The Chilling, page 28
‘But that—that’s thousands of miles!’ she cried, pulling her hands back. ‘You’re insane. We’ll die, we’ll die out there!’
‘We haven’t died yet. But we’re going to need more fuel and equipment.’ He shook her empty fuel bottle. ‘We need to get to the Green Store. Come on.’
Marion took one long hard look at Curly. His primary reflex seemed to be an animalistic instinct for self-preservation. All his motivations and actions—his desire to help her, his concern for her wellbeing—now appeared selfish and possessive. She had thought he was calm and collected; she’d thought he had his emotions under control. But now she was struck by the notion that there was nothing inside him. There was nothing to control.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to go with you. I’m going to stay here and explain what happened. You go, you go and get yourself killed.’
‘Marion—’
‘Just leave me alone. I don’t want to be with you! I don’t want to be with you out there alone in the winter darkness.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t want to be with you here either. I don’t want to be with you anywhere. Just go! Get away from me!’
‘Marion,’ he said coldly, his eyes black and ruthless, ‘you have to come with me, don’t you see that?’
44
Kit brought Nick back to the Red Shed and did not leave his side until he was wrapped in blankets with a hot drink in his hands. Then she hurried to the ops building and asked Prudence for her help in accessing the station webcams. The small devices were mounted on metal posts throughout the base and assisted in day-to-day operations by sending video feed to the comms station. Kit had to find Curly, and a scan of webcam images would be speedier than a ground search.
On the screen, Kit was shocked to see Curly dragging Marion by the arm across the gravel path towards the emergency vehicle shelter. The weather had turned nasty—grey clouds had darkened the sky, the wind was sending flurries of snow about the station—and the image was grainy and blurred. But it was clear that Marion was a reluctant participant in whatever Curly had planned.
Kit would have to act quickly. The man had tried to kill Nick, and now he had a potential hostage. She glanced at Prudence, who was seated next to her, frowning in concern at what the camera showed. ‘Can you stay here?’ asked Kit, her brain whirring at light speed. ‘And radio me, straight away, if they come out of the shelter?’
Prudence nodded. ‘Sure, take this.’ She handed Kit a radio.
Still dressed in her freezer suit, Kit fetched the rifle from the Dog Room, the one that station leaders had used to shoot old dogs. It was unloaded, but it might look intimidating—she could use it to bluff her way through if she had to.
Hurrying out the exit, she jumped on the quad bike, which was parked where she’d left it at the side of the road. The seat was now covered in a fine layer of snow. As she headed past the Shed and up the track, the wind pelted ice at her legs.
Kit rode the quad to the side of the emergency vehicle shelter. The building was in the style of an old fire station, with two entrances at the front and two Hägglunds inside: one for search and rescue, the other for firefighting. The large overhead door to the left was wide open. She grabbed the rifle and jumped off the quad, leaving it deliberately blocking the pathway down the slope. With quiet, tentative footsteps, she headed inside—but, hearing the rumbling of the nearest Hägg engine, she darted into a corner and squatted behind a storage box, praying she hadn’t been seen or heard.
The Hägg moved into Kit’s line of sight but then stopped at the quad roadblock, just as she’d hoped it would. When Curly got out, she furtively circled around the back of the vehicle to the other side, where she opened the passenger door.
Marion looked down at her in alarm.
Kit placed a finger to her lips, then pulled at Marion’s coat, mouthing, ‘Come on.’
At that moment, the radio in Kit’s pocket sounded, with Prudence’s voice buzzing loud and clear: ‘Someone’s come out!’ The comms technician had followed her instructions to the letter.
Kit winced in dismay. Marion stared back at her in naked terror, too frightened to move.
‘Keep your head down,’ whispered Kit, pushing the woman further inside and shutting the door.
With a deep breath and her shoulders squared, Kit walked out onto the gravel road, the empty rifle in both hands. She gripped the barrel to stop her arms from shaking.
In front of the entrance, Curly had heard the radio call and was on high alert, his eyes scanning the shelter. When she came out of the shadows, he aimed his gun at her. ‘Stop right there. Drop the rifle.’
The confidence in his voice turned her bravery to water. She’d been a fool: she should’ve known an unloaded relic would lose to a loaded handgun any day. He’d called her bluff in an instant.
Kit raised a free hand in the air and lowered the weapon to the ground, her heart beating wildly. ‘Don’t shoot,’ she said, straightening up. ‘I’m here to help.’
‘Help?’ he scoffed.
To her surprise, over Curly’s shoulder, she caught sight of a small figure behind the quad. Someone in a red coat had followed her to the shelter. The person scurried out of the mist and was now squatting beside the quad’s back wheels. Puzzled about who it could be, Kit strove to keep her face blank and her eyes on Curly.
‘You can help by moving this bike,’ he snapped, without looking behind him.
‘Okay, okay.’ She moved forward, desperate to keep his attention on her. The red coat flickered at the corner of her eye. ‘Whatever this is, we can work it out. I know you’ve been through hell, you must be so tired—’
‘I’ll teach you about hell, lady. Shut up and move it now.’ With a frown, he added: ‘If you don’t, I’ll shoot you and move it myself.’
Her stomach plunged at the icy coolness in his voice. She cast a worried look at his face, wondering if he might shoot her anyway. She took a hesitant step.
But then her heart leapt as the coated figure emerged from its hiding place. In a blur of red, the person lunged at Curly.
From where Kit stood, it looked like the figure had punched him on the back. She saw Curly stumble forward and drop the gun, clutching his shoulder. It was only when he turned around that Kit saw the hunting blade sticking out of his coat. Her eyes widened in realisation: he’d been stabbed.
Now facing his attacker, he screamed in rage, ‘Beatrice! You fucking bitch!’
It was Kit’s patient from earlier that day. Her face was covered, but her gait and build were unmistakable. Beatrice cowered away from him. ‘Leave her alone!’ the woman cried. ‘I heard you drag Marion out here.’ She gestured towards the Hägg. ‘She doesn’t want to go with you, Curly, not this time. Just leave her the fuck alone!’
Curly clutched at his shoulder, unable to reach the knife. He gasped in pain, his face contorted.
‘I’m sick of you men pushing us around and doing whatever you like,’ said Beatrice, a tremor in her voice.
Holding her breath, Kit rushed to kick the handgun away. It went spinning over the gravel path, coming to a stop near Beatrice’s feet, only metres from Curly.
There was a long, nerve-racking silence as the man contemplated his options. He stared at the weapon next to Beatrice’s boot, then turned and glanced at the rifle, before spying Marion behind the wheel of the idling Hägg. His neck stiffened when Marion revved the engine and he realised she was prepared to run him down. She stared back at him from the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the wheel. He blinked several times, seemingly in disbelief. When he turned back, Beatrice had picked up the handgun.
Kit saw his confidence wane and seized her chance. She retrieved the rifle from the ground. ‘You should go now, Curly,’ she yelled, pointing the empty weapon at him. ‘You’re not welcome here. Just go.’
In frustration, he released a ragged gust of air from his lungs. Still clutching his shoulder in pain, he swivelled around until his gaze fell upon the quad. His decision was made in seconds. With the knife protruding from his back, he jumped onto the seat and started the engine. Throwing one last look at Marion, he gunned the bike down the road.
As Curly disappeared towards the west arm, Beatrice dropped the gun and collapsed to her knees. Kit went to her, while Marion climbed down from the Hägg.
The trio came together in the cold, offering words of comfort and support. ‘We’re going to be okay,’ said Kit, placing an arm around each woman. ‘He’s gone now.’
She breathed easier when the roar of the engine grew faint in the distance, confirming that Curly had left the base.
45
Three weeks later Blondie and Bill stumbled across Curly’s lifeless body near a drum line off station; it appeared that gale-force winds had blown the quad on top of him.
‘His legs were pinned beneath the weight of the engine,’ said Sally when she brought the news to Kit. ‘I even feel a bit sorry for him, despite the fact he tried to kill Nick and kidnap Marion, and then threatened to shoot you.’ Sally paused and looked thoughtful for a second. ‘Actually, no,’ she decided. ‘I don’t feel that sorry for him.’
Kit was pleased to hear Sally sounding more like herself. She hugged her friend, grateful that she hadn’t met a similar fate out in the cold.
Shortly after Sally was found, Kit informed her about Dustin’s private research project, and she had volunteered to go back on a low dose of clonazepam, to wean herself off the pills. Luckily, they had found a few spare boxes hidden away in the Green Store. Others had followed a similar course, but Sally now seemed the most laid-back of them all. She said that she barely even harboured any resentment towards Dustin—yet she was one of the few who had read his private notes and knew the extent of his disturbing thoughts.
In the notebook, Dustin had kept careful track of all his unsuspecting patients. He had recorded their drug dosages, blood and urine tests, blood-pressure results, and certain aspects of their social behaviour. His hard drive contained documents on the disharmonious social relations of extremely isolated communities. Convinced that such relations could be improved by anti-anxiety drugs, Dustin had planned to present his findings to NASA—despite his glaring lack of ethics approval.
Dustin’s notes also charted his own troubling decline following the suicide of his friend Eddy, a former expeditioner. In his journal, Dustin lamented the fact that Eddy had never been properly diagnosed for depression and had resisted seeing a doctor, out of fear of being stigmatised as mentally ill. Dustin regretted that he hadn’t talked to Eddy more and convinced him of the benefits of medication. This loss had weighed on his mind during his time at Macpherson, as he was continually reminded of their expedition together. His research gave him some comfort because he believed it would spare others the anguish that Eddy and his family had gone through.
Of course, the expeditioners were understandably outraged. They’d been used by their trusted doctor and polluted by drugs without their consent. But it wasn’t long before Sally told Kit she’d let her anger go, as Dustin couldn’t be brought back to be punished. She wanted to get on with her life instead.
Kit hoped that she could do the same.
•
Later that day, Kit sat with Nick on a couch in the library. They were alone, and he was leaning up against her with one hand lying lazily across her thigh, warm and comforting. After several nights in his arms, she’d grown used to his presence, but the touch of his fingers still sent ripples through her skin.
She had come to the library to check her email, knowing that her inbox would have a message from Elliot’s lawyers. She’d finally agreed to a settlement date but was in no hurry to read their response.
She’d been surprised to enter the room and find Nick there.
As they sat together on the couch, he asked, ‘And how is Marion?’ He was aware that his colleague was not doing well; she’d been suffering from flashbacks and frequent bouts of crying. The doctors at head office were concerned she had severe post-traumatic stress disorder.
Kit had just sat in on a telemedicine session with Marion and a counsellor. ‘She’ll be okay,’ said Kit, without divulging any details. She’d been relieved to find that Marion had a strong supportive family back home. Her mother had come to the session and offered to check in regularly.
Soon after Curly’s dramatic departure, Nick had struck up a truce with Marion. She confessed that she’d blamed him for Jason’s death and locked him in the coolroom in a thoughtless act of rage. She was genuinely sorry—she’d been overcome by grief, she said, and hadn’t known what she was doing. Nick had forgiven her, and he’d explained exactly what he and Jason had been arguing about.
As he told Kit later, he’d confessed to Marion about the unauthorised drilling venture, and admitted they’d found the crash site but failed to report it. Since then, Kit had informed the proper authorities and the victims’ families were notified. They planned to recover the body in the crevasse, but its retrieval would have to wait till summer. Nick would face disciplinary measures, but they were yet to be specified, and would have to wait till summer too.
He still claimed to have no memory of what had happened to Jason, and the unexplained death weighed on Marion’s mind. At the counselling session, she’d told Kit, ‘I lie awake wondering if Jason took his own life. You know—’ her voice trembled ‘—his reputation as a geophysicist was everything to him. If he couldn’t work in Antarctica, if he’d been blacklisted, he couldn’t have worked anywhere, really. That might have pushed him to the edge …’
As Kit sat with Nick on the couch, she turned the possibility over in her mind. ‘Do you think Jason could have committed suicide?’ she asked Nick.
Looking away, he gazed at the wall and exhaled thoughtfully. ‘No.’
‘But your threat to expose him might have panicked him into self-harm.’
Nick didn’t speak. The silence dragged on, until finally he said, ‘I know that Jason didn’t kill himself.’
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘I know,’ he breathed out, ‘because I killed him.’
Kit was stunned. His brown eyes penetrated hers as though daring her to believe him. She withdrew from his touch by sitting upright on the couch. ‘But how …?’
‘It was an accident. Jason asked me to meet him before breakfast and ambushed me. He told me to jump onto the ice sheet or he’d shoot me. I tried to wrestle the gun off him, and he squeezed the trigger. It happened so quickly, I didn’t even realise why Jason had dropped to the ground. The noise sounded like the cracking of ice or the calving of a berg. I grabbed him by the chest and shook him, then I noticed his head … and the blood.’ Nick’s shoulders trembled, and he swallowed hard. Then he spoke in a clearer voice. ‘I couldn’t tell Marion, not after we’d made our peace. I’ll let her know—and the federal police—once the supply ship comes in November. I promise.’
A hard knot formed in the pit of Kit’s stomach. She knew he was telling the truth: the pain in his eyes was too intense, and his story fit with Marion’s report of him washing the blood off his hands. ‘How long have you known?’ she whispered.
‘I think I’ve always known. I was just in denial, classic denial. I was happy to forget who I was for a while—I was happy to be stripped back to nothing. It was like being given a second chance. I started thinking I could wipe any wrongs I’d committed. I could be a good person, a happy person, someone who did the right thing. I’ve always wanted to be someone who does the right thing … I was deluded. I can see that now.’
Blondie opened the library door and stuck his head in. ‘Nick, the pool table’s free—you coming?’ He disappeared down the corridor.
‘Sure,’ called Nick, ‘just give me a minute.’
Kit wanted him to stay until her shock had subsided. She wanted him to talk it through with her.
‘But you can start again, Nick, don’t you see that?’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘So long as you’re alive, you can always keep doing better, making things better. None of us knows what ugliness we’re capable of till we’re placed in impossible circumstances. The bulk of human beings are never tested. But if you’re tried and you fail the test, it doesn’t mean your character is condemned by your actions. People can change—’
‘That might be true,’ said Nick, studying her face intently. ‘But in the here and now I can never change what I’ve done. I did that work for the drilling company, and there’s no getting around what I did to the families of those British men. I didn’t ease their suffering when I could have. It matters what I did to Jason, even though I didn’t mean to kill him—it matters to Marion, that’s for sure. There are things she will never do, children she will never have, because of me. I can never erase the harm and suffering I’ve caused. Sometimes I wonder if I should have just let Jason kill me instead—I could have lived with that a whole lot better.’ Nick gave a bitter laugh at the irony as he stood up to leave.
‘No, don’t go just yet,’ she said, standing beside him and holding his arm. ‘Nick, I know you. I know you’ve done things you regret and that you wish you could change. But the guy who came to this base was kind and helpful, and a great person to be around. That stripped-back, blank-slate Nick was one of the good guys. If anyone could rebuild his life and repair his wrongs, it was him. He was someone even I wanted to be around.’ She paused. ‘He’s still someone I want to be around.’
Touching her tenderly on the chin, Nick tilted her face towards his. He gazed at her, stroking her skin with his thumb. ‘When I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Of course, I couldn’t remember any other women, so you were the first and the last woman I ever knew.’
She laughed and placed her hand over his, bringing it to her cheek. ‘Mate, I think you just gave me a back-handed compliment.’
