Surviving Antarctica

by Andrea White

  Polly didn’t like Billy much, but would she let him die alone in the middle of nowhere? “I’d stay with you,” she said without hesitation.

  Billy believed Polly meant it. She would stay with him if he had frostbite. Of course, Billy was too smart and careful to get it, but you could never be too sure. Billy looked at Andrew, who was slumped against the tent wall; at Robert, whose arm was in a sling; and at Grace, who was now kneading Andrew’s feet. He saw the worried look on Polly’s face, and he felt bad.

  He was the snow-and-ice man, but what had he done? He’d read a few maps. Tied a few knots.

  Then he had a crazy thought. What if he spread out his food on the floor of the tent? He was sick of eating his candy with his head stuck in his sleeping bag. He toed his food, considering the idea.

  Polly had saved Andrew, Robert thought admiringly. If she had waited, as Robert had told her to, Andrew wouldn’t have made it.

  “What more do you know about gangrene?” Grace whispered to Polly.

  “Nothing,” Polly said. “Besides that quote …”

  “So you don’t know how fast it sets in?”

  “No idea,” Polly admitted. “Do you?”

  Grace shook her head.

  Polly had intended to read the medical encyclopedia that was on the ship; she just hadn’t gotten around to it.

  Billy interrupted Polly’s concentration. “Have you ever noticed that I don’t eat much, Polly?”

  “Yeah,” Polly said. Billy was small. Besides, some people didn’t need much food.

  “I’m the world’s most picky eater. I won’t eat carrot chips, or strawberry chips, even. The only flavors I like are beef, chicken, and broccoli.” He felt amazed that this was Billy Kanalski talking—the same person who had once gotten kicked out of his Sunday school class for refusing to share food.

  Polly repeated a line of her mother’s: “Well, each pack of chips has all the nutrients we need.”

  “I know,” Billy said, sitting up in his sleeping bag. “I just wanted you all to understand why I did this.”

  “Did what?” Robert broke in.

  “Brought junk food,” Billy said.

  “Candy?” Robert asked.

  So that was what she had smelled from time to time, Grace thought.

  Before he could have second thoughts, Billy began shoveling his store of Chocobombs and nuts out of the sleeping bag.

  Polly, Grace, and Robert stared at the gleaming pile.

  “Go ahead,” Billy said. The sight of the food made him feel wonderfully generous.

  “You’ve had this candy all along?” Robert said sharply to Billy as he grabbed for a pack of Chocobombs.

  Billy braced himself for the kids’ anger.

  Robert tore open the wrapping. “Cheater!” He tossed a handful of chocolate into his open mouth: “Jerk! Psychopath! How could you have held out on us for this long?”

  Billy winced.

  “Why are you giving this to us now?” Polly asked. She wanted to understand the part of Billy that she had always sensed was secretive and dishonest.

  “I don’t know.” Billy tossed Polly and Grace packages of Chocobombs.

  Polly opened her package and popped one in her mouth. It was the most delicious morsel she had ever eaten in her whole life.

  “Thank you, Billy,” Polly said.

  “I can’t believe you’ve been feasting while we’ve been choking down pemmican,” Robert said with his mouth full.

  Billy shrugged.

  “I ought to beat you up …” Robert paused.

  Billy hung his head. No matter what he did, Billy always seemed to get other kids mad at him.

  “… but this tastes so incredibly good.” Robert reached for another pack.

  “I bet if he’d given them to us earlier, they wouldn’t taste as good as they taste right now,” Polly said.

  Robert almost said, “Thanks, Pollyanna.” Then, remembering her heroism, he stopped himself.

  “This is good,” Grace said with her mouth full. She felt like waking Andrew up and giving him some candy, but the deep lines in his sleeping face stopped her.

  “What are you going to do when you run out?” Polly asked Billy.

  “Eat pemmican, I guess,” Billy said, although he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

  “If we have any,” Polly said.

  “I counted the Chocobombs,” Billy said. “There are five to a pack, and I have fifteen packs. And I have two hundred seventy-nine peanuts …”

  “Who knows?” Robert mused. “The audience may vote you MVP after all. None of the rest of us had the sense to bring any food.”

  Billy laughed in relief. Robert had calmed down. Billy ate a Chocobomb. It would be great if the audience voted him MVP. But whatever happened, the Chocobomb tasted much better than all the Chocobombs he had eaten alone.

  33

  THE SNOW HAD stopped during the night. Grace was anxious to go outside to check on the dogs, but the other kids insisted that they all talk and plan. They didn’t understand yet that in this land, plans were made to be changed.

  “It’s just as well that Andrew slept through breakfast,” Polly said. Their meal had consisted of hot water and twenty of Billy’s peanuts for each of them.

  “So what are we going to do?” Robert asked the question before he remembered that he always told people what to do.

  “We need to slaughter the pony,” Grace said.

  “Yes,” Polly agreed. “We should eat a big stew, and then …” She looked at Robert and Billy. “Robert, do you think you feel well enough to hike to the depot with Billy?”

  Robert nodded. “Sure.” His shoulder still hurt, but he could do it.

  “We need all the food we can get.” Polly bit her lip and looked over at Andrew’s sleeping figure. She reminded herself that she would do whatever she could to help Andrew survive. But she wasn’t ready yet to talk to the others about their long-term options.

  “If we don’t make it back in one day, we can always sleep under the sled,” Robert said.

  “You could make it there and back if you used the dogs,” Grace suggested.

  “If we take the dogs, you need to come with us,” said Billy.

  “We don’t know how fast gangrene sets in,” Polly explained.

  “Oh,” Billy said.

  They all looked over at Andrew.

  Grace had wrapped Andrew’s feet in the warmest blankets, but this morning, when she had checked his toes, they had been blistered and lifeless.

  “Billy, let’s hook up one dog to the sled,” Robert said. “We can put him in a simple harness.”

  “Good idea,” said Grace. She felt sick, thinking of the operation that she might have to perform.

  “Robert,” Polly said, “in Scott’s diaries, he said that they had some opium but refused to take it. Do you remember seeing any little white pills?”

  “Yeah. Check the first-aid kit,” Robert said.

  Polly crawled to the pile where they kept the kit. She sifted through its contents. Sure enough, she saw a little brown bottle with ten white pills in it. The bottle was unmarked, but Polly guessed that she had found her painkiller.

  If Andrew’s toes turned black, what choice would they have then but for Grace to amputate them? Polly held the bottle tightly in her hand. It would make things a lot easier. She turned to the other kids. “Don’t think I’m crazy, but I’m going to try talking to Birdie.”

  Robert looked curiously at her.

  Polly turned to the ceiling. “So, Birdie!” she called. “If you can hear me, please let me know what we should do.”

  Silence can be earsplitting, Grace thought.

  Grace stuck a knife in her pants before exiting the tent. The new snow shimmered in the sunlight. In some places, it was deep.

  Polly peeked out of the tent and watched Robert, Grace, and Billy push through the powdery snow toward the pony. There was a grace about us when we staggered on and kept our tempers—even with God.

 
They had taken only a few steps when Robert realized that something was wrong.

  “What happened?” Billy said. Big patches of blood had reddened the snow.

  “The dogs couldn’t have gotten loose. They couldn’t have,” Grace said. And then she saw Brontosaurus sitting on his haunches behind the sleds. She had forgotten about him. His tongue was lolling out of his mouth. With his blood-spattered fur and snout, he looked pleased with himself.

  Where is Cookie? Robert thought.

  “Oh no,” Grace groaned.

  Robert stared down at the bloody carcass partly hidden by snow. The stupid dog had killed the pony sometime during the storm.

  “Now what are we going to do?” Billy said.

  “Let’s get that dog,” Robert said.

  “What do you think Brontosaurus stew would taste like?” Billy would have loved to eat a big bowl out of spite.

  Grace scraped snow off the carcass of the pony. She saw bloody bones, but also meat on the legs and the head.

  Billy and Robert gazed at the unappetizing spectacle.

  “We can make a stew,” Grace said.

  “I want to kill that dog,” Billy said through gritted teeth.

  “Let’s take the legs back to the tent and feed the head and guts to the dogs,” Robert said.

  Billy swallowed to keep from getting sick.

  Grace turned and noticed Brontosaurus again. “Bronty!” She kept her voice light and happy.

  For once, the runaway sat still. Grace grabbed the dog by the scruff of his neck.

  Was there ever such a contrary dog? Billy thought.

  34

  “THE ONLY GOOD thing is that it’s so warm,” Grace said. Except for Andrew, who was sleeping, they had all stripped to their long underwear. The inside of the tent felt steamy, and moisture that had collected on the tent ceiling dropped down in a light rain. Billy had cooked a quick pot of pony stew. They each held a cup.

  “It’s always warmer after a blizzard,” Polly said.

  “Life is not without its small mercies,” Grace said, repeating what her grandfather used to say.

  “It’s almost noon. We need to go,” Billy said. He had managed a few bites of the stew. He guessed that it tasted like watered-down dog food. But he’d never eaten dog food, so he couldn’t say for sure.

  “I agree.” Robert put his cup down. “Can we leave you guys with the dishes?”

  Polly smiled. “Sure.”

  Andrew groaned in his sleep. His forehead felt hot, as if he might be running a fever.

  Robert pulled on his parka, gloves, hat, and goggles. When he had finished, he looked at Polly. “If anything happens to us, Polly, will you tell my mom and dad?” He stopped and thought for a moment. How could he convey to his parents how hard he had tried, how much he loved them? “You’ll know what to say.”

  Polly nodded. Robert was really quite sweet.

  “You’re still on TV,” Billy reminded him.

  “Oh, yeah.” Robert involuntarily reached his hand to his eye. “I forgot about that.”

  “Hi, Dad.” Billy stared at a spot on the tent wall. “The Compu-gametable is going to be a great success someday. Mom, you shouldn’t cry too much, and …” He looked at Polly. “I feel dumb saying good-bye on television. Will you talk to them in person?”

  Polly nodded solemnly.

  Robert opened the tent flap. “Good luck,” he said before crawling outside. Billy followed him.

  Grace’s and Polly’s eyes met. They didn’t want to talk about it, but each understood what they might need to do. “Should we do anything to get ready?” Polly asked. She felt so ignorant.

  “Boil the knife,” Grace said. It felt strange to pretend that she was knowledgeable. But hadn’t she acted as if she knew how to handle the dogs, and hadn’t she turned into a dogsled driver? She was positive that the first thing that a surgeon did before an operation was to sterilize her equipment. But even if she was wrong, staying busy was better than nervously hovering.

  “What knife are you going to use?” Polly asked.

  “The seal knife will do,” Grace said.

  “Have you ever done anything like this before, Grace?” Polly turned on the Primus stove. On top of everything else, they were low on fuel.

  “I’ve cut off a few dogs’ legs before,” Grace said. One dog had gotten into a fight with a coyote. His leg hung off him, a shredded thing. She had operated on him in her refrigerator carton, by candlelight. Once he got better, the poor dog had followed her around everywhere until he was killed by a hunter’s stray bullet.

  “These are only toes,” Polly said.

  “Toes,” Grace repeated dully.

  “Grace,” Polly said gently. “If his toes turn black, we’ve got to do this.”

  Usually it seemed to take forever for the water to boil, but not today. Polly stared at the pot for a few seconds before calling out, “It’s ready!”

  Grace gripped the long, sharp knife as she crawled toward the boiling water.

  Robert trudged next to Billy. He could feel the soft mounds of snow through his finneskoe. It was like wearing gloves on your feet, he thought. Now that more snow had covered up the crevasses, Robert sensed that they were even more dangerous. The deep steps jarred his shoulder, but he tried to concentrate on the crunching and crackling of the snow.

  Sometimes, when Billy took a step, his foot never reached a firm base. He would never have had the courage to make this march without Brontosaurus, who bounded through the soft snow ahead of them, pulling the sled. Brontosaurus would fall into a bottomless pit, not Billy.

  Since the wind was at their backs, Billy worried whether they would make decent time on their return. “Another day, we could rig some canvas as a sail and make this sled fly.”

  “You learned how in a survival course?” Robert asked, although he doubted that Billy had ever taken one.

  “No,” Billy said slowly. If he got a chance, he would lie to the Secretary again. He didn’t feel bad about that, but he did feel bad about lying to Robert. “I want to tell you something, Robert.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I lied on my application,” Billy said. “I’ve never taken snow-and-ice survival courses. I’ve skied a bit. Been active in Scouting. That’s it.”

  “Why?” Robert asked. The junk food had been a surprise. Billy’s lack of snow-and-ice experience wasn’t.

  “Why did I lie, or why am I telling you?”

  “Both,” Robert said.

  “I don’t know why I’m telling you,” Billy said. “But I wanted to go to college. That’s the reason I lied on the application.”

  “We could have used a great snow-and-ice man, but you’re amazing with directions and knots.” Robert smiled. “And you’re the king of junk food.”

  “Thanks,” Billy said. He felt that he’d been forgiven.

  “Have you ever been lost?” Robert asked.

  “Not for very long,” Billy said. “It’s a game I play. I keep track of my longitude and latitude in my head. If there’s no sun, I guess.”

  “It’s funny. When I first saw you guys, I never guessed how important each kid would be to the team.” How much I would need every person on the team, Robert thought. He wasn’t used to needing anyone.

  “I still can’t believe that Andrew—the human freezer—is the one with frostbite. I mean, I was expecting skinny Polly …” Billy said.

  “No one else would have survived so long in that crevasse but Andrew.”

  “You’re right,” Billy said.

  “With only some dead toes,” Robert said glumly.

  “Do you think that Grace will have the guts to …” Billy couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “If she needs to,” Robert said. “It’s either that or watch him die.”

  “He can’t die,” Billy said.

  Robert didn’t answer. To take his mind off his aching shoulder and Andrew’s toes, he looked around. The sky was a light gray, and the mountains were a purplish hue. He h
ad gotten used to the fact that the snow hardly ever looked white. Today it was a paler gray than the sky. These were soft colors for such a tough land.

  Brontosaurus barked, and Billy watched the hackles rise on his neck. Oh, no—the dog had used up his good behavior for the day and was going to start giving them trouble!

  The dog barked again.

  “Idiot dog,” Billy said.

  “No, I think he’s trying to tell us something.”

  Billy examined the dog carefully. Maybe Robert was right. Bronty’s ears were flat against his head. Instead of bouncing, he was picking his way warily, with his eyes stuck on the horizon.

  Billy spotted something moving. A black dot came toward them. Polly had warned them of Antarctic hallucinations. According to her, the Scott party had experienced lots of them. But this black dot didn’t go away. In fact, it kept growing larger until Robert punched Billy in the shoulder and asked, “What can that be?”

  Billy shook his head. But before long, he could make out a man.

  “Who in the world?” Billy said.

  “I thought no one lived here,” Robert said.

  “No one used to live here,” Billy said. “But maybe now that it’s warmer?”

  “What if he’s lived here for a long time and doesn’t even know about the Big Bust or … ?” Robert searched for a recent technological innovation.

  “Or instant trees. Or the human fax,” Billy said.

  “Or the Nuclear Accident?” Robert added.

  “Good boy.” Robert held on to Bronty’s harness. The dog’s fur bristled along his backbone.

  Why, the darn dog would attack that stranger if he tried to hurt us! Billy realized with amazement and pride.

  A big, burly man in a parka walked up to Robert. Bronty lunged at him, but Robert held the harness tightly.

  The man removed his headphones. Robert could hear the faint strains of “The Hologram Blues.”

  “Captain Scott, I presume?” the man said.

  “What?” Robert said.

  “I’m Historical Survivor’s Amundsen,” the man said. His face was long, as Cookie’s had been. The color of his eyes matched the gray stubble on his face.

  “Amundsen?” Billy said.