Outpost

Nikki got to her feet, hand pressed to her bleeding forehead. Hammer imprint between her eyes.

Nikki examined the blood in her palm. Woozy smile. She faced Jane through a wall of fire, watched her back towards the doorway.

‘I know you better than anyone, Jane. I can see through you like a fucking X-ray. You hate yourself, every molecule. I know what that’s like. You’ve been lonely your whole life. Every waking moment screaming out for some kind of contact, some kind of warmth. But you’re not alone. That bleak, psychic terrain. I’m right there with you. I’m your soulmate, Jane. Yin-yang. You and me. Not those guys.’

‘See you in the next life, Nikki.’

‘Wait. Listen to me. There’s no shame in wanting to belong. You and the rest of the human race. Everyone desperate to escape the confines of their skull, cramming themselves into cinemas, football stadiums, church pews, all yearning for some kind of collective experience. It’s a life sentence, Jane. A life in solitary. But we don’t have to be out in the cold any more. This is our chance. We can come home. You think it’s all back in Europe. Contentment. But you’ve been living that way for years. Tell me I’m wrong. Dreaming happiness is somewhere else, somewhere over the horizon. But you’re home, Jane. It’s right here. Everything we ever wanted. We can finally belong.’

‘You know what?’ said Jane. ‘You’re wrong. I like being me.’

She turned and ran.

‘You’ll be alone,’ shouted Nikki. ‘You’ll be alone your whole damn life.’

The Race

Punch climbed the ladder. He left the light and warmth of Level Zero and ascended to the freezing dark of the main tunnels. He struggled to grip the rungs. His wrists and ankles were bleeding.

‘Are you all right?’ called Ghost from the top of the shaft.

‘Grinning from ear to fucking ear.’

Ghost hauled Punch from the shaft. He helped Punch to his feet.

‘Can you walk?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Can you run?’

‘I’ll try.’

Ghost struck a flare.

‘If we don’t make it to Rampart before it reaches open sea we are dead men.’

Punch put his arm round Ghost’s waist. They hurried down the tunnel. A steady slope to the surface.

They glimpsed a Hyperion passenger standing in an alcove. Fancy dress. A guy in a dinner suit and bull mask. The emaciated creature watched them pass. It slowly turned its head like a CCTV camera recording their progress.

‘Is it following us?’ asked Punch as he limped along.

Ghost looked over his shoulder. ‘No. It’s just standing there.’

‘Christ, I can’t wait to be out of this place. I just want to breathe clean air.’

‘Damn right,’ said Ghost.

They kept jogging.

‘You know what?’ said Punch.

Ghost was about to reply when Nail lunged from the shadows and knocked them to the ground. He sat on Ghost’s chest and squeezed his throat.

Nail’s lips were bruised and swollen. He looked like he was wearing black lipstick. He sank his teeth into Ghost’s cheek and tore away a flap of flesh. Ghost yelled in pain. He jammed the flare into Nail’s eye socket. Nail screamed. He threw himself clear and ran.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Punch.

‘He got me,’ said Ghost, trying to staunch the flow of blood. ‘Fucker got me.’

‘You’ll be all right.’

‘He got me. I’m fucked.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘Don’t touch me. Don’t get blood on you.’

‘We’ll get you back to Rampart. We’ll patch you up.’

Punch hauled Ghost to his feet.

‘Put your arm round my shoulder.’

Punch helped Ghost stumble towards the bunker exit.

‘We should wait for Jane,’ said Ghost.

‘She’s buying us time. Let’s not waste it.’

They reached the mouth of the bunker. Ghost slumped against the wall. Punch pulled the tarpaulin from a snowmobile. He sat on the bike, turned the ignition and gunned the engine.

‘Jane?’ Ghost shouted into the tunnel. ‘Jane? Are you coming?’

‘She’ll take the other bike,’ said Punch. ‘Come on. Let’s not add to her problems.’

Ghost struggled to mount the bike. He rode pillion.

It was dark outside. They couldn’t see further than the head- beam of the Skidoo. The bike bucked and swerved over jagged rock. They cruised the rocky shoreline and looked for a route on to the ice.

‘There.’ Ghost pointed. A path led down to the frozen sea. Punch swung the bike down the steep ramp and drove on to the ice.

‘Hold on,’ shouted Punch. He revved and headed south at full speed.

Ghost let the wind freeze his face. The bite wound stopped bleeding and soon he could feel no pain.

‘I can’t see the rig,’ shouted Punch over his shoulder.

Ghost fumbled for his radio.

‘Sian,’ he shouted, struggling to be heard over wind noise. ‘Hit the floodlights.’

Sian sat in the darkened cab. Night had fallen. She knew she should switch on the refinery floodlights but delayed the moment. She didn’t want to see the approaching ocean. Some time in the next hour Rampart would break from the ice-field and float into open sea. From that moment she would be irrevocably alone. Adrift for weeks, possibly months. If she passed land she would have to row ashore in a lifeboat and explore the ruins of Europe on her own.