Maid for the South Pole

Part 3

THREE

Freezing water lapping at his legs dragged Jean out of the darkness. He was already waist deep and it was rising. Darkness didn't help him work out where he was, until he remembered the cushion plant trying to kill him.

He reached under the surface, feeling far enough down his legs to determine that they were both broken. Bits bent in ways that they shouldn't be capable of being bent.

Up was out, then, if he couldn't use his legs to climb to the top of the sinkhole. That meant he'd have to follow the lava tube to wherever it went. Wherever the water had come in. Quickly, too, because he already couldn't feel his legs. That's because of the water temperature, he told himself, willing his mind away from what else that could mean. More bones broken than just his legs. If his back was broken and he couldn't walk again, there were other bits of his anatomy that wouldn't work, either.

Dairine. She'd never forgive him if he came back and it was his fault they couldn't have kids. He'd promised to give her children.

If he didn't make it home safely, she'd kill him.

No. He'd never broken a promise to her yet, and this wouldn't be the first.

Jean fought to keep his breathing steady. No panicking. He had to get home to Dairine, which meant getting out of this hole.

The camp wasn't far. He'd seen the penguins from the shore, damn it, on the far side of Atlas Cove. All he had to do was get to where the geologists could see him from camp. He was wearing a standard issue, fire-engine red jacket, for f**k's sake. They couldn't miss him.

Now to get out of this hole.

Jean closed his eyes, trying to trace the sound of the waves. He rolled over onto his belly, propping himself up with his arms so his head was above water. Like a seal. He snorted. He wished there was a seal in the cave with him, to show him the way out.

Without a seal, he did the best he could, angling his body so the wavelets broke against his chest. f**k, but it was freezing. The sooner he was out of the water, the better.

Jean dragged himself along the cave floor, first one arm, then the other in endless repetition until the ground dropped away and a wave broke over his head. He surfaced, spluttering, wishing he'd thought to bring a radio with him. He could've called for help and told the rest of the team he'd run into trouble a few minutes' walk from camp. Sure, he'd be a laughing stock for the rest of the expedition, but he'd be a warm laughing stock.

Another wave topped him and Jean went under. This time, he didn't surface straight away, because he thought he saw light ahead. He squinted, trying to focus, to no avail. It was a light of some kind, all right, but the rock in front of him told him he'd have to swim underwater to reach it.

He'd need a decent lungful of air for that.

Jean lifted his head above the water, paddling with his hands to stay up.

"I'm coming, Dairine," he swore, gulping a huge breath before he dived.

He tried to kick with his legs, but the damn things wouldn't work. He breast-stroked like a man possessed, pushing the water behind him as he paddled toward the light.

Jean's lungs burned, but he swam on. He angled upward, praying he'd reach the surface soon. He could see his hands in front of him now – surely he'd cleared the cave. Was he out, or just in a larger cavern?

Wind froze the water in his hair as Jean's head emerged from the sea. He sucked in a desperate breath, then another, as he took stock of his surroundings.

Oh, f**k. He'd surfaced in the cove, twenty metres from the far shore. He had more swimming to do.

His arms were all he had, so no way in hell was he doing an Australian crawl. The near-freezing water was warmer than the air temperature.

Gritting his teeth, Jean set a course directly across the cove toward camp. He tried not to think of leopard seals and orcas and anything else that lived in these waters. For the first time, he cursed being a biologist who knew this s**t. At least there weren't any sharks, unless global warming had finally tempted them south. That would be the ultimate insult for a climate change biologist – to be eaten by something migrating with the warmer temperatures.

"Not today," Jean swore. "I'm coming, Dairine. I'm coming home."

His arms ached, more and more leaden with every stroke, until his hand bumped against something harder than water.

Please don't let it be an orca, he prayed, glancing down. A wave carried him further up the shore until his whole body rested on rock. Sharp chunks of volcanic rock, but right now, it was the most beautiful beach he'd seen this week. He barely felt it through the numbing cold.

Jean lifted his head. The camp was just ahead. All the buildings, where someone should be preparing dinner while everyone else relaxed after a hard day in the field.

The buildings were there, sure, but no one was in sight. Maybe they were all inside, he reasoned. A team meeting, or something. Someone would be out soon. They'd see him and carry him to one of the huts so they could help him.

He counted to five hundred as he waited, but there was no movement at all. Had they decided to sleep aboard the research vessel, instead, then?

Jean groaned as he stiffly rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows to peer out into the cove for the ship.

Which wasn't there.

"Fuck."

While he'd been unconscious in his hole, the geologists had taken the ship out for a survey. It might be weeks before they returned. By that time, the leopard seals would've eaten his remains.

"Not going to happen," he grunted, flipping onto his belly. He'd crawl back to camp if he had to, and radio those single-minded scientists to come back and get him.

Fixing his gaze on the nearest hut – the decades-old, round, red emergency shelter that they'd dubbed the Apple – Jean stretched his arm out to pull him a foot closer to the f*******n fruit. Two broken legs were a f*****g emergency.

One arm, pull, then the other, pull, reach for another handhold, pull, don't stop, reach...

"I'm coming, Dairine. I'm coming," he repeated. His wife's name was his mantra. He had to survive for her.

His fingers scrabbled at the blood-coloured hut. He nearly cried. All he had to do was reach the handle three feet above his head and pull open the door.

Eternities passed as Jean dragged his exhausted body to the side, his arm muscles screaming as he reached up and up until his fingers closed on the handle. When the door swung open, he felt a tear trickle from his eye before it froze on his cheek.

Fucking Antarctica. If it weren't for the penguins, he wouldn't be here.

Jean crawled inside the hut, then hooked his fingers through the vent at the bottom of the door to pull it shut behind him. Out of the wind, but not out of the woods. He struggled out of his coat and all the layers under it until he peeled his soaked thermal shirt from his chest. He was bare for only a moment before he grabbed a musty blanket from the bunk and wrapped it around himself. He turned a second blanket into a cape across his shoulders, hoping to keep in what precious little remained of his body heat.

His sodden pants would be another story, he knew. Once feeling returned to his legs, the agony that he'd felt before would return in full force, and he might pass out again. He had to radio for help first.

Jean dragged the survival kit onto the floor and pried off the lid. He had to rummage through the box until he found the radio, before rummaging some more for some batteries.

His hands shook as he shoved the batteries into the back of the radio. He knew shivering was better than his body not reacting to the cold at all, but it still made it hard to call for help. Finally, he managed to close the little plastic cover. Offering a silent prayer to anyone who was listening that the batteries weren't dead, Jean flicked the switch.

Blessed static washed over him. The best sound in the world.

Jean pressed the TALK button. "This is Jean Pennant on Heard Island. I have a medical emergency and require immediate assistance from anyone who can hear me. Repeat, need medevac from Heard Island. If you can hear me..." He repeated the message and waited.

He eased off his supposedly waterproof pants. Oh, f**k. It looked like he had five knees. Definitely not natural. He wasn't sure if he wanted to peel off the thermals he wore underneath. He couldn't see any blood, which was a blessing, but there still could be internal bleeding. He had to...

Oh, f**k, that hurt.

No response from the radio.

He switched to another channel and tried again.

"This is Jean-Pierre Pennant on Heard Island, requesting immediate assistance...."

More static.

Next channel.

"Hello, this is Jean-Pierre Pennant..."

Another channel.

"This is an SOS to anyone who can hear me. This is Jean-Pierre Pennant at Heard Island – "

The static crackled and beeped. "You're late for your twelve-hourly check-in, Pennant."

Oh, thank f**k. "Yeah, about that. I fell down a hole. I may have broken a few bones."

"You're in luck. We're still at Spit Bay. Dismantling the huts took longer than we expected. There's a couple of elephant seals who aren't helping. Could've done with your help charming them."

Jean coughed out a laugh. "It was a Weddell seal that fancied me, dude. A baby one. It was cute and it was curious, and it liked the taste of my boots. The sort of thing you want to cuddle. Not an elephant seal."

"You're the biologist. Are you sure you're injured, if you're laughing and trying to teach?"

Feeling was returning to Jean's legs now he was out of the cold, and it f*****g hurt. "I've got two broken legs, man. It's bad."

Jean heard swearing before it was replaced by static. He waited a few seconds before he ventured, "You still there?"

The crackling ceased. "Yeah. We'll be there as soon as we can. Where are you?"

"The emergency Apple. The one we're not supposed to use."

More static, before the voice came back. "Pennant? One of the guys here said there should be a first aid kit in there. The supplies might be a bit out of date, but it should be fully stocked. He said he saw some of the really good meds in there. Stuff we're not allowed to carry now, but were fine back when the camp was constructed. Should be unopened. Can you check? He says it's under one of the bunks."

Jean felt around in the cavity under the nearest bed and was rewarded by the feel of a metal box. "Yeah, got it."

He flipped it open and took stock of the supplies. Enough gauze to wrap a mummy, with enough alcohol wipes to embalm one. And under that... Jean gave a low whistle. "s**t. Morphine."

"Captain thinks we'll be under way in a couple of hours. Can you wait that long, Pennant?"

Jean peeled open a syringe and plunged the needle into the morphine bottle, carefully drawing out a dose that matched the instructions. He swabbed his arm and took a deep breath. Just a scratch, he told himself.

Fuck, he hated needles. But this one...would be worth it. He gritted his teeth as he depressed the plunger, unleashing icy oblivion into his veins.

"Pennant?"

"Yeah, man. I found the meds. Good s**t, man. Good shit."

Jean gritted his teeth and shucked off the rest of his clothes. Oh, his legs were seriously f****d up. He tucked a couple more blankets around himself, hiding his legs from sight. But they didn't hurt any more, and that's what mattered.

No. What mattered was Dairine. Getting home to Dairine.

Jean lay down, drifting off on a morphine cloud. No wonder they locked this s**t up.