Adam Baker: Outpost

A sudden pang of guilt: if she could make a deal with Fate, she would happily trade Jane or Ghost to get Punch back alive.

The refinery ploughed through the Arctic crust with a roar like steady thunder. Each of the massive buoyant legs bulldozed a mountain of ice rubble before it.

Punch and Ghost faced the approaching avalanche and waited for Sian to lower the hook.

‘We’ll have to grab the chain at the same time,’ said Punch, shouting to be heard over the rumble of shattering ice.

‘I’m not coming with you,’ said Ghost. He backed away. ‘It’s been a privilege. I always liked you, Punch. Always thought you were one of the good guys.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Look after Sian. Enjoy each other. Find a decent place and build a life.’ Ghost turned and ran.

Punch called after him.

‘Ghost. Come on, Gee, we need you, man.’

Punch wanted to run after Ghost, but the refinery was nearly upon him. The crane hook descended out of blinding arc light.

‘Ghost,’ he called, one last time, but he knew he couldn’t be heard over the jet-roar of ripping ice.

Punch was so close to the shattering crust he had to shield his eyes from snow and sea-spray. He saw the snowmobile smashed flat by a slab of ice. He stepped aboard the massive hook and hugged the chain.

Punch gave a signal-wave. He was slowly lifted upward and enveloped in light.

Ghost watched Rampart pass by and float away. A steel city heading south.

He thought about Punch and Sian safe aboard the rig.

He realised all he was about to lose. He wouldn’t laugh, sip coffee or feel rain on his face ever again.

He took a long, shuddering breath.

We’ve all got it coming, he reminded himself.

He turned his back on the heat and light of the refinery. He walked north across the frozen sea. He pulled back his hood so he could look at the stars.

Jane ran through the bunker. She found a discarded flare smouldering on the tunnel floor. She couldn’t be far behind Ghost and Punch.

She reached the bunker entrance. One of the snowmobiles was gone. She pulled the tarpaulin from the second Skidoo and straddled the bike. She reached for the ignition. An empty slot. Nikki or Nail must have the key. I’m going to die, she thought, just because some fool put the key in their pocket instead of leaving it in the ignition.

She stood at the bunker entrance and looked south. She saw a gleam in the far distance like a bright star. The arc lights of the refinery. She tried to judge distance. Rampart was over fifteen kilometres away.

She climbed down the rocky shoreline to the frozen sea. She checked her crampons were securely buckled to her boots. She threw away her flashlight.

‘All right,’ she muttered. ‘You can do this.’

She ran, quickly accelerating from a trot to a sprint, and headed for the distant light.

She ran in total darkness, eyes fixed on the beacon lights of the rig. Pretend you are jogging a circuit of C deck, she told herself. Stay calm. Control your breathing. Get into a rhythm.

She muttered the lyrics of ‘All Along the Watchtower’ as she ran.

She drew closer to the rig. She saw shattering ice. Sweet relief. The refinery had yet to reach the ocean.

Jane looked beyond Rampart. The moon reflected in rippling water. The refinery had reached the edge of the polar ice-field and was about to break into open sea.

Jane ran alongside the rig. She passed the south legs. She sprinted in front of the refinery and collapsed, crippled by exhaustion, on the narrow strip of ice that separated Rampart from the ocean.

Jane dug in her pockets. She pulled out a couple of flares.

She stood, lit the flares and waved them back and forth above her head. She squinted into dazzling arc light. If Sian had left the cab, if she didn’t see Jane standing ahead of the refinery, Jane would be crushed and submerged.

Jane let the flares fall at her feet. She stood, blinded by searchlights, deafened by the roar as the oncoming refinery punched through the polar crust. She closed her eyes. She was enveloped in ice-dust and sea-spray.

Sian sat in the crane cab. Punch crouched beside her.

‘There,’ shouted Punch. He scrubbed away condensation. They saw a solitary figure standing on the ice. Jane. Two purple flares burning at her feet. ‘Drop the hook.’

Jane opened her eyes. The massive steel hook descended out of dazzling light. She stepped forward to meet it.

Jane was hit by a snowmobile and sent spinning across the ice. She sat up. She wondered if her hip were broken. She looked around. The snowmobile skidded to a halt and turned. The bike from the bunker. Nail must have had the key.

Jane struggled to her feet. She unzipped her parka. Nail drove at her. She jumped to one side and threw her coat beneath the bike. The caterpillar tread chewed her coat and jammed. The bike flipped. Nail was thrown across the ice. He got to his feet.

They both ran for the hook. Jane got there first. She grabbed the chain. Nail seized her throat and they fell to the ground. He sat on Jane’s chest and began to throttle. His lips were black and turning to metal. His right eye socket was burned out.

Contest of strength. Jane pushed his face away with a gloved hand. She gripped his leg, tried to tip him from her chest. Something in the utility pocket of his trousers. Jane’s knife. She pressed fingers into his remaining eye. He roared in pain. He gripped her right arm and tried to snap it. She had the knife in her left hand. She flicked open the blade and stabbed him in the belly.

Nail convulsed. She threw him aside. She looked up. Sian had raised the hook. It hung fifty metres above their heads.

Nail lay on his back. He saw the hook high above him and realised what was about to happen. He screamed. His cry merged with the roar of breaking ice.

Sian hit Release. Gears disengaged. The chain spun free. Jane rolled clear as the half-tonne hook slammed down like a fist. It punched clean through the ice leaving nothing of Nail but a fine pink blood-mist.

Sian engaged the gears and raised the chain. The hook rose from the depths, splitting ice, dripping seawater. Jane stepped on to the hook, and was lifted upward into the light.

Sian lowered Jane on to a walkway. Jane stepped from the hook. She stumbled and fell.

Sian and Punch climbed from the cab and ran to her. They helped her up.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Punch.

‘I hurt my hip,’ said Jane. ‘I think I’m okay.’ She looked around. ‘Where’s Ghost?’

Jane stood at the north railing and watched the Arctic ice slowly recede. A bleak landscape lit spectral white by moonlight. Jane spoke into her radio. ‘Ghost? Can you hear me?’

‘Jane? Where are you?’ A weak signal. Ghost, somewhere out on the ice, alone in the dark.

‘I made it. I’m on the rig.’

‘You’re all right?’

‘We’re fine.’

‘Look after those kids, yeah? That’s your mission. Keep them safe. Get them home .’

‘We’re leaving now. We’ve cleared the ice. The current is taking us south. I’m so sorry, Gee. There’s nothing I can do.’

‘These past few weeks. You and me. I wouldn’t have missed them for the world .’

‘I love you, Rajesh.’

Ghost’s reply was lost in white-noise crackle as his radio passed out of range.

Jane saw the pin-prick of a distress flare fired in the far distance. The star-shell burned intense red for a full minute then died away. Ghost’s final salute.

Jane lay on her bunk and cried. Always dealt the losing hand.

You’ll be alone. You’ll be alone your whole damn life.

Maybe she made the wrong choice. Maybe she should have joined Nikki’s weird commune. Become a member of the herd. Or maybe her old, fat self had been right all along. Why live? Why struggle? Why not jump from the refinery and end it all?