“It’s not your fault.”
“No. You don’t get it. I couldn’t stop them from—”
Eric squatted in front of her and put a hand on her arm—just a quick pat—then took it away. “You saved his life. Thank you.”
“You know how many times he saved mine?”
“Yeah.” He tightened his jaw. “Let’s get you guys stateside, okay? You good with that?” At her nod, he asked, “Where’s home for you?”
She opened her mouth and closed it.
When she pictured home now, all she could see was an orange cocoon, floating on an endless sea of ice, the heat of two bodies, the secret place between them.
A conversation came back to her, the memory infused with the tent’s warm glow:You like making people happy, Ford had said about her cooking.That’s why you do it.She’d wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong.
And then she’d stopped. Because he’d been right. For her, cooking wasn’t about tastes and smells and textures. It was about feeding people.Givingto them. And now just thinking about that made her feel seen. As if Ford had peeled her skin away and peered at her quickly beating heart.
Now that escape was actually possible, she didn’t want to sell her soul to the highest bidder anymore. She wanted to spread it around, like butter. Like love. To give it to people who wanted it, who needed it.
But first, Ford. Only Ford.
“We’re gonna evacuate the base now. You good with that?” Eric asked.
She shook her head, blinking away the close, heated moment. “How’d you even get here? I thought planes couldn’t—”
“Took a necessary risk. But we need to go ASAP. Can you make it to the plane on your own?” She stood, reached for the crutches they’d found for her, and nodded. “We’ll get Ford loaded up. Rest of the folks, too.”
Minutes later, a bundled-up Angel emerged from the building blinking like a mole just out of hibernation.
She peered at the plane, sitting almost on its belly, with nothing but thick skis between it and the ice. The aircraft was a hive of activity, with red-coated people going in and out. Unlike the ones she’d seen before, this Hercules had nothing printed on the side. A ghost.
Her head tilted back just enough to take in the clear blue sky, the sun slanting down on this place as if bad weather never happened.
Her swinging steps were slow, but nowhere near as sluggish as that final slog across the ice, the two of them propping each other up, when neither could have done it alone.
At the open door to the aircraft, she stopped, moved aside for someone to pass, and turned to look at the station’s blocky buildings, dwarfed by this place, as inconsequential as a child’s toy. For a few emotionally charged moments, she couldn’t move, could only stare and say goodbye.
To an old friend? An archenemy? Like with close family, she’d been forced to endure Antarctica’s foibles. Now, in a way she’d never be able to put into words, she was connected to this place.
Suppressing a sob, she stepped into the Herc’s shadowy interior, where she joined the rest of the Burke-Ruhe winter-overs, settled into a seat, and waited to fly away from this terrible, wonderful continent.
* * *
With the help of his teammates—Von and Ans—Eric loaded Ford into the plane and strapped him in under the care of Burke-Ruhe’s physician.
He told the big bearded guy—ex-army, like his brother—to do a final count and ran back outside for the prisoner. Halfway there, Leo’s voice cut through on their comm devices. “Picking up something weird, guys.”
“What?”
“Something small. More than one. Drones, possibly. Headed this way fast.”
Eric and Von exchanged a look and quickened their pace.
“How’s the fuel?” Eric asked.
“Well, it’s not frozen,” replied Leo, clipped and sarcastic. “Yet.”
“Roger that.” Eric turned to Von. “Help Ans get the ice cores packed up,” he yelled, already running back to the building. “I’ve got the prisoner.”
