Last Defence Against the Cold

The sky was red, and so was the ice. As the helicopter’s noise receded, the five new arrivals heard for the first time the natural silence of this place, vast and alien. Turning from the wind, they started their scuffing walk towards the mountain.
The sun sent their shadows ahead of them, long and rippling on the uneven ice. This path was safe, marked with dozens of flags, but the rest of the ice shelf was racked with hidden fissures and cracks that could only hint at the terrible pressures below.
Ahead, the mountain rose black against the sky. For millennia, this ancient range had lain beneath the ice, where most of it still was. But now its highest peak had been revealed, sent ahead to scout, as the ice around it melted.
Its shape was asymmetrical, a ragged ring of upward-reaching stone, cradling a low rocky plateau. It was there, sheltered from the worst of the weather, that the base had been built. It was in perfect condition, finished just weeks earlier, and these newcomers would be the second team to ever stay here. There were two buildings, both of them smooth and expensive. The taller of the two leaned against the mountain, sheltered by the natural curvature of stone. That one housed the enormous geo-core drill, which had been brought here overland last year, at terrible cost.
The other building in the camp was low, crouched like a blister over a depression in the rock. As the five scientists descended the cut-out steps to its door, they were relieved to escape the sting of the wind. This would be their home for the next month, as they worked at the cutting edge of the research they’d devoted their lives to.
They were excited.

⸏

Grace

Tuesday

When Grace saw the front door, she had a moment of panic, felt in her pockets for what she knew wasn’t there. (What if they were locked out? What if everyone had been depending on her to remember the key?) She grabbed the handle, just in case, and it moved easily. The door swung open.
“No lock,” she observed aloud, trying to hide her relief.
“If a burglar makes it here, they deserve a break,” Claudia replied, voice muffled by the scarf she’d wrapped around her face.
Grace led the way in, and the rest of them followed. Quiet fell as the door closed, blocking the hiss of the wind. Although they’d just spent hours together in the helicopter, it’d been too loud to chat, and now they were all hesitant to break the silence.
This first space was an anteroom for storing outdoor clothes, and it was a tight fit for five people with rucksacks. The others awkwardly waved their arms behind them to dislodge their bags, then began the process of unzipping and unlacing, revealing the person-shapes beneath the layers. Grace pushed herself into the corner so they could move more freely.
She and Claudia had met once before, at a conference, but the rest were strangers. She watched them as they undressed, running through their names for the hundredth time, still worried she might forget. Vincent Paul, botanist, a thirty-something American with a pink face. Rowan Lang, geological engineer, tall and brown and smiling. Lee Davis, mountaineer and sociologist, a small woman with short hair. Each of them had their own research to do here. Each had been carefully chosen by their faraway patron.
As the others opened the interior door and drained out into the hallway beyond, Grace unclipped her pack and wriggled it off her shoulders, then took a deep breath, finally unburdened. Her gloves came off, and she opened her bag to take out indoor shoes, starting the laborious-but-familiar changing process.
In the hall, Rowan called out, “I’ve just rebooted the heaters,” and Grace called back her thanks, too quietly for him to hear. It couldn’t be more than five degrees in this room, and her breath was forming little clouds as it left her.

⸏

They each had their own boxy bedroom, which was generous considering the size of the base. On the boat in Greenland she’d had to share a cabin this size with two other women, who would chat to each other in French, always assuming that Grace didn’t understand, or wasn’t listening. But Grace was always listening, always present and aware, or at least, she tried to be.
She took out her photos of Phyllo and Puff, stuck them carefully onto the wall. Her candy stash fit neatly at the back of a drawer, with clothes piled in front. Then, with little else to unpack, she went to find the others.
The layout of the base was already familiar to all of them, from documents they’d been given months ago. There were bedrooms along one side of the hall, bathrooms opposite; the anteroom on one end, and a common room on the other. She could hear conversation from the common room now, and smelled coffee, so that’s where she went.
“Pretty eclectic mix of stuff,” came Vincent’s voice from the storeroom that adjoined the kitchen. “I can’t read half of these labels.”
“We have a very international group,” Lee replied, taking a coffee pot from the induction stove. “Same as the one that came before, and the one that will come next. If the pantry has what we each requested, an ‘eclectic mix’ is only natural.”
Vincent didn’t hear her. “There’s a surprising amount of real food though. Benefit of the private sector I guess. Potatoes, beans, some kind of Swedish rye cracker—”
“Knäckebröd?”
Again, Vincent didn’t hear. Grace wondered if he was a bit deaf. She made eye contact with Lee, who shrugged and offered her a cup, which she gladly accepted. As Grace took a seat and looked around at everyone, actively aware, she saw that Lee was doing the same thing, and then their eyes met again, inky black to inky black, and Grace ducked her head, embarrassed.
“Right, I’m making falafel for dinner,” Vincent announced, exiting the storeroom. His skin was all pink in the warming air. “Should I make enough for all of us? There’s plenty garbanzos.” He held up the can, showing the label.
“Sounds good,” Rowan said, wandering over.
“I’d like some, if it’s no trouble,” Grace said. Her mother had taught her that accepting food from new people was an easy way to make friends, and besides, she was hungry.
Claudia walked in with a tablet under her arm.
“You want falafel?” Vincent called to her.
“Sure, but I think my body clock is still set to about 4 a.m.”
Claudia sat down beside Grace, turning on the tablet and opening a file. The screen filled with a title: Team Building Exercise.
“What’s this?” Grace asked quietly, gesturing to the tablet.
“Oh? Just questions. No ropes course or any bullshit like that, don’t worry.” She grinned. “Hopefully it won’t be too painful.”
Grace considered, gathered herself, then plunged ahead: “Hey, you know what they say about glaciologists.”
“What?”
Here it was. Her great joke. “We know all about breaking the ice.”
Claudia groaned, laughed, shoved her arm.

⸏

They moved from the couch to the table when the food was ready.
“So I set up this thing,” Claudia said. “When it’s your turn with the tablet, you press the ‘random’ button, and a question will come up. You tell us your answer, and then pass the tablet to the next person. Lee, you want to go first? Because you’re not eating.”
“Sure.” Lee took the tablet, and Claudia served herself falafel and plum sauce.
“My question is:” (she pushed the button) “‘What are your research goals for the next month?’ Well. I’m a sociologist. I’m studying how small groups of people interact when they’re… stuck together, like this. Limited outside contact, no real option to leave early. So I’ll look at who gets on with who and why. Not in a nosey way, I hope.” She scratched her neck. “Some of you may know, our employer has an interest in space travel. He requested I focus on which personality types combine for the most successful missions. So, my research goal is just to see whether my theories pan out in our particular group.”
Something clicked in Grace’s mind. “Was that why we didn’t have any group calls or anything before we got here? I mean, did you want to see how we all got on, having never met?”
Lee was nodding. “Exactly. And it isn’t so unusual these days, especially for a short trip to an established base.” In other words, a low-risk expedition…
“So it’d be different if we were here in winter, or in a tent.”
“Right,” Lee said, passing the tablet to Vincent, who finished his mouthful and coughed.
“My question,” he announced. “is: ‘What is an important personal item that you’ve brought from home.’ That’s got to be my gun. So that’s a short answer from me. Should I do another— what?” It had taken him a moment to notice the effect of his words.
“Why on Earth would you bring a gun to Antarctica,” Rowan asked flatly.
“I bring it everywhere! Surely none of you have an issue with guns, given who hired us.”
“I think we’re just curious about your thought process,” Grace said, trying for diplomacy. “It’s not like there’s polar bears down here.”
“Oh. No, it’s,” he paused, wiped his mouth. “It was a gift from my Pops. I don’t keep it loaded. I take it apart and clean it when I’m thinking hard about something. Helps my process.”
“Did you bring bullets?” Rowan asked.
Vincent looked at him frankly. “No, I did not.”
Rowan sat back, slowly unclenching his jaw.
“You want to go next?” Vincent asked him, offering the tablet.
“Okay.” Rowan sighed as he took it. “‘What’s something in your normal life that you’re glad to get a break from?’ …I guess my neighbourhood. For the last few months I’ve lived in this really shitty apartment, with loud angry neighbours. I’m glad to put a world between me and that noise.” He passed the tablet along with no further comment.
Grace found herself staring at the next question, and read it aloud: “‘Who or what will you miss the most while you’re here?’ Um, my cats. And the pizza place near my house.”
“What are your cats’ names?” Claudia asked, accepting the tablet back.
“Phyllo and Puff. A little Siamese and a Maine Coon.”
“Cute,” Claudia said, smiling. “My question is, ‘Apart from your main qualifications, what skills make you most useful to this expedition?’ Well, I’m a meteorologist, and I specialise in Antarctic weather systems, but aside from that… I’m pretty good on the piano, if anyone brought one.”

⸏

Later that evening, there was a knock at her open door. She looked up to see Rowan, still in his day clothes, laptop under his arm.
“Two things,” he said. “First, my copy of the OU38 geochem paper got corrupted somehow, and I was wondering if you had a copy I could… copy.”
“Oh, yes,” Grace said, searching for the file. She studied volcanoes and ice sheets, so she had some professional overlap with Rowan. “Here. Are you on the base intranet? I can drop it in your shared folder.”
“Yep, my computer’s called ‘Roaming Rowan’—”
“Got it. There you go.” She smiled up at him, but saw he was distracted, staring at the photos on her wall. “What was the second thing?”
“I was going to ask about your cats, but here they are. How old are they?”
“Three and five. They went to stay with my Mom while I’m down here, and they hate travel. So I’ll need to pick up some extra special cat treats on my way home.”
“Or they’ll be grumpy at you?”
“So grumpy!”
He grinned. “I had a Siamese, growing up. She used to yell at me, we’d have great conversations. But now I have a big white lab. He’s with my parents at the moment, wouldn’t fit in my apartment. Wish I’d thought to bring pictures. I miss him. He’d always follow me around the house.”
“What’s his name?” Grace asked.
“Spirit. Not my idea, I adopted him, and you’re not s’posed to change their names once they know them, y’know.”
“Makes sense.” She could feel the conversation ebbing, and that made her nervous. “You mentioned your neighbours are awful?”
“Yeah, but I actually moved out last weekend, so I’ll never have to go back there.” He coughed. “What about you? What’ve you been looking forward to getting away from?”
Grace thought. “Just family dramas.”
“Mhmm?”
How much information should she give? “My little sister’s joined a cult.” His eyes widened. “I mean, it seems like a relatively harmless one, but I know that can change fast. They believe in like, aliens, and ‘space Jesus’, occasional LSD… Most of them just want to escape the real world, one way or another.” Grace, in contrast, was obsessively focused on the here-and-now; that was her way of coping with what had happened. “Mom’s been frantic about it, but I don’t think there’s that much we can do. My sister’s 19. Cops aren’t interested. So, of course I’ll still be worried about her while I’m here, but at least I won’t have to be constantly reassuring my mom.”
Rowan nodded slowly. “That sucks. Are they both back in Ontario?”
“Yeah. Long way away.”
Silence threatened again, but it seemed more comfortable somehow. They weren’t total strangers anymore.
“Thank you for that file,” Rowan said, smiling crookedly. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Grace echoed as he left.

⸏

She had a strange, short dream, forgotten before she woke up. There was a tiny opening along her skull, an old vulnerability, and her mother and sister were crying, their tears seeping into her head like rain into cracked earth, and then, stirring, she remembered she was in Antarctica, and she was afraid the water in her head would freeze and expand, splitting her open.

⸏

Hours later in the night, a scream sliced through the silence, trailing with agony into a rattling groan that sounded fully inhuman.
At once, everyone was leaning into the hallway, peering at each other in alarm. Vincent had his gun. The greyish glow from the skylight made them all look ill and afraid. They listened in silence, in case the sound repeated, but there was nothing.
Lee strode to the end of the hall, opening the solid door to the antechamber where they’d left their coats.
“What are you—”
“Shh!” she hissed, listening. With that door open, the hall’s temperature began to drop, and they could hear the wind rushing outside, pushing against the outer door.
Grace hugged her comforter tighter around her shoulders, and felt a sudden heat on her hand. Looking down, she saw a red spot, then another drop falling in just the same place, widening the circle.
“Hell,” Vincent murmured, watching her. “Anyone got kleenex?”
“Yep,” Claudia answered at once, pulling a little pack of tissues from her dressing gown pocket.
“What’s wrong?” Lee asked, returning from the antechamber.
“Just a nosebleed,” Grace said wetly, pressing a handful of tissues to her nose. “I probably got up too fast.” Claudia steered her back to bed, sat her down.
“It’s windy outside,” said Lee. “Could be that something broke, scraped against the roof to make that noise. We can check tomorrow.”
“Do we have any security cameras?” Vincent asked. He’d fetched a full box of tissues, which he now placed on a shelf by Grace’s door. She nodded her thanks.
“Oh!” Rowan dashed away from the doorway where they’d gathered to watch Grace bleed. Another door opened somewhere.
“Was that a yes?” Vincent followed him, and Lee waited in the hall, a midpoint between groups.
“They’ve gone to the Utilities room,” she said after a moment, explaining to the other women. “There’s a couple of cameras outside, for tracking weather conditions. Don’t know if they’ll show anything.”
“Do you want to join them? I don’t mind,” Grace said. “I’m used to nosebleeds.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Claudia said.
“Okay. Back soon,” Lee told them.
A minute passed. The handfuls of red in Grace’s hands reminded her of a bouquet.
“Is it slowing down?”
“Almost stopped.” A difficult smile.
“What could’ve made that noise? Our insulation is so thick, but it was still so loud.”
“Maybe a yeti,” Grace suggested.
“Oh no, he comes all the way out here for some peace, and we still come and bother him? Poor guy. Or maybe it’s ghosts…”
Grace almost snorted. “What ghosts? No-one’s ever died in this part of Antarctica, not that I know of anyway.” It took her a moment to realise that Claudia had stiffened.
“You, um. You didn’t hear?”
“What?”
“The equipment was too heavy for a helicopter, and they couldn’t land a plane on the ice because it kept changing, so they had to drag it here, overland. But two of the workers, they fell. It was a freak accident, a crack in the ice that other people had already crossed.”
Grace lowered the tissues from her face, stunned.
“They were hurt?”
“It was a very deep crack. They died right away. From what I heard, even their bodies couldn’t be recovered.”
Grace reeled, like a crevasse had opened beneath her too. Couldn’t be recovered. She fought to keep her breathing even, shoving her panic deep down, trying to let it freeze over. Keep it frozen, don’t think about it, don’t remember. “What— but, they would’ve been so experienced, to get a job like that. How,” (Claudia’s words were still echoing in her head), “how could that happen?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Claudia said, worried by her reaction. “I thought you already knew.”
“What an awful way to die,” Grace whispered.