Outpost

Her radio crackled. A voice. She couldn’t make out words. Just a brief snatch of wind noise. Jane, Ghost and Punch must be trying to make it back to the rig.

She ran from the cab to a switch room on deck. She threw breakers. The Rampart superstructure suddenly lit celestial white by halogen floodlights.

Sian returned to the cab. The ice in front of the refinery was lit by arc lights. She could see the Arctic Ocean up ahead.

A snowmobile raced across the polar crust and pulled up in front of the refinery. Sian wiped condensation to get a better view. Two figures climbed from the bike, both wearing blue Rampart-issue survival coats. Two of her friends had made it back to the rig.

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.

Departure

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.