For the next hour, Cooper and the other Polies watched as Sri and Bozer traded wins on the felt—to their delight, each man was an accomplished player—and for those sixty minutes, it almost seemed like nothing had changed. It was as if the entire polar winter lay before them, uninterrupted.
As Cooper finished off one of Pearl’s chocolate cupcakes, Tucker pulled her aside. The sunglasses were gone, and so was the Bell’s palsy. “You’re better,” she exclaimed.
“Doc Carla has been giving me prednisone. Sometimes it helps with Bell’s palsy. Listen, I’m leaving tonight for Washington—Scaletta thinks I can help with the negotiations. Something about my cool gaze.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Cooper said.
“You are in very capable hands down here.” He took her bandaged hand. “Do you remember chasing me down the hall back in Denver to tell me why you wanted to come to South Pole?”
Cooper flushed at the memory and smiled weakly. “Yeah, and you bought it.”
“No, you told me the truth. You told me you were afraid. That’s when I knew you’d be okay here. For none but cowards need to prove their bravery, right?”
Tucker’s radio crackled and Cooper could hear a tech sergeant barking orders, the sound of a plane’s engine roaring in the background. “I might not see you before I leave.”
“So this is goodbye, then.”
“As Jimi Hendrix once said, ‘The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye, the story of love is hello and goodbye … until we meet again.’”
“As Tucker Bollinger once said, ‘Quoting others suggests avoidance.’”
“A wise man.”
*
The next morning, as the last LC-130 to land at Pole, the one that was meant to take the rest of them off the ice, idled on the skiway, Cooper climbed down a ladder into the Utilidors with the other occupying Polies. With each step down, the scream of the plane’s engines grew fainter. Above her, Floyd pulled the trapdoor closed and locked it. Below, the core group stood waiting, silent, their eyes wide above their balaclavas. Cooper reached the last rung and dropped down next to Sal. “Can’t they just open the door and find us?” she asked.
Overhearing this, Bozer snapped, “Not where we’re going. Now follow me.” Silently, they made their way down the dark tunnel. It appeared endless, lined with corrugated metal and lighted by caged incandescents. All species of wire snaked across the ground, appearing to meld into a single cable in the far distance. Running along the walls of the Utilidor were the sewer, electrical, and data cables—Cooper imagined e-mails and fax messages coursing down this metal helix as she passed it.
She paused for Sal, and they allowed themselves to fall behind. He pinched the zipper of her parka between his fingers and pulled it up so it was completely closed, and took her face in his mittened hands—to his delight, Cooper had returned to him the dirty black Gore-Tex she’d found in skua, which she’d used to complete that triptych all those months ago. “I would like nothing more than to hole up with you for the next six months in a place where nobody can find us,” he said. “That being said, I have to ask you one last time: Are you ready to do this?”
Cooper placed her hands on his. “This is like the Malibu Barbie Dreamhouse of unreachable civilizations,” she said. “Maybe it’s wrong to say, but I’m not upset this is happening.”
Up ahead, the others were obscured by a veil of steam, which made them appear ghost-like as the pale light filtered through the vapor. For a moment, Cooper was startled; it was as if the image on David’s copy of Worst Journey, of the three men in a backlit ice cavern, had sprung to life. “Everything okay?” Sal asked. Cooper nodded, and together they headed toward the phantom figures.
By the time they caught up, Bozer had already opened the metal door leading to the Tomb, where the Man Without Country lay hidden behind stacks of empty crates, wrapped in plastic sheeting. When they stepped inside, Bozer started to close the door, then stopped.
“Last chance for losers,” he said. “You can still make the plane.”
The group, huddled together in front of what Cooper knew was a frozen catafalque, blinked back at him.
“Occupy or die,” Cooper said.
“Occupy or die,” Marcy replied.
“I refuse to shout slogans, but I’m in,” Doc Carla said wearily.
“Then I will: Occupy or fucking die!” Floyd shouted.
“Lower your voice, you dipshit,” Bozer said. “Come on, let’s go deal with the feds now. Marce, Pearlie, game-time. Dwight’s waiting in Comms.”
Cooper watched as the officially approved caretaking staff—Pearl, Marcy, Doc Carla, and Bozer—stepped out of the room, leaving the rest of them in the shadows thrown by an electric lantern. “Once we’re sweet, I’ll come get you.” Bozer looked at Cooper, Sal, Denise, and Alek. “Last chance.”
“Go,” Alek growled. Bozer pulled the door closed. A moment later, they heard the key turn in the lock. Sal pulled Cooper close.
No one spoke for a while. The silence revealed the faraway roar of the idling plane. Eventually, Denise cleared her throat. “Because of the unusual circumstances, no one underwent the mid-season psych exam. It’ll be interesting to see how a control group wintering over without the psych assessment functions under stress.”
Before anyone could reply, raised voices could be heard echoing through the Utildors. “Here they come,” Sal murmured. Cooper tried to imagine the scene that would unfold if the tech sergeant and his minions found them in the Tomb, huddling behind a locked door, with a corpse for company.
The voices grew louder, followed by the sound of heavy boots hurrying through the tunnels. Next to Cooper, Denise fidgeted, her hands like birds that couldn’t quite get settled. Cooper placed her hand on Denise’s knee, but this only seemed to make things worse.
“Wintering-over exacts intense pressure on the individual psyche,” she said, her voice strained. “We rely on social contracts more than we would in any other scenario you can conjure. One study shows that after a winter in Antarctica, at least five percent of people on station can be deemed clinically insane.”
The footsteps were getting closer.
“Be quiet, woman,” Alek said angrily.
But Denise seemed unable to stop. She stood up suddenly. “But of course that assumes a standard population, not self-selected potential felons.”
“Sit down, Denise,” Sal said soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay. Bozer will come get us once the plane is airborne. But right now you need to be quiet.” Denise didn’t seem to hear him. She approached the door.
“The point of sharing that is not to scare you guys, but to remind you of the stakes, and to encourage you to invest in sanity.”