The Winter Over(83)
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Cass was shivering.
She hadn’t gotten a real night’s rest since being locked up—no surprise, of course. More than once she woke gasping, crying, or shivering. This time, she lay flat in bed with her eyes shut, willing herself to become calm and serene. Something was tickling her cheek, though. Still half-asleep, she reached up to scratch and felt a crust of ice on her eyelids.
She sat bolt upright in bed, blind.
Frantic, she rubbed the ice away and opened her eyes with difficulty. The room was dimly lit, illuminated not by the normal overhead lamp, but from a weak battery-operated emergency LED above the door, one of the same ones that had kicked on during the station-wide power failure. She stared at it, her vision obscured by her fogging breath.
Her muscles, shocked by the cold, rippled and twitched as she rolled out of bed and began throwing on every scrap of clothing she could find. Taylor hadn’t allowed her any outdoor clothing, but Deb had secretly brought Cass her books, clothes, and personal items from her berth. Mouthing a thanks for the woman’s kindness, Cass pulled on five layers in all, then crawled back into bed, pulling the blanket up over her nose as she tried to get warm. Tiny ice crystals, formed by her breath as she had slept, clung to the ceiling above her head, glittering and twinkling like tiny stars. Her mind, almost as frozen as the rest of her body, lay dormant and blank, but after long minutes, the shivering slowed, then finally stopped, allowing her to think.
Something had happened to the electrical system that was bad enough for the emergency lights to kick on . . . again. But this time, it wasn’t just cold, it was below freezing in an internal room of Shackleton. For that to happen meant the power had been off for some time. And if that were the case and no one had come to check on her, then she’d either been forgotten or the situation on base was so bad it amounted to the same thing.
Cass kicked off the blanket and rolled out of bed again. Stiff from her clothes bunching at the elbows and knees, she went to a bag in the closet and pried off one of the zippers. With the small metal tab clutched in one hand, she went back to the bed, upended the nightstand lamp, then used the end of the zipper tab as an impromptu screwdriver to loosen the base. After a minute of fumbling, the screws fell out and the base popped off. Fishing around inside, her fingers closed around a mini multi-tool from her belongings that Taylor had overlooked in his enthusiasm to lock her up. She’d hidden it as soon as she’d found the right place.
Rummaging around in one of her bags, she dug out a flashlight and her trusty headlamp. Aside from the multi-tool and clothes, they were the only other resources she had. She flicked through the tools and chose the flat-head screwdriver, then went to work on the hinges of the door to her room.
Never meant to act as the entrance of a prison, the door was hinged on the inside, which should’ve made the process of removing the hinges easier, but her hands were numb and she had to jam them under her armpits several times to warm them up. After ten minutes of patient manipulation, she had the screws out and the hinges dangling in place. She turned around and gave the door the hardest mule kick she could muster, driving all of her anger and outrage through the heel of her boot. The door flew open, twisted momentarily at the lock, then fell into the hall.
Cass poked her head out. The VIP suite was on the bottom floor of the base. The galley and offices were located on the upper floor, so the bottom deck was normally the less busy of the two floors, but even for here it was quiet. Emergency footlights lit the hall every fifteen feet, providing a dim, uncertain light. She sniffed cautiously. The faint smell of gasoline floated in the air and she blanched; if the generators had blown the contents of their fuel tanks, the base was doomed.
If Biddi was right and Hanratty and Taylor had managed to make a scapegoat out of her, the entire base might blame her for everything that had gone wrong since the last plane had left for McMurdo. Her only defense was that the second power outage had happened after she was imprisoned; surely no one could still believe she was the mastermind behind some insane experiment after she’d been locked up? She shook her head, trying to put theories out of her head; right now, she needed to get warm and for that she needed proper gear. Her first stop had to be her own berth, though as she padded down the hall, she peeked into several of the labs, hoping to find someone, but all were empty.
After reaching the A4 wing, she headed straight for her room. Her stomach sank when she found no sign of her ECW gear, although the rest of her things were intact. Rummaging through her bags and rucksacks, she threw on every layer of clothing that fit, then pocketed a few personal items that included her headlamp, a flashlight, and the battery to her crude shortwave. Her nascent diary and the copy of The Worst Journey in the World she left behind, feeling just a twinge of regret at abandoning both.
She backed out, leaving the little space that had been her home for much of the last year, then continued on, opening doors and poking her head into room after room. Each was deserted. Half cups of coffee sat abandoned on desks, pens and pencils rested on open notebooks. Had the electricity been running, she was sure she would’ve seen monitors showing unfinished e-mails and incomplete reports. A shiver went through her. The crew had left in a hurry.
Unfortunately, ECW gear—the one thing she could’ve used—was also missing from every room. Cass circled back to check the dorms; it made sense people might retreat to their own quarters in the event of an emergency. Her footsteps rang hollow and empty on the floor and she closed each door gently, unable to bear the thought of the sound they would make if they slammed shut.