Outpost

‘Let me ask you something,’ said Jane. ‘I need you to think hard. Punch liked comic books, right? Graphic novels. Did he ever mention his favourite character?’

‘No. Not that I remember.’

‘Constantine? Did he ever mention John Constantine?’

‘Actually, yeah. Some sort of gumshoe tough-guy. He battled demons. There’s a poster in his room. Punch bought a trench- coat so he could dress like him. Why do you ask?’

They reached an airlock. Jane grabbed clothing from a rack. Heavy over-trousers. She buckled crampons to the soles of her boots. She zipped an Arctic parka.

‘Punch is alive,’ said Jane. ‘Nikki and Nail have him hostage on the island.’

‘Nikki?’

‘She’s back. Don’t ask me how.’

Jane found a toolbox. She slipped a big claw hammer into her coat pocket. She buttoned a diver’s knife into the utility pocket of her trousers.

Sian helped Jane shoulder the flamethrower and buckle it to her back.

‘He’s alive?’ asked Sian. ‘You’re sure?’

‘He’s out there, and I’m going to bring him back.’

‘My God.’

Jane buckled gauntlets.

‘We should search for Ghost,’ said Sian.

‘No time.’

‘What does Nikki want?’

‘She wants to swap him for food.’

‘Give it to her.’

‘We don’t have time to play games. She’s a nut. Unbalanced. She has some kind of sick agenda I bet even she doesn’t fully understand. I’m going to find her and I’m going to kill her.’

Jane opened a locker full of fire-fighting equipment and took an axe.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Sian.

‘No. I need you to lower me on to the ice.’

They heaved open the outer door of the airlock.

They ran across the deck.

‘You can operate the freight crane, right?’ asked Jane.

‘Ivan showed me the controls during the fire.’

‘You can raise and lower the hook, right? That’s all I need.’

‘Yeah. I think so.’

‘The refinery is ripping a channel south. There is nothing beneath us but seawater and broken ice. The platform lift is no good. It’ll drop me in the ocean. If you lower me in front of the rig I’ll have eight or nine seconds to get clear before it runs me down.’

‘How will you get back on board?’

‘Catch up with the rig. Stand in front of it. You can lift me off the ice with the crane hook before I get squashed like a bug.’

‘Bloody risky. It would be a split-second thing.’

They climbed a ladder to the crane platform. The cab hung over the edge of the refinery. There was a window in the floor. They could see the ice two hundred metres below. Sian swivelled the jib with a joystick. The half-tonne hook swung like a pendulum.

‘Like I said. Up and down. That’s all I need. Just raise and lower the hook.’

‘See that?’ Sian pointed south. Waves in the far distance. ‘Open sea. We lost the zodiac when Hyperion caught fire. Once we pass out of the ice-field you won’t be able to get back on board. You’ll be marooned.’

‘Yeah.’

Sian unbuckled her Casio watch and strapped it round the wrist of Jane’s gauntlet.

‘Find him, all right? Find him and bring him back.’ She set the stopwatch. ‘Sixty minutes. That’s your turn-around time. Sixty minutes from now you head back to the refinery no matter what, okay?’

She pressed Start.

59:59

The seconds ticked down.

Part Four ENDGAME

The Final Hour

Jane jogged across the ice towards the island. She clumped in heavy boots. Crampon teeth bit into ice. Diesel sloshed in the SCUBA tanks strapped to her back.

She climbed the rocky shoreline. Gauntlet hands searched out niches and outcrops. She scrambled over the jumble of basalt boulders and hauled herself up on to the snow plateau of the island plain.

She headed for the burned-out hulk of the ship.

The blackened hull of the superliner was split in two. The interior of the ship was exposed like a picture book cut-away diagram. Bilge and plant equipment near the keel, then ascending layers of opulence. A dance floor, glitter ball swinging in the breeze. Padded treatment recliners hanging over a steel precipice. Charred staterooms.

The multiple blasts that ripped the ship apart had ejected debris across the snow. Twisted hull plates like jagged petals. Giant worm-lengths of air-con ducts.

Jane walked among cabin refuse. Cupboards, chairs and lamps. It was like someone set up home on the ice.

Jane stood in the shadow of the ship and looked up at the exposed rooms and stairways. Ragged bed sheets wafted in the breeze. Flakes of ash drifted from the wreck like black snow.

Quick inspection of the broken hulk. Nikki might anticipate a raiding party might come calling. She might vacate the bunker. Hide herself aboard Hyperion.

A hand gripped Jane’s ankle. She looked down. An infected passenger half buried in snow. Jane pulled herself free. The frozen figure tried to stand. Legs missing from below the knee. She stamped on his head with a crampon boot. Skull-burst. Snow stained red.

The snow beside her bulged and split, and a second frosted figure struggled to its feet. The creature stumbled like a drunk. Jane kicked him over. He lay on his back, still struggling to walk like a toppled automaton.