“Get your cold-weather gear together and drive to HQ. We’ll meet you there and head straight to the airport. We’re flying to Christchurch, New Zealand, and from there, we catch an Air Guard flight to Antarctica.”
Thor stood. “Did you say Antarctica?”
English wasn’t his mother tongue. He must have misunderstood.
“We’re going to Pole—Amundsen-Scott Station.”
Hold dog kæft.
Shut the fuck up.
Thor had a hundred questions, but he knew Tower couldn’t say much over the phone. “I understand.”
The South Pole had been on Thor’s wish list for years.
“It’s Antarctic winter, and this operation is going to be extremely high-risk. Just getting to the job site is going to be the most dangerous thing we do this year. I’m asking only those of you who aren’t attached—you, Jones, Segal. But if you want to opt out—”
“I’m in, sir.”
Thor wouldn’t miss this for anything.
* * *
Amundsen-Scott Station
South Pole
Samantha Park staredat Dr. Decker, his words hitting her like a fist, driving the breath from her lungs. “She’s …dead?”
Decker nodded, jaw tight, lips pressed in a tight line. “I’m sorry, Sam. We did everything we could, but it was too late.”
Samantha shook her head. “No! No, no. This can’t be happening.”
Patty couldn’t be dead. She was only thirty-two, healthy and active. She’d been fine yesterday.
Decker wrapped an arm around Samantha’s shoulder and shepherded her into the infirmary. “Sit down. I don’t want you fainting on me.”
“I don’t faint.” She sat.
“I know you and Patty were close.”
Samantha nodded, her throat tight, tears stinging her eyes. “We went to grad school together. We were … uh … housemates, too. This is our second year as winter-overs. She’s my best friend.”
Why was it so hard to think?
Shouts. Footfalls. Whispers.
Lance stuck his head inside, his brown hair disheveled as if he’d just gotten out of bed. “Sam? What’s going on? Where’s Patty?”
Sam looked up, shook her head, unable to say it.
Lance and Patty had been lovers for the past six weeks or so. Though most relationships on the ice were temporary and forgotten the moment people boarded the plane home, Patty had told Samantha last week that Lance might be different.
Decker gave him the awful news. “I’m sorry, Lance. Patty’s dead.”
“What?” Lance gaped at Decker, his face going pale. “She was fine last night.”
“Sam found her in her bed this morning, unconscious and barely breathing. We intubated her, bagged her, got fluids going. She went into V-tach. We did chest compressions, defibrillated her, and pushed the meds—epinephrine, lidocaine, bicarb—but she bottomed out. Her heart stopped, and we couldn’t bring her back.”