Polar Night by McAlpin Clive

Author:McAlpin, Clive
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hawksburn Press
Published: 2022-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

In the lounge, the Mozart has been set aside and the only sounds are the hum of the two heaters, the dripping of melt water, and the low murmur of those still awake and clustered around Oliver holding court in front of the piano. Miles and Chrissie have taken cabins.

First Oliver only sneers. “You saw a shadow? But—oh—it was a scary shadow?” When she presses, Jun silent and urgent at her side, he becomes businesslike. “Jack and Leon and I are going to head out with two Argos and that compass in the morning, and this time we're going to find the Baldr. We'll be back with help within a week. All you have to do is keep your heads and stop stirring everyone up with this stuff.”

“You need to listen to us, Oliver,” she says, “we have to get off this ship tonight. Whatever they are, they've wiped out more than half of us already and they're here, they're onboard!”

Oliver throws up his hands. “All right! All right. We'll go right now if everyone agrees. Guys? Ready to pack up?” Some of the survivors trying to sleep raise their heads, then lower them. Those awake sit very still. Oliver's smirk had returned. “Guess we're staying.”

She stands up, spitting with rage now. “We wouldn't be in this situation if you had half the expertise you tell people you have.”

His eyes narrow. “Time to get some rest, Jonsson. You're becoming hysterical.”

He won't even agree to set a watch at the stairhead, so Jun goes alone, insisting he isn't too tired. Britt promises to replace him in a couple of hours.

When she's locked the cabin door and stripped down to her thermals, she stands beside the bed, eyes closed on the dark, willing away the itch of her seal bite, the pain in her feet, the fear and tension growing in her belly. To sleep, to blot it all out for a while: this is the only option. She is already used to sleeping on the ice, everything snapping and rattling and billowing. By comparison the cabin is almost too quiet. She is thankful she doesn't know who occupied it. The pillow has nobody's smell. There is a cabinet beside the bed, key in the lock, and she knows it might contain a dead stranger's possessions. She lies on her back, open-eyed, wondering at the way so few—such simple—steps have led here. There is a knock at the door, startlingly loud.

“Hold on.” She clicks on the pen light and unbolts the door to find Oliver standing at the threshold. “Trying to sleep,” she says.

“I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Can't it wait?”

He shakes his head.

Unhappy but unwilling to go out into the cold of the corridor, she steps back, opening the door wider to let him in. He closes it behind him and moves to the night stand. He unplugs the lamp, plugs it into the port in his parka, and switches it on. Show off, she thinks. She can smell the stale sweat under his parka, and feels instantly more uncomfortable.

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