8
OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA
NOW
Under the glare of the overhead spotlights, Dima sat at one of the tables pressing a wad of napkins to his forehead. Dad rummaged through a first aid kit, but it was obvious he didn’t have a clue what he was doing, and was just trying to look busy. Mum had gone to the Medical Station in the East Tunnel – she said it was better to bring what she needed rather than try to move Dima in this state.
Zak was squatting close to the bottom of the spiral staircase, with his back to the bloodstain on the floor. He was studying the broken pieces of shell that had crunched under their boots earlier.
‘What do they look like to you?’ he said to May who was sitting on the stairs.
‘I dunno.’
‘They look like beetle wings.’
‘I already told you; there’s no beetles in Antarctica.’
The shards were as black as death but when he turned his head Zak could see hints of red and green and blue. ‘There’s loads of them. They’re everywhere.’ He gestured at the broken pieces scattered around The Hub.
‘Got to be something else,’ May said.
‘Like what? What do you think they are, Dad?’
‘We’ll ask the Project members when we find them.’ Dad continued to sort through the first aid kit. ‘What’s taking your mum so long? What’s she—’
The door to the East Tunnel hissed and Mum came back into The Hub. She went straight to where Dima was sitting and opened the small box she’d brought with her. ‘This’ll do the trick.’ She took out a gadget that looked like a chef’s blowtorch, and fiddled with a couple of dials on the side of it. Dima moaned when she moved his hand away from the cut and wiped it clean before switching on the instrument. A dull red glow appeared at its tip.
‘What’s that?’ May went over to watch.
‘This, my darling, is a very sophisticated Dermal Adhesion Unit.’
‘Which is?’
‘Basically, it’s a glue gun. It seals the wound.’
‘Oh.’ May leant closer, watching how Mum pinched Dima’s cut together with one hand and touched the tip of the instrument against it. ‘You mean it heals him?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘Cool.’ Zak risked a peek despite feeling squeamish at the sight of all the gore. ‘How does it work?’
‘Haven’t a clue; I just know it does.’ Mum didn’t take her eyes off what she was doing.
‘It’s awesome.’ Zak watched as Dima’s skin glued back together. ‘But also kind of disgusting.’
As the wound grew smaller, a large glob of blood welled up and plopped out, running down Dima’s forehead. Zak turned away. ‘Gross.’
‘Wimp.’ May smiled.
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are. Can’t stand a bit of blood?’
‘Well, it is pretty rank.’
‘Why don’t you two go and sit over there?’ Dad suggested, and Zak was pleased for the excuse to walk away.
‘I want to watch,’ May complained.
‘I think it’s best if you two stick together,’ Mum said.
Reluctantly, May joined Zak and they perched themselves on the edge of the L-shaped sofa, neither of them settling back into the impressions left by the previous occupants. It would have been too much like lying in someone else’s bed. Or grave.
‘Don’t you think it’s freaky?’ May said.
‘The skin thing? Totally. It’s disgusting.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I meant the way everything came back on? I mean, it’s like someone knew we needed the power. When you think about it, the same thing happened when we were trying to land. Literally the same thing.’ May had taken off her gloves and was picking at the nail polish on one finger. ‘If they hadn’t come on, we’d have crashed. It’s like they came back on exactly when we needed them. Both times.’ She broke off a small black flake. ‘That’s weird, right?’
‘Yeah. Like everything else in this place.’ He stood and paced backwards and forwards a couple of times before heading to the window. Flurries still twisted and swirled out there, but the worst of the storm had died down and visibility was better than before. The landing strip beacons shone into the mist like giant yellow lightsabers. Zak counted fifteen lights on each side of the runway, and between the twelfth, Dima’s plane sat on the compacted ice, tilted forward as if it had lost its balance.
Zak put his face closer to the window and cupped his hands to block out the reflection from inside The Hub. He squinted at the plane, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The front skid of the aircraft was missing, that’s why it was tilted forward, but that wasn’t the only thing wrong with it. Similar to the MRV, it looked as if someone had taken a massive bite out of it. The cockpit was torn open and a large, jagged piece of metal the size of a garage door lay on the runway. Beside it were the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats, torn from their fixings and tossed aside like someone had dumped some old rubbish.
Digging his phone from his pocket, Zak switched on the camera, held it against the window and zoomed in as far as it would go. He focused on the cockpit of the plane. The picture was fuzzy but it was obvious all the instruments were gone. All those switches Dima had flicked, all those controls he had used, all those warnings that had flashed on and off, were gone. Not broken or smashed-up; gone.
‘My God, what happened?’ May startled him.
‘I… don’t know,’ he said. ‘But it’s not going to fly us out of here.’
‘Mum? Dad? You’d better come and see this.’
‘What is it, May, we’re busy?’ Mum was inspecting Dima’s wound, checking it would stay sealed.
‘Seriously, you want to see this.’
Dad’s expression darkened. ‘See what?’
‘The plane,’ Zak said. ‘It’s the same as the MRV; like something took a bite out of it.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Dad came over. ‘You’d better not be—’ He stopped in his tracks when he saw it. ‘Oh my God.’ Then Mum was coming over to see, and even Dima managed to shuffle over to the window.
They stood in a line, gaping at what was left of the aircraft.
‘Moy samolyet,’ Dima whispered. ‘My plane. This is not khorosho. Not at all.’
Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before looking again. ‘What could have done that?’
‘Well, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t penguins.’ Dima managed just one sentence before his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor.
9
OUTPOST ZERO, ANTARCTICA
NOW
Dad helped Dima to the L-shaped sofa by the pool table, while Mum nagged him, saying he shouldn’t be moving about. ‘You’ve probably got concussion,’ she said. ‘And you’ve lost a lot of blood. You need to sit down and stay sitting down.’
When she mentioned blood, Zak looked over at the patch of it drying on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. There were drips and splashes where Dima had been lying. And the bloody paper towels were gross. The place was like a crime scene.
‘Zak? May? Why don’t you two see if you can find Dima something to eat?’ Mum pointed to the kitchen at the far side of the Hub. ‘And bring some water.’
Zak could tell Mum and Dad wanted them out of the way, and as soon as they went to the kitchen he heard Dad say, ‘What the hell is going on here?’ He had never been much good at whispering. ‘Where is everyone? And the plane? I don’t want to frighten the kids, but this isn’t good.’