Steve and Gordon went straight to their cubicles, too tired even to walk straight. When Steve opened his door, he saw Tim sprawled face-down on the bottom bunk, asleep in his soot-blackened clothes. Steve sat down and tugged vaguely at his bootlaces for a minute before waking enough to do the job properly. He got out of his anorak and found himself shivering. The big electric baseboard heater was turned up to maximum, but the cubicle was almost freezing. At least the upper bunk would be a bit warmer. He found a spare blanket and put it over Tim, then heaved himself into the upper bunk.
“What time?” Tim mumbled.
“Almost 2100. Go back to sleep.” Steve zipped himself into his bag and leaned out to turn off the light.
“Why don’t you go see Penny?” Tim asked.
“The idea occurred to me. But I’m just too goddamned tired.”
“Well, you better do something t’morrow, man.” Tim’s voice was a thick monotone. “Sure don’ wanna cross the ice with you mopin’ around lookin’ sorry for yourself.”
Too restless to sleep, Penny went for a walk to the greenhouse. The lights burned as brightly as ever, but it was uncomfortably cold; many of the plants had already died. She picked some seed pods from the sweet peas and tucked them into her shirt pocket. A little scandalised at herself for her sentimentality, she decided to go back to bed.
The bunk was cold, and stayed cold. She wondered what it would be like out on the Shelf, sleeping in the Nodwell or one of the wanigans, with the wind crashing against the walls; and she felt a touch of the midnight horrors as she imagined them all freezing in some endless blizzard. They might write letters home, like Scott, but no one would come to seek those last documents.
Everyone was up early the next morning, and Penny and Terry worked frantically to get them all fed. Then the others dispersed and the mess hall was chilly and silent.
“Right, forget the dishes,” Terry said. “We got to start sorting through the shelves and see what goes and what stays.”
It was hard work, lugging out crates of food from the stores room and into a corner of the mess hall. Terry and Carter argued about what would be needed, with Terry usually getting his way. Even so, the amount of food they would take did not seem very large.
“Carter and his fussing about ‘acceptable loads’,” Terry growled. “Worries about fuel for the damn tractors and forgets fuel for the damn people. Well, as long as everyone gets plenty of carbohydrates and protein, we’ll manage. Right now — let’s lay on some lunch.”
It was a cheerful meal, with conversations sputtering at every table and men moving about to see how other groups were doing. When Herm Northrop came in, Penny handed him a bowl of clam chowder and three big sandwiches.
“When do you shut down?” she asked.
“Last thing. We’re only running at 5 per cent capacity now.” He smiled a little uncertainly. “I’m not sure I’m sad or relieved to be leaving the core here.”
“It’ll be safe till spring, won’t it?”
“Oh, no doubt. Still — it’s a little like leaving a sleeping baby alone in the house.”
There was no seminar that night. A tense quiet filled the station, broken by the occasional snarl of a power saw or the scuffling footsteps of men hauling loads up to the newly repaired ramp. The wind picked up, and by midnight the tunnels were full of blowing snow. The tarpaulins banged and flapped. Carter went out to the men working on the vehicles, and ordered them inside.
The wanigans — and two extra sledges — were finished by noon on the 5th. After lunch the sledges were loaded and covered with tarps. The wanigans, little more than A-frame plywood boxes lined with fibreglass insulation, were equipped with stoves and battery-powered lamps. After looking inside one, Penny was guiltily relieved to be assigned to a proper bunk in the back of the Nodwell.
Most people took a nap that afternoon, but Steve and Tim spent the time analysing the last of the seismographic data, and Colin made weather observations from the dome. The wind had died down again, but an overcast had turned the moon to a white blur; there would be snow by morning, but not enough to force a delay.
Supper was quiet. As people finished, they drifted out by ones and twos to check for forgotten items, or to haul last duffel bags and instrument cases out to the vehicles.
All of Penny’s gear was already aboard the Nodwell; she went back to her cubicle to dress, and went out for a last walk in the tunnels. The duckboards were already drifted ankle-deep in snow that rose like fine mud in a disturbed pond as she walked through it. After a minute or two she realised that the tunnels and the huts were empty. The symphonic roar of the vehicles echoed against the high walls, but that was the only sign of life. She turned at the end of Tunnel D and began walking towards the ramp and the outside.
The lights went out without warning. She gasped and stumbled, then caught her balance. The darkness seemed total, and the noise from outside disorientated her, made her feel she was in a far narrower space. Groping, she took a few steps, then a few more. — What if they leave me?
A light flashed on in the darkness ahead of her, and she heard men’s voices.
“Hello?” she called.
The light swung round and dazzled her.
“Aha,” said Herm Northrop. “Sneaking in after curfew, eh?”
“What on earth are you doing down here?” Carter asked. “I thought everyone was outside by now.”
Their dark figures, much like the shadow fantasies she had just imagined, came close. Carter patted her shoulder, and guided her towards the little circle of light that Herm’s flash made on the drifted floor. They followed it out into the cold.
Chapter 13 – Traverse
The air stank of diesel fumes, burned wood and scorched metal. Penny was glad to get into the rear of the Nodwell. It was rather like a trailer, with a sink, a chemical toilet and several canvas bunks rolled up against the walls. Apart from a narrow, divided windscreen in the driver’s cab, the only window was a small porthole set in the rear door. No one seemed interested in looking outside; the five people in the passenger compartment were trying to shout to each other over the noise of the engines. Katerina was sitting on one of the bunks and made room for Penny. Herm, Don Treadwell and Ray Crandall sat amiably crowded on the bunk opposite; Sean McNally, their driver, was up in the cab.
The vehicles’ noise changed pitch, and the Nodwell lurched slowly forward. The convoy was heading Grid North-East, towards the scree slope where Will and Tim had descended to the Shelf. The two snowmobiles went first, ridden by Gordon and Roger. Next went Sno-Cat 1, with Will driving. Its wanigan, riding on a sledge, carried Steve, Carter and Ben. Tim drove Sno-Cat 2; his passengers were Terry, Max and Colin. The D8 was Howie’s, with Gerry and Bruce as passengers. Tom Vernon drove the D4 with only George Hills as a regular passenger; Gordon and Roger would use the D4 wanigan for sleeping and foul-weather shelter. The Nodwell came last.
No one in the Nodwell said anything about leaving the station; conversations centred on the weather and the likely condition of the surface once they got down on to the Shelf. Penny found herself feeling a little depressed about it, and guessed the others were, too.
Compared to the Sno-Cats, Penny found the Nodwell relatively smooth-riding, but slow and noisy. There was frost on the walls and floor, though at head level it was warm. To heat the whole cabin above freezing was impossible: it would mean risking wet feet every time someone came in from outside, and the snow that would inevitably blow inside would melt and soak into everything. Every time the tractor went over a bump, there was a grating noise from the roof of the cabin, where a portable crevasse bridge was lashed down.