,” Polly said. The dogs couldn’t carry everything. Each of them would have to wear heavy backpacks. They could take turns pulling a sled. She was sure that their task would seem easier if they weren’t so hungry.

  Robert interrupted Polly’s thoughts. “I bet that I can get the cycle working again.” He turned to Billy. “Did you cover the motor?”

  “Why?” Billy asked. He wished that Robert hadn’t mentioned the cycle. He had loved his silver-and-blue machine. Remembering that Hot Sauce had programmed the motors to fail made him angry all over again.

  “I haven’t given up on the cycle,” Robert said. “If it worked, you or I could ride to the depot and bring food back.”

  Billy shook his head. He no longer believed in the cycle. “Good luck.”

  The wind howled.

  “I’ll go cover it,” Andrew offered.

  “No,” Polly said. “It’s not that important.”

  “I want to see how Cookie’s doing, anyway,” Andrew said softly, pulling on his parka and gloves.

  “Polly’s probably right, Andrew,” Robert said. The snowcycle had already been uncovered for almost six hours. What did a night matter? But then again, it was warmer after blizzards. Maybe, if the carburetor wasn’t frozen, he could get it running.

  Andrew crawled toward the tent flap. “Covering the cycle won’t take me a minute.”

  “Please, Andrew,” Polly begged. “Forget the motor.”

  Robert allowed himself to imagine the motor’s purr. If he could fix it, it would be so sweet.

  “Polly, I really don’t mind.” Andrew closed the tent flap quickly to avoid having too much snow fly into the tent.

  Snow stung Andrew’s face; his ears burned. He wouldn’t bother to zip up his coat, but he realized that he should have worn his goggles.

  The scene inside the tent was serene, but on Andrew’s screen snow danced in the wind, forming and re-forming into crazy patterns.

  “I’m worried,” Steve said.

  “Me, too,” said Chad. “He shouldn’t be outside.” He nodded at the mike.

  But Steve hesitated. “I hate to order him around. He was a hero earlier today, without me.” In his mind’s eye he could picture Andrew’s bullying father.

  Chad shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  The sleds lay on their sides near Cookie to protect her from the weather. She stood behind them, her flanks glistening with frost and quivering from the piercing snow. Andrew knocked a big icicle off her nose. “I wish there was something I could do for you, girl.”

  The mounds of snow marking the sleeping dogs were bumps on the otherwise flat terrain. Poor Cookie. Unlike the dogs, her coat wasn’t thick.

  Dogs were better suited for Antarctic exploration, Andrew decided sadly. “You didn’t ask to be here,” he murmured into her ear. Andrew straightened her blanket and pulled out a piece of pemmican that he had saved from breakfast. But when he tried to feed her, she gritted her teeth and refused to eat.

  A few feet beyond Cookie, Robert’s snowcycle stood in the swirling snow. Its shiny blueness looked out of place. As Andrew trudged through the snow toward it, he sensed that the wind had picked up. To take the last few steps, he turned his back to the wind. With difficulty he removed the cycle’s plastic cover from its case and threw it over the machine. He searched for the hook to secure the cover. But just then the wind gusted, and the plastic cover flew into the air like an ungainly kite before landing fifteen feet from where Andrew stood.

  Steve couldn’t restrain himself anymore. “Let it go!” he commanded, speaking urgently into his mike.

  Chad nodded approvingly.

  “What did you say?” Andrew said.

  “Forget about the cover!” Steve repeated.

  “Who are you, really?” Andrew asked.

  “We’ll talk later. Go back to your tent.”

  Andrew took one more step into the fuzzy nothingness and then the snow on his screen stopped falling. Steve and Chad were staring at white ice.

  Andrew fell straight down the narrow crevasse and landed on his feet. Hunks of snow from the surface of the crevasse fell on his head. He stamped his feet and shook the snow from his clothes. He had lost his cap in the fall, and he could feel the chill of bits of ice in his hair, on his face, and down his back.

  He needed to find a way to climb out. He searched the icy walls for handholds. But the sides of the crevasse appeared silky smooth. He peered upward. At least the crevasse wasn’t as deep as the one Robert had fallen into. The ground was only about fifteen feet above him. And a few feet from where he stood, a sheet of ice covered the crevasse like a frozen roof. He walked to the enclosed part and immediately felt warmer.

  But wait, Andrew reminded himself. He needed to stay in one place so when the others came looking for him, they could find him. When they came looking for him … When would that be?

  More than anything, he needed to stay calm. He didn’t have an ice pick or any other tools besides the pocketknife he always carried. Could he carve steps in the ice and climb out? He fumbled in his pocket for the knife and took it out. Then he took off his glove and stuck the pocketknife into the wall. A tiny chunk of ice fell off.

  He struck the wall again. Another chip lay at his feet.

  At this rate, making stairs would take hours. But what else could he do?

  Steve drew close to the mike.

  Chad nodded slowly.

  “Andrew, you’re not alone,” Steve said.

  “Who are you?” Andrew asked again.

  Steve didn’t know what made him say the name. It just came to him. “I’m your ancestor Birdie Bowers.”

  “Oh,” Andrew said. “You died in this stuff, too.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Steve said. “You’re going to make it.”

  “How?” Andrew asked.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “No,” Andrew said. “I’m fine.”

  “First, let’s try to figure out if there’s anything else you can do to stay warm.”

  “I’m not that cold,” Andrew said.

  “Incredible,” Chad whispered to Steve.

  “Great. But you may have to be there for a while. So zip up your parka, button up all your buttons, and pull the flap down on your cap.”

  Steve heard Andrew fumbling around in the narrow crevasse.

  “I can’t find my cap,” Andrew said after a while.

  “That’s bad,” Chad murmured to Steve.

  “What happened?”

  “I must have lost it in the fall.”

  “Do you have anything that you could cover your head with?” Steve asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you have anything to eat in your pockets?” Steve asked.

  Again Steve heard a rustling as Andrew checked his pockets.

  “A little pemmican,” Andrew said.

  “Good,” Steve said. He looked at the other screens. Polly and Robert had opened the tent flap and were staring at the storm.

  Billy and Grace sat huddled around the Primus stove.

  “I can’t see him,” Polly said.

  “The storm has gotten much worse,” Robert said.

  “Andrew!” Polly called. But the wind carried her words away, and Steve could hardly hear her.

  “I’ll go look for him,” said Robert. “He saved my life this morning.”

  “No,” Polly said. “You’ve got a hurt shoulder. I’ll go.”

  “You get cold the easiest,” Robert pointed out.

  “I won’t stay out there too
long,” Polly promised. She pulled on her gloves, her neck warmer, and her parka.

  “Tie yourself to a rope,” Robert directed.

  “You’re right. We should have never let him go outside without a rope,” Polly said.

  “It wasn’t that windy when he left.”

  “Life becomes death in an instant,” Grace heard her grandfather say.

  Polly and Robert stared into each other’s eyes as Polly handed Robert one end of the guide rope.

  Steve and Chad watched Polly slip the rope around her waist and lift the tent flap.

  Steve waited anxiously to view the storm through Polly’s eyes.

  As Robert held the flap open for Polly, she pushed away the heaps of snow that had piled up at the entrance to the tent. On her knees, she entered a swirling white world.

  The morning’s snow had been fine and powdery. This snow was wet. After crawling only a few feet, Polly lost her sense of direction. She wiped the snow off her goggles with her gloves. Her knees sank into the deep, soft powder.

  Cookie’s white body would be hidden in the snow, but if she got closer, she might be able to make out the outlines of the sleds.

  The wind howled, and from every direction the snow pounded her. Polly fought it off as she would a raging white beast and crawled a few more steps. The wind gusted again and lashed her face. She struggled to lift her head. “Andrew!” she tried to yell, but she couldn’t hear herself over the roar of the wind. When the burst of wind died, she held her hand in front of her face but still couldn’t see it. Both her mind and her body felt numb. She tugged on the rope. She felt Robert’s answering tug and then the rope tighten before she began tumbling, tripping, and crawling her way back to the tent.

  Steve went back to Andrew’s screen. He was chipping away at the wall of ice. “You’re really lucky you have that roof. The blizzard has picked up. Polly tried to reach you, but it looks like she won’t be able to rescue you for a while.”

  Neither Steve nor Andrew spoke for a moment.

  “Was it colder when you were here, Birdie?” Andrew asked.

  Steve would have to try to remember everything he had heard on EduTV. “Yes,” he said. “It was seventy below, night after night.”