The Dying of the Light: Interval Page 2

  A few minutes later, he was inside.

  “I’m fine, Diego. Just patch me up, please,” he said to the burly medic. He was soon cursing as the hydrogen peroxide killed whatever bugs might’ve survived the harsh Antarctic cold, and then wincing as Diego applied a bandage. He refrained from saying anything about the rough treatment, because Diego had a nasty temper, and he was the last medic they had.

  “Is it true?” Diego asked. “Did they take the plane and leave?”

  Arturo sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then we have no way home.”

  “Our government will come for us, Diego. I promise. I’ve already received assurances…”

  Diego seemed to be listening at first as Arturo ran through all the platitudes his superiors had ordered him to give the men, but eventually he turned away to clean up the bloody remnants of the bandages he’d used to stop the bleeding.

  Arturo finally stopped talking, knowing that his words were falling on deaf ears. “Madre de Dios, qué haremos nosotros ahora?” he whispered to himself. What will we do now?

  Zhongshan (Sun Yat-Sen) Station

  Antarctica

  “Stop!” Jiayi Sun steadied his aim, hoping that the running figure would stop, yet knowing that it wouldn’t.

  “Jiayi, don’t!” Li screamed. “You can’t!”

  He ignored her. As the administrator for the base, this was his duty, drilled into him by his instructors—to prevent the spread of infection to safeguard the people under his command, by any means necessary. It didn’t matter why the man wanted to leave, just that he did.

  And, more importantly, that he’d wanted to take others with him.

  Jiayi found himself without fear, without remorse or guilt. Deshi had brought this on himself. He was a traitor to his people, to his home, to their way of life.

  The round caught the fleeing man just under his right shoulder blade and he spun around and collapsed into the snow.

  Li pounded on Jiayi’s chest, his arms, his back. The administrator simply stood there, the pistol he’d used to kill the fleeing scientist hanging smoking and still in his hand. He didn’t feel her blows, didn’t even acknowledge her existence. He might have been carved out of the ice all around them for all the impact she was having on him.

  She panted as her anger began to dissipate, and she collapsed to her knees and put her face in her hands.

  Jiayi finally broke out of his stillness, looking at her in her anguish. He felt nothing for her now, though he had cared deeply for her, once. She was only slightly better than the traitor to him. Even though he knew in his heart of hearts that she had helped plan the now-aborted escape, he could not prove it, and she was too valuable to the state to lose so foolishly as this. Deshi, on the other hand…

  He shook his head to clear the remaining cobwebs and turned to go inside. “Li, you must return to your duties. I require your usual daily report in one hour.” He didn’t wait to see if she would acknowledge him. If she did her job, there was no problem. If she didn’t… well, there would be no problem then, either.

  He still had fourteen more bullets in the gun.

  McMurdo Station

  Antarctica

  “Easy… easy… there we go,” said Major Shaw as he brought the C-5 down on McMurdo Station’s annually-created Ice Runway.

  McMurdo was a civilian science research center funded by the National Science Foundation. In support of their bases on the continent and as part of the United States Antarctic Program, the US Air Force and other military units transported supplies from the outside world to McMurdo for a brief period each year. As the largest station on Antarctica, McMurdo received most of the supplies and personnel, which were then distributed to the other, smaller bases on the continent—even some of the small foreign bases.

  The plane slewed a bit to the side, but Shaw made the necessary adjustments to the landing gear, straightening the jet and bringing her to a stop.

  Evans began an address over the loudspeakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of USAF Airlines, welcome to Hell on ice. Again. Please remain in your seats until the major has brought the aircraft to a full and complete stop at the gate, and, as always, we thank you for choosing us today. Stay warm!” Evans grinned, unbuckled his straps, and stood, stretching. He glanced over at the major, who was focused on the post-flight checklist. Then he looked at Fraser, who merely shook his head. “What? Not even a chuckle?”

  “Evans,” said Shaw, “see to the President. They’re bringing out a stretcher now.”

  Evans’s smile faded. “Uh, sir, shouldn’t the professionals…”

  “Are you questioning my orders, Lieutenant?”

  “No, it’s just…” Evans caught the raised eyebrow from Shaw as the major stood. “No, sir! I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  Fraser glanced over at the major as Evans left for the racks to help Franklin to the waiting medics. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir?”

  Shaw raised another eyebrow, and Fraser held up his hands defensively. “I’m just saying, sir, maybe he’s got a point. The Prez didn’t look so good. How do we know what he’s got? Maybe it’s not the superflu, but can we rule it out?”

  Shaw shook his head. “Franklin checked clean when he came through security. No sign of the infection. So either those MPs can’t work a scanner, or it’s not the superflu. Besides, Evans could use a little humility.”

  “Agreed, sir. One hundred percent.”

  “Right, then let’s get this big bitch unloaded, shall we? Charlie!” Shaw yelled as he headed down the ladder, looking for the loadmaster.

  Evans appeared, nearly disappearing under the staggering weight and size of the sick Franklin. He shot Fraser a dirty look that was completely ignored.

  Fraser turned and looked out the cockpit windows. He could just see the technicians lining up the laser level on the plane—an easy way to figure out how far the fat-assed C-5 was sinking under its own weight into the ice. More than six inches or so, and she’d have to be moved, just in case.

  He looked at all the white outside until his eyes began to hurt, and finally put on his sunglasses.

  I hate this place.

  Major Shaw knocked on the door of the McMurdo area director’s office. The nameplate said ‘Reuben Hacker,’ but the man behind the desk was clearly not Hacker, given that his uniform said ‘Burke’ and there were colonel’s birds on his lapels. Burke was of medium height, but well-built. His sandy hair was close-cropped, and he wore rimless glasses, a concession to advancing age. As Burke was the military liaison for McMurdo, Shaw had been expecting to report to him in his own office, but had been redirected here instead.

  Shaw saluted as Colonel Burke looked up and stood, coming around the desk and perching on its edge.

  “Major Bill Shaw, reporting as ordered, sir.”

  “Come in, Major,” said Burke, returning the salute. “Have a seat. Oh, and get the door.”

  Shaw shut the door, wondering what the hell was going on, and sat down, looking at the colonel quizzically.

  “What I’m about to tell you doesn’t leave this room. Clear?” asked Burke.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve just had some flash traffic from the world, and you’re not going to like it.”

  “I’m gonna go out on a limb here, sir, and guess that this is why Mr. Hacker isn’t in his office at the moment?”

  “Got it in one, son. I’ve been ordered to take immediate command of McMurdo and all US operations on the ice. I’ve also been informed that all air traffic—and I mean all—is being grounded, effective immediately.”

  Shaw felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “Wait, what? All traffic, sir?”

  Burke sighed and sat behind his desk once more. “You’ve seen the news, Bill. You know what’s going on. We’ve lost control of this thing. Plans are being put into motion, but they’re not gonna save everyone. And you are not clear to divulge that to your men. Hell, even I’m not supposed to know.”

  “
This is a helluva thing, sir. What the hell do I tell my crew?”

  “You tell them whatever you have to tell them, Major,” said Burke. “They’re not going home anytime soon. None of us are. Our orders are to sit tight, batten down the hatches, and wait for further word.”

  “What about the plane, sir? It’s not going to stay where it’s at—it’ll sink first, break through the ice…”

  “The stores that are on board are being moved to the warehouses now. She’ll be empty soon. I’ve already got a crew ready to knock out some walls in one of the bigger warehouses, and I think we can just squeeze her in there. It’ll be tight, and we may have to bulldoze some structures along the way or add on to the one we finally choose, but that’s our only option to get her on solid ground. And we have to keep her; she may be our only way out of here in the end.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “See to your men; I’ve designated some rack space in some temporary quarters in Hotel California—what we call our dormitory. Depending on how long this thing goes, we may end up with a bunch more buildings out here. I tell ya, our one saving grace is having ODF drop off their last load of stuff two weeks ago. We’re gonna need it. Dismissed.”

  The tall, graying pilot looked a bit lost. Though he was headed for Hotel California, likely to join his men there, he seemed worlds away, barely even noticing the emergency personnel running by him, let alone the crowd near her office. Jennifer Michaelson, US Marshal, stopped and grabbed at his arm, looking him up and down. “You the pilot that just came in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, your man is tearing apart our infirmary. Come with me.” With strength belying her smaller frame, she dragged Major Shaw into a full-out run.

  When they arrived at the infirmary building, there was a crowd outside, stamping their feet and chattering. A couple of security vehicles had lights flashing near the entrance, and two more guards were keeping people out.

  Michaelson grabbed Shaw once more and practically threw him at the doors, which the guards opened.

  “Ma’am,” one said as she went in, and she grimaced. Even given the circumstances, she was still aggravated when she got called ‘ma’am.’ It made her feel old.

  She could hear yelling from up ahead; at least, it sounded like yelling, but it was incoherent. No words. More like a moan, really. Shaw began slowing down, and Michaelson started dragging him instead.

  “Oh, shit,” Shaw suddenly said, stopping in his tracks entirely.

  Michaelson whipped around to face him. “What is it, Major?” she asked, though she was already starting to suspect what he would say.

  “Franklin… he was sick when we got on the flight. None of us thought anything of it, since he came through the scanner clean.”

  Michaelson shook her head. “You brought a man sick with the superflu onto my base? I’ll have your ass for this. For now, we have to deal with it. Go on!”

  She shoved him hard, and he stumbled forward. They turned the corner just in time to see another security guard fly across the hallway and slam into the wall. He didn’t get back up. From this angle, Michaelson could just see into the treatment room, and wished to a god she didn’t believe in that she couldn’t.

  The patient was strapped to a gurney by one arm and both legs. He had obviously broken out of the first restraint, and was pulling and tugging at the second, roaring and trying to free himself. Covered in sweat, blood ran in trickles from his nose, ears, and eyes. As he caught sight of Shaw, he roared again, his free hand clutching and grasping at the pilot.

  Suddenly, Major Shaw seemed completely calm. Without a word, he grabbed the Taser from Michaelson’s waist, stepped clearly into the doorway, and fired at Franklin, hitting him right between the eyes. Fifty thousand volts flowed into and through Franklin’s brain, and he began twitching, laying still only once the charge had been exhausted.

  Shaw moved quickly, releasing the brakes on the gurney’s wheels and pulling hard, rolling it into the corridor. “Help me with the other end,” he said to Michaelson, indicating the foot of the bed. “We need to get him outside. Now.”

  Shaw yelled for people to clear the hall as they moved to the side door and down the ramp. He directed the gurney to an empty part of the parking lot next to the building, then locked the brakes on the gurney once more. He glanced around, and seeing a security vehicle nearby, ran over and began pulling equipment out of the back, throwing it on the ground.

  Michaelson just looked on in shock; she knew command decisions when she saw them, and this was clearly Shaw’s show, as much as she might hate that. She didn’t know what would happen next, but she was willing to let it go… at least for the moment.

  When he came back, and she saw that he was carrying the security vehicle’s spare gas canister and two road flares, she started to regret her decision. “What the hell are you—”

  “Not now. Step back. Step back!” He began pouring the gasoline on the patient’s still form. As the liquid splashed over the man’s face, he spluttered and began to regain consciousness, making a sudden grab for Shaw. His huge fist snagged in the pilot’s jacket pocket, and he was almost pulled in. Shaw twisted like a snake, more flexible than anything Michaelson had ever seen, and the jacket was suddenly off him, the gas canister lying on its side on the ground. Franklin roared as Shaw picked up the gas can and finished pouring the contents onto the gurney, then threw the can underneath it.

  Shaw stepped back as he held one of the road flares, then lit it.

  “Stop right there!” Michaelson had let this go far enough, and she was now holding a gun pointed at his head from only a dozen feet away. “Put down the flare!”

  “I can’t do that,” replied Shaw, looking at her steadily, as if he hadn’t just poured gasoline over one of his own crewmembers and was now about to set him on fire. “You don’t understand.” He moved to throw the flare, and she yelled again.

  “Don’t make me shoot you! Drop the flare!”

  “I have to do this, or we’re all dead, anyway,” he said. “Shoot if you want.”

  He tossed the flare onto the gurney, and ducked as the shot she fired went wide.

  She couldn’t even hear herself yelling. The fireball was huge, and engulfed the gurney immediately. After a moment, she could hear the roars of the creature that used to be Franklin inside the fire, eventually ceasing as its lungs burned from the inside out.

  The smell was horrific, and the major turned to vomit on the cold ground.

  Michaelson holstered her pistol and took off her jacket and threw it around Shaw, who struggled for a second until he realized what she was doing. He pulled the jacket the rest of the way on, glancing at her.

  “What the hell was that?” she asked.

  “You know what it was. The superflu.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t exactly heard that burning people alive is a necessary protocol for the superflu. And you didn’t even hesitate, once you laid eyes on him. You have been trained to do this. That means you know something we don’t. Something important enough to justify setting a living man on fire. Now spill.”

  “You think I liked doing this to my friend? I’ve known him for almost six years!” He spun, kicking the empty fuel can across the snow and ice. “Six years! And he’s died the most horrific death I could dream of, and I had to do it, I had to, because it wasn’t him anymore.” He leaned against the back bumper of the security jeep.

  Jennifer gave him a moment, then walked up to him, laying one hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked up as another vehicle arrived, lit by the light of his friend’s funeral pyre. Colonel Burke stepped out, and walked over to the pair quickly, sizing up the situation as he did so. The major was all business once again as he snapped to attention.

  “Major?”

  “Sir,” said Shaw.

  “Are you injured, Major?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What happened here?”
>
  “Protocol Alpha, sir.”

  Burke’s eyebrows rose far enough to high-five his receding hairline. “No shit?”

  “No shit. Sir.”

  “And he was the only one?”

  “As far as I know, sir. We should check Lieutenant Evans, but I don’t believe he was compromised.”

  “Very well. I’ll interview the medical staff and double-check. You see to the rest of your men. Report back to me in an hour.” He turned to Michaelson. “And Marshal, none of this gets out. See those gawkers?”

  He pointed to the corner of the building, where a few people had started to gather, attracted by the smoke.

  “Yes, sir,” said Michaelson.

  “Good. And the ones inside. They will keep quiet. Get to it, people,” he said, then walked into the infirmary.

  Michaelson gave orders to the security men, then turned back to Shaw. “This isn’t over, Shaw,” she said, getting his attention again. “I still want to know what really happened here.”

  He glanced over at her. “I can understand that, Marshal…”

  “Jennifer. Jennifer Michaelson.”

  “Well then, Jennifer, first thing I’d like to do is bury the Prez here.”

  She snorted. “You’ve got a lot to learn about Antarctica, Major Shaw.”

  “Call me Bill.”

  “We don’t bury anything here. Ground’s too hard, even when you can find it under the snow.” She nodded her head toward the bay. “Before all the new ‘green’ regulations, we used to drag it out there and let the ice take it. McMurdo Sound has the dubious distinction of being one of the most polluted waters in the world, Major. Now, we ship most of our waste out. Best we can do is give him a burial at sea.”

  Shaw sighed. “Guess that’ll have to do then. I’ll get my guys.”

  Jennifer looked at him. “You’re an odd one, Shaw.” She hesitated, then nodded. “Fine, I’ll have a couple of my guys escort you out there, since you’re all newbs. Wouldn’t want you falling through the ice, too.”

  Shaw turned and headed for Hotel California to find his men.