Ice Station Death

by Gustavo Bondoni

  In Javier’s world the answer was a foregone conclusion.

  He tried to keep his breathing steady as he walked. He kept his eyes on the ground at his feet, thinking only of the next step, not of the hundreds still to come.

  Javier’s stomach groaned. When was the last time he’d had anything to eat? Could he stay on his feet long enough to reach the base, or would they both be devoured where they fell? He’d heard Natasha’s theories about the creatures and the fact that they wanted the bodies to heat eggs, but that wasn’t how it felt to him. His gut knew that big lizards only wanted him for one thing: food. What science might say was irrelevant.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up every time he thought about the creatures behind him in the same way they would if he were being chased by wolves hell-bent on eating them both. He was sure that, if they fell, they’d become dinosaur food.

  “Just leave me…”

  “No.”

  They had the same conversation over and over again, and Javier was actually grateful to Ingrid for insisting. The annoyance he felt at the suggestion that he might be capable of leaving an injured woman out on the ice to die kept him going. Each exchange bought him two steps.

  Unfortunately, Ingrid was only semi-conscious part of the time. When she was out of it, his progress had to come from deep inside with no help from his companion.

  Each step was a conscious effort.

  Javier looked up. The sun was still in the same place it always was, circling overhead like a buzzard over carrion.

  Perhaps in this place, at this moment in time, it had replaced all the other scavengers. Penguins couldn’t circle overhead. They couldn’t fly at all, in fact. He wondered whether penguins would eat dead mammals. He couldn’t remember.

  In fact, the only thing that came to mind when he thought about penguins was how hungry he was. He’d eaten penguin before—not by choice. It had, simultaneously been the most disgusting thing he’d ever tasted and the most wonderful.

  Part of traditional Argentine Army training for officer cadets was to set them out in an uninhabited wilderness and pick them up a week later. Patagonia, especially the desert-like Patagonian coast, was ideally suited to an exercise of that sort. Empty of food and water, with howling winds and summer temperatures that could drop to near-freezing at night, it was a true test of mettle and ingenuity.

  The cadets were dropped off in small groups—after being thoroughly searched for hidden food—and picked up at the same spot a week later. The dregs of what had once been soldier candidates were usually emaciated wrecks at the end of it.

  Javier’s crew, unusually, had been lucky. Just three days into what promised to be an unpleasant sojourn, one of the men had stumbled upon a nesting Magellan’s penguin. It had immediately become dinner, and had, in the end, seen them through.

  The fishy taste of its flesh was still fresh in Javier’s memory… even if he told anyone interested, in all honesty, that penguin tasted like crap but that crap was a glorious alternative to starvation.

  He could almost taste it as he walked.

  Javier shook his head. He needed to clear his thoughts; he was losing focus, and that wasn’t something he could afford. He was on his last legs in a hostile terrain surrounded by creatures that wanted to kill him. The one thing he didn’t need was for his own mind to betray him.

  In fact, he should probably begin to worry. Just moments ago, he’d been sure that something was approaching from ahead of him and to his right. Maybe one o’clock.

  But when the image got through his addled brain and he looked in the right direction, there was nothing to be seen, just a snowy waste like any other.

  He kept walking. Nothing from that direction was likely to kill him. The real problem would come if something approached from behind. But if that was the case, he’d never know—he was much too exhausted to look back.

  It made no difference. Had he seen a nothosaur coming, all he really could have done was to fall forward onto his face and make it easier for the creature to strike. There was nothing left in his legs.

  There. A flicker of darkness against the white background. Closer now, but when he turned, it was gone. He tried to focus, but all he could really see was that the ground where he was looking consisted of broken, uneven patches. And that was only visible because of the shadows in the snow that separated patches of white from other patches of white.

  Damn this stupid white-on-white world, anyway. His nightmares had always been dark, not brightly illuminated with the light reflecting from every available surface. It was maddening, confusing, insane.

  He saw it again. It lasted longer this time. The figure was getting closer.

  Whatever was coming was still distant, but his mind created the image of the grim reaper, black robes billowing in the wind, scythe glinting in the light. Death, coming for him as inexorably as any other natural force, indifferent to the ways of flesh and mortals. He tried to redouble his step, but only managed to stumble on the uncertain footing. It took superhuman effort to keep him from tumbling headlong.

  Javier looked away. He was half-convinced that the oncoming figure lived only in his imagination. He tried to face the base, ignore it. Incredibly, the enormous distance actually appeared to have shrunk to something manageable. Just a few more hours… maybe a year… and he’d be there.

  He put another foot ahead. And another.

  Now there was no more doubt. There was no longer any room to doubt. The figure was fifty meters away, and he could see it clearly enough to realize that it held a blade that glinted in the sunlight. He hadn’t been imagining it. The eternal nightless land had finally sent its angel of perdition after him.

  “Javier!”

  Strong arms suddenly supported him and he focused on the face in front of him.

  “Breen?”

  “Yeah. I thought you were a goner for sure. Is that Ingrid? What happened to the Australian?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh.”

  But Javier wasn’t thinking about Smith’s sacrifice. He just wanted to get Ingrid off his back. Sharing the weight would feel like heaven. Even as he lowered her to the ground so they could carry her between them, something nagged at him. In his addled state, he took a few moments to know what it was. It was important.

  “Over there,” Javier said, suddenly remembering.

  Breen looked in the direction the Colonel was pointing. “There’s nothing there.”

  Javier looked. The American was right. The empty white wastes stretched out forever.

  But even though it wasn’t visible, Javier knew that the angel of death wouldn’t be gone. It was out there somewhere, just waiting for its opportunity. None of them, he knew, would be leaving this place of pale light alive.

  ***

  Had it only been thirty minutes since he returned? It felt like he’d followed Clark Smith onto the snow a lifetime ago. He could barely remember what he’d been like then. The walk, burdened with responsibility for the life of another human being had represented his rebirth.

  It was a touch of the sublime.

  And then, the quotidian. A cup of stale coffee. Some crackers that Natasha had found stashed somewhere, and… he’d felt normal again, for the first time in ages.

  Javier shook his head. He’d always considered himself a rock, the kind of guy who could go through the fire without losing his head. And there he was, seeing figures in the distance and having all sorts of prophetic visions.

  Breen was looking over the FAL. He grimaced when he realized the clip was empty. “Did you hit anything?”

  “Yeah. Killed one of the small ones.”

  The American grunted his approval. “Good. You should take extra ammo next time you decide to go after the nest, though.”

  “Good idea.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “How is she?”

  “Remarkably well, actually. I thought she was a goner, but once we got her stripped down, we realized that most of the blood belonged to someone
else. Her own injuries are mostly minor, although she does have a couple of deep gashes I had to stitch. It’s a good thing you found that first aid kit… It’s not the kind of thing I would have attempted without decent anesthetic.”

  “I knew that would come in handy. So you’re saying she’s fine?”

  “Unless there’s internal injury… yeah, I suppose she is. She was pretty well dehydrated, but I put her on an IV.”

  Javier smiled. He’d been uncertain of Breen’s decision to move out of the cafeteria and into the infirmary, but most of his objections had evaporated when they’d placed him on a soft bed and given him coffee. The rest had disappeared as soon as he realized that Breen intended to examine the Swedish scientist.

  “I need to get back there.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll be fine,” Javier replied.

  Breen left.

  Natasha, who’d been sitting unseen on the couch, stood and closed the door.

  “I… I want to apologize,” she stammered.

  “For what?” Javier asked.

  “For… before.”

  Javier knew exactly what she was talking about. When he’d entered, half-carrying Ingrid, half-supported by Breen, she’d rushed forward and thrown her hands around his neck. She’d kissed him full on the mouth.

  Now that he was feeling better, he was tempted to say something like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, please be specific’, but a single look at her anxious face deterred him. “There’s no need to apologize. I’ll forgive you if you promise me something.”

  She was suddenly wary. “What?”

  “Never tell anyone.”

  Now she looked hurt. “Why not?”

  “Because Argentine men aren’t allowed to be kissed by beautiful women and not kiss them back. I’d get thrown out of the country.”

  She laughed with relief. “Then it didn’t bother you?”

  “Of course not. I just wish I’d reacted properly. A gentleman has standards.”

  “Would you like me to kiss you again?”

  “If you like.”

  “Well you’re going to have to wait.” But she was smiling as she said it.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you teased me. Now you will wait. And besides, I want to ask you about the American, and I don’t want to forget.”

  “What about him? He’s a spy. He’ll probably stab us in the back as soon as we turn around.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  Javier thought back at the man, appearing like the good Samaritan out of the haze and saving him from the snow, the dinosaurs and himself. “Maybe not.”

  “He wanted to go back to the Irizar after you left.”

  “How long was I gone?”

  “When he wanted to leave? An hour. No more. Ten minutes later, he ran out and brought you back inside. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Did he tell you to come?”

  “I don’t think he’ll leave without me. He wants to take me back to America with him. He says it’s the only place where I’ll be safe.”

  Javier considered it. The men in balaclavas, the Russian government’s decision to recover… something… at huge cost, all pointed to the fact that the American agent was right about that. She would definitely be safer in the US than in Argentina. “I think he might be right.”

  “There’s another thing. He wants to take the chip out of my arm.”

  Javier sat silently for a minute. “He’s serious about that?”

  “I think so. He… he did an amazing job with Ingrid. I went in there because I didn’t trust him. I thought he might…” She blushed. “But he was absolutely professional. He’s not a surgeon, but he’s definitely had some kind of training as a doctor.”

  “Then you should get the chip removed.”

  She nodded and, as if she’d been waiting for his permission, she tripped out of the room towards the operating room.

  He sat there in a daze, wondering how he’d managed to miss his second chance at the kiss, and whether he’d ever have a third attempt.

  With that thought, he dozed off.

  ***

  A touch woke him. He didn’t know whether minutes or hours had passed but unlike most times he’d had that sensation, Javier didn’t care. What difference did it make in this land of eternal days?

  He turned away from the contact, too tired to care if it was a nothosaur, but the contact was insistent. He opened his eyes to find Natasha’s face inches from his own, a half-smile on her lips.

  “I hope you haven’t changed your mind,” she said, pushing him further to his left.

  Someone, he noticed, had put a thick comforter over him and Natasha had climbed under it. He could feel her chest against his. It felt warm and very female, even through the cloth of her sweater.

  In response, he leaned forward and, opening his mouth, brushed his lips against hers, an exploratory gesture to see what she would do.

  Her response surprised him. She pressed forward hungrily, greedily taking his mouth with her own.

  Javier didn’t have to be told twice. He joined the passion and was soon pressing himself at her, one hand behind her head, the other moving down her back.

  He stopped himself. “Are you sure about this? I mean… you aren’t going to regret it? It’s not just because you’re scared, is it?”

  She laughed. “How should I know? All I know is that yes, I’m sure about this. I just wish I could take off my sweater. Stupid broken arm.”

  He let the hand continue down her back, pressing into the cloth of her clothing until he came to her ass… which was bare.

  She pulled away, grinning wickedly. “Nothing wrong with my legs, though.”

  Javier lost himself in her.

  Chapter 18

  Snick.

  The blade made a pleasant noise as it swiped along the stone she’d found. Camila didn’t know if the flat grey rock, rounded by eons in the sea, was honing the edge or ruining the knife, and she didn’t care. A blunted knife would hurt all the more.

  The slut was riding Javier like there was no tomorrow, the kind of desperate lovemaking that you saw in the movies. She clearly didn’t imagine that someone could be watching. Although, from the looks of it, she wouldn’t have cared if she did.

  Snick.

  A reckoning was coming, and this woman, no matter how badly she’d been mistreated by the world, had chosen to align herself with the side of the oppressors, of the patriarchy and of the rich.

  Even a woman from Russia should have been able to take a single look at the high-class Javier and understand that he was the enemy, a much greater enemy than even the strange creatures that roamed the open ice.

  Snick.

  So she would die, too. It was the right thing to do.

  Giving herself to the enemy made her an enemy.

  Snick.

  The cold was beginning to get to her. She’d been out in the open for what seemed like hours, waiting and watching. She thought Javier was hers when he was carrying the woman back from wherever it was he’d found her, but that interfering American had spotted him just in time.

  A second earlier, and he would have seen Camila ducking down behind a ridge.

  Snick.

  She should probably kill the American, too. After all, the American domination of the world, and its interference in Latin American politics for the past sixty years was what had made Javier and his kind possible in the first place.

  But this man was not really one of the oppressors. He was a tool of the oppressors and, unlike the sailors, wasn’t in a position to stop her yet.

  Therefore, he would only die if he had to.

  Snick.

  She watched the figures in the window finish having sex. The initial mad rush had subsided first into a more rhythmic dance and then, finally, the woman had collapsed on top of Javier, and they’d become lost in a lingering embrace.

  Almost as if they loved each other, she thought. The bitterness she felt wasn’t for h
erself but for the Russian girl. Did she really think a man meant what she thought when he embraced her? Could she truly be that silly?

  Camila didn’t think so. They’d told her that the woman was a scientist herself, educated in Great Britain. She would have experience with men, know a little bit about their ways. Of course she’d know that they were more fickle than cats, loyal only to other men.

  She thought of the men in her own life. Particularly about Juan Carlos. Juanca, as his friends and soccer buddies called him. He could have been the one… No. He should have been the one. He was the one.

  It had all been going so well. They’d had their ups and downs, of course, but that was normal for any couple. She’d told him not to worry about it. He’d asked her for a little more space, but she’d held firm on that ground. She knew he’d be happier once they were married and could finish unifying their plans. There was no need to waste time with space, with projects that didn’t run along the same track. Life was too short to become distracted.

  At first, she didn’t know what madness possessed him, or why he walked away from a perfect future… but then, with the help of her friends, she came to understand that many men were intimidated by women who were their intellectual and professional superiors. His masculine pride couldn’t deal with being just a normal mid-level office worker while his girlfriend had received more and more attention from the scientific community, eventually earning leadership roles at the Museo de La Plata.

  He’d pretended to be happy for her, of course. In fact, back then, she’d believed him. He truly did appear to be delighted. But now she knew the truth, knew how threatened he must have felt.

  It was better that way. Juanca had been a good man in some regards; kind, funny, loving, but in the long run, being with her would have made him unhappy. His constant requests for space were just a false front behind which he hid other insecurities.

  Javier, in a roundabout way, reminded her of him. Same kind of family, same kind of upbringing and same soft-spoken personality.