Two lives snuffed out. Two preeminent researchers—gone. Friends, dammit. Men with futures, families. That wouldn’t go unnoticed, surely.
He pictured those two planes taking off, maybe an hour apart. From what Angel’d told him, Sampson had said something about the summer people leaving on the first aircraft. He’d apparently wanted to bring her along on the second flight. Had they taken the winter-overs with them? Or evacuated them on the first plane?
Why, damn it? He paused, shut his eyes, and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his eyeballs, hard. Why do this? Why bring violence to the most peaceful continent on earth?
No matter how he turned it over in his head, he couldn’t seem to come up with an answer.
Though it was light out, it was the middle of the night when he shoved open the ancillary building door and got a faceful of heat—nothing like in the main building when the power worked, but better than the current exterior temps of -25 Fahrenheit. They were lucky it was sunny out.
No point thinking about how low that temperature would drop out there on the ice when cloud cover could instantly lower it by twenty-five degrees.
No point thinking about how alone they were. No point wondering what kind of spin this whole thing was getting in the outside world. Shit. Did the world even know?
Angel sat at the table filling small baggies with easy-to-consume food rations. The fattiest, highest-calorie, lowest-weight items they could put together.
He didn’t spare her a glance as he grabbed a protein bar and headed back out to unload the sled’s contents by the door. He was so caught up in his thoughts, with so much tension in his body, that when Angel appeared beside him, gloved and coated and prepared to help, he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Thought you were kidding about this stuff.” She picked up a massive pack of butter that would need to be cut into bite-sized portions. “We seriously need this much fat?”
He glanced at her and forced out a grunt, barely audible through the wind, then squatted to shift gear onto one of the expedition sleds he’d found.
“How many calories?”
He squinted up at her. “What?”
“How many calories will we burn through in a day?” While she piled the butter by the door, he considered the sled, staring at it like it was a game of Tetris.
“Six, seven thousand, more or less. The fat’ll help us pack in the calories more efficiently.”
“Wow. Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t need it, Ford.”
His scalp tingled at the use of his first name. Nobody but his brother called him that. “Need what?”
“All this butter.” She stood up, rubbed her hands on her thighs, and yawned.
“You will.”
“Huh. Silver lining, I guess, ’cause I’m a fool for butter.”
He threw her a confused look. “What?”
“With all the trekking, maybe I’ll finally tone some of this.” He averted his eyes as she patted her hip, then turned again and squatted, unconsciously giving him the opportunity to check out her rear end. Which was perfect, as far as he was concerned, but then, her curves were none of his business.
He searched the sky. No approaching aircraft. Good.
“Almost done.”
“Wow. Okay. Better get my knives.”
“Knives?” He blinked. “What do you need those for?”
“First, I’ll need something to cut all this butter into chunks. But also, you know that burning-building question? Like, what would I run back inside for?”
He nodded.
“My knives. That’s what I would grab.”
“Why?”
She cocked her head at him, squinting like he was of a different species. “They’re the tools of my trade.” Something in her face changed, as if she’d suddenly figured him out. “Like you and your drills.”
Understanding hit him like a fist to the solar plexus. He stood up. “I’ll get them for you.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue and then closed it with a nod. “Thanks.”
“Wind’s picking up.”
“This is good for us, right?” She eyed him.
“Sure.” He turned to go.
“Wait.” She put a hand on his arm. “Why don’t you take a break?”
Instead of looking her way, he stared at the bright yellow of her glove against his red coat and shook his head. “Too much to do.”
“Okay. Be honest with me. Are we screwed?” When he didn’t answer, didn’t move at all, she went on. “If it’s that bad, how about you take a few minutes, huh? Rest. Tell me how screwed we are.”
He shot her a surprised look. Of everyone in this place, Angel Smith would have been the last one he’d have looked to in a crisis. He’d have asked for a partner with a more scientific mind or maybe someone athletic and strong. Not her, with her effusiveness, her musical laugh, and spice cloud aura.
Wordlessly, he met her molten-magma warm eyes.
She looked tired and anxious and, for the first time since he’d glimpsed her in the galley all those months ago, pale.
“Aren’t we better off staying here and fighting?”
“No power. No fuel. No weapons. Winter’s on its way. We stay here, we die eventually. Whether or not they show up.” It wasn’t a question of if but when. Today, tomorrow, or in a few weeks, when the sun set for the season and temperatures plummeted. Nothing could survive without power out here in the dark of austral winter.
Breath held, he steeled himself for histrionics or maybe, on the opposite end of the spectrum, flippancy.
What he got was something he’d neither expected nor wanted: a hug.
Ford Cooper didn’t do hugs—not as a kid or as a sniper in the U.S. Army, nor as a research scientist in the most unwelcoming field on earth.
But after a few breathless seconds in the soft circle of this woman’s arms, even he had to admit that there was something to be said for comfort in the face of impending doom.
Certain death, he recalled after years without its specter hanging over him, had a way of blowing old hang-ups right out of the water.
She pulled away. “So, where are we headed?”
“Volkov Station.”
“Volkov? Don’t they close down for the winter?”
“Normally. But I understand they brought a construction crew in to renovate this year.” He didn’t let himself imagine what it would be like to winter-over with a handful of Russian workers…and Angel.