Sarah Andrews - In Cold Pursuit

Valena did not know what to say, so she said nothing.

“This sort of thing really shakes people up around here. Es verdad. They’re still talking about that Air New Zealand flight that crashed into Erebus back in 1979.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, like Edith said, we shall honor our man. They’re going to do a memorial for him on Sunday, when we all have the day off. Meanwhile, it’s business as fucking usual.” He thumped the steering wheel, and then added, “ Perdona. Mi lenguaje.”

“No te preocupre.”

“Right. Now, how you suppose this thing works?” He switched on the ignition, opened the heater up full blast, then wriggled out of his jacket.

Trying to bring up lighter topics, Valena asked, “Why’s this thing called Flipper?”

Hilario shrugged. “Aw, it used to belong to the Fire Department, but they got to practicing maneuvers one day.” He grabbed the huge, flat-mounted steering wheel and pantomimed turning it all the way to the right. “Rolled it. Guess you can only turn so sharp in one of these things, unless of course you’re going some kind of reasonable speed. So we cut the box off it and here it is, the pride of Fleet Ops. Bella , eh?”

“Simply gorgeous.” She felt the cab rock and turned to her right just as a large face appeared at the window beside her. It scared her and she jumped.

“Aw, don’t get so excited,” said Hilario. “It’s only Willy.”

It was another man dressed in the light brown Carhartt canvas ECWs. He was a big guy, as young as she or perhaps younger, but not blessed with even a single detail of physical beauty. He greeted her with an expression as lively as a cucumber, while banging on the door with one gloved fist.

She opened the door. “Hi,” she said, trying to be friendly.

The man stared at her.

“Don’t mind him,” said Hilario. “He don’t talk much. I guess he thinks you’re going to sit in back so he can ride shotgun. Rank has privileges. You’re the fingie.”

Valena shoved some gear aside and moved to the back seat. Wee Willy lumbered into the cab. He was almost as big and about as pleasant as a bear who had just awakened from hibernation. With a motion like a bricklayer dropping his hod, he occupied the seat Valena had just exited, then turned, reached past her, and began digging through one of the flight lunches. Feeling her eyes on him, he fixed a glare on her.

Valena began to have doubts about just how much fun the trip was going to be.

Hilario fired the ignition. He sang, “We go cruisin’ in the ma-chine!” swung the wheel, and off they lurched.

McMurdo Station flowed past in a tumble of steel and black road metal as they rumbled down the slope that led to the edge of the sea ice. At the transition onto the ice, Hilario stopped the Delta next to a cluster of snow machines and heavy equipment that was parked there.

Wee Willy lurched up off the seat and began to empty himself out the door.

‘“Hasta luego, amigo. Vaya con dios,” said Hilario.

Wee Willy did not reply. Heaving himself down out of the door frame, he dropped onto the ice and shambled off toward one of the snow machines, leaving the door open to the breeze.

Valena slammed the door with rather more force than was necessary.

“Oh, you’ll get used to him,” said Hilario. “Or not.”

The snow machines were bigger and more utilitarian versions of what Valena would have called a snowmobile at home. They had the usual setup of skis in front and a single track behind and a saddle in the middle right behind motorcycle-style controls. But beyond that, they differed from their streamlined northern cousins in a matter of studied inelegance. As Wee Willy pulled the canvas cover off of one, she could see that the front cowling was one big, charmless expanse of blaze orange. The seat was a single slab of black plastic. And toward the back of the vehicle, a simple plywood box had been added to carry gear.

The heater in the cab had risen from pleasantly warm to full roast, so Valena cracked the window a few inches and shrugged off her big red parka, then turned and packed it onto the backseat, rearranging the duffels and equipment stowed there so that they wouldn’t shift en route. “What’s this?” she inquired, picking up a tube of fake fur that hadn’t been there before.

Hilario let out a sardonic chuckle. “That’s Wee Willy’s hand warmer. His ma gave it to him.”

“Oh.” She put it up on the backseat.

The Challenger pulled up next to them, and Valena watched as the fifth member of their party climbed out of a jump seat in its cab and climbed down the steps to the ice. “Is that Dave?” she asked Hilario.

“Yeah. Good guy. Drove out there and found Steve.”

Valena realized that it was the man who had stared at her in the hallway outside the galley the evening before. Her heart sank. I’m replacing a man who died, one of the team glares at me, and another just plain stares , thought Valena. This is going to be a long trip.

Dave crossed to one of the snow machines, checked its number against the tag of his ignition key, brushed the snow off its canvas cover, removed the cover and folded it neatly, then stowed it in a compartment. That done, he swung a leg gracefully over the saddle and lowered himself onto it. He stuck the key into the ignition and began clearing snow off other parts of the machinery.

Edith’s voice crackled over the radio that was mounted in the ceiling of the cab. “Mac Ops, Mac Ops, this is Challenger 283, how read?”

“Mac Ops copies, go ahead.”

“This is Edith Tanner. We are five souls in four vehicles—a Challenger, a Delta, and two snow machines. Contact is the Boss. Destination Black Island. We will traverse to KOA, then start setting flags at the edge of the dead zone. Intend overnight at Black Island Station and return tomorrow by eighteen hundred. Over.”

Dave completed his snow-clearing task, set the primer and the choke, switched on the engine, and, with a few quick compressions of the hand-grip throttle, revved it to a level past which it kept running on its own. Then he set to adjusting his cuffs so that they would not become wind scoops.

“Mac Ops copies. Call from KOA before you enter dead zone, but in any case I want to hear from you by sixteen hundred, over. And you be careful, okay?”

“We will. Challenger 283 copies. Over and out.”

“Mac Ops out.”

Edith maneuvered the big Cat into place in front of the goose, which was an eight-foot-wide hydraulically operated grading blade mounted on a trailing chassis that was supported by skis. Once the machine was in position, she climbed down the steps out of the cab to secure the hitch and connect the hydraulic lines.

Dave continued to adjust his clothing, now pulling his polypropylene neck gaiter up over his nose, cinching his hood tight against his cheeks, and then putting a pair of goggles over the top. Last, he replaced his gloves, adjusting their cuffs over the cuffs of his parka.

Valena asked Hilario, “Why’s he wearing red instead of tan?”

“It’s a matter of preference. Most of us are more used to smearing grease all over tan. OF Dave here works as hard as the rest of us but somehow stays cleaner.”

“Oh. What’s the dead zone?”

“Oh, that’s where we’re behind Black Island and the radio can’t ‘see’ us. We have to go all the way around the south side of the island to get to the station that’s on it, because the ice is all screwed up on the north side, facing McMurdo here.”

“Why isn’t there a radio repeater?”

Hilario let out a rueful cackle. “Because there’s nothing out there, that’s why. What, you think a continent half again the size of the US with only, say, three thousand people on it—and that’s in summertime—has a radio antenna in every little place you might like to go?”