Trekking overland on a snowmobile or a snowcat in the middle of an Antarctic winter would normally be considered suicidal, but—in light of the living hell that Shackleton had become—the term had lost any meaning. With enough fuel and maybe an emergency kit or an MRE or three under the seat, a snowcat would give you even odds of surviving long enough to get to Orlova. A snowmobile, open to the elements, would be a shot in the dark, though still better than freezing to death or waiting to be killed and having your body parts propped up in a shrine.
But with a fire hot enough to melt the walls fifty feet away, there was nothing with a track or a wheel or a tire left whole in the VMF. And that meant there was just one way to escape: a thirty-mile trek alone, on foot, during winter, in the darkest night. Something no one had attempted in the hundred-year history of Antarctica. Because it wasn’t possible.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered to herself. “I’ve got nothing left.”
Is it time to give up?
She groaned. “Leave me the fuck alone.”
That’s not what this trip was about , the voice persisted. You were supposed to dig down deep and find out something about yourself you didn’t know before .
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
No one signs up for the hardest thing in their life .
“Jesus Christ.”
Get up .
“Fuck off.”
Get up. Or die .
Crying, spitting, cursing, she rolled to her hands and knees and crawled. First, a few yards, then thirty. At fifty, she staggered to her feet, away from the reek of the burning garage, and stumbled down the corridor. Ahead was the warehouse—with enough food to keep her alive for twenty years, but nothing to keep her warm unless she set fire to the place—and the power plant, which might be intact, but likely sabotaged or damaged beyond her ability to fix.
She banged through the door to the warehouse and on into the cavernous warehouse. Her light illuminated once-familiar racks of dried goods and supplies; in the complete darkness, though, it seemed like she’d wandered into some post-apocalyptic storehouse. Her footsteps rang hollow on the metal floor as she hurried down the center aisle. She flicked her flashlight from side to side, washing the sacks and boxes in a brief, stark light, before pointing the beam in front of her to guide her steps. Her goal was at the back of the warehouse and it was her last shot.
She sniffed. The air had become fresher and cleaner as she’d moved away from the VMF. The Beer Can is functioning as a chimney, drawing the fumes and smoke away . A small consolation, but she was at least able to stop pressing her hands to her face just to breathe. Great. She could die with a cold, frigid lungful of air instead of asphyxiating.
“Shut up,” she said savagely. The time for giving up and dying was over. If she hadn’t thrown her hands up and cashed it in after discovering the fire, then now wasn’t the time to take cheap shots at herself.
“Cass?”
She stumbled back at the sound of her name, gasping as though a cold hand had slipped inside her chest and seized her heart. It clenched painfully in her chest before starting again with a reluctant thud. Whipping the flashlight to her left, she got a brief view of a short, round figure bundled in the thick layers of an expedition parka, fat gloves, and enormous bunny boots before light flooded her eyes, blinding her.
Cass winced and threw up a hand. “Biddi?”
The light left her face and the figure peeled off a glove to pull down the mouth covering of the balaclava. The apple-cheeked face of her friend peered out of the fur-lined hood, giving her a weak grin. “In the frozen flesh, dearie.”
Cass exclaimed an inarticulate noise and hugged Biddi, barely able to feel her friend’s body through the thick layers of the parka. Biddi hugged back, then pushed her away to look at her. “Speaking of frozen flesh, what the hell are you wearing?”
Cass wiped her tears away before they could freeze. “Seven shitty layers of clothes stolen from half the rooms on base.”
Biddi made an “oh” sound and tugged her arm. “Get over here, you dummy. There’s a whole cage full of emergency supplies lying here in piles just waiting to be used.”
Her friend turned and waddled away, playing the beam from her flashlight over the stiff, steel wire of the emergency rack. She carried a mountaineer’s ice axe in her other hand.
“Biddi, what the hell happened while I was locked up? There are . . .” Cass choked as images flooded into her head. Instinct and self-survival had compartmentalized all the horrors she’d seen, tucking them away so she could focus on basic survival. But asking Biddi the simple question brought all the scenes back in a rush. “I saw bodies. Hanratty and Dave. And the Lifeboat.”
Biddi opened the gate to the ECW cage and threw it back with a clang that made Cass wince. Her friend searched her face. “They didn’t make it?”
“You didn’t know?”
Biddi shook her head. “The day after I visited you, there was a terrible riot. It was a . . . a mutiny, of sorts. A bunch of others were hurt in the aftermath.”
“Oh my God.”