Adam Baker: Outpost

She stared at the ceiling and tried to think of a reason to keep breathing.

Keep them safe. Get them home .

Jane got up. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She showered and found fresh clothes. She limped to the canteen. She looked for Punch and Sian. She saw them through a porthole. They were standing on the helipad. She joined them outside. Punch had a black box in his hand. He examined the gauge. ‘Geiger counter,’ he explained. ‘They used to locate blockages in the treater by flushing isotopes through the pipes.’

‘What’s the reading?’

‘Eighty. Standard background. I’ll take a fresh reading every day. Not there’s much we can do if we hit a radiation hot-spot. It’s not like we can turn round and head the other way.’

‘How’s the fuel holding out?’

‘We should be able to keep the lights on for a few weeks.’

‘Food?’

‘Some. Not much.’

‘We’ll make it,’ said Jane. ‘It’ll be tough, but we’ll make it.’

Jane made her way to the observation bubble. She settled herself in a chair and massaged her injured leg.

She powered up the radio and scanned the wavebands. Nothing but the pops and whistles of unmanned transmission equipment, military and civilian, singing to the ionosphere.

‘This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with federal, state and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency the Attention Signal you just heard would have been followed by official information, news or instructions. This concludes the test of the Emergency Broadcast System .’

Jane picked up the microphone.

‘This is Kasker Rampart hailing any vessel, over.’

No reply.

‘Mayday, mayday. This is Kasker Rampart. Can anyone hear me, over?’

No reply.

‘Mayday, mayday. This is Jane Blanc aboard Con Amalgam refinery Kasker Rampart. Is anyone out there?’

Midnight at the top of the world. Darkness. Lethal cold.

The Aurora Borealis. A flickering ion stream washes across the polar sky. Iridescent colour. Dancing emerald fire.

Rajesh Ghosh sits at the centre of the snow plain. A speck in vast white nothing. He is the last human north of the Arctic Circle now that cities lie in ruin, mankind has been swept away, and a strange new intelligence rules the earth.

He kneels on the ice, hands in his lap. He has taken off his coat and gloves. He sits in T-shirt and shorts. He will never move again.

His flesh has hardened to rock. His skin is frosted with snow crystals. His eyes have turned to glass. He is looking up. A white statue, smiling at the stars.

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Hodder & Stoughton

An Hachette UK company

Copyright © Adam Baker 2011